A/N: This is the first chapter of a possible rewrite of Lone Child, a story I published in September of 2003 and finished in March of 2004. This story pre-dates Order of the Phoenix, which means a massive overhaul will be required to have the original story make any sense with the new time line. I was 13 when I published the original so I imagine my writing style has changed in the last decade, for better or worse. As a reminder of my old policy, I'm very nice until you give me a reason not to be. Constructive criticism is welcome, but unwarranted name-calling is not (You-know-who-you-are: retard is a bad word and you are a douche canoe).
The original version is GOING TO STAY UP. You can't learn from your mistakes and grow as a writer if you erase where you came from, so it stays. Leave a review and let me know what you think of this. I can see that I'm generating a lot of traffic (+5k people in 24 hours) but that doesn't tell me if I'm doing well or not. You can also PM me with any questions.
My original novel is now published. It is called "The Mage Council" by Amber A Draper and is exclusively published on Amazon. It is $2.99 USD and free to download for anyone with Kindle Unlimited.
Thanks for reading! Enjoy!
Lone Child Chapter 1: A Child With A Gift
A small boy cuddled into his mother's arms, emerald eyes drowsily focused on the picture book in his lap. The little boy's dark hair was long and silky, kept back from his eyes in a low ponytail. His mother's long blond curls tickled the back of his neck and she pressed a kiss to his temple. Light blue eyes traced the contours of her son's face, still amazed she had been blessed with this beautiful boy five years ago.
Flames danced merrily in the living room furnace, trying to spread their cheer and warmth through the house. An older man sat in a recliner near the woman and child, salt and pepper hair glowing orange in the flame light. Hazel eyes were focused on The London Evening Standard, a pen tapping his teeth has he puzzled the clue in the crossword. The man was visibly startled when the woman, Emma, spoke to the dozing boy in her lap
"James, baby, it's past your bed time," she whispered, planting her son's crown with more kisses.
The boy opened a bleary eye and yawned. "Yes, mummy," he said, turning his face to snuggle into her breast. Emma smiled and gave the boy a squeeze before easing him from her lap. "Go say good night to your father, love," she urged, giving the tired child a push towards the older man. He crawled onto the man's lap and hugged him around the neck. "Good night daddy," he said, placing a sloppy kiss on the man's cheek. The man laughed and tussled the boy's hair.
"Good night, sport. Sweet dreams." The man placed a kiss on the boy's waiting cheek and helped him back to the floor.
"Are you coming to bed as well, Alex?" Emma asked her husband.
"Yes. I will be along after I finish the puzzle, my love," he responded, eyes back on the crossword. Emma rolled her eyes, knowing that her husband very rarely completed the evening puzzle. She returned her attention to her son, his tiny hand grasping hers, waiting to be led to the bathroom for a quick pee and then to bed for the night. She was close to the top of the stairs, child in hand, when she heard a crack like thunder. She used her body to shield her child as splinters rained down from the shattered door below their stairs.
Alex was on his feet before Emma regained her footing, puzzle lying forgotten on the floor. He held his shotgun, cleverly disguised as a decorative piece on the mantel, level at the space where the front door had been before the dust had time to clear. Despite living in an upper class neighborhood, the Veteran of the Royal Air Force always felt safer with a firearm nearby. The weight was familiar and comforting as he stared down the barrel at the unwelcome guest breezing in to the foyer. A tall, thin man in a black dress came to a halt just beneath the stairs, a thin stick visible in his grasp. The man's face could only be described as deformed, his features taking on a distinct reptilian quality.
Alex felt confused. A man in a dress with a poor facial reconstruction reduced the mahogany door to splinters with… a grenade? The blast didn't have the force of any grenade Alex had experienced, so maybe a homemade explosive? Alex opened his mouth to speak, to demand the intruder leave his home. He made no sound as the intruder waved the stick at him with a shout. "Avada Kedavra!" Green light struck Alex in the chest, the force of the blast causing him to pull the shotgun's trigger. Pellets sprayed harmlessly into the ceiling as Alex processed his last thought.
