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Author's note: Last chapter – thanks for all your reviews. Special thanks to Silverstagbeauty – it is because of you that Sarah Emilie's POV is in this chapter. Thanks for the idea!
Enjoy.
Chapter 10: Epilogue
October, 1981
Wormtail
"The Potters made me Secret Keeper," I hear my voice tell the Dark Lord.
But I don't know if I want this for Lily and James. I'm scared. Why am I doing this if I'm scared? I have to. I know this is what I have to do. I need to be accepted. Twenty-one years of not being noticed and I need it now. The Dark Lord gives me what I need. The Dark Lord notices me. He is my master and I will serve him for life. I need him to tell me I am worth something. I am not the Dark Lord's sidekick – I am his servant. I am tired of being a sidekick. I am tired of being stupid. I have always wanted to be someone, and now the Dark Lord has made me someone. I am a Death Eater.
I try to justify why I am telling him that the Potters are at Godric's Hollow. I tell myself it is because he can do things for me that Lily and James cannot, but I don't know if it's true. I tell myself that he is doing things for me that my parents could not, but I don't know if it's true. "Show me the way," my master says. And I do.
When the charm breaks it shows me everything I've betrayed. I see Sirius writing the Marauder's Map. I see Remus helping me master a spell. Lily smiling after I finally disarmed someone. Baby Harry laughing and me standing aside, scared of what that tiny baby could really do. Then James. James telling Sirius to lay off making fun of me, even though Sirius was his best friend. James helping me with homework. James, one of the most powerful wizards in England, being Peter Pettigrew's friend.
The Sorting Hat echoes in my mind. You could do well in Hufflepuff though it's hard to see where your loyalties lie…I can see that your loyalties are very easily turned. I shake my head, trying to clear the old hat's voice from my mind. I haven't heard that voice in years, but I begin to remember it haunting my weaknesses at night. Slytherin gives you what you already have, but Gryffindor lets you try something new.
You've always wanted to be brave and I think if someone gave you the chance you could be proud…Perhaps I'll give you a chance on something new. You've always wanted a chance to make a new name for yourself, haven't you? Here it is. Do with it what you will. Good luck.
I stand beside Lord Voldemort in front of Godric's Hollow and its name is ironic. Godric Gryffindor's school house tried to give me a chance and the people who live at Godric's Hollow tried to give me a chance. But I was too stupid to realize that I could have taken either one of them. We can rule out Ravenclaw as you're not very intelligent. I realize that these people – Lily, James, Remus, Sirius – were my real friends. These people made me into someone. Remus gave me my name – Wormtail – and there was something inside it, like James, Sirius and Remus, and even Lily, made me feel like there was something inside me.
He is opening the gate. I want to tell Voldemort to turn back. These are my friends, I try to scream. But nothing comes out. You're not incredibly brave or proud…The length you would go to defend your friends is a bit murky. Lord Voldemort will kill me if I tell him to turn back. And even if I do the charm has already been broken. Voldemort knows where the Potters live.
I hear a terrified scream from inside the house, and cover my ears and run, coward that I am. My last chance to save Lily and James and I am gone.
I want to be a little boy. I want to be able to cry and let my mother hold me, but I know that day is over and my chance is lost. I lost everything I thought I needed but already had. If I had just looked closely enough…but now it is too late. James and Lily Potter are dead and it's my fault.
In the street, I see a familiar pair of dark brown eyes. Sirius knows. How does he know? He's going to kill me – his glare is deadly. His eyes look like those of his dog form, and I get an idea: my animagus. Sirius pulls out his wand and tries to kill me, but for once I am too quick. You can be cunning and tricky when you want to be. I cut my finger off to make it seem like Sirius blew me apart and transform. I can hear his voice. He's laughing, but I don't know why. "Figures," my conscious tells me. "You never know anything."
Why do I want Sirius to take the blame? Because then you don't have to take it for yourself, my conscious says again. You won't have to admit to yourself that you killed your best friends. Your best friends you thought didn't give you enough, but really they did. You were just too slow to see it. We can rule out Ravenclaw, as you're not very intelligent.
Shut up.
First sign of madness: talking to yourself.
Now no one will give me what I need because I betrayed everyone who could.
You have a longing to make yourself someone, but you're scared to try to find someone who can do that for you in case you find that no one can.
But there is still one. There is still the greatest sorcerer in the world who has trusted me, who has made me part of his clan. There is still Lord Voldemort.
I was wrong, as usual. I made another mistake, but this time there is no turning back.
Sarah Emilie
I am ten years old and my brother is dead. It is the evening of Halloween and my brother is dead. My brother is dead. This is what they just told me: "Sarah Emilie, we have some very sad news to tell you. Your brother is dead. He was murdered, by You-Know-Who." I don't know who. I don't know who killed my brother, but they think I don't understand what dead means.
