A/N: Read and Review. Please! I am on my knees! I'm posting the next part of Epithalamia with this, so read that too. PLEASE REVIEW!!!!
"And I feel the cold wind blowing beneath my wings
It always leads me back to suffering
But I will soar until the wind whips me down
Leaves me beaten on unholy ground again
So tired of paying my dues
I start out strong but then I always lose
It's half the distance before you leave me behind
It's such a waste of time"
-Vertical Horizon "Shackled"
A cold, October breeze blew through the graveyard. The wind bent back the limbs of the dead trees, rustled the overgrown grass, and swept the dust and dirt off of the tombstones. Harry stood there, amidst all the dark, hooded figures in the middle of the cemetery behind Riddle House. I don't belong here, he thought. Why am I here? Because I hate the world, and so does he. So does the man, the lord whose feet he had worshipped for the last five years. The last five years Harry had had purpose, a drive for keeping him alive. He had used his anger as a reason to get up in the morning. Oh, but it's so cold. It's so cold here-. Harry craved for warmth. He remembered the warm, blazing fire he had at home, all the quilts and sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knit for him, and the comfortable bed he could just collapse in. Yet he also remembered the loneliness that had befriended him every day of his miserable existence. He recalled the nights when he would sit in his living room, alone, having no purpose to his life. Hermione was brilliant; she had her career, Ron would never be lonely with his family. Yet Harry Potter was alone. Although now, standing in the graveyard, he was surrounded by people, people like him, people who hated the world, who were familiar with the darkness and silence that haunted him, he had never felt more alone.
He had left Jamie in the care of Mrs. Weasley, who had fallen in love with him almost immediately. She had held him and kissed him as soon as Harry had handed him to her. 'He looks just like you!' she had cried. He didn't quite understand the effects the child had on people, but respected it the same. Harry remembered how the moment he walked out the door, Jamie started crying. Harry almost smiled, reflecting upon it. Almost.
Lucius Malfoy was talking to Voldemort about something; he was talking about his plots to murder a young girl. Harry really wasn't paying attention. He had spied a rose vine in the distance climbing up a small guest house. The roses were bright yellow, standing out very much in the morbid cemetery. Morgan would have loved that. Morgan loved roses. Morgan loved yellow; it had been her favorite color. 'It's the most cheerful color, don't you agree?' she had said, and he had laughed in response. Then she would sit in his lap and say 'I think we do need some cheering up these days.' He used to send her yellow roses and daisies on her birthday, just to make her face light up with a smile…. He shook his head and reminded himself that Morgan was dead. Morgan was gone, never coming back. He had made sure of that.
Voldemort was addressing him now. Harry slowly walked over to him, dawdling, dragging his feet in the rich earth. "Yes?" Harry questioned.
"Do you have the information?" It was not a question. Harry was aware that he would have to tell, or die. Or worse, have a dementor kiss, as the dementors had turned onto the dark side.
"Yes." Harry shut his eyes briefly, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Well?"
Harry looked down on at his feet; the face of his master was to horrid to look at for too long. "They plan attack next week, Knockturn Alley, midnight. At the Nocturnal Convention Center."
"How many will be there?"
"Around one hundred."
Voldemort smiled. "I've very pleased. You've proved yourself very worthy, Potter."
"Thank you, sir."
"The murder of that young auror, not too long ago, was one of your best moves. I really was proud of you; I thought you'd back down."
Morgan, Harry thought. He means Morgan. Oh, poor Morgan. Poor, sweet, unsuspecting Morgan. Wait a minute- Morgan wasn't innocent. She was bad. She was bad, wasn't she? "Thank you, sir," he answered automatically.
"I thought you had grown fond of her," Voldemort said.
I thought I had too. "No, sir. Love does not exist. Everything I tricked myself into feeling for her was fake. It was you who showed these truths to me," Harry answered. Thank god he had, he thought. If I had not found out that love was a fraud, than how far would I have gone with Morgan? Would I have married her? The thought made him feel nauseous, but it made him have this strange sensation- it was the same one that he had felt with Jamie last night.
"Very nice, Potter. You know, never in a million years would I have guessed that you would be an asset to me."
"Thank you, sir."
"How is your son doing?"
Harry felt his heart almost stop. He looked upward into Riddle's eyes. Those cold, black, blood stopping eyes. "You- you know about him?"
Voldemort laughed, creating chills that traveled up Harry's spine. What's wrong with you? His laughter never bothered you before. "I know everything, Potter."
Harry nodded, not knowing exactly what to say. "When he gets old enough, you will bring him hear, correct?" Voldemort continued.
Harry nodded again. "Yes," he squeaked.
"Don't let him grow on you." Riddle warned. "He does have bits of his mother in him, and if you let him grow soft, he will be as bad as she was."
"What do you suggest?" Harry asked.
Voldemort stared at him. "Do you know the saying, spare the rod and spoil the child?"
Harry nodded. "I know it."
"Don't spare the rod. It may seem harsh, but physical pain may be what little James needs. Or I guarantee he will turn out like Morgan Andrews, like his grandparents, like YOUR parents. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, sir."
"You don't want him to end up like them, do you? You don't want another soul who can hurt you that badly, do you?"
"No sir," Harry responded.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that I am evil, boy?"
Harry hated being called 'boy.' He was twenty seven, for christsake. "No."
"Why not?"
"Evil doesn't exist."
Riddle smiled at this answer. "What does exist then?"
"Power," Harry answered automatically. "Power exists. It is the only thing that exists."
"What, no love, no goodness, no kindness, no evilness? Do none of these things exist?"
"No." Harry shook his head. "Only power."
Voldemort grinned. "I have taught you well. You will come in handy for me later. I can rely on you more than some other of my servants."
"Thank you, sir."
"One last thing, Potter."
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't let your son grow soft. Or he will turn out like them, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." With that, Harry turned and left the graveyard; he apperated back to London, England.