'I'm sorry Emma. I love you.'
Emma watched from the landing as her husband of twenty years slammed into the den wall, slid down and did not move again. Tears threatened to blind her but she knew there was no hope for Alex. She had to protect James. The child was wide-eyed at the noise from the initial blast and from his father's flesh striking stone. Emma lifted the boy on to her hip, and silently ascended the stairs to the child's room.
Toys were spread all over the floor from today's play and Emma had to be careful not to step on any that would make noise. James had not made a sound, sensing his mother's need for him to stay quiet. She crossed the large room to the window and the fire escape. She had insisted Alex have it installed when she got pregnant with James, so that they could easily access and escape from James's room in case of a fire. The ugly platform circled a good portion of the house, connecting James's room to the master suite. Emma placed James on the floor, pressing a finger to her lips and urging him to stay quiet. Tears welled in the boy's eyes as he nodded, watching his mother silently open the curtains and then the window. The man downstairs had made no noise after the shotgun blast, but she didn't want to draw his attention to their location. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she turned to lift her son back on to her hip and saw the man in the black dress watching her in the doorway.
Rage and fear welled up around her heart as she pushed her little boy into hiding behind her legs. "Take what you want," she urged, sounding far braver than she felt. "Just let us go." She was terrified for her son's life but the swell of fury in her veins nearly overshadowed the fear. The man's dark eyes pierced her soul and the longer he stared the angrier she grew. As the dark figure lifted the hand holding the stick into the air Emma rushed him. She managed to swipe her nails across his face when a yellow-white light struck her abdomen. Pain like millions of hot knives dipped in acid pierced every nerve, forcing her to drop to the carpet in convulsions. She was vaguely aware of her wretched screams, blue eyes focused on her son. The boy's green eyes locked with hers. She urged the boy to run away from the demon son-of-a-bitch that would dare touch her child but knew he didn't understand her silent message.
James felt warmth down in his trouser area as his overfull bladder released. The dark man scared him and he wanted mommy to protect him. Except mommy was screaming on the floor, eyes watching him as blood began to bubble from her nose. The dark man had a cruel smile on his face, like he enjoyed causing the boy's mother great pain. Tears ran freely down her face and mixed with the blood from her nose. The boy felt petrified but fear quickly turned to anger as the dark man began to laugh like the bad guys on the morning cartoons. As he watched his mother convulse and scream James could feel something bubbling under the surface of his skin. It didn't feel right, like a million ants crawling down his neck followed by a rush of warmth similar to his bladder releasing. Warmth quickly turned to pressure and then to uncomfortable tightness in his own skin.
James felt sure he would explode as his skin constricted on his bones until there was a great flash of white light striking the dark man. All at once the bad man's body struck the nursery wall, his stick fell to the ground, Emma stopped screaming and James's skin returned to normal. James rushed his mother, an enormous sense of relief over shadowing exhaustion he now felt in his bones. Emma tried to push herself to a sitting position on still twitching muscles, amazed at the sight she had just witnessed. Her tiny, pee-soaked little boy had been engulfed in a sea of light that launched that bastard across the room.
She clutched the boy in her lap, pushing her body back towards the fire escape. She nearly made it, boy and all, when the man in black caught her eyes again. He was on his feet and looked furious, eyes gleaming red in the dark nursery. He leveled his stick at the boy lying in her lap, shouting "Avada Kedavra!" for the second time that evening. Emma used what little strength she possessed to turn on her belly, protecting James underneath her slight frame. 'God protect you, baby. I love you!' she thought as the green light struck her back and all other thoughts faded from her mind as death took hold.
