Disclaimer: I do not, unfortunately own Harry Potter, and all of its glorious associated titles.
I do draw on previously read fanfictions, but I try to make this one unique. Any similarities of the work is completely accidental.
There may be character death involved. You have been warned.
A/N: This is re-edited, as to make the paragraphs more manageable. I was initially planning to let this be kept the same, but pressures from review has led me to rectify the mistake. I must say, I think it is a good idea to change the paragraphs.
A Game of Shadows: Betrayed
The hooded man apparated to Godric's Hollow, focussed upon his goal. For a year now, he had sought the family that continued to defy him, he who is Lord Voldemort, and to hide from him. He couldn't stop the sick, twisted leer, pass over his face, as he sighted his goal, the Potter Family house. If he had more time, he probably would've admired the delicate looking iron fence, with ivy and vines growing over it, the hedge towering over the fence behind it, like a silent sentinel. Emerald, orb like eyes appeared in the hedge to the left of the gate, startling the Dark Lord. He sniffed with disdain at the act. They blinked once, and faded from view, disappearing into nothingness.
Voldemort tapped the wrought iron gate with his yew wand, and silently cast the alohomora spell. The gate opened, squeaking angrily at the intruder. The house stayed silent, as if it were watching with bated breath. Glding up the path, Voldemort approached the plain front door, adorned only with an old fashioned brass knocker, looking rather weather beaten. He sensed, rather than saw, anti-appartition and portkey wards go up, and a powerful defensive ward being raised as to protect the house.
Voldemort laughed, a truly bone-chilling laugh, which convinced James Potter (who was by the front door) that they were dealing with an insane being. Voldemort raised his wand again, and unlocked the front door. James gazed outside, going still with shock, as his mind fought to keep up with the information being presented to him. He closed the door. Voldemort opened it. James closed it. It was like a well-rehearsed pantomime. Neither man would speak, each would glare at each other, as the door swung open, then shut. Voldemort grew sick of the game quickly, and cast reducto at James' feet. James leapt back, into the path of a cutting curse, which severed his head from his body.
Voldemort looked impassively at the mop of hair that was once James Potter's head. He kicked it, just for fun. A wail sounded from the floor above him, a shrill scream of heart-wrenching sorrow, as Lily Potter felt her husband depart from the world of the living. Voldemort angled his head upward, and marched with military precision up the winding staircase. Lily Potter met him at the top of the stairs, looking him in the eyes. He saw the mixed emotions of pain, shock, fear and oddly, defiance, swirling in her emerald eyes.
For her part, she stood mesmerised by his dark, angry red eyes that swelled with power. She collapsed, never hearing or seeing the Avada Kedavra being cast toward her. Voldemort moved past her, and shot a dark bolt of energy at her, causing her skin to rupture, and blood spurt everywhere, coating the walls.
Harry James Potter opened his eyes, as he was spattered with some unidentifiable liquid. His short legs kicked, as he grasped the sides of the crib and pulled himself to a standing position. He barely rose to the height of the cribs wall, but he was still able to see the red mass of nauseating flesh in the hallway. As he saw it, he registered the bond of mother to child breaking, filling him with a feeling of love and regret. A tinkling sound of breaking glass, brought him back to the present, as he registered a hooded figure enter the room.
He reached his hand out, to grasp the person's cloak, but was rudely shoved back into his mattress. His head cracked against the headboard, to which Harry screamed in pain. A smirk flittered across the man's face, as he lowered his hood, and faced the child of the prophecy. A green glow lit the end of his wand, as he went to cast the killing curse. He whirled around and cast it at a house elf, which had just popped into the room, in an attempt to save the infant Harry. It was vaporised by Voldemort's second spell, which followed the Avada Kedavra.
He turned his attention back to Harry. Voldemort fired the killing curse, closing his eyes as he did so. As it was, he missed the silvery essence that flowed from Harry's surprised eyes and ensconced the curse, which was absorbed into the infant. It flowed back in through his forehead, leaving a bloody scar in the shape of a lightning bolt. The backlash from the absorbed magic lifted Voldemort from his feet, slamming him into a wall, where audible crunches and cracks were heard. Harry slipped into unconsciousness, as a final push of pure magic crumbled Voldemort's body, leaving a black, inky substance to float out of the body, materialise into a translucent snake, and wriggle away.
Minutes later, Sirius Black arrived in front of the house, which was now clearly visible, the Fidelius Charm being broken by the death of the caster. The front gate was open, and swung lightly in the wind. The storm that had threatened for most of the day finally broke overhead, sending water earthwards. Within a few minutes, Sirius' hair was matted against his face from the water, and it was streaming down his clothes. Sirius stood there, watching, as his tears melded with the rain. Delaying no longer, he walked up the short path toward the front door, although to him, it took aeons to reach. He reverently touched the door, and it swung open, closing in Sirius' face due to the gust of wind that howled through the house.
Wrenching it open again, he stepped inside, only to be greeted by the beheaded body of his best mate. Sirius' tears multiplied, and his gut twisted, his heart plummeting, but he steeled himself, and made the trek upstairs. He was greeted by the mangled body of Lily. He retched at the sight, before scurgifying the vomit from the otherwise pristine, yet blood spattered carpet. In a sick, perverted way, Sirius realised this was Voldemort's art, one that the Dark Lord revelled in, the killing of muggleborn.