"Do not let him grow soft, or you Potter, will grow soft," Riddle whispered to himself, out of earshot of everyone else in the cemetery.
***
Harry reached the Burrow at around seven o'clock in the evening. It was already dark, and the moon was full. I wonder where Lupin is, he thought, before brushing him off mentally. No stars were visible tonight. It was so much warmer in the small English village than at the Riddle graveyard. The trips to see Voldemort always drained him of energy, leaving him tired and vulnerable. His scar ached, as it always did after seeing his master. Harry had always thought it of a reminder never to cross Riddle, never to go back to the side Morgan was on, but now he considered it merely an inconvenience and a bother to be constantly in pain. He wiped his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he approached the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley was baby-sitting Jamie. As he got nearer to the Burrow, he saw something that made his heart stop and his blood run cold.
It was a dark mark, hanging above the Weasley home. It was a floating skull with a snake hanging from its mouth, the sign Harry had created after he had killed Morgan. Shit, Harry thought. Jamie! Who did this? Why hadn't I known that there was a planned attack on the Weasley's home? Harry raced to the front door and rushed inside.
He found Mrs. Weasley inside, perched on a chair, crying, but alive. Mr. Weasley was trying to comfort her, kneeling to where she sat and hugging her middle. George was standing against the wall, frozen, Fred was pacing across the kitchen, and Ron was on the couch, holding Jamie. "Are you all okay?" Harry asked.
Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "Ginny!" she screamed before bursting into sobs again. "Oh, my Ginny," she wailed.
"Ginny?" Harry squeaked. He walked into the living room, only to notice this time the small body laying face down on the floor, its red hair going each and every way. "Ginny," he whispered again, kneeling down to look at the girl. She was dead. She was left in perfect condition, perfectly untouched. She didn't even look scared. Neither had Morgan, he remembered.
Why Ginny? he wondered. Why Ginny? She was so sweet, and innocent. He couldn't think of a single thing that she had done in her entire life which would make her deserving to die. Ginny was like his little sister, the sweet, cute kid who would always look up to him, the one who he could always count on for support. Now she was dead.
Who had killed her, he wondered. Malfoy? Crabbe? Goyle? Macnair? What motive would have one of them for killing her? Ginny wasn't an auror; she was an astronomer. She studied the stars for a living, not killing Death Eaters as Morgan did. What use was in it for killing her?
"When did you come home?" Harry asked. "How long has she been dead?"
"Not long," Fred answered. "Mom and dad had taken Jamie out for a while, and Ginny didn't feel well so she stayed at home. George, Ron, and I had agreed to come over later- well, we were the ones who found her like this."
"How long ago?"
"Twenty minutes," George answered. "Why?"
Harry didn't answer, but his mind was running. Who was absent at the dark meeting? He wished more than anything he had taken more attention at the attendance. "Have you called the ministry?"
"Of course," Ron answered. "How stupid do you think we are?"
Harry sat down next to his friend. "I didn't mean that."
Ron nodded. "I know you didn't."
"Are you ok?" Harry asked.
Ron shook his head. "Here, why don't you take Jamie and go," he suggested, handing the baby to him. "This isn't any place for a child."
"Are you sure?" Harry questioned.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll- I guess I'll be all right. I'm just shaken up. Ginny- she's dead. She's dead." Tears fell down his face. "How did this happen?"
Harry hugged Ron lightly. "I'm so sorry," he told him. Somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew he was telling the truth. He really was sorry.
Ron held up his hand. "Go." Harry stood up with Jamie, went and hugged Mrs. Weasley, then left the Burrow for his own home.
I can't believe it. Ginny? Who would do such a thing? I mean, Ginny? She was the closest to absolute goodness that he had ever known, she and Morgan. Yet he had killed Morgan; he had destroyed something wonderful and pure as she. And someone else, just like him, had killed the most innocent creature they had ever known. And Ginny was going to haunt this person forever, as the memory of Morgan haunted him. For a moment, he felt sorry he had ever done it, sorry he had ever joined the dark side, sorry he had murdered anyone at all.
Yet the feeling passed.
***
Harry had not been home five minutes when his doorbell rang. Carrying Jamie, he went to answer it. It was Hermione, dressed in khakis and a emerald green sweater, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Hey," she greeted him. "Hey Jamie," she cooed, taking the baby from Harry. "I've missed you, sweetie. I hope you're taking good care of your daddy."
"Hermione."
"Yeah? What is it? Oh, and that reminds me, have you seen Ron? He stood me up for our date; I want to yell at him."
"Hermione," he began. "He's at the Burrow- um-"
"What?" she asked, suddenly sober, her cheery mannerism gone. "What is it?"
Harry took a breath. "It's Ginny. There was a dark mark above the Burrow, and Ginny. She's dead."
Hermione's jaw dropped in shock. "Oh my god."
Harry nodded. "I was picking up Jamie, and they were all there, and I saw her. She's dead."
"God," Hermione said, her voice unstable, her body trembling. "Ginny." Tears fell down her cheeks.
"Do you want to come in?" Harry asked as sweetly as he could manage without feeling sick.
She nodded. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all." Harry escorted Hermione to his couch in the living room with one arm around her shoulders. "Are you going to be ok?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "It's like their picking off one of my best friends after the next. First Morgan, then Ginny, and who next? You? Ron? God."
"Why Ginny?" Harry questioned. "I mean, why her? She was a goddamn astronomer, the sweetest kid you could ever meet, why her?"
"Why anyone? Why Ginny? Why Morgan?"
"Morgan was an auror," Harry pointed out.
"So?"
Harry sighed. "Hermione, Morgan was brilliant, like you. She was an auror and they didn't have a hope of switching her over to their side. She was in the way."
"You make it sound like you killed her!" Hermione cried.
