Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter; all characters/ settings etc, from the books and or movies are property of J.K Rowling and whatever Movie producer attached additional copyright to the franchise. I write merely for my own amusement and to improve my skills.
Author's comments to follow each chapter as they are re-written.
Prologue
Peter
The rat scuttled through the sewers, hopping over various bits of debris to reach his goal – an open storm drain where the sewer emptied into a river. The small creature carefully swung off the edge of the storm drain and landed on the riverbank, for a moment the rat did not move, whiskers twitching, beady eyes wide in the sunlight. A grey mist hung in the air, so fine and cold it stole away the heat of the sun. The little rat shivered, and with his nose twitching furiously, scuttled off down the riverbank. The air got colder the closer the animagus Peter Pettigrew got to his destination.
The Order of the Phoenix was planning a strike against the Death Eaters, but there had been reports of increased Dementor activity. Peter had taken it upon himself to sneak into the area where the Dementors were supposedly gathering and find out how many of them the Order could be expecting to come up against.
He probably should have told someone where he was going.
But he had really wanted to do something useful, and he wanted to do it himself.
The river ran through a shallow gorge before entering a small, secluded moor. From one edge of the moor to the other, all Peter could see was black robed Dementors. Every so often, the mist would gather around a Dementor, and the being would retch, puking up a blackened, conglomerated soul-mass, which, as it fell from the retching Dementors mouth, formed into yet another Dementor.
'Oh, bloody hell. This is bad, bad, bad.'
A long, dark shadow fell across him, Peter the rat squeaked and scrambled. He didn't make it very far before he was hit with a jet of golden light, and he tumbled out on the sodden bank as a short, plump man with very thin pale hair. His long nose twitched in fear as several black robed, silver masked wizards approached, wands ready.
"What should we do with him?" one asked.
The one standing at the front of the group, who was obviously the leader, replied. "Take him back to my manor. We'll interrogate him there."
"Should we not inform the Dark Lord?"
"Not yet. He may not be consequential enough to warrant our Master's attention. You know what happens to those who waste his time."
There was a flash of red light, and Peter fell to the ground unconscious.
The floor was cold beneath his cheek. Cold, and very hard. Stiffly Peter stretched his aching muscles. Heavy chains clinked with every movement, and Peter stared bleary-eyed through the dark at the thick manacles that were attached to his wrists and ankles. Peter groaned, and lay his head back down on the cold stone, waiting.
The Death Eaters came, and went. Hollow voices rang behind steel masks, demanding information. When Peter refused to answer, they tortured him, eventually leaving when their prisoner was a sobbing, twitching, gibbering mess on the floor.
They would return later, and start the process over again.
Peter could not tell how long it took the Death Eaters to return after each interrogation. There was no way to tell how long he had been a prisoner, or how long it took the Death Eaters to break him. And break him they did. Eventually Peter gave them any answer they wanted, even lying if need be. Anything to stop the pain.
Once broken, Peter was dragged from his cell, and presented as a gift to the Dark Lord himself. Peter was then given a choice, join the ranks of the Death Eaters, or be returned to his cell as a plaything for the faithful.
If death had been an option, Peter would have chosen that, but death was not an option. The Death Eaters had taught Peter the hard lesson that there were so many things much worse than dying, so many things from which dying would be a release.
Numbly, Peter watched as his arm was branded with the Dark Mark. He blinked slowly, and looked up into the red eyes of his new Lord.
"You belong to me now, Wormtail," the Dark Lord smiled, "You'll give me everything I want, won't you?"
"I'm sorry…" He whispered. Peter didn't know to whom he was apologizing, but the Dark Lord paid him no heed.
"You two," the Dark Lord commanded, "Get this wretch out of here. Send him back to his old friends."
Peter was dumped unceremoniously in a gutter somewhere. He lay there, sobbing, until someone – he was not sure just who it was – one of the Order, found him and took him in. Time passed, and it appeared to the others that Peter's emotional scars began to heal. They probably thought that they were helping him by overcome the trauma by allowing him to return to his old position of planner and organizer. But that only gave the Dark Lord more reason to keep summoning him. Peter dreaded the eventual moment when the Mark on his arm would burn black. He never hesitated to answer the summons, as much as he loathed his Dark Lord, he feared even more what the faithful would do if they ever caught him alive again.
James
Dusk, the time of Witches according to Muggles, when those of magic would appear and slink off to secret covens to work Dark and frightful spells in the coming night. Dusk, the time when the setting sun spilled brilliant colours across the sky, deep violets, sultry blues, magnificent magentas and glamorous golds. Dusk, a time of transitions, where those who feared the night would return to the safety of their homes lit by many electric lights, never giving a second glance to the last display of the sun's strength.
In days not so long past, James Potter would not have been watching the sunset, he would have been preparing for a nighttime escapade with his friends. Romping around the fields and forests of Hogwarts under the guise of animals and the light of the full moon. He was a handsome man, quite tall, well built and strong. His short black hair was rumpled, and his eyes were a deep, earthy brown flecked through with gold. Tonight he watched the sun set and wondered how many more sunsets his eyes would ever see.
Streamers and party decorations still hung around the interior of the modest house in Godric's Hollow, a cozy little village in Northern England. James' children, twin boy and girl, had just celebrated their first birthday. Even though the children were technically born on different days, their births had been celebrated together – this year. When they got older, and started inviting friends to their parties, it would be nice to have two separate dates. But for now it was quite convenient to have a party for both children on the same day.
Lily, his wife, was heavy into the third trimester of her second pregnancy, due to deliver sometime in late August. Contemplating the colours of the sunset, James wondered if it was irresponsible of he and Lily to be bringing children into a world so twisted with darkness and uncertainty. There were so many doubts in young James' mind. They were so young; James could only count twenty-one years to his life, perhaps that was too young to have children. Then, was one ever old enough to accept the responsibility of raising children?
"James, Dear? Are you staring out the window again?" Lily asked, very slowly making her way down the stairs from the nursery. She leaned heavily on the railing.
"I was just watching the sun set, Love," he replied, walking over to the stairs to give Lily his shoulder to lean on. As always she looked beautiful, her skin like fine cream, thick hair cascaded from her brow in crimson waves, and her eyes sparkling like fine emeralds, deep, clear and kind.
Lily laughed at him, lightly, almost as though she knew his thoughts and meant to reassure him.
"Are you afraid, love, that you will not see another?"
"If I could be certain, that if by my death you and the children would see a hundred thousand sunsets to come… there would be no fear in me."
"But you are uncertain," Lily murmured.
"There is nothing to give certainty." James sighed, and then looked out the sidelight, "There are times when I am not even certain the sun will rise again in the morning."
"James," she said, "It will be okay. I know we're going to make it through this."
"How can you know that?"
"Call it woman's intuition."
James frowned slightly, then offered the thinnest of smiles to his wife.
"I'm going out again tomorrow," he said quietly. "We've planned a strike at what we believe to be a Death Eater hideout."
Lily didn't say anything; she just leaned against him, arms wrapped about his trim waist, as close as her swollen belly would let her. James burrowed his face into the cove of her neck, smelling the sweet, summertime fragrance of her hair.
