Summary: Alternative Universe. Harry Potter and his parents survived the fateful night, October the 31, but Voldemort was killed. But an insane and loyal follower of Voldemort murdered six years old Harry with a powerful cutting hex. After ten peaceful years, another dark lord terrifies the wizarding world.
Everythings seems to be in vain, but with a lightning bolt a young man appears, an odd scar on his forehead. Trelawney proclaims, that he will be the savior, marked by lightning.
His name?
Harold James Potter
Can Harry save the world from another Dark lord? Can he deal with his alive parents, a still grieving alive godfather, a nice Snape and a friendly Pettigrew?
Warning: Well, Angst, Death, Drama, R, Swearing
Pairing: JP/LP, maybe more
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
-CHAPTER 1-
Remus POV:
I was sitting in the discussion room of the Order of the Phoenix, drinking cinnamon tea and watching the snow falling outside, covering the nature like white icing.
It was cold.
So cold.
But my thoughts were colder.
It was near christmas, everyone was busy and even in those hard times, happy. But not my friends. Not him.
I accepted his death, maybe it sounds cold but, you have to act and accept things more quickly.
You could be killed if you hesitate and assume.
And you have to make sacrifies.
This is war, not some playground brawl. He died. We could catch one of his most loyal followers.
His capture balanced his death. Ain't I right?
When did I become so calculating?? I even don't mourn his death anymore.... This war.... Has taken it's toll..... Am I unhuman? Am I a monster? But I can't dwell on that.
I have to think for two persons.
He wastes himself.I can't let it happen. He is my best friend. I need him. I only need him. I will protect him. He is broken. I need him. Need him to be there for me. I need him, to have a reason to continue fighting in this war.
Am I selfish?? I don't want to save all those witches and wizards, I just want to save him... and myself. Is this selfish??
Yeah, I think it is.
But I don't care anymore. He will hit me, hex me, curse me, but I still won't care. Shouldn't he be flattered? I continue living and fighting only for him. Isn't that a reason enough?
He is my responsibility.
That's enough for me. I have to take care of him.
I moved my gaze to the crackling fire, staring at it.
Thinking.
Only thinking.
I heard a door opening, the noise was quiet, but my inhuman senses are finer than normal.
Yes. Inhuman.
Werewolf.
Hated, feared, cursed Werewolf. Are you going to laugh? Point? Frown?
I don't care.
I turned quickly around, wand out, ready to fight, thoughts forgotten, a hex already on my tongue.
Even in Hogwarts you weren't protected anymore. You could be attacked everywhere.
You had to be alert.
To kill or to be killed.
That was the motto.
But there wasn't an enemy. It was only Minerva, the Transfiguration Professor, limping in the room, a cup of tea in her bandaged hand.
Her face was troubled, her eyes tired, but she was still smiling.
She is strong, I thought.
I wondered what her reason are. Her reason to continue. Her reason for living
"Ah, Minerva. How are your wounds?? I hope not bad." I asked, concerned about her health. She wasn't the youngest woman, yes she was strong, but still...
"Thank you Remus, I'm quite fine. Madame Pomfrey healed my wounds, in a few days everything will be healed. How are you?"
Such an idle chit-chat, how rare those talks were now.
I miss laughing with my friends.
"I'm also fine. Do you want to sit down??"
"Yes, thank you." She responded, sitting down besides me.
"How is Albus?" I inquired, holding my mug in both hands.
"Not quite healthy, but he is okay. But he is exhausted. I can feel it. Poor Albus, so much on his shoulders."
"Everyone has to take a part in this.... war." I remarked.
After a long pause she answered.
"Unfortunalety, you're right. My, how insightful you became, Remus. Not the boy I was teaching nearly fifteen years ago. How persons change... Interesting, really."
"I was naive. Now I know better."
So cold. I really don't know myself anymore. Did his death really changed me so much? Seeing his blood on the floor??
His green blank dead eyes of an innocent child.
Or his eyes, empty, saddened blue eyes?
"Oh and Remus, I have a question. I understand if you don't want to answer it, but.... The question is about Sirius...." Minerva trailed off, looking to the side.
I smiled thinly.
"Yes?"