You don't know how right you are. "Herm, you know how I felt about Morgan. I'm just saying, her death didn't really surprise me."
"Well, if we were in the same position, why aren't I dead?"
"You know I don't have the answer for that, Hermione. Don't make me answer that."
"I don't want to die," Hermione whispered.
Harry hugged her and kissed the top of her head. "You're one of my best friends, Hermione. I don't want you to die either."
"I should die."
"Why on earth would you say that?" Harry asked, incredulous.
"It's my fault Ginny died."
"What?"
Hermione closed her eyes. "I should have told someone. I should have told someone. I shouldn't have listened to Ginny when she told me not to tell."
"Hermione," Harry said. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Ginny was seeing Draco Malfoy," Hermione whispered.
"What?"
She nodded. "They had been dating for about a year. He's a death eater, you know. She said they were going to elope and run away, stupid girl. He killed her."
"Draco?" Harry squeaked, lost in thought. Shit, earlier, when Lucius Malfoy was talking about killing that young girl- he was talking about GINNY! He was killing Ginny! Not Draco, Lucius. Dammit, why? Because Draco was becoming soft over a Weasley, and Voldemort couldn't have that. Shit.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, concerned for her friend.
"I'm fine," Harry answered. "I'm just a bit shaken up."
She smiled. "Aren't we all?"
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "Oh, I almost forgot the reason I came over here in the first place! I found some things of Morgan's when I was cleaning up at my office."
"Like what?" he asked.
"Um, there's a research journal in here, a few pictures- mostly of her family, and an old Celestina Warbeck CD."
"A research journal?" Harry inquired.
She nodded. "Yeah, Morgan was very well rounded; she worked in many fields."
"Like what?"
"Well, one of the things she was trying to do was find a counter-curse for some of the Unforgivable Curses. She would have saved so many lives with that."
"She certainly was amazing, wasn't she?"
Hermione smiled sadly. "Yeah. She really was something. If she hadn't died, she would have saved so many lives. So many lives. It's such a shame."
"Yeah, it is."
"I don't think we'll ever find anyone as great as Morgan Andrews. The world is very deficient in just plain GOOD people like her."
"I know," Harry agreed.
"I'd like to strangle whomever killed her," Hermione said, her voice gruff and bitter.
So would I, Harry thought. So would I.
***
Twenty-two year old Harry sat in a fancy Italian restaurant, La Liberta, dressed up in a suit and tie. He really wasn't concentrating on his food, but on the woman across from him. Her chocolate curly locks bobbed up and down as she spoke, her gray eyes sparkled when she talked of exciting things.
"So," she had said. "I know so much about you, being the famous Harry Potter and all, but there must be more to you than meets the eye."
Much more, he thought. "What do you mean?"
She grinned. "Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows."
Harry pondered this for a minute. "What do you want to know?"
"Why are you not an auror? One would think that you'd really be after Voldemort at a time like this."
He shrugged. "All the hate has kinda just left me. I don't really care anymore." Boy, that was a lie, but he couldn't exactly tell her that he was working for her enemy.
The woman looked at him inquisitively, but did not push any further. "He killed my parents and my brother when I was sixteen."
"I'm sorry."
She smiled. "It's all right. It gave me my career push. I hated him so much after that."
"He's easy to hate," Harry noted.
"Yeah, I know." She smiled sadly. "Do I ever."
They had finished dinner, and then started taking a stroll outside on the grounds. "How long have you know Hermione?" he asked.
"Three years. I've lived in England for six years. My parents were called in here my the ministry to work against Voldemort, then maybe six months later will killed."
"Where did you live before?" Harry asked.
"Australia," she whispered.
"I notice that you're not in the least bit afraid of saying Voldemort's name," Harry pointed out.
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," she quoted.
"Or, in Voldemort's case, which we call a demon by any other name would still be as rotten," he joked. She giggled.
"I've had a great time tonight."
"Me too."
She smiled. "Well, I should be going."
"All right."
She leaned up to peck him on the cheek. "Goodnight." Harry grabbed her wrist, and she spun around to face him. He bent his head in closer to kiss her lips. He had never kissed anyone like he kissed her that first time, which such passion and vehement that made his head ache. Yet it was the most good- he felt warm, loving again, for the first time in months.
"Um," she said once the kiss was broken.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I just wanted to do that since the first time I saw you."
"Me too," she agreed. "Me too."
"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
She nodded. "Goodnight Harry."
"'Night Morgan."
***
Harry couldn't sleep. He rolled around in bed for hours, waiting for sleep to take over him, but it never did. He felt heavy, his head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, his shoulders ached, his back hurt. He felt dizzy and sick and tired all at the same time. I need sleep, he thought.
But Morgan wouldn't let him sleep. Morgan was haunting him, taking control of his life. He dreamt of her. When he closed his eyes, he visioned her face. He constantly smelled her sweet aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin. Whenever he touched anything, it felt of her skin. Whenever he tasted anything, it tasted of cinnamon and pumpkin, as she used to before he killed her. Now that he had found out about her research, and the fact that she could have saved lives, made him feel more guilty and haunted than he already felt. Morgan, let me be! Leave me be! He moaned in his sleep, thinking about what he would be doing currently if he HADN'T killed Morgan. She would be laying next to him, kissing him, snuggled against him. He would have brought himself to face him, smiling at her content expression of love. They would both be awake still, whispering about how their days had gone. Harry would have complained about his long, boring day at the ministry, and she would have told him about the most recent death eater she had caught. Then they would giggle and kiss as quietly as they could, trying not to awaken Jamie.
Did he miss Morgan? No. There was nothing between them to miss. Yes, sometimes he missed their long talks and having someone to confide in. Yes, he missed the sex and the kisses. Yes, he missed the way Morgan would sometimes fix him breakfast in bed and the way she would kiss him when he got home from work. Yes, occasionally he missed playing with her hair and waking up to find her nestled against his chest. Yes, he did miss the way she bit her lip when she was nervous and how she laughed at his jokes and how her eyes twinkled like Dumbledore's did when she was excited. Yet he didn't miss her as a whole. He was glad she was gone; he was free from her, free of commitment, free of guilt of hiding something.