Nothing was said, but both knew what the other was thinking, for the same thought passed through both of their minds: would this be the time that James would not come home?
***
At three minutes past midnight, James waited for his partner in a deserted alley in Liverpool. From his current location, James could smell the sharp tang of the ocean, and the rank stench of garbage and rotting seaweed.
Crack.
James turned, wand at the ready. Frank Longbottom had just Apparated into the alley behind him. Frank Longbottom was James' senior partner; they were both Aurors, specially trained Dark Wizard hunters. Frank's wife, Alice, was an Auror as well, but had been away on maternity leave until just recently.
"Have you ever been bitten by a werewolf?" Frank asked.
It was a security question, something that very few people could answer truly. A false answer would result in imprisonment and quite possibly some sort of torture. Frank Longbottom was standing very close to James, wand ready – just in case James answered the question wrong. It was an easy question to answer, but as with every time Frank asked him that question, James hesitated for a second.
"Yes."
That was all James ever replied. One simple word: 'yes.' Only three other people knew the answer to that question, the first was his wife, Lily, the second was Frank, and the third was the werewolf. Only two people knew whom that werewolf was. James, however, was not a werewolf. The gleaming full moon overhead testified to that.
Frank relaxed, a cocky smile on his square, roguish face. He was waiting for James to ask his question. James picked something random; he liked to switch the questions about.
"What does Amortentia smell like to you?"
"Cinnamon, wet earth, and apricots. In other words: my wife."
James chuckled; they saluted each other, and slipped under the folds of invisibility cloaks. The Aurors worked in teams of two; the Chief had individually briefed each pair. The base in question was an old abandoned warehouse on the docks of Liverpool. When the appointed time came, Frank and James moved in. There were no signals, no communications allowed between the Auror teams – supposedly to avoid alerting the Death Eaters to their presence before the trap was sprung.
Of course, the trap was for them.
While taking cover behind a stack of crates, Frank and James exchanged spell fire with at least a dozen Death Eaters.
"Well," Frank said cheerfully, "guess that confirms the Chief as a Death-head."
"Yeah, it does!" James snapped in irritation, ducking back under the cover of the crates as a hex flew overhead. "They're trying to flank us! Why are you smiling? What the bloody hell is there to be smiling about?"
Frank only grinned wider at his young partner's fear and agitation, and confidently replied; "Alice is coming."
They staged a nearly blood-less coupe in the Auror department, the only casualty was the Chief, who took his own life rather than be taken alive. In the end, Alastor Moody was picked by Head of Magical Law Enforcement Bartimus Crouch to replace the old Chief. Life went on, and once more, James returned home to Lily and his children.
***
CRACK! Thud.
Poppet Apparated into the living room, her thin arms wrapped around the bloody neck of a young man barely into adulthood.
"MASTER! MASTER! Poppet has brought him! He is dying! MASTER! MASTER!" Poppet yelled. "HELP! MASTER!"
"Poppet, quit your bellowing," scolded the portrait of an old woman with the look of once great beauty now faded. "You'll wake the children."
"Apologizing Poppet is, Mistress Dorea," Poppet rolled her crystal blue eyes heavenward.
Five other paintings harrumphed in agreement with Dorea; three were of old men, the other two of old women.
James came galloping down the stairs and barrelled around the corner into the living room. He skidded to a stop beside Poppet.
"Poppet, what happened?"
"No time for explaining, or he be dying."
"Right," James quickly surveyed the damage; the young man was struggling to breathe, for his throat had been torn as though bitten by some savage animal. Jagged gouges traced across his face, and shredded through his black robes. His right eye had been completely torn out and a great deal of the surrounding flesh was missing as well. "Bloody Hell, Poppet… what happened? You were supposed to be keeping him out of trouble!"
"Poppet was trying! Only so much she can be doing, Master," the diminutive house-elf protested. Small scratches ran over her baldhead, and a bruise was appearing over one eye.
"Of course, of course. Sorry, Poppet. How did you get him in here anyway… the house is under the Fidelius Charm…"
"Master told Poppet to bring him here if he was in trouble. So Poppet brought him here," Poppet grumbled.
James shook his head in disbelief.
"Well, Grandson, if you're going to save him, you'd better hurry," the portrait of Dorea snapped. "He's absolutely saturated in Dark magic, do exactly as I tell you, and he will live."
"Yes, Grandmother," James replied automatically. He followed the instructions the portrait gave him without question. The curses now fusing with the young man could not be removed, but they could be shaped and moved. Under orders from his grandmother's portrait James rolled and twisted the Dark magic into one spot in the young man's body – his empty right eye socket. Once Lily emerged from the main kitchen, she aided James, employing powerful healing magic to close the gaping wounds. When they were finished, the youth's body was crisscrossed with scars and a sinister ball of green light burned in the dark hollow of his right eye socket.
He blinked open his good left eye, opened his mouth and tried to speak. The only sound he made was a rough, broken gasp.
"It's okay, Regulus. You're among friends," Lily said gently. "You're going to be okay."
James left Lily to comfort the quavering boy; he had a couple of calls to make. He turned to the Two-way Mirror on the wall.
"Mirror, Mirror on the wall, I would like to make a call. He is the keeper of Gringotts' money book, the one I seek is Griphook," said James to the mirror.
The surface swirled and the face of Griphook appeared.
"Ah, Mr. James Potter, what can I do for you?" the goblin asked.
"I need a favour. A carriage out of England, for a friend."
"You know the cost, are you willing to pay it?"
"I am. You've access to take what you require from my vault."
Griphook nodded.
"Consider it done. The carriage will arrive at precisely twenty minutes past the eleventh hour. Be ready to leave."
"Thank you, Griphook. Oh, and my house-elf will be coming with some portraits and things I want to store for the time being. I should like you to allow her access to the vaults as well."
"It shall be done. It's always a pleasure doing business with you, James Potter. Good luck to you."
The Mirror returned to normal, reflecting the image of James and the room behind him.
***
Albus Dumbledore came to visit the Potters as winter rapidly approached. The children were playing quietly on the floor, or in Harry's case, just above it on a miniature broomstick. Lily sat across the coffee table from Dumbledore, the new baby swaddled on her lap. Little Iris Rose Potter had been born a month and a half ago on the twenty-ninth of August. The wizened Wizard watched the children with blue twinkling eyes while James made tea and hot scones in the kitchen.
James set the tray on the coffee table.
"Ah," Dumbledore sighed appreciatively taking a bite of the scones. "These are quite good, but not quite as wonderful as Poppet's. Where is your house-elf these days James? I haven't seen her around."
"Poppet… is doing something for me…" James said evasively. "But, what brings you here, Dumbledore? What's going on?"
"Voldemort is seeking you, both of you, Lily and James," Dumbledore said. James and Lily didn't flinch at the mention of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, they were used to Dumbledore's blatant disregard for the Taboo on his name. It did not really matter anyway, because he was afraid of Dumbledore and would not attack while the old wizard was around.
"He seeks everyone who opposes him, Dumbledore," James replied blandly. "That's nothing new."
"Both you and Lily have defied him thrice."
"So have Frank and Alice."