Casting Homos revellium toward Harry's room, his eyes bugged. The tell-tale red sign of another human was clear, yet tiny, and Sirius' heart rose, when he realised it was infant Harry. He crept into the room, ignoring the ashes against the wall, and reached into the crib and scooped Harry out. He cradled the baby, daring to hope that this young lad was going to survive. Sirius knew that he needed to rush and seek medical attention for Harry. He bundled the babe, and rushed out of the house, his grief, not yet turning to anger over the betrayal of his mate.
Rushing into the wizarding hospital of St Mungos, he sought out the Black family Healer, Healer Carrick. Healer Carrick was an experienced healer who had served St Mungos for over 20 years. "Healer, I must ask for your discretion on this check-up, understand? I want nobody to document this visit, there is to be no records of this happening. If people ask, you stood outside for a break, had a twirl of your wand, whatever excuse you can possibly come up with, got it?" stated Sirius, as he stared down the elder healer, who blinked languidly back.
He politely replied "Yes, I understand Lord Black. Whatever it is, it will remain discreet." With that announcement, Sirius handed the bundle, AKA Baby Harry, to the Healer, who cautiously peeled back the layers surrounding the baby. He gasped. Sirius smiled, and looked at the Healer pointedly. The healer nodded, and placed the baby down on an inspection table. Reverently, he started casting diagnostic charms. He stepped back from his work, a few nerve wracking moments later. "There is nothing wrong with him, just some magical exhaustion, and the dilemma of this curse scar. I have checked it out fully, but cannot distinguish what it is. I believe that is residual from Harry's magic, but under what circumstances, I am unsure" Healer Carrick said toward Sirius.
Sirius nodded seriously, and rebundled Harry. "Goodbye Healer, may good fortune find you" and with that cryptic comment, Sirius Black strolled out of the room, into the hallway and made his way downstairs, to main level. Upon opening the main doors, he paused over the threshold. He sniffed the air, breathing deeply, and made his way to his beloved Triumph T140 Bonneville. He patted it fondly, before starting up, and roared down the street, taking Harry with him. He had a responsibility, to both Harry, and to Lily and James. It strengthened his resolve that he was about the do the right thing. He was leaving the country. No one would find him, or Harry.
O0o0o0o0o0oo0o0
The rain and wind whipped Albus Dumbledore's lengthy beard around his face. He marched up to the Potter's house. He was in a foul mood, as he was out of his office when the Potter's house wards had failed, and consequently wasn't able to respond to the instruments telling him the wards had failed. Adding on top of that, he was out of the Headmaster's office. An Auror rushed out of the gate to greet the wizened Headmaster. "Ah, Dawlish, perhaps you would let me know what is happening?" Dumbledore asked the Auror in question, Dawlish. Dawlish looked down for a second, not meeting the aged wizards eyes, and gathered his thoughts.
"Dumbledore, the bodies have been removed, and are in the process of being cremated. Several spells were used which parted the Potter's with their lives. From what I have seen, nobody survived, including Voldemort. We conclude this from the inordinate amount of pure magic that registered with the remaining house wards" replied Dawlish. He looked up, and saw the sorrow etched into Dumbledore's face. Albus' face sagged, appearing the age he really was, but never really felt.
"Thank you Dawlish for the report. I will, if you don't mind, inspect the property, before declaring the wizarding world free of Voldemort" grated out Dumbledore, his heart already sick with grief. He stepped through the door, and started his investigation. Half an hour later he concluded the search for clues, having found none, besides the mysterious ashes. Dumbledore, unwittingly, concluded correctly that this was the remnants of Voldemort's body. His mind traced back to the prophecy, especially the line of either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives. Albus sighed, interpreting the prophecy, he must now look for another child that fits the prophecy, as clearly, Harry Potter died on this fateful night, but Voldemort still lives.
That there was not a clear body of Voldemort is just an indication that his former student had delved deeply into the Dark Arts, and quite possibly made himself almost immortal. His mind wandered. Maybe that Longbottom boy. He's been clearly marked by Voldemort, mentally scarred, from the fate that befell his parents at Voldemort and Bellatrix's hands. Yes. He fits the bill perfectly. Dumbledore, having concluded the thoughts, apparated, firstly to the Daily Prophet to let them know the news, and secondly to Longbottom manor, where he needed to inform Madame Longbottom, that infant Neville, was in fact, the child of the prophecy. His apparition was noticed by a beady eyed rat, who cautiously stole into the house from the back door.
0o0o000o0o0ooo0o0o
Peter clutched his wand fearfully. He stood on the end of a muggle pier, with the options of duelling an enraged Remus Lupin, who was filled with grief, or jumping. Being the coward he was, he jumped, straight into the swirling depths of the black water below. It belatedly occurred to him the irony of jumping into something black. Lupin sent spells raining down around Pettigrew, as the rat escaped. Lupin swore. He had no-one to turn to. Sirius had mysteriously disappeared, and Lupin knew that Peter was the Potter's secret keeper. He apparated into the muggle world, and was swallowed up by a shady looking alley.