But Harry wasn't free. Not in the least bit. He was not free of Morgan; she still haunted his life. He wasn't free of commitment; he still had Jamie to take care of - the stupid kid. I should kill you and get it over with. He wasn't free of guilt; he felt so guilty about Morgan, and guilty about Ginny, even though her death was not his fault.
He heard Jamie crying in the next room. Goddamn kid, he thought. Just shut the f*** up and go to sleep. Jamie kept on crying, wailing for someone to come to him and comfort him. Comfort him my ass, Harry thought. He climbed out of bed and stormed to the nursery.
Harry hit the light switch as hard as he could, sending brilliant artificial light flooding through the room, blinding its two occupants. Harry didn't notice. He stomped over to the crib and glared down at the crying, red faced baby. "What's the matter!" Harry yelled. "What the hell is the matter with you?" The baby didn't respond, just cried harder. Harry picked Jamie up and held him out at arms length. "What is your problem?"
Jamie stopped wailing to look at his father. He wrinkled his button nose in confusion, and bit his lip. Harry saw Morgan in his son's features. His curls, his nose, his slightly blushed cheeks, his lips, his thick eyelashes: everything was Morgan. Jamie looked so much like Morgan that Harry wanted to scream. So he did.
"You goddamn bitch, leave me alone!" Harry shouted at no one in particular except Morgan. "Leave me alone." He turned back to Jamie and smacked him across the temple, making the baby cry harder. "Shut the f*** up!"
Harry sunk to his knees and placed the baby on the floor. "What the hell is wrong with you? I hate you! I hate you and your mother and everything in this f****** world!" Jamie stopped crying and smiled gently; he held out his arms almost to give Harry a hug.
Harry didn't want a hug. He remembered Voldemort's words. 'It may seem harsh, but physical pain may be what little James needs. Or I guarantee he will turn out like Morgan Andrews.' Dammit, Morgan again! He pulled his wand out of his pants. "Crucio," he whispered. The baby never cried; he just closed his eyes and started jerking wildly. Harry knew exactly the type of aching, blinding pain that Jamie was facing; he had experienced it twice himself, both times enforced by Voldemort.
Holy shit, Harry thought. What have I just done? What am I doing? He threw his wand away and Jamie stilled. "Jamie?" he whispered, his voice cracking. His son opened his eyes; they were big and watery, yet glazed over. The reminded him of how Sirius had looked when he had just returned from Azkaban. Dull. Scared. Lifeless.
Harry turned his back to Jamie, to ashamed to look at his son's face. How could he? He used an unforgivable curse on a baby! He had used the Cruciatus Curse on a seven month old baby! His own son. His own flesh and blood. Have I gone that far? Am I that bad; am I that evil? I don't deserve to live. I deserve to die. Actually, I don't even deserve that; I deserve the Dementor's kiss. Harry felt tears fall from his eyes and didn't even shun them. I shouldn't be crying for myself, he thought. I should be crying for my child who I have disgraced, who I have hurt more than almost physically possible. I am a piece of shit. The tears were coming harder now. How could he have hurt this tiny angel, this little innocent boy? The same way I killed Morgan, he told himself. With an unforgivable curse. I wish I could take it back, it all back. I hate me now. I hate my life. I don't hate the world; I hate myself and what I have become. How did I allow myself to believe him, believe his lies, be brainwashed by him?
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Jamie crawling into his father's lap. Harry looked down at the baby boy, his eyes still big and watery, but now more sad than lifeless. Harry hugged the little boy close to him, trembling with grief and remorse and horrid guilt. He drew back and kissed the top of Jamie's head. "I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. Jamie didn't respond, but wrapped his arms around his father's neck.
"Hey," Harry said, pulling Jamie away. "Look at me," he ordered. Jamie winced, expecting another blow, but when none came, he focused his gaze at Harry. "I will never, ever hurt you again," he promised, running a finger down his son's cheek. "I never, ever will hurt you again, nor will I let anyone else hurt you." He kissed Jamie's forehead. "I will die before I let anyone hurt you. You understand? I'll die. I will never let harm come to you again." Jamie looked up at him with interest, then smiled.
Harry kissed his son's cheeks and nose, then his black messy curls. "I promise," he whispered. Jamie then did something surprising; the little boy stood up and attempted to kiss his father's cheek. Harry pulled Jamie closer to him. "Tomorrow," he whispered. "I'm not working. We'll go out and do something together, okay? Just you and me? How about the zoo?" And the little boy smiled.
A/N: That was creepy. This is the darkest fic I've ever written; it's nice to have a well-rounded experience in writing. I didn't really like the end, I was so mad at Harry when he did that to Jamie! But Harry had to have a turning point, a point where he just broke and knew that what he was doing was wrong. Hopefully, the rest won't be that creepy. It'll still be dark, but hopefully not as creepy. Please review! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW! See the little box down there, just fill it out- :-)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Goyle, Crabbe, Macnair, Riddle House, dementors, Knockturn Alley, aurors, death eaters, the Burrow, unforgivable curses, Crustasious Curse, Celestina Warbeck, the name Jamie Potter, and Voldemort (aka Tom Riddle) belong to the great J.K. Rowling.
Morgan Andrews, the personality of Jamie Potter and La Liberta belong to me.