"James, please try to understand the seriousness of this situation. It is more than just you and Lily that he seeks. He seeks the death of your son as well."
Lily gasped, rapidly twisting about in her seat to look at Harry, almost as if she had expected him to be suddenly snatched away.
James paused with a scone halfway to his mouth; he flipped the pastry nervously in his fingers, and then set it down on the saucer.
"Why? Why would he be after a baby?" James asked.
Dumbledore stroked his long silver beard, "I'm not sure how much to tell you… no. No, that is wrong of me. I must tell you, because you must understand how important you have become, not only to the Order, but to England, and mayhap the entire world."
James and Lily exchanged a look of undiluted scepticism.
Impervious to their doubt, Dumbledore forged on, "A little more than a year ago, I was hosting an interview to fill the position of Divinations Instructor at Hogwarts, and while I am often doubtful about the abilities of many so-called Seers, Professor Trelawney does genuinely have some prophetic ability. She spoke a prophecy – a true prophecy – about a baby who will be born at the end of July, a baby who will be able to defeat the Dark Lord."
"And he believes that that baby is Harry?" said Lily.
Solemnly, Dumbledore nodded.
"James, we have to leave England."
"And we'll be hunted to the ends of the earth if we do," James frowned. "We can't run. We have to disappear."
Lily held Iris just a little bit closer, casting anxious glances over the twins.
Sirius, and Dumbledore arrived the next day the supplies to cast the spell, a small incense burner and various packets of rare spices. While Dumbledore set up the necessary components on the coffee table, Sirius pulled James aside to talk.
"Are you sure you want to go through with this, Prongs?" Sirius said.
"I have little choice, Padfoot, I have my family to think of."
Sirius nodded. "I'm not knocking you for it. Wouldn't dream of it." He shuffled his feet a bit, "But I was just thinking, I'm your best friend right?" James nodded and Sirius continued, "So everyone is gonna figure you'd pick me for Secret Keeper, right?" Again, James nodded and Sirius continued, "What if we let everyone believe that, but have Wormy or Moony do it?"
"Dumbledore say's there is an informer in the Order. Someone who's been playing both sides," said James, "and both Moony and Wormtail..."
"Moony's infiltrating the 'wolves, and Wormy's just being Wormy… you know how he is."
"He did disappear for a long time back then, Sirius. And nobody's been able to figure out where he went or how he ended up like he did."
Sirius frowned thoughtfully.
"Maybe I should just do it," James sighed. "That would eliminate any chance…"
"You'd have to give up being an Auror," Sirius said bluntly. "You'd have to stay put until the war was over. Could you do that, Prongs?"
James shook his head, and sighed.
Sirius pulled three small ties of hair from his pocket, one was pale blonde, the other light brown, and the third was black. "Then you have to choose which one of us you want. I'm just thinking you'd be safer using me as a decoy, instead of the real deal. That's all."
James studied the locks of hair, and after a moment, plucked the blond lock from Sirius' fingers. "Moony's in enough danger as is, and… Dumbledore won't pull him from the field for anything. He's the only 'wolf we have on our side. Peter might like being able to stay out of the way… yeah… I think he'd like that… wouldn't he?"
Sirius shrugged.
"Should we tell Dumbledore?" James mused.
"Why bother? What's the point of using a decoy if you tell everyone it's a fake? He's too busy burning spices… he won't notice if the hair you throw in isn't black."
James nodded. Sirius' logic was sound enough.
Peter
"Peter, Peter," said the Dark Lord. "You are hiding things from me. You are lying to me."
Surrounded by the opulence of a grand manor house, the Dark Lord held court with his most faithful and trusted Death Eaters, the staunchest and most fanatical members of his army – The Inner Circle. Peter now knew them all by name, Lucius Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, his wife Bellatrix, his brother Rabastan, Severus Snape, Jack Avery, Jeffery Goyle, Alexander Crabbe, Igor Karkaroff, Walden Mcnair, and Simon Nott.
"N-no, my Lord! I am not! I swear!" Peter simpered.
"Where are the Potters?"
Peter Pettigrew sobbed into the decadent Persian carpet at his Lord's feet. Time and time again, the Dark Lord had ripped information from Peter's mind by force. Now, Peter's mind was almost too broken to stave off the intrusions, the Dark Lord could have any information he wanted that way – except for the location of the Potters' home. The Secret Keeper had to speak for the secret to be given.
"Send for Greyback," the Dark Lord commanded.
The door opened, and closed. Some time later, it opened again.
Peter smelt him long before he saw him. Fenrir Greyback, self-proclaimed Leader of the Pack, a big, rangy man with snarled greying hair and whiskers.
"Hail the Dark Lord, Master of Chaos and example to us all," Greyback said, bowing low. "How may I be of service to you, my Lord?"
The Dark Lord placed a hand gently on Peter's head, stroking the fine pale hair almost lovingly – like a mother soothing a frightened child.
"Kill Remus Lupin," commanded the Dark Lord. Peter startled, rising off his knees. The Dark Lord clenched his fist, twisting his long fingers in Peter's hair and yanking hard. Peter yelped.
Greyback laughed – a rough, barking sound that was reminiscent of a large dog.
"Remus Lupin? Well, I guess I could."
"N-no! Don't!" Peter pulled free from the Dark Lord's grip and grovelled. "Not Moony, please!"
"I can still recant my order, Peter. But why should I? Peter, Peter," the Dark Lord sighed, "Why do you bother to try protecting them? They're not really your friends…" the Dark Lord's voice was soft, and soothing. "They never really included you, did they?"
Peter sniffled into the carpet.
"Do they ever tell you how valuable you are, like I do?" the Dark Lord continued. "Peter, you have been my most valued informer, my cause has been strengthened so much by your inclusion to my team."
Mutely Peter screwed his eyes shut, waggling his head.
"Was it not Moony who included you in that little troupe – the Marauders? Was it not Moony who saw the worth in poor, fat, stupid Peter? If any of your so-called friends were worth saving, would it not be Moony?"
"NO!" Peter wailed. "I'm their friend! They're all my friends! J-James trusts me! Sirius trusts me!"
"He trusts you? Peter, how can you be so sure of that?" The Dark Lord walked in a slow circle around Peter, circling like a vulture. "You've been sidelined, shoved aside for those more capable."
"It was for my protection," Peter sniffled, the location of the Potter's house burned in his mind, but he kept his mouth shut. Damn Sirius. I didn't want this. Why are they making me do this? Why couldn't they have just left me out of this? Why couldn't they have seen what happened? Why weren't they paying more attention to what I was doing? Why didn't they notice?
"And just why would you need protection, Peter? Is it because your friends think you're too stupid, too lazy, and too worthless to take care of yourself? Or – " The Dark Lord paused directly in front of Peter's quivering nose. " – is it because you are the Potters' Secret Keeper and you have indeed been lying to me all this time?"
Peter lifted his eyes, barely conscious of the tears now staining the fine, dark leather of the Dark Lord's boots. He whimpered. He wanted to obey; he really did want to believe the soft promises of the Dark Lord. At the same time he wanted to believe in his friends, wanted to believe that everything the Dark Lord said was a lie.
