Find Me In the Dark
Prologue
Lily remembers life only vaguely before her son was taken from her.
She remembers vividly green eyes-eyes so much like her own-gazing out at her from a pale face, wide above James' nose and mouth. The shock of black hair on his head made those eyes even more astounding to her, and in memory everything seems more exaggerated...even if it isn't. She isn't sure, though, for it could be-it could have been that way in the past, but she doesn't know anymore, because photographs fade, even magical ones. That's the tragedy involved in memory. Nothing is quite what it was….
She remembers when he would laugh, and gurgle, and giggle...she remembers when he whispered nonsense words to her and listened as she told him stories. She remembers talking to him about his family, remembers even taking him over to play with the Weasleys' newborn son, Ronald, and Alice's child, Neville. She remembers those moments. She remembers finding a bit of hope in her child, in Harry James Potter, in the middle of a dark, dark war, because he was the happiest thing to ever happen to her.
She remembers when Albus Dumbledore shattered that illusion, bringing her news of a prophecy that spoke of a child born when the seventh month dies...her child, or Alice's. Her baby, or her best friend's.
She remembers the selfish horror and hope of wanting it not to be hers; she remembers exchanging that glance with Alice and clutching her son closer to her chest. Shielding him from everything that could possibly happen to him. She remembers that.
And she remembers when Dumbledore tells her that it has been confirmed by a new spy-her old best friend, Severus-that it is, in fact, her child, her Harry, her son that is the Chosen One…she remembers collapsing into James' arms, holding back tears, trying to be strong. It's hard to be strong when your child is the only identified target of a mass murderer, however, and she remembers even James crying that night. They moved, only a few months after the birth of her baby boy, to a new home, where a powerful spell was cast, and they stayed.
They did not go on the run, like Severus suggested.
They did not go hide in the muggle world, like Lily wanted.
They stood their ground, and supported the Order of the Phoenix, like Dumbledore asked.
She remembers moving. Struggling not to resent the elderly professor for forcing them into this beautiful little cottage in Godric's Hollow, trying not to hate the place simply for what it represented. Knowing that she would be there, hopefully, for a good long while. Hoping that Harry would love it, simply because there was nowhere else he would have to love.
The Fidelius Charm was performed, and Dumbledore was their Secret Keeper. James had wanted Sirius, and Lily had wanted Alice, and in the end had decided on Peter Pettigrew...but the entire Order had been against the idea, and even Peter had turned the honor down. She remembers him saying that he was not sure he could handle the stress of the responsibility. She remembers Dumbledore volunteering, a small, almost smug but not quite, smile upon his face. She didn't begrudge him that. He had offered, and it was in their best interest, and she loved the man dearly-she just did not wish to owe him more, and clearly he did not like to lose.
She remembers everything from that night more vividly than she remembers the green in her son's eyes.
She remembers him fussing, barely eating any dinner.
She remembers singing to him in a rocking chair, trying to help him sleep, laughing as her husband and his three best friends began to drift off to the sound of her lullaby even as her baby son did not. She remembers telling the four of them to leave, to perform their duties as members of the Order, that she would be fine on her own.
She remembers James kissing her goodbye before the door shuts, and she is alone with her son and their cat.
She remembers Harry finally closing his eyes, and placing him in his crib before settling into her chair with a book on potions and poisons.
She remembers tiring, eyes drooping, trying to remain awake until James gets home-and then she remembers a small noise, not much, but enough. Enough to wake her. Enough to set her senses blaring. And then she is up, and alert, and-
And she remembers a somewhat distorted voice saying, quite calmly, "Stupefy."
And then she remembers nothing. Nothing.
Nothing...until she wakes, with a gentle, "Enervate," and the harsh sobs of her husband as he cries out, "He's gone…" and she remembers immediately knowing.
Knowing that the voice, whoever it was, had come for Harry.
And her son, her precious, amazing, jade-eyed son, who carried a part of her so important and detrimental to her that she thought she might die without him, was gone.
It felt as though part of her soul had been ripped from her body, and she screamed with the agony that only a mother who had lost her child could feel.
Lily remembers everything from before her child was taken.
Bellatrix remembers everything from after the Potter child was brought to her.
She remembers waiting at the drop point, where the heavily cloaked thief and kidnapper was waiting, carefully cradling the heavily shrouded bundle of child, and demanding proof of the baby's identity. In response, the kidnapper had revealed the child's face-the Potter hair, the face. It was him. She handed him the bag of gold coins, took the child, and Apparated away.
She remembers arriving. The doors opening at the Dark Lord's new home, deep within the bowels of the earth. The underground tunnel system, open to a select few, of which Bellatrix is one. She remembers striding through the tunnels as other Death Eaters scattered away from her, fearing her wrath.
She was distracted by the weight and warmth in her arms, the smallest breathing noises, the bumping of the child's heart. She was tempted to move the blanket and watch the child's face, but she couldn't-that was almost weakness. She felt something stir within her chest, and she wanted to hold the child close, shield it from the darkness, but refrained. She remembers thinking, reassuring herself, that she was doing this for the Dark Lord and therefore it had to be right.
She remembers thinking, reminding herself, that this was not her baby. Not her child. Not the life stirring in her womb at that very moment.
And yet...she remembers, upon entering the Dark Lord's chambers with the babe, wanting to run with it, hide it, protect it from anything wanting to hurt it. She remembers wanting to defy her master for the first time in her life.
She remembers the small voice in the back of her head whispering that it might not be the last, and she remembers slamming it down with occlumency as she presented the boy. She remembers hissing, "The Potter child, my Lord."
And she remembers cold hands, long and aristocratic, taking the boy from her arms. "He is...fascinating," she remembers him saying. His words were shocking, but they sounded surprised themselves. "Shocking, that this small boy should be said to be my end."
She remembers nodding, but wanting to take the boy back and run. Keep him safe. Take him far, far away, where he will never be hurt by this terrifying man who wants him dead.
And now she remembers that man laughing. Laughing, that hard, cold, high laugh that resonated throughout the room in such an odd way that brought chills down her spine and a horrible, twisting dread to her stomach.
"The old man won't know what hit him," the Dark Lord hissed triumphantly, smiling thinly down at the boy. His gaze shifted to hers, red ruby eyes glittering. "The boy won't be my end. He will be his. Dumbledore's, and that thrice-cursed Order's. He will bring them down."
She remembers wanting to collapse in relief. He wouldn't kill the boy after all. He would be safe, for a little while, hopefully for years. "What shall we do with him, then, my Lord?" she remembers asking, hoping.
"I shall raise him as my son," Tom Riddle answered, now cradling the boy as if he were something precious. And he was. Now, to both of them. He was their future. "He shall be my son, in every sense of the word, and he shall be loyal to none but me, Bellatrix."
Bella remembers looking at the child, sleeping peacefully in her master's arms, and thinking, I would do anything for this boy.
Bellatrix remembers everything from that moment on with a clarity that hurts like broken glass.