"And I feel the cold wind blowing beneath my wings
It always leads me back to suffering
But I will soar until the wind whips me down
Leaves me beaten on unholy ground again
So tired of paying my dues
I start out strong but then I always lose
It's half the distance before you leave me behind
It's such a waste of time"
-Vertical Horizon "Shackled"
A cold, October breeze blew through the graveyard. The wind bent back the limbs of the dead trees, rustled the overgrown grass, and swept the dust and dirt off of the tombstones. Harry stood there, amidst all the dark, hooded figures in the middle of the cemetery behind Riddle House. I don't belong here, he thought. Why am I here? Because I hate the world, and so does he. So does the man, the lord whose feet he had worshipped for the last five years. The last five years Harry had had purpose, a drive for keeping him alive. He had used his anger as a reason to get up in the morning. Oh, but it's so cold. It's so cold here-. Harry craved for warmth. He remembered the warm, blazing fire he had at home, all the quilts and sweaters Mrs. Weasley had knit for him, and the comfortable bed he could just collapse in. Yet he also remembered the loneliness that had befriended him every day of his miserable existence. He recalled the nights when he would sit in his living room, alone, having no purpose to his life. Hermione was brilliant; she had her career, Ron would never be lonely with his family. Yet Harry Potter was alone. Although now, standing in the graveyard, he was surrounded by people, people like him, people who hated the world, who were familiar with the darkness and silence that haunted him, he had never felt more alone.
He had left Jamie in the care of Mrs. Weasley, who had fallen in love with him almost immediately. She had held him and kissed him as soon as Harry had handed him to her. 'He looks just like you!' she had cried. He didn't quite understand the effects the child had on people, but respected it the same. Harry remembered how the moment he walked out the door, Jamie started crying. Harry almost smiled, reflecting upon it. Almost.
Lucius Malfoy was talking to Voldemort about something; he was talking about his plots to murder a young girl. Harry really wasn't paying attention. He had spied a rose vine in the distance climbing up a small guest house. The roses were bright yellow, standing out very much in the morbid cemetery. Morgan would have loved that. Morgan loved roses. Morgan loved yellow; it had been her favorite color. 'It's the most cheerful color, don't you agree?' she had said, and he had laughed in response. Then she would sit in his lap and say 'I think we do need some cheering up these days.' He used to send her yellow roses and daisies on her birthday, just to make her face light up with a smile…. He shook his head and reminded himself that Morgan was dead. Morgan was gone, never coming back. He had made sure of that.
Voldemort was addressing him now. Harry slowly walked over to him, dawdling, dragging his feet in the rich earth. "Yes?" Harry questioned.
"Do you have the information?" It was not a question. Harry was aware that he would have to tell, or die. Or worse, have a dementor kiss, as the dementors had turned onto the dark side.
"Yes." Harry shut his eyes briefly, trying to collect his thoughts.
"Well?"
Harry looked down on at his feet; the face of his master was to horrid to look at for too long. "They plan attack next week, Knockturn Alley, midnight. At the Nocturnal Convention Center."
"How many will be there?"
"Around one hundred."
Voldemort smiled. "I've very pleased. You've proved yourself very worthy, Potter."
"Thank you, sir."
"The murder of that young auror, not too long ago, was one of your best moves. I really was proud of you; I thought you'd back down."
Morgan, Harry thought. He means Morgan. Oh, poor Morgan. Poor, sweet, unsuspecting Morgan. Wait a minute- Morgan wasn't innocent. She was bad. She was bad, wasn't she? "Thank you, sir," he answered automatically.
"I thought you had grown fond of her," Voldemort said.
I thought I had too. "No, sir. Love does not exist. Everything I tricked myself into feeling for her was fake. It was you who showed these truths to me," Harry answered. Thank god he had, he thought. If I had not found out that love was a fraud, than how far would I have gone with Morgan? Would I have married her? The thought made him feel nauseous, but it made him have this strange sensation- it was the same one that he had felt with Jamie last night.
"Very nice, Potter. You know, never in a million years would I have guessed that you would be an asset to me."
"Thank you, sir."
"How is your son doing?"
Harry felt his heart almost stop. He looked upward into Riddle's eyes. Those cold, black, blood stopping eyes. "You- you know about him?"
Voldemort laughed, creating chills that traveled up Harry's spine. What's wrong with you? His laughter never bothered you before. "I know everything, Potter."
Harry nodded, not knowing exactly what to say. "When he gets old enough, you will bring him hear, correct?" Voldemort continued.
Harry nodded again. "Yes," he squeaked.
"Don't let him grow on you." Riddle warned. "He does have bits of his mother in him, and if you let him grow soft, he will be as bad as she was."
"What do you suggest?" Harry asked.
Voldemort stared at him. "Do you know the saying, spare the rod and spoil the child?"
Harry nodded. "I know it."
"Don't spare the rod. It may seem harsh, but physical pain may be what little James needs. Or I guarantee he will turn out like Morgan Andrews, like his grandparents, like YOUR parents. You wouldn't want that, would you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, sir."
"You don't want him to end up like them, do you? You don't want another soul who can hurt you that badly, do you?"
"No sir," Harry responded.
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "Do you think that I am evil, boy?"
Harry hated being called 'boy.' He was twenty seven, for christsake. "No."
"Why not?"
"Evil doesn't exist."
Riddle smiled at this answer. "What does exist then?"
"Power," Harry answered automatically. "Power exists. It is the only thing that exists."
"What, no love, no goodness, no kindness, no evilness? Do none of these things exist?"
"No." Harry shook his head. "Only power."
Voldemort grinned. "I have taught you well. You will come in handy for me later. I can rely on you more than some other of my servants."
"Thank you, sir."
"One last thing, Potter."
"Yes, sir?"
"Don't let your son grow soft. Or he will turn out like them, do you understand?"
"Yes, sir." With that, Harry turned and left the graveyard; he apperated back to London, England.
"Do not let him grow soft, or you Potter, will grow soft," Riddle whispered to himself, out of earshot of everyone else in the cemetery.