"Save yourself the pain, Peter, and tell me what I want to know," the Dark Lord whispered soothingly, looking down into Peter's watery eyes, his voice carrying a faint edge. "Bella is getting sick of your pathetic display, can you not see the anger and hate in her eyes… if you do not tell me what I want to know…"
Peter hung his head.
The Dark Lord sighed, "Bella…"
"NO! D-don't let her hurt me! I'll tell you!" Peter crackled, sobbing into the Dark Lord's boots. "Th – th – they are – are at n- n - number n- nine… L-lion's R-Ruh-Road…G-G-G-G-G-G-G-G-Godric-c-c-c's Huh –huh –Holl- o- ow."
"Number Nine, Lion's Road, Godric's Hollow?" The Dark Lord repeated.
Dumbly, Peter nodded, hot tears of shame running down his cheeks. It wasn't his fault.
"Thank-you, Peter, you have proven your worth to me once again," the Dark Lord murmured. He casually tipped his head towards Greyback. "Either the Werewolf called Lupin joins us or dies by weeks end."
Greyback bowed, and walked out of the room.
Frank
"Well, well," Frank Longbottom mused, taking a seat in a plain wooden chair in front of a bound and kneeling prisoner. "Mr Mulciber. What are we going to do with you?"
The Death Eater launched a wad of spittle into Frank's face.
Casually, Frank fetched a handkerchief from his pocket, and wiped his face.
"There's no need for that," said Frank. "I just want to have a little chat."
Mucliber sneered.
"Fine," Frank sighed, "We can do this the hard way." The Auror lifted Mulciber's chin and looked into his eyes. 'Legimens'. There was a brief struggle, as Mulciber resisted the intrusion, then brief flashes flickered across Frank's awareness. Images of Remus Lupin locked in a cage, Greyback, and a forest near a deep gorge.
"What was that? Where is Lupin?" Frank demanded.
Mulciber merely laughed.
Shaken, Frank left the room, and sent a message to Dumbledore.
Peter
"Happy Halloween, James," Peter tittered, nervously glancing around the rather untidy kitchen of the Potter household.
"Hmm? Oh, Happy Halloween, Peter," James said in a daze. With a sigh, James slumped down in a worn wooden chair and plunked his head down on the scrubbed tabletop. "Is it really Halloween already?"
"Yes," said Peter, "it is." Softly Peter placed a hand on James' shoulder, "Don't worry old friend," he said, "it will all be over soon."
James looked up at Peter curiously, and opened his mouth as though to ask a question, but was cut off by the tortured wailing of Iris. James' shoulders slumped, his eyelids drooped just a little bit lower. He sighed, and laboriously heaved himself out of his chair.
"It's my turn to settle her… Lily's still trying to get some sleep… I'll be back in a moment… sorry…"
"Oh," Peter said quickly, "Not a problem."
As soon as James left the kitchen, Peter scurried over to the refrigerator, and peered at the neat row of formula bottles. Lily, like any good potioneer, had then all neatly colour coordinated with different coloured rings, blue for breakfast, yellow for lunch and red for dinner. He quickly unscrewed the tops of the three red bottles, added a few drops of the Drought of Living Death, re-fastened the tops, shook the bottles vigorously, and put them back in the fridge. It wouldn't hurt them, Peter thought, if he'd calculated correctly, the potion would just make the children ill enough that Lily and James would take them to St. Mungo's. Then they wouldn't be at the house when the Dark Lord showed up to kill them. Then Peter would come back and destroy the house so that Lily and James would have to move again. And then Peter would go live in a sewer somewhere in New York.
It wasn't the best plan Peter had ever come up with, but it should have worked.
Rose
Rose Evans sat snuggled under an afghan, drinking tea and reading a book, in her cozy suburban London townhouse, ignoring the droning voice of the six o'clock news announcer.
"Mum. Mum are you there?" a panicked voice echoed dimly down the hall. "Mum, answer me, please."
Rose looked up from her book, momentarily baffled, then scrambled off the couch and down the hall to the ornate mirror that hung in the foyer above the catchall table for letters and gloves.
Rose looked into the mirror, noting with minor reservation the grey streaking through her chestnut-coloured hair, and the wrinkles around her emerald eyes.
"Mum? Mum where are you? Answer me," the voice said again, clearly coming out of the mirror.
Rose licked her lips and gingerly reached out to touch the mirror. Her reflection swirled and the face of her daughter, Lily, appeared in its place.
"I'm here, Lily, what's wrong?" Rose asked, slightly awed at the mirror.
"I need you and Daddy to come watch Harry for a while," Lily said in a near panic.
"What's wrong dear?"
"I have to take Iris and Wistaria to the hospital, something is horribly wrong." Tears formed in Lily's eyes, and she wrung her hands.
"What happened?"
"Something must have been wrong with their formula, they started acting oddly after their dinner… James dropped Harry's bottle, it broke, and he's fine."
"Its all right, dear. Will the teapot still work?"
Lily nodded, "Did Wormy tell you where the house was?"
"Yes dear, he came by yesterday. We'll see you soon. Not a moment to waste."
Lily breathed a sigh of relief and disappeared from the mirror. The mirror stood blank for a second, then Rose's image returned to the surface.
"Eric! ERIC! We've got to go to Lily's to watch Harry for a while!" Rose shouted up the stairs, and headed to the kitchen. When Eric joined her they stood around a fine china teapot sitting untouched on the counter.
"On three…" said Eric. "One, two… three!"
They laid their hands on the teapot, and Rose felt a tug just behind her navel. Everything seemed to condense and go swirling into the teapot. The next moment Eric and Rose were standing in the kitchen of Lily and James' house.
Lily and James were there, each one holding one of their two girls in their arms. The children looked very pale, with blue tinges on their cheeks and lips. Harry was strapped securely in his high chair, clearly becoming agitated about being held still for so long.
"Harry's finished his dinner," James said as soon as they arrived. "We'll be back as soon as we can."
Then, he and Lily disappeared with a loud crack.
Rose shook her head slightly in amazement, and released Harry from the high chair. He was heavy, and getting big. Rose lamented that her daughter lived in such a different world, and as such, she rarely ever got to see her grandchildren. Except for that brat Dudley. She could already tell that Petunia was hopelessly spoiling that child. To each their own, Rose thought, smiling brightly at Harry, waggling her head and rubbing noses with him, to which she was rewarded with a delighted giggle. Rose and Eric played with Harry for about an hour before Rose took him upstairs to be bathed and put to bed.
Eric was feeling uneasy, restless, something wasn't right. There was a tension in the air that was almost palpable.
Eric wandered around the main floor of his daughter's house and found that a silver mirror had been curiously left out of place on the coffee table.
Gazing into his own reflection, Eric idly thought about his son-in-law. James was a good boy, a little rough around the edges, but being a husband and a father would have that smoothed over in no time. The lad did have a dangerous job, maybe next time James came around Eric would talk to him about finding a more suitable profession for a father of three. The more Eric thought about James, the more the face in the mirror began to look like James.