"Where does he disappear every day?? I know, it isn't really my business, but he is simply not Sirius anymore. Not laughing, not grinning, no pranks."
I sighed.
Should I tell her?? Minerva is a trusted friend, but still... But maybe...
"He... visits Harry. Exactly at six o'clock, he visits Harry at the graveyard. He is there for 2 hours, just sitting there, stroking the gravestone, saying that Harry still lives."
"But,.... every day?"
I smiled sadly.
"Sirius loved Harry very much. They both adored each other. Prong had been so jealous because Harry always wanted to be held by Sirius. And Harry.... Harry was his sunshine, the light, the flame in the darkness for Sirius. As he died, right before Sirius' eyes, Sirius' world collapsed. He couldn't handle Harry's death. He simply couldn't. Sirius is a strong character, but he is very weak when he must deal with the persons he cares deeply about.
And Harry's death.... James and Lily were also mourning, they couldn't help Sirius... I think Harry's death pushed him over the egde.
Sirius is still grieving, not accepting that Harry is dead. Harry's room an Black Manor is still there, the room is clean, the toys, clothes and books at their place where Harry left them, as if Harry would come back. He is desperate." I said, adverting my eyes.
But Harry wouldn't come back. He is dead. He was only six years old. His bright smile, open laughter, twinkling eyes.
Would never come back.
And his blood still marks the Great Hall at Hogwarts.
Killed. In front of the students. In front of me. In front of Lily and James. In front of Sirius.
Minerva looked shocked. I don't blame her.
"I had no idea..." She whispered.
Of course. Nobody has an idea. Nobody knows what goes on with Sirius. Nobody, but me.
I pride myself in that, but is that a thing I should be proud about??
I don't know the answer.
But I'm lying.
I know the answer. Deep in me.
I know.... That I'm proud.
That's pathetic. I know. Severus has every right to call me that. Severus, the man, we had tormented in the youth, Severus who had spied for the order, Severus who brews me the Wolfsbane potion, Severus who risked his life for me, Severus who loved Harry.
Another one who Harry left behind.
But I am a monster.
Blaming Harry, saying it's his fault that everyone I care about is in this state.
Selfish. Disgusting. Terrible. I know.
But I also know that I am weak. I want to blame the others. I do.
Humans are weak.
But I'm a Werewolf.
Does that mean I shouldn't have those feelings, those emotions?
I do not know. Maybe I will never know.
But one thing I know, that I am weak.
Weak enough to blame others. Weak enough to take the easy way.
And the most terrible thing is, that I don't care. I accept that I'm weak. But shouldn't I make myself stronger? Or is it okay to be weak??
Can anybody answer that?
Or should I answer the question myself?
I'm confused.
I'm drowning.
"Remus?" Asked Minerva, worried.
I faked a smile.
"It's nothing."
So weak, that I don't want help. Being such a coward, not accepting help.
Cowardly, weak, afraid....
That's what I am.
And even now I don't care.
-At a graveyard-
Sirius POV:
This innocent, little grave has been here since 10 years. Full of different flowers, plants, gift and candles.
They all say my godson rests there. Forever. Till the end of the world.
But I know that they're all lying. Liars.
I don't believe them.
He isn't dead. He can't be dead. Because I don't want him to be dead. Harry isn't dead. Harry isn't dead. He isn't.
Harry is supposed to live.
And I know, that my godson still lives. Because sometimes I can hear his innocent laughter. Sometimes I see him, blurry, but he is here. Isn't he??
But why you ask, do I visit this grave every day?
I don't know. I was there at the funeral. The casket was white, decorated with gold. There had been many people, Remus, Peter, Albus, even Snape. All were grieving. The boy was only six years old. Had black messy hair, green eyes, pale skin, lithe body, glasses.
James and Lily were crying. Why?
The boy wasn't Harry. He wasn't, believe me.
They are all liars.
I stared at the flower in my hand.
Harry liked buttercups. So, the boy resting here would also like buttercups, right? Because littly Harry is perfect. Evrything he likes others will also like.
But he isn't Harry. The dead boy isn't Harry.
Even the epitaph says it's Harry.
My godson.