***
Harry reached the Burrow at around seven o'clock in the evening. It was already dark, and the moon was full. I wonder where Lupin is, he thought, before brushing him off mentally. No stars were visible tonight. It was so much warmer in the small English village than at the Riddle graveyard. The trips to see Voldemort always drained him of energy, leaving him tired and vulnerable. His scar ached, as it always did after seeing his master. Harry had always thought it of a reminder never to cross Riddle, never to go back to the side Morgan was on, but now he considered it merely an inconvenience and a bother to be constantly in pain. He wiped his glasses and rubbed his eyes as he approached the Burrow, where Mrs. Weasley was baby-sitting Jamie. As he got nearer to the Burrow, he saw something that made his heart stop and his blood run cold.
It was a dark mark, hanging above the Weasley home. It was a floating skull with a snake hanging from its mouth, the sign Harry had created after he had killed Morgan. Shit, Harry thought. Jamie! Who did this? Why hadn't I known that there was a planned attack on the Weasley's home? Harry raced to the front door and rushed inside.
He found Mrs. Weasley inside, perched on a chair, crying, but alive. Mr. Weasley was trying to comfort her, kneeling to where she sat and hugging her middle. George was standing against the wall, frozen, Fred was pacing across the kitchen, and Ron was on the couch, holding Jamie. "Are you all okay?" Harry asked.
Mrs. Weasley shook her head. "Ginny!" she screamed before bursting into sobs again. "Oh, my Ginny," she wailed.
"Ginny?" Harry squeaked. He walked into the living room, only to notice this time the small body laying face down on the floor, its red hair going each and every way. "Ginny," he whispered again, kneeling down to look at the girl. She was dead. She was left in perfect condition, perfectly untouched. She didn't even look scared. Neither had Morgan, he remembered.
Why Ginny? he wondered. Why Ginny? She was so sweet, and innocent. He couldn't think of a single thing that she had done in her entire life which would make her deserving to die. Ginny was like his little sister, the sweet, cute kid who would always look up to him, the one who he could always count on for support. Now she was dead.
Who had killed her, he wondered. Malfoy? Crabbe? Goyle? Macnair? What motive would have one of them for killing her? Ginny wasn't an auror; she was an astronomer. She studied the stars for a living, not killing Death Eaters as Morgan did. What use was in it for killing her?
"When did you come home?" Harry asked. "How long has she been dead?"
"Not long," Fred answered. "Mom and dad had taken Jamie out for a while, and Ginny didn't feel well so she stayed at home. George, Ron, and I had agreed to come over later- well, we were the ones who found her like this."
"How long ago?"
"Twenty minutes," George answered. "Why?"
Harry didn't answer, but his mind was running. Who was absent at the dark meeting? He wished more than anything he had taken more attention at the attendance. "Have you called the ministry?"
"Of course," Ron answered. "How stupid do you think we are?"
Harry sat down next to his friend. "I didn't mean that."
Ron nodded. "I know you didn't."
"Are you ok?" Harry asked.
Ron shook his head. "Here, why don't you take Jamie and go," he suggested, handing the baby to him. "This isn't any place for a child."
"Are you sure?" Harry questioned.
Ron nodded. "Yeah, I'm sure. I'll- I guess I'll be all right. I'm just shaken up. Ginny- she's dead. She's dead." Tears fell down his face. "How did this happen?"
Harry hugged Ron lightly. "I'm so sorry," he told him. Somewhere, deep inside of him, he knew he was telling the truth. He really was sorry.
Ron held up his hand. "Go." Harry stood up with Jamie, went and hugged Mrs. Weasley, then left the Burrow for his own home.
I can't believe it. Ginny? Who would do such a thing? I mean, Ginny? She was the closest to absolute goodness that he had ever known, she and Morgan. Yet he had killed Morgan; he had destroyed something wonderful and pure as she. And someone else, just like him, had killed the most innocent creature they had ever known. And Ginny was going to haunt this person forever, as the memory of Morgan haunted him. For a moment, he felt sorry he had ever done it, sorry he had ever joined the dark side, sorry he had murdered anyone at all.
Yet the feeling passed.
***
Harry had not been home five minutes when his doorbell rang. Carrying Jamie, he went to answer it. It was Hermione, dressed in khakis and a emerald green sweater, her hair pulled back into a ponytail. "Hey," she greeted him. "Hey Jamie," she cooed, taking the baby from Harry. "I've missed you, sweetie. I hope you're taking good care of your daddy."
"Hermione."
"Yeah? What is it? Oh, and that reminds me, have you seen Ron? He stood me up for our date; I want to yell at him."
"Hermione," he began. "He's at the Burrow- um-"
"What?" she asked, suddenly sober, her cheery mannerism gone. "What is it?"
Harry took a breath. "It's Ginny. There was a dark mark above the Burrow, and Ginny. She's dead."
Hermione's jaw dropped in shock. "Oh my god."
Harry nodded. "I was picking up Jamie, and they were all there, and I saw her. She's dead."
"God," Hermione said, her voice unstable, her body trembling. "Ginny." Tears fell down her cheeks.
"Do you want to come in?" Harry asked as sweetly as he could manage without feeling sick.
She nodded. "Do you mind?"
"Not at all." Harry escorted Hermione to his couch in the living room with one arm around her shoulders. "Are you going to be ok?"
"I don't know," she admitted. "It's like their picking off one of my best friends after the next. First Morgan, then Ginny, and who next? You? Ron? God."
"Why Ginny?" Harry questioned. "I mean, why her? She was a goddamn astronomer, the sweetest kid you could ever meet, why her?"
"Why anyone? Why Ginny? Why Morgan?"
"Morgan was an auror," Harry pointed out.
"So?"
Harry sighed. "Hermione, Morgan was brilliant, like you. She was an auror and they didn't have a hope of switching her over to their side. She was in the way."
"You make it sound like you killed her!" Hermione cried.
You don't know how right you are. "Herm, you know how I felt about Morgan. I'm just saying, her death didn't really surprise me."