"Must be some sort of magic mirror," Eric reasoned, as he usually did when something of Lily's did something odd. He was not overly worried, if the mirror had been dangerous, Lily would not have left it in a place where it could easily be grabbed by young hands. Grinning he took the mirror upstairs to Rose.
"James!" Rose said happily, "Your back, are the girls alright?"
Eric laughed. "Rose, It's me. Eric. I found some crazy mirror that makes you look like the person you're thinking about."
"Don't josh with me, James."
"I'm not joshing, Rose. Look, here. Just look in the mirror and think about someone else."
Rose rolled her eyes and looked into the mirror, and thought about her daughter, Lily. She gasped in surprise as her reflection altered to take on the features of her daughter.
"It really does! Oh! How amazing!"
Eric and Rose laughed.
"You look lovely Rose. Lily always did take after you, you look just like you did when we got married."
"And you look nothing like yourself."
Eric shrugged, and looked down into the crib, where his grandson was sitting quietly, but stubbornly refusing to settle down to sleep. "And how is my grandson?" Eric asked the boy, beaming.
Harry tilted his head to the side in confusion, then squealed happily and held his hands out to his grandfather. Eric laughed, and swung Harry up out of the crib. They played airplanes and horses, laughing and squealing until Harry's eyes began to droop and Eric set him back down in the crib.
Rose smiled knowingly at her husband, and tucked Harry in.
Eric smiled and headed quietly down the stairs.
No Trick-or-Treaters came to the door. Eric-as-James watched the passer-by in the streets outside from the windows. Adults and children passed by the house as though they could not see it, Eric suspected they couldn't, one of those magic things, like that old pub, The Leakey Caldron they'd had to take Lily through to get her school books years ago.
The front door suddenly opened and Eric-as-James dashed to the front foyer. The intruder was calmly closing the front door behind himself, before turning to regard Eric-as-James with cruel, red, slit-pupiled eyes. His skin was pale as milk and drawn tight across his face. The man was Voldemort, Eric was sure of it. No other being in England could possibly exude such an aura of evil.
"Darling! It's him! Get out of here!" Eric-as-James bellowed. Hopefully the teapot would still work. Voldemort raised his wand, Eric-as-James let out a primal scream and rushed the Dark Lord.
"Avada Kadavra."
There was a brilliant flash of green light, and a noise like a mighty rushing wind hurtling towards Eric-as-James. The light and the wind passed over him, his heart stopped, and he fell to the ground, dead.
Lord Voldemort walked over his body to reach the stairs.
Upstairs, Rose-as-Lily had been quietly straightening out the mess of toys strewn across the nursery floor. She heard Eric's desperate warning, and knew that there was no time to flee. Rose slammed closed the door, locked it from the inside and rushed back to Harry. Harry awoke with a start, making small noises of distress and reaching towards what appeared to be his mother for comfort. Rose-as-Lily was standing in front of his crib when the door to the nursery, unlocked, and opened.
"I want the boy," hissed Voldemort.
"You can't have him. I won't let you," Rose-as-Lily defied him.
"Get out of my way, woman. I will kill you."
"No. I will not be moved," Rose-as-Lily defied him again. She stood fully facing him, serene in her acceptance of what was to come.
"You do not belong here, surrender the child and return to where you belong."
"I am where I belong, between you and Harry," defied Rose-as-Lily for the third time.
'I told you, Daughter, what I would do if I had the chance. You begged us to leave. You told us this war was not for us. I cannot work magic, cannot weave wonders as you do, but I do what I can. When all else fails, to stand between those I love and death.' Rose-as-Lily did not look away from her death; her daughter would not hear her last good-bye. "May my last gift to you be life."
Voldemort sighed. He didn't notice the rose-gold light building up within Rose's chest.
"Very well. Have it your way. Avada Kadavra."
The burst of green light triggered a weaker flash of rose-gold light, and Rose Evans died with a smile.
"Such a pity," Voldemort tisked, stepping over Rose-as-Lily's body. "Your death has changed nothing. The boy will still die."
Voldemort paused to study the object of his long quest. The boy had grown large, nearly big enough to see over the bars of his crib. It was of no matter now, he would soon be dead, and Voldemort would have to worry about him no longer.
"Avada Kadavra."
James
Iris and Wistaria slept quietly in the small hospital beds. The rosy flush returned to their cheeks, and lips. Lily softly stroked Wistaria's dark hair, and kissed Iris' red curls. They were going to be all right. Smiling softly in relief, James kissed each of his daughters.
While he waited for a Healer to return and give the all clear that the girls were free to go, James pulled a pair of letter from his pocket. He had shoved them there in the mix up of the girls' illness, and had yet to read them.
One was from his sister Lenore.
The snake has the rat in its coils, and the dog is chasing the rat. Beware of betrayal, lest the snake take them both.
James sighed; his sister had the gift of Sight, but rarely ever received a premonition early enough to effectively warn anyone. And she had the same bad habit as most Seers of talking in symbols and riddles.
The second letter was written in tiny, crapped handwriting.
The Dark Lord and found your Secret Keeper, and broke his mind. I would suggest leaving immediately, if not sooner.
P.S Greyback will kill Lupin unless he joins the Dark Lord. I probably wouldn't trust him the next time you meet him.
James gaped at the letter, hardly believing what he was seeing. He showed the last letter to Lily.
Lily paled, "Oh no! Harry! My parents! James you have to go get them!"
A blazing alarm went off inside James' head. "The alarms gone off at the house," he said. "We're too late."
"You don't know that for certain! There may still be a chance."
James nodded, and Dissapparated.
He Apparated into the backyard, and was immediately rocked back on his heels by what he saw. The house was on fire and much of one side had been blown off. That was where the nursery should have been. James screamed for Harry, for Eric, and for Rose. There was no answer.
He blasted in the back door and clamoured over the rubble. He passed through the kitchen and as he ran down the hall to the front foyer he saw something that nearly convinced him he had gone mad. James was lying dead on the floor.
'This isn't really happening…'
Cautiously James crept closer to his body, a hand was lying on the chest. It was the left hand, and there were two rings, a gold wedding band and another, a heavy man's ring with a knobbly blue stone set into it. The ring brought clarity to the confusion. James knew that ring. It belonged to Eric. Polyjuice potion then, or transfiguration, or the mirror of disguise you stupidly left on the coffee table…James' Auror training kicked in, and the little voice of logic grew stronger. Eric was here, that meant Harry and Rose were most likely as well. Panicking would not find them if they were alive. Calm was best. Turn off the emotions and act, quickly and efficiently. There was no point in going up the stairs, as James had intended to do before he'd found 'himself' dead, because the nursery had collapsed into the living room.
He had to force his way past smouldering, twisted floorboards to get into the room. The children's cribs were scorched and deformed. James riffled through the mess, searching for some clue as to what happened. He found Lily half covered by a pair of empty black robes. She was dead. James touched her cooling skin, hands shaking he brushed back her lustrous red hair.
