Harry ran as fast as he could, the precious bundle in his arms squirming and crying at the speed. He couldn't run as fast as he used though, not with his old age. It was only a matter of time before the caught him and killed them both. He could hear them now, they were ganging in on them. There were two running behind him, Harry guessed, while another two were flying by his sides. Harry risked a glance backwards and cursed. The wizards running behind them looked in pain, as if they hadn't run much but they were not letting up. If anything, they seemed to run faster.

Harry looked at the bundle in his arms, a tear sliding through his cheek. He couldn't believe his friends, people he considered family, had done this. To think he had trusted them. He should have guessed something was up the moment they had started distancing themselves from him. Ron he could expect, he was a jealous prat even in old age. But Hermione? Totally unexpected. The Weasley's had done the best to ignore everything in the hopes it would blow over. Fat chance. They might be alive, only barely, and would stay like that until Harry was either captured or dead.

Harry panted as he ran past the wards. They were not that strong - they were mainly notice me not's and animal repelling - but they would hold for a couple minutes. He slowed to a slow jog until he stopped in front of a rickety silver gate. On the middle of the gate was a rather intricate design. It was a Phoenix in flight with flames pouring from it silver feathers, a wand tightly clutched in its talons.

The Potter Family Graveyard

Harry smiled a sadly as he opened the gate and stepped inside. How ironic, he would die where he would, or should, be buried. He doubted they would bury him in there though. Harry walked through the old beaten path towards his destination. There were hundreds of tombstones in the graveyard. Everyone born to the Potter Line or married into it were buried there.

He stopped in front of a joint grave. It had the design of a pair of deer, their antlers touching, a lily wrapped around their antlers. This was it. His parents final resting place. It said:

Lily and James Potter

1960 - 1981

To the well organized mind,

Death is but the next great adventure

Rest in Peace

Harry waved his hand and conjured a bouquet of Lily's in front of the grave. He sighed sadly, a tear sliding through his cheek as he gazed at his grandson, the first and last to ever be born. He had more but he would never consider them his grand-kids, not with what their parents had done. Poor sweet Lily, her murder had been the eye opener for him. He came to realize what the others were doing. And he had planned accordingly. He emptied his vaults of everything. Money, books, heirlooms, everything.

He had originally planed to give them to his sons when they had matured more - James took his personality from his grandfather with his pranks and Albus he didn't even want to consider - but after hearing them whisper, or what they thought was whispering, about their involvement in the murder of their sister, Harry was glad he hadn't giving them the vault keys sooner. Anyone who killed family or killed in general for money was no son of his.

And Ginny. There was the real kicker. To think Harry had loved her. She had confessed to her sons - not his anymore - that she had only married Harry for the money and fame that came with being Lady Potter. That had been the last straw. He took his grandson, little Ashton Potter, and his trunk with everything and left. Only he hadn't gotten very far before the others had noticed his and Ashton's disappearance, the lack of anything in his vaults and sent a team of highly trained Hit Wizards after him.

Another tear followed the first one down his cheek. He had planned to leave the country with Ash, but with his old age he became slow, or at least slower than he used to be. Now, he knew they were going to die. Harry didn't care if he died but he couldn't bare the thought of little Ash dying with him.

The minute the wards fell, Harry felt it. It took mere seconds before there were four pissed off wizards in front of him. Two were panting, looking as if they had done a marathon, which they kinda did. The other two looked merely winded. Their wands slightly raised, only one tip glowing red while the rest glowed a sickly green.

"Potter, put the baby down and give me your wand." The only one not wanting to kill him said as he looked at his teammates. He looked nervous and slightly green.

Harry looked at the three other wizards. They looked pissed. One was even rising his wand slightly, Harry noted, as if he thought he was being discrete. Harry looked around him. There was no way he could escape, at least no without harming Ash. If he apparated there was a chance he'd splinch himself and Ash. He couldn't run anymore, not with his age, and the other wizards would catch him faster than before. There was no time to make a portkey either. He swallowed. There was only on thing left he could do. He would die but at least Ashton would live if they tried anything on him. He just hopped it worked for him as it worked for his mother.

"No." Harry said as he turned slightly to hide Ash from the wizards. 'One'

"Potter, just put the baby down and hand over your wand. No harm will come to him." The peacemaker of the group said as he raised his wand slightly.

"No." Harry said again as he eyed the three other wizards. They were already loosing their patience. One was already pointing his wand at him, the sickly green light of the spell illuminating his face darkly. 'Two'

"This is the last time I will say this Potter. Put the baby down and hand over your wand." He said, his voice dripping with nervousness.

Harry looked at his grandsons face for what he guessed would be the last time and memorized every detail. Ashton had messy black hair, the same as Harry's, with big amber eyes. He looked a lot like his father but he could see traces of his daughter in him. The shape of his eyes and nose where completely her's. Harry tore his loving eyes from his grandson and looked harshly at the Hit Wizards.

The peacemaker, the one hoping to stun instead of kill, looked hopeful that Harry would do as he said and put the baby down. He would be disappointed.

Harry swallowed harshly. "No." 'Three'

"That's it! Our orders are to bring Potter dead or alive, right?" The middle one of the green trio asked the peacemaker to which he received a meek nod. He jabbed his wand in Harry's direction. "Then lets kill him. Avada Kedavra!"

With a flash of green, Harry knew nothing.


A/N This chapter might seem a little confusing with the little countdown so I'll explain.

In the book, it is stated that the number 3 is a magical number. The prophecy itself says 'born to those who had thrice defied him'. Before Lily died she begged Voldemort not to kill Harry three times. So you can see where I'm going with this.