"Well, if we were in the same position, why aren't I dead?"
"You know I don't have the answer for that, Hermione. Don't make me answer that."
"I don't want to die," Hermione whispered.
Harry hugged her and kissed the top of her head. "You're one of my best friends, Hermione. I don't want you to die either."
"I should die."
"Why on earth would you say that?" Harry asked, incredulous.
"It's my fault Ginny died."
"What?"
Hermione closed her eyes. "I should have told someone. I should have told someone. I shouldn't have listened to Ginny when she told me not to tell."
"Hermione," Harry said. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"Ginny was seeing Draco Malfoy," Hermione whispered.
"What?"
She nodded. "They had been dating for about a year. He's a death eater, you know. She said they were going to elope and run away, stupid girl. He killed her."
"Draco?" Harry squeaked, lost in thought. Shit, earlier, when Lucius Malfoy was talking about killing that young girl- he was talking about GINNY! He was killing Ginny! Not Draco, Lucius. Dammit, why? Because Draco was becoming soft over a Weasley, and Voldemort couldn't have that. Shit.
"Are you okay?" Hermione asked, concerned for her friend.
"I'm fine," Harry answered. "I'm just a bit shaken up."
She smiled. "Aren't we all?"
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She nodded. "Oh, I almost forgot the reason I came over here in the first place! I found some things of Morgan's when I was cleaning up at my office."
"Like what?" he asked.
"Um, there's a research journal in here, a few pictures- mostly of her family, and an old Celestina Warbeck CD."
"A research journal?" Harry inquired.
She nodded. "Yeah, Morgan was very well rounded; she worked in many fields."
"Like what?"
"Well, one of the things she was trying to do was find a counter-curse for some of the Unforgivable Curses. She would have saved so many lives with that."
"She certainly was amazing, wasn't she?"
Hermione smiled sadly. "Yeah. She really was something. If she hadn't died, she would have saved so many lives. So many lives. It's such a shame."
"Yeah, it is."
"I don't think we'll ever find anyone as great as Morgan Andrews. The world is very deficient in just plain GOOD people like her."
"I know," Harry agreed.
"I'd like to strangle whomever killed her," Hermione said, her voice gruff and bitter.
So would I, Harry thought. So would I.
***
Twenty-two year old Harry sat in a fancy Italian restaurant, La Liberta, dressed up in a suit and tie. He really wasn't concentrating on his food, but on the woman across from him. Her chocolate curly locks bobbed up and down as she spoke, her gray eyes sparkled when she talked of exciting things.
"So," she had said. "I know so much about you, being the famous Harry Potter and all, but there must be more to you than meets the eye."
Much more, he thought. "What do you mean?"
She grinned. "Tell me something about yourself that no one else knows."
Harry pondered this for a minute. "What do you want to know?"
"Why are you not an auror? One would think that you'd really be after Voldemort at a time like this."
He shrugged. "All the hate has kinda just left me. I don't really care anymore." Boy, that was a lie, but he couldn't exactly tell her that he was working for her enemy.
The woman looked at him inquisitively, but did not push any further. "He killed my parents and my brother when I was sixteen."
"I'm sorry."
She smiled. "It's all right. It gave me my career push. I hated him so much after that."
"He's easy to hate," Harry noted.
"Yeah, I know." She smiled sadly. "Do I ever."
They had finished dinner, and then started taking a stroll outside on the grounds. "How long have you know Hermione?" he asked.
"Three years. I've lived in England for six years. My parents were called in here my the ministry to work against Voldemort, then maybe six months later will killed."
"Where did you live before?" Harry asked.
"Australia," she whispered.
"I notice that you're not in the least bit afraid of saying Voldemort's name," Harry pointed out.
"What's in a name? That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet," she quoted.
"Or, in Voldemort's case, which we call a demon by any other name would still be as rotten," he joked. She giggled.
"I've had a great time tonight."
"Me too."
She smiled. "Well, I should be going."
"All right."
She leaned up to peck him on the cheek. "Goodnight." Harry grabbed her wrist, and she spun around to face him. He bent his head in closer to kiss her lips. He had never kissed anyone like he kissed her that first time, which such passion and vehement that made his head ache. Yet it was the most good- he felt warm, loving again, for the first time in months.
"Um," she said once the kiss was broken.
"Sorry," he whispered. "I just wanted to do that since the first time I saw you."
"Me too," she agreed. "Me too."
"I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"
She nodded. "Goodnight Harry."
"'Night Morgan."
***
Harry couldn't sleep. He rolled around in bed for hours, waiting for sleep to take over him, but it never did. He felt heavy, his head felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, his shoulders ached, his back hurt. He felt dizzy and sick and tired all at the same time. I need sleep, he thought.
But Morgan wouldn't let him sleep. Morgan was haunting him, taking control of his life. He dreamt of her. When he closed his eyes, he visioned her face. He constantly smelled her sweet aroma of cinnamon and pumpkin. Whenever he touched anything, it felt of her skin. Whenever he tasted anything, it tasted of cinnamon and pumpkin, as she used to before he killed her. Now that he had found out about her research, and the fact that she could have saved lives, made him feel more guilty and haunted than he already felt. Morgan, let me be! Leave me be! He moaned in his sleep, thinking about what he would be doing currently if he HADN'T killed Morgan. She would be laying next to him, kissing him, snuggled against him. He would have brought himself to face him, smiling at her content expression of love. They would both be awake still, whispering about how their days had gone. Harry would have complained about his long, boring day at the ministry, and she would have told him about the most recent death eater she had caught. Then they would giggle and kiss as quietly as they could, trying not to awaken Jamie.