'Earrings… Lily wasn't wearing earrings. They're cute… little glass roses…just like the ones I gave to Rose last Christmas…'
"Rose…" James croaked hoarsely. So both Rose and Eric had been toying with the mirror. And Voldemort had mistaken the helpless muggles for his quarry. He shifted through the rubble, shoving aside pieces of lumber, smouldering toys and twisted nursery furniture. Harry was not in the house. Quick stepping over the mess to the shattered front window James saw two figures arguing out in the street. One was twice the size of the other in height and breadth, Hagrid the Half Giant, and the other was James' best friend, Sirius. Sirius looked distraught, holding his hands out to Hagrid as though asking for something. The wind carried a few snatches of their conversation.
"Give him to me, Hagrid, I'm his godfather," Sirius said.
"Sorry, Sirius, I can't. Orders from Dumbledore, y' see. I'm t' take Harry t' a safe place."
Sirius raked his hand through his hair, glancing fervertavly about. The pain was evident on his tortured face, the shine of tears sparkled on his cheeks.
"Take my bike. I won't be needing it again," Sirius said at last, and Dissapartated.
James didn't make it out into the street before Hagrid had Sirius' bike in the air. In the distance, James heard the pops and cracks of other Apparitions. One such crack resounded behind him. He whirled about – right into the wild-eyed gaze of Bellatrix Lestrange. Before she could raise her wand James Dissapparated.
Lupin
Smoking torches dimly lit Greyback's cavern, shadows danced along the rough granite walls, and through the heavy iron bars of Remus' cage. Greyback kept a Spartan house, there was a rough pallet on the floor, a crude woollen blanket, and a hollow in the floor served as hearth, piled around it were a few dirty pots and water jars. A solitary, rickety table escorted by a lone stool was more of a junk landing than a place for eating. Remus' wand was up on that table, along with the keys to his pen.
For the hundredth time in his week of captivity Remus stretched his arm out through the bars. The table was hopelessly out of reach, the werewolf didn't know why he kept trying, only that as the week drew on, and the moon drew closer to full, Remus grew more anxious to be free. The full moon was tomorrow, and he needed to get out of this pen. He had to break free. Shoulder pressed against the bars Remus stretched until he felt the strain in his muscles.
"Accio wand. Accio! Damnit!" Remus growled. Of course, nothing happened. With a noise that was half howl-half growl, Remus threw himself bodily against the bars.
Greyback walked in laughing.
"Looks like someone is finally taking the muzzle off the beast inside," Greyback cackled. He squatted down just outside of Remus' reach. Greyback grinned, showing his large, pointed canines. "Have you finally realized what you are?"
"I know what I am!" Remus growled. "That doesn't mean I have to live like an animal! Let me go, Greyback," he clenched the bars in a white-knuckled grip. "Let me out."
"Oh, I'll let you out, Remus. The Packs' here to see you."
Remus blinked, the Pack was assembled before the full moon. That was never a good omen. As the members of the Pack filtered into the living part of Greyback's cave, Greyback snatched the keys off the table. When everyone was assembled, young and old alike, Greyback tossed the keys to Remus.
"If you want out, open the door."
Remus fumbled with the keys.
"Will you run with us tomorrow?" Greyback asked casually.
It was a baited question. Remus never ran with the Pack during the full moon. Among the ferals that made up the Pack were many who did not always run, but everyone had at some point. Everyone except him. The thought of shedding human blood made Remus sick, he always locked himself away during the full moon to prevent himself from injuring or killing someone. He hesitated with the lock.
"I can't," Remus said.
Greyback nodded. The faces of many of the werewolves he considered to be friends fell.
"I'm sorry," said Remus turning the key in the lock. The sharp click seemed to echo in the eerily silent cave.
"Please reconsider," said one of the Pack.
"Remus," Greyback said, suddenly very serious, "you're as good as my child – " Remus snarled. " – and one of the few of us that can work magic. Its time you gave up that lone wolf gig and joined the Pack like a proper wolf."
"We need you, Remus," said another. "The Pack isn't complete without you."
"Run with us, just once. You might like it," said another. It was Sansa, a wild, beautiful woman and secretly Remus' fiancée. She had joined the Pack to protect him, and run with them when he would not. Sansa did not share the Pack's anger towards humans, but she did love to run.
Remus crawled out of the low pen, his knees cracking when he stood upright for the first time in a week. Sansa rushed to embrace him. He held her, breathing in the smell of earth and pine from her untameable mane of tawny hair.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, releasing Sansa. The look in her eyes nearly broke his heart. Dark, soulful and wide, Sansa's eyes begged him to say what he could not. Sansa's eyes told him what would happen next.
"Not as sorry as we are," said Greyback from somewhere behind Remus. "Kill him."
***
Remus crawled, tripped, stumbled, limped his way forward – over rocks and roots, hard earth that tore up his nails. He pulled himself along with the few fingers that weren't broken, kicking and scrambling. A blood-curdling scream echoed off not far in the distance – Sansa had just paid the price for allowing him to escape. She had drawn them off, and the Pack had caught up with her first. Remus did not doubt they would soon reach him.
The edge of a steep ravine loomed just beyond the next line of trees. Remus pulled himself up, and stumbling from tree to tree, came to the edge of the ravine. It was a long way down to the bottom, a trip filled with loose, jagged rock and brambles.
"Give up, Lupin," growled Greyback as the Pack broke through the trees. "You can't outrun us. Make it easy on yourself."
"I can't," said Remus, he half-turned so he was looking at Greyback and the others. "You must understand, I just can't. I am… sorry. I wish I could belong with you… but I just can't."
"You can't protect them anymore Lupin!" Greyback growled. "By now the Dark Lord has already killed the Potters, and Black will be dealt with soon! Join us and live!" He lunged forward.
A small smile played upon Remus' cut and bleeding lips, peace filled his golden eyes. Remus let himself fall sideways over the edge of the ravine. He tumbled and slid, skidded and bounced all the way down. A flock of wintering birds bated and took to the sky as he tore into the trees at the bottom.
Greyback and the others watched his dissent dispassionately.
"Let's go," said Greyback when no movement could be seen in the trees below and the birds settled back into the trees. "He's dead."
Dumbledore
The ash in the pit was still warm, and the cage was empty. Dumbledore frowned as he inspected the empty cavern that was home to Fenrir Greyback. There were signs of an intense struggle that had left the cavern, as many as twenty others had been in pursuit of two. Following the trail, the ancient wizard came upon the body of a young tawny hair woman. She lay in the middle of a small break in the trees, surrounded by churned up dirt, blood and broken trees. Sorrowful he touched her blood encrusted cheek. The body was cool. She had died several hours ago. Murmuring an apology to her, Dumbledore moved on.
His tracking led him a short while later to the edge of a ravine, and the trail ended there.
"Hmmmm," said Dumbledore, crystal blue eyes sweeping over the steep slopes of the ravine. "Could he have? Perhaps." Employing a simple spell, Dumbldore floated down into the trees at the bottom of the ravine.
A broken mess of what might have been a man lay crumpled and curled around the base of a large tree. Dumbledore ran to him, and gingerly turned him to see his face.
"Remus?" Dumbledore whispered. The man was barely breathing.
The man groaned, and half-opened one of his honey-gold eyes. "Dumbledore?" he slurred.
"It's alright, Remus. I'm here. You're safe now."
"Just let me die," Remus coughed, and closed his eye.