James struggled to draw air into his tiny lungs. Mummy's body on top of him was heavy and he felt too tired to move. His mother's hand still grasped his small one, the blood under her nails from her attack on the dark man smearing onto his small hand. The pressure on his lungs eased as her weight eased off of him, and he felt confident that she would get up and strike down the bad man. Except the bad man was standing over him, Emma's lifeless eyes watching from a few feet away. The dark man was pointing his stick again, this time aimed at James's heart.
The little boy, trapped and tired and alone, flew into a tantrum and attacked the dark figure before he could make more light appear. James clawed and bit the arm holding the stick, feet kicking the much larger man's shins. He tasted something bitter and metallic as he bit down on the man's arm as hard as he could with widely spaced baby teeth. The dark figure shouted, startled that he would be attacked in such an uncouth manner twice in one night. Eager to end the curse that had hung over his head for more than five years, Lord Voldemort slapped the boy hard across the face. The boy's teeth released flesh, leaving a gushing wound behind. Voldemort scowled at the injury. He had intended to kill the Potter brat quickly as there was little glory in murdering children but the lacerated flesh tempted his brittle resolve.
The Potters, so smug thinking they'd protected their only child by switching him with a muggle infant. A child prophesized to defeat the greatest dark lord in existence could not be hidden from Dark Lord Voldemort. It was his destiny to slit the child's throat and mount his head on a pike to show off to the Potter Wife, to show her that he knew about her little deception. Voldemort's focus shifted from the bleeding bite on his wand arm to the child with the power to defeat him.
Little eyes overflowed with tears as the boy used his bloodied hand to wipe at the new cut on his face. It hurt and James wanted mummy to kiss it better but she still watched, motionless, from a few feet away. The dark man, blood dripping down his hand, pointed the stick at the boy again, determined to finish this quickly. Doubtlessly the house was being monitored, it was only a matter of time before Ministry and Dumbledore's gang of misfits appeared.
The white and then green flash of light emitting from the man's stick blinded James. He whimpered, the bright light and booming thunder created by the clash of energies hurt his ears. He curled into a ball on the floor, hands desperately shielding his ears from the percussive abuse. The booming noise and bright light soon faded and James was left alone with the still-warm body of his dead mother.
The little boy's whole body shook with fear. He wanted to be somewhere safe. He wanted mommy to make it all better. He wanted daddy to tell him a story and tuck him in. Panic overpowered him as the sensation of being sucked through a very small hose overtook his senses. It lasted a few seconds and James wasn't in his bedroom anymore. The boy could feel a new carpet under him, musty and far coarser than the one in his nursery. His swollen and tired eyes were drawn to the flickering fire in the corner and a pair of curious grey eyes watching him. His lip trembled and his nose ran. He couldn't breathe as sobs tore from his throat with the word "mommy" over and over.
The stranger sitting near the wood stove approached the child slowly. It wasn't every day that a small child appeared in his heavily warded home dripping in blood. Actually it was rather unusual, even by magical standards. Dragon, the grey-eyed stranger, gathered the child in his arms. His experience with children was limited, but he knew that cuddling them was always a good start to end crying. "Shhhhh, it's okay, boy. I've got you," he whispered, rocking the child. It took a few minutes but the boy's sobs soon reduced to sniffles and Dragon knew his window to interrogate the child was closing as exhaustion started to close around the boy. "Child, can you tell me your name?" he asked, giving the boy a little shake. He couldn't be sure the child was still awake, the boy's head dug deeply into the crook of his neck.
"James," a little voice croaked. Dragon felt a cool rush down his spine at the child's name. This couldn't be the same James he'd been having visions of for the past several days. The boy in the visions was older; a jagged scar shaped like a lightning bolt a prominent sign of power on his forehead. Dragon couldn't adjust the child to get a good look at his face, but if they were the same then Dragon's visions were becoming unreliable. After more than four hundred and fifty years as a Seer, Dragon doubted this was the case. Something unsettled the universe and changed the flow of time. Changed history. Changed… something.