Did he miss Morgan? No. There was nothing between them to miss. Yes, sometimes he missed their long talks and having someone to confide in. Yes, he missed the sex and the kisses. Yes, he missed the way Morgan would sometimes fix him breakfast in bed and the way she would kiss him when he got home from work. Yes, occasionally he missed playing with her hair and waking up to find her nestled against his chest. Yes, he did miss the way she bit her lip when she was nervous and how she laughed at his jokes and how her eyes twinkled like Dumbledore's did when she was excited. Yet he didn't miss her as a whole. He was glad she was gone; he was free from her, free of commitment, free of guilt of hiding something.
But Harry wasn't free. Not in the least bit. He was not free of Morgan; she still haunted his life. He wasn't free of commitment; he still had Jamie to take care of - the stupid kid. I should kill you and get it over with. He wasn't free of guilt; he felt so guilty about Morgan, and guilty about Ginny, even though her death was not his fault.
He heard Jamie crying in the next room. Goddamn kid, he thought. Just shut the f*** up and go to sleep. Jamie kept on crying, wailing for someone to come to him and comfort him. Comfort him my ass, Harry thought. He climbed out of bed and stormed to the nursery.
Harry hit the light switch as hard as he could, sending brilliant artificial light flooding through the room, blinding its two occupants. Harry didn't notice. He stomped over to the crib and glared down at the crying, red faced baby. "What's the matter!" Harry yelled. "What the hell is the matter with you?" The baby didn't respond, just cried harder. Harry picked Jamie up and held him out at arms length. "What is your problem?"
Jamie stopped wailing to look at his father. He wrinkled his button nose in confusion, and bit his lip. Harry saw Morgan in his son's features. His curls, his nose, his slightly blushed cheeks, his lips, his thick eyelashes: everything was Morgan. Jamie looked so much like Morgan that Harry wanted to scream. So he did.
"You goddamn bitch, leave me alone!" Harry shouted at no one in particular except Morgan. "Leave me alone." He turned back to Jamie and smacked him across the temple, making the baby cry harder. "Shut the f*** up!"
Harry sunk to his knees and placed the baby on the floor. "What the hell is wrong with you? I hate you! I hate you and your mother and everything in this f****** world!" Jamie stopped crying and smiled gently; he held out his arms almost to give Harry a hug.
Harry didn't want a hug. He remembered Voldemort's words. 'It may seem harsh, but physical pain may be what little James needs. Or I guarantee he will turn out like Morgan Andrews.' Dammit, Morgan again! He pulled his wand out of his pants. "Crucio," he whispered. The baby never cried; he just closed his eyes and started jerking wildly. Harry knew exactly the type of aching, blinding pain that Jamie was facing; he had experienced it twice himself, both times enforced by Voldemort.
Holy shit, Harry thought. What have I just done? What am I doing? He threw his wand away and Jamie stilled. "Jamie?" he whispered, his voice cracking. His son opened his eyes; they were big and watery, yet glazed over. The reminded him of how Sirius had looked when he had just returned from Azkaban. Dull. Scared. Lifeless.
Harry turned his back to Jamie, to ashamed to look at his son's face. How could he? He used an unforgivable curse on a baby! He had used the Cruciatus Curse on a seven month old baby! His own son. His own flesh and blood. Have I gone that far? Am I that bad; am I that evil? I don't deserve to live. I deserve to die. Actually, I don't even deserve that; I deserve the Dementor's kiss. Harry felt tears fall from his eyes and didn't even shun them. I shouldn't be crying for myself, he thought. I should be crying for my child who I have disgraced, who I have hurt more than almost physically possible. I am a piece of shit. The tears were coming harder now. How could he have hurt this tiny angel, this little innocent boy? The same way I killed Morgan, he told himself. With an unforgivable curse. I wish I could take it back, it all back. I hate me now. I hate my life. I don't hate the world; I hate myself and what I have become. How did I allow myself to believe him, believe his lies, be brainwashed by him?
Harry's thoughts were interrupted by Jamie crawling into his father's lap. Harry looked down at the baby boy, his eyes still big and watery, but now more sad than lifeless. Harry hugged the little boy close to him, trembling with grief and remorse and horrid guilt. He drew back and kissed the top of Jamie's head. "I'm so sorry," Harry whispered. Jamie didn't respond, but wrapped his arms around his father's neck.
"Hey," Harry said, pulling Jamie away. "Look at me," he ordered. Jamie winced, expecting another blow, but when none came, he focused his gaze at Harry. "I will never, ever hurt you again," he promised, running a finger down his son's cheek. "I never, ever will hurt you again, nor will I let anyone else hurt you." He kissed Jamie's forehead. "I will die before I let anyone hurt you. You understand? I'll die. I will never let harm come to you again." Jamie looked up at him with interest, then smiled.
Harry kissed his son's cheeks and nose, then his black messy curls. "I promise," he whispered. Jamie then did something surprising; the little boy stood up and attempted to kiss his father's cheek. Harry pulled Jamie closer to him. "Tomorrow," he whispered. "I'm not working. We'll go out and do something together, okay? Just you and me? How about the zoo?" And the little boy smiled.
A/N: That was creepy. This is the darkest fic I've ever written; it's nice to have a well-rounded experience in writing. I didn't really like the end, I was so mad at Harry when he did that to Jamie! But Harry had to have a turning point, a point where he just broke and knew that what he was doing was wrong. Hopefully, the rest won't be that creepy. It'll still be dark, but hopefully not as creepy. Please review! PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE REVIEW! See the little box down there, just fill it out- :-)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Molly Weasley, Arthur Weasley, Fred Weasley, George Weasley, Ginny Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Remus Lupin, Goyle, Crabbe, Macnair, Riddle House, dementors, Knockturn Alley, aurors, death eaters, the Burrow, unforgivable curses, Crustasious Curse, Celestina Warbeck, the name Jamie Potter, and Voldemort (aka Tom Riddle) belong to the great J.K. Rowling.
Morgan Andrews, the personality of Jamie Potter and La Liberta belong to me.