Dumbledore shook his head sadly. He gathered Remus in his arms, and Dissappartated.
James
James Apparated back to the hospital. Lily only had to look at his face to know. Her whole body caved under the weight of her despair.
"The house was destroyed, Lily… and… your parents are dead," James said quietly. Lily just stared at her husband in shock for a long moment, then quietly started to cry. Tears flowed down her cheeks in a steady stream, dripping off her chin and onto the floor. James wrapped his arms about her, enfolding her in a gentle embrace. He held her like that for a long time. "I was seen. Bellatrix saw me."
"What about Harry? What happened to Harry?" Lily sniffed.
"He's alive, Hagrid has him. Dumbledore has a safe place for him."
Lily started to laugh and cry at the same time, overwhelmed by relief and sorrow.
"You need to take the children and get out of England. Bellatrix knows I'm alive and she's going to come after me, I know it. She's insane."
"What about my parents? I… I'll have to arrange a funeral…"
"Your sister can handle the details…"
"Petunia? Is 'Tuney all right? Have you seen her?"
James shook his head. "Lily… please…"
"Alright, James… I'll go. How will you find us again?"
"My parents once had a ski cabin in Switzerland, it's been out of use a long time, but it should be sound enough. The goblins can take you there. And if you can't stay there… Poppet will be able to find you."
The goblins arrived just before dawn. He talked briefly with the driver, an ancient goblin wrapped in black, only the ends of his ears and the tip of his long nose poked out from under his hat and scarf. The driver cracked the whip, and the team of six black horses sprang forward, pulling the carriage quickly out of sight.
Wormtail had been broken, and Moony was next, James knew he had to find Padfoot before his best friend did something really stupid.
James found him too late. Wormtail and Padfoot were arguing loudly in the streets of London, surrounded by a growing crowd of early rising muggles trying to get to work. James pressed through the crowd.
"PADFOOT! WORMY! STOP!" He bellowed. They didn't hear him, or they weren't listening.
James was close enough to see the tears in their eyes, and far enough away to see the 'Warning, Underground Gas Line' sign.
"You'll pay for what you've done, Wormtail," Sirius pulled his wand, a wild look in his eyes.
"S-S-Sirius… Lily and James… How c-could you –" Peter stuttered.
James never did hear what Peter was trying to say, because Sirius screamed, and the street exploded.
Most of the muggles including James were knocked to the ground. Sirius was laughing, standing over a large, smoking crater. Peter was gone.
'Sirius… how could you?' James struggled to rise, his ears ringing from the blast. 'He's gone mad! Completely mad! The whole world has gone mad!' James shook his head, trying to clear the ringing from his ears. He couldn't believe what he'd just seen, Sirius had killed Peter – destroyed him. There was nothing left, just a smoking hole in the ground. He had to find Harry.
James' pocket Two-Way Mirror had been broken when he fell. He now had no way of contacting anyone in the Order. He Appartated to the Shrieking Shack and took the tunnel to Hogwarts. Once inside the castle James made a beeline for Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle jumped out of the way when given the password (blood lollies) and James took the stairs in fours. He stopped outside the door; inside Snape and Dumbledore were talking.
More accurately, Snape was crying, and Dumbledore was doing a very poor job of consoling him. The aged wizard spoke nothing but the truth, but at a time like this the truth only mocked the anguished potions Professor. Dumbledore lamented that Snape, like James and Lily, had placed his trust in the wrong person. Snape had asked Voldemort to spare Lily, and Dumbledore to save them all. James had never felt like such a bloody arrogant wanker in his entire life. Snape risked his own life in coming to Dumbledore, revealing he was a Death Eater, and begged for Lily's life – even James' life, and the lives of the children from two different people, despite the long and bitter hatred between James and the Potions Master.
Ear pressed against the door, James heard everything. His head reeled. Dumbledore was going to send Harry to family. The boy would be protected enough there until James could be certain it was safe to go get him. The young Auror did not know what to do; he needed guidance, and had no idea whom he could trust anymore. He wanted to talk with Dumbledore, but he did not want to have to face Snape at that exact moment. The last person James wanted to see him crying was Snape. And, James knew that nothing would ever possibly be made right between them if Snape ever discovered that James had heard him crying. The only other person James could think of was his Auror partner, Frank.
Snape
The pain in his heart threatened to send him across the Styx; Snape was bent over double, leaning on Dumbledore's desk for support.
"You said that you would protect her!" The Potions Master yelled at Dumbledore.
"It seems that Lily and James put their faith in the wrong person. Much like you, didn't you have hopes that Voldemort would spare her?"
Snape could not find the words to reply. Dumbledore mocked him, telling him only Lily's son survived, and that the boy had Lily's eyes, exactly Lily's eyes. Lily had been his best friend for years – they'd drifted apart during the war, being on opposite sides and everything. But she'd even sent him a Christmas card last year, and a letter just after the twins' birthday with a little picture in it and everything, and another just after the birth of her third child. He knew damn well that the twins had Lily's eyes.
"I wish…I wish I were dead…" Severus choked out, his breathing shallow and choppy.
"What good would that do anyone?" said Dumbledore pitilessly. "If you ever truly cared for Lily Evans, then your way forward is clear. Help me protect her son."
Severus peered at Dumbledore through a haze of pain. The Headmaster's words took a long time to sink in.
"From what? The Dark Lord is gone… vanished…"
" – The Dark Lord will return, and Harry Potter will be in terrible danger when he does."
Slowly Severus regained control of himself, and mastered his own breathing. At last he said, "Very well. Very well. But never – never tell, Dumbledore! This must be between us! Swear it! I cannot bear… especially Potter's son… I want your word!"
"My word, Severus, that I shall never reveal the best of you?" Dumbledore sighed, looking down into Snape's ferocious, anguished face. "If you insist…"
"Where will you take him?" Snape interjected suddenly.
"To his family of course, he will be safe there until the time comes for him attend school."
"I tried to warn them, Dumbledore. I tried!" Snape howled. "Too little… too late." Tears caught in a lump in his throat, and Snape had to fight to control himself once more.
Dumbledore said nothing; he just let the heart-sore man cry out his pain in peace.
Frank
Frank had never thought he'd see James Potter alive again, when much to his surprise, James Potter appeared in the garden. The scar at the base of his neck on the left side was proof enough to Frank that the despondent young man in his azaleas was indeed James Potter. Frank listened to the whole story, from Sirius' failed bluff, to eavesdropping on Dumbledore and Snape. James clearly did not know what to do next.
"If Bellatrix saw you," Frank said when the tale was finished, "Then you have to get out of England."
"But what about my son?"
"If you go to him, you'll lead the Death Eaters straight to him. You can't take them all on by yourself. You'd just end up dead," said Frank. "You said you had a sister that lives in Spain. Why don't you go there?"
"If going to Harry would put him in danger, then going to Lenore would put her in danger. I can't go to anyone… I shouldn't have even come here…"
"No," Frank said sternly, "you did right by coming here. I'll tell you why: you need someone to keep an eye on where Dumbledore hid your boy and someone to tell you when it's safe for you to return. I can do that for you."