-Harold James Potter-
-1980 till 1986-
-Beloved son-
-Beloved friend-
-Beloved godson-
-Gone too soon-
-May he rest in peace-
My hands are wet...?
Tears.... Running down my cheeks...
Why?
Why am I crying?
This boy isn't Harry. But still, why am I mourning his death?? Why? Why? Why?
I have to get a grip on myself. Harry waits for me in the manor. I wonder if he wants chocolate pudding...? Or cake???
I will wait. Wait till Harry visits me again. He will visit me. I know that. For ten years he hasn't visited me, but I understand that. He had been busy, right??
Right?
He needs to pick up his presents.... The new Firebolt waits for him....
Harry. Harry. Harry. Harry.
Where are you??
You aren't dead..... Are you???
I put my freezing hand in my pocket and clutched a ragged piece of a cloth. I took it out.
It was stained brown/red, a piece of a robe.
It smells of blood. Old blood.
Harry's robe.....
I broke down and began to sob.
And I didn't know why.
-By Remus-
Suddenly you could hear alarms, loud, alerting.
"What?!"
"Oh my god!! Malfoy and his Deatheaters are attacking!! Quick!!! We have to hurry!" Shouted Minerva.
"But Minerva! Your wounds!" I called out, hurrying after her, down the corridors of Hogwarts to the entrance hall.
"I need to defend my students! Such small wounds won't bother me!" She snarled, her wand between her fingers.
She was right. It was time for a bit stress-relief.
I had suddenly the urge to kill.
My werewolf instinct.
I....
want...
blood.....
B-l-o-o-d
I smirked.
We met the other teachers and the Aurors and Unspeakables, who were stationed at Hogwarts for a better defence.
We threw open the door leading to the grounds of Hogwarts. All armed only with a wand.
And the battle began.
Wizards against Wizards.
Dementors against Wizards.
Giants against Wizards.
A young Auror besides me fell to the ground, eyes still open. Another victim of the Killing Curse.
Hn, if he had been more alert....
A Deatheater fell. The mask slipped from the face and I recognized the face of my students.
Pansy Parkinson.
She deserved it.
"Avada Kedavra!" I shouted, gleefully watching as another Deatheater hit the ground. Oh, it had been Avery.
Good.
Suddenly I felt something wet splatter on my face. It was blood.
Blood of....Sinistra?
I glanced besides me, and saw the Astronomy professor on the ground, head ripped away by a giant.
A gruesome sight. But I didn't hesitiated and threw a special giant-killing potion on the enemy.
The giant screamed and wailed and after a short time there was only skin and steaming flesh on the blood-covered grass.
James killed two more Deatheaters and Lily drived 5 Dementors away with her corporal patronus.
The patronus was Harry. On a broom, smiling cheerfully.
Lily also never could get over Harry's death. He had been her first and only son.
Harry was James reason to become an Unspeakable. He wanted revenge.
I spied another Deatheater trying to attack Minerva behind the back and I shouted: "Expellimiarus!"
There had been so much force behind the spell, the Deatheater went flying on a tree, a cracking noise and he was dead. Spine broken. What a pleasent way to die.
Heh.
Three more Aurors were killed, but the Deatheaters were now lesser than us and they began to panic.
I won't let you escape.
Revenge is sweet.....
But something bright flashed in the sky and we all looked up. A serious mistake, but still I was distracted.
A lightning bolt appeared and killed five more Deatheaters. But the lightning bolt was green, like the forest, like the killing curse, just like Harry's eyes.
Why am I thinking now about Harry?
He is dead.
Get over that.
The light was pulsing, just like a heartbeat, warm, not cold like Avada Kedavra.
The light slowly vanished and left behind was a young man, maybe a boy, with black hair and a glowing green scar, shaped like a lightning bolt.
He hit the smoking ground, unconscious.
A Deatheater aimed the Killing Curse at the boy.
NO! I wanted to scream, but I couldn't get any word out of my dry troath.
But then the unbelievable happened.
The curse just bounced off, hitting the Deatheater who had cast the curse and killed him.
How??
I was stupefied.
You simply can't block the Killing Curse. But that young man did that.
Effortlessy
How did he do that?
To be continued...
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asa-chan