Whispering to themselves, they say, "She is ten years old and her brother is dead." They shake their heads.
My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD. It is all I can think.
He promised me he would always protect me. James promised. But James is dead, and I know enough about dead to know that it does not keep promises.
Aunt Lily is dead, too, they say. DEAD. Lily had been good to me. She was a nice lady. Also killed by You-Know-Who. My brother is dead.
They say funny things about the man whose name they do not say, and about my brother's son (my brother is dead). They say the You-Know-Who man is dead, too. They say my brother's son stopped him. But my brother's son is a tiny, tiny baby. I've seen him before. James let me pick him up, with Lily standing next to me. My brother's son cannot stop anyone, if I can pick him up. I am only ten. The people here are crazy, saying that my brother's son can stop the You-Know-Who man.
My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD. It is all I can think. It is the only thing I will be able to think for the rest of my life. My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD.
I am scared. James cannot protect me. Lily cannot be nice to me. I am angry, because the small, weak baby who cannot protect me or be nice to me is the one alive, and my protector and the person who was nice to me are gone. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD.
People are celebrating. The sky becomes pretty with fireworks. But my brother is dead. A few people whisper together about "James and Lily Potter" and their poor baby son. "Think of what they left behind. That poor baby boy, with no parents. Who will take care of him? And all of their friends must be devastated."
But I am ten and my brother's son is only one year old. James has protected me for ten years, and his baby only for one. I am his little sister. I have no brother, and no Aunt Lily. Who will take care of me? I am forgotten. But I am too scared to think of myself. All I can think is
My brother is dead, dead. James is dead. Brother is dead. Dead, dead, dead, dead, dead. DEAD. It is all I can think.
Petunia
The first thing I notice when I go to set out the milk bottles is a baby. A sleeping baby boy in a basket on my door step. And it isn't Dudley. The second thing I notice is the letter the baby holds in its hand. I carefully uncurl the child's fingers from the odd-looking paper and wonder why I feel a strange attachment to the unclaimed child. An odd connection runs through my fingertips, and I wonder if the little child feels the same in his sleep.
I open the letter, read the first sentence, and immediately drop it.
This is your nephew, Harry James Potter.
Lily's boy. He was the same age as Dudley, wasn't he? I read on, curious, but wary, knowing this boy, the child of my witch sister and her wizard husband, will most likely have the same powers.
This is your nephew, Harry James Potter. His parents, your sister and her husband, were murdered tonight. In Muggle terms, you could call it 'blown up'. Harry had an attempted murder performed on him. The curse backfired on the murderer – you will notice the lightning bolt shaped-scar on the boy's forehead. I leave the child in your charge. He will be safest with you, as you are his only living blood relative, whether you choose to acknowledge this or not. If you choose not to care for your own blood nephew, Harry Potter will die.
My sister is dead. Tears involuntarily slipping from my pale eyes, I stare at the letter, then at the baby, then at the words "Harry Potter will die," then back at my nephew and his scar. Remembering the connection I felt, I touch Harry's forehead, and the feeling is still there. I move my finger to the scar on his forehead, which burns under my finger. "Whether you choose to acknowledge it or not," my mind repeats.
I remember Lily calling me Tuna and our parents paying more attention to her than to me. My fingers stiffen on the child. His eyes flutter open and Lily's stare back at me. Her spirit is in those eyes. I remember being jealous that she could do magic and I could not, that she was pretty and I wasn't, that she wasn't a worry-wart, or a clean-freak, and I was. I remember her heart. She had never really said anything mean to me. But I had to her. Oh, I had said mean things to her. Because I was jealous. Because I wouldn't admit that I loved someone who could do things I could not. But Lily had loved me full-heartedly. Someone said once, when they didn't know I was listening, but I can't remember who, "Lily can see beauty in people even if, and especially when, that person cannot see it in themselves."
I am still crying.
I will do this for Lily. "If you choose not to care for your own blood nephew, Harry Potter will die." I will do this for my sister. I will show her I really did love her, even if I was too scared of her to admit it. I will show her that I'm sorry. I will save her child. I pick up Lily's baby, my nephew, vowing to look after him.
But I a falter a bit, remembering my parents paying more attention to Lily because she could do magic and I could not, and my mother telling me to learn from my parents' mistakes. I would not pay more attention to this baby more than my own son. I know that feeling unwanted is a horrible feeling. I will care for Harry Potter, yes. I will save his life. For Lily. For my sister. I will finally do something for her, even though it's probably too late. I know she needs me to do this. I will let her child live with me.
But I will never make my own son feel unwanted.
A/N: That's the end. Thanks, guys!!
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