James ran a nervous hand though his dishevelled hair and nodded. "How will you find me again?"
"I'm in fairly good standing with the goblins, I should be able to pay someone to deliver a message. Goblins are more reliable than owls, they may take longer, but they don't require an address."
"Thank you, Frank… I really don't know if I can thank you enough for your help."
"Just promise me you won't get impatient and come back before I call you," Frank said with a smile.
"I'll wait. I promise. Good-bye, Frank," said James.
"Good-bye, James, take care of yourself."
Just when the chaos had begun to settle, and everyone was beginning to believe that it was safe at last, the Aurors were rounding up the last of the Death Eaters and trials were being held. Moody had kept the Aurors all hopping, always on the run. "Constant Vigilance!" Moody was fond of bellowing.
Frank had discretely managed to track down the location of Harry Potter – not using any of the standard Ministry channels, but by looking through Muggle registries for information of Lily's next of kin. The only living relative in England was listed as a Petunia (Evans) Dursley, of Number Four Privet Drive in Little Whinging, Surrey. That done, all Frank had to do was wait until the most fanatical of You-Know-Who's followers were rounded up and incarcerated.
With James gone, Frank had gone back to working with his wife, Alice, leaving their son Neville in the competent and caring hands of his Gran.
The problem was that while Bellatrix Lestrange may have been crazy, she was not stupid. She knew that James Potter was alive, and that the Dark Lord could not die. She also knew that James had fled, and she knew that the young man held his older partner in great respect. So it really was not that hard for her to connect finding Frank Longbottom with finding James Potter with finding the Dark Lord.
So she laid a trap to capture Frank Longbottom. A slew of muggle killings and a high-speed chase that only the best and fastest Aurors could keep up with put Frank and Alice alone with Lestrange in an abandoned farmhouse.
"Expelliarmas!"
Bellatrix's wand flew across the room and clattered to the worn pine planking.
"Give up Lestrange," said Frank coldly, "there's no where else to run."
"I have no intentions of running, Frank," purred Lestrange, "I assure you."
"STUPIFY!"
"STUPIFY!"
"STUPIFY!"
The house was lit by the red light of the Stunners, and Frank and Alice fell to the ground.
When the Longbottoms awoke, groggy, they were tightly lashed to dinning room chairs. Bellatrix was smirking at them. Too late now, Frank saw Barty Jr, Rodolphus and Rabastan had been hiding in the shadows. Moody would have court marshalled him for that mistake.
"Where is the Dark Lord?" demanded Barty Jr, his voice high and hysterical.
"Don't know, dead I guess," Frank chuckled. Bella slapped him across the face. Frank laughed. "Doing it the Muggle way now, are you Bella? Can't remember how your wand works? Or are you so used to taking orders that you can't – "
"Crucio!" Bella snarled. Frank's jaw snapped shut with such force that he felt his teeth crack, his body was wracked with pain, twisting and pulling at the ropes that bound him until welts formed on his skin.
"Careful, Bella, not too much now, he needs to be able to talk," Rodolphus laughed.
"Of course, husband, I haven't forgotten," Bella snapped. Frank hung limply in the chair, supported only by the ropes around his chest. Bellatrix lifted Frank's chin, and smiled. "Barty forgets why it is that we're here. Not that you have information about where our Lord is… but that you know where James Potter is."
"In a graveyard," Frank said, gasping for breath. "He's dead. Everyone knows that."
"We know he's not dead!" Barty grabbed Alice by the hair, pulling her so hard her chair over-turned. "Tell us what you know or she will suffer!"
"I can't tell you what I don't know."
"And if you did know…?" queried Rabastan.
"I wouldn't tell you," Frank spat a gob of blood into the prissy boy's face.
They all turned their wands on Alice, 'Crucio' they said in unison. Alice rocked and screamed, muffled by a gag. They questioned Frank relentlessly, about Voldemort, about the Aurors, about Harry Potter, about James, never once releasing Alice from the curse. Frank didn't beg for them to spare Alice, he didn't make up answers to get them to leave her alone. Frank wasn't that stupid, he knew the moment he gave the Death Eaters what they wanted, he and Alice would be dead. The ropes were now cutting into Alice's arms, blood darkened the sleeves of her robes.
"WHERE IS HE?" Bellatrix screamed.
"I DON'T KNOW!" Frank bellowed right back. Alice had stopped screaming. The Death Eaters held their wands loosely at their sides, fire burned in their eyes. There was no light in Alice's eyes, she breathed, moved, gasped, but her eyes were lost, looking at something very far away, something that not even she could see.
"I know Potter came to you! Where did he go?"
"I don't know," Frank sobbed. "For the love of magic, I swear I don't know."
"Perhaps we are going about this the wrong way…" Barty said, pulling out a short knife. He knelt by Alice's head, and pressed the knife against her cheek.
"It doesn't matter…" Frank said hopelessly. "She won't feel it. She's gone."
The Death Eaters looked at each other, and levelled their wands at Frank.
"Then perhaps your own pain will loosen your tongue," Rodolphus sneered.
Everything was pain then. Sparks erupted in his eyes. Fire replaced his blood. Bones grinded against each other. Joints twisted out of socket. Frank didn't know where he found breath to scream, his lungs burned, and a crushing weight had settled on his chest. Somewhere inside his head, the man that was Frank was caught in a massive web. The strands pulled and twisted, parts broke off under the strain. All around him his screaming voice echoed loudly. The strands around him started to break, Frank grasped at them futilely, the dry fibres pulled apart at his touch. He was falling, all around him the screaming echoed. Down, down, down he fell. The screaming grew fainter, and he was caught up into a soft fog. He was aware of voices outside of the fog, there was a jolt, and a muffled thud such as a dead weight hitting the floor. A face appeared in the fog, but he didn't recognize it.
"Who are you?" he called, but the fog swallowed his voice. The face disappeared into the fog again. "Where are you?"
Then he was floating. Images shifted through the fog, never staying long enough for him to identify them.
"Where are you taking me? What's going on?"
The faces outside the fog couldn't hear him. Everything was going dark.
"Don't leave me here! Help me!"
And with one thing and another, fourteen years passed…
Author's Notes: May contain spoilers if you have not read the original version of this tale.
The largest changes in this chapter are: The character of Peter Pettigrew, the role of Dumbledore, and the events preceding and following the attack on Harry.
The reasons for these changes: Peter Pettigrew was too strong of a character, and since I was changing Dumbledore from a Villain to well… a not quite perfect man doing the best he can… I also needed to change how and why Peter ended up betraying his friends. The reason I changed the role of Dumbledore was the story was getting much too boggled down with villains… There was Yggdrassil, Sigaurd, Voldemort AND Dumbledore, and I didn't want to have to spend the time resolving all those separate plots and conflicts. It wasn't necessary to have Dumbledore as a manipulative bastard – that was just in the story because after the fourth book in canon I really started hating Dumbledore. But my personal bias doesn't need to appear in this story. As for the change in what happened after Harry was attacked and the Evanses were killed, I felt there needed to be a more solid reason why James and Lily didn't immediately attempt to regain Harry. Crazy Bella provided that reason quite nicely.