A/N: Third part! Yeah! Not as creepy as last two parts. Thank goodness.
"I've got to be honest
I think you know
We're covered in lies and that's OK
There's somewhere beyond this I know
But I hope I can find the words to say…
But I've been unable
To put you down
I'm still learning things I ought to know by now
It's under the table so
I need something more to show somehow."
-Vertical Horizon, "You're A God"
To the spectators they seemed normal. They were a pair, a father and his baby son going to the zoo. It was a usual site to see parents taking their young children to the zoo, so they thought nothing of it. They only saw the two share a vanilla ice-cream cone, laughing at the lion chasing his tail, waving to the friendly zebras. They didn't notice how the father started up a friendly conversation with the resident rattlesnake, creating squeals of delight from his son, or how the father whispered a few words under his breathe and made the lion think his tail was his lunch. They didn't see a killer holding his baby, the only thing in the world with any worth to him. No, they didn't see that; they only saw a dark haired, green eyed man carrying his seven month old son who resembled the father greatly.
"Hey, Jamie, look," Harry whispered, pointing his wand at the bubble gum pink flamingos. An instant later, the flamingos were attempting dance like steps that resembled Riverdance. Jamie giggled and clapped his hands.
"You like that?" Harry asked, hugging his son closer to him. Jamie giggled again and told Harry something in baby talk that he couldn't understand.
"What?" Harry questioned. "You're still hungry?" Jamie shrugged and grinned. The baby shut his eyes and laid his head on his father's shoulder.
"Oh, you're sleepy?" In response, Jamie looked up at Harry from his position, then closed his eyes again. "I'll take that as a yes," Harry said softly, not wanting to wake his son.
He sat down upon a green park bench, leaning back against the painted rod iron. He held Jamie in his arms, cradling him close. Harry noted how sweet he looked in sleep. With Jamie's dark, wispy curls, his creamy, ivory skin, his rose colored cheeks, and his long, thick eyelashes, Jamie really did resemble a little angel. All he needs now is a little halo, wings, and a harp, Harry thought with a smile. He looks like Morgan. And me. He has my hair color, my eyes, my knobby knees, and my skinny build. Jamie shifted in his sleep and turned closer to Harry. "You're sweet, aren't you?" he whispered.
In response, Jamie's eyes sprung open. He grinned and cooed. "Ah ah," he mumbled.
"Ah ah?" Harry questioned.
Jamie nodded. "Ah ah."
Harry kissed his son's forehead. "Sorry, sweetie, I haven't the slightest of what that means."
Jamie shrugged. "Ah uh ew."
Harry shook his head. "I'm going to have to teach you English soon, all right?"
"Ah uh ew," Jamie cooed.
He smiled. "Ah uh ew too, whatever that means." Jamie giggled and flailed his tiny arms and legs in the air. Harry laughed too and pulled his son closer.
"You're so tiny," Harry commented. "It's amazing how much personality you have for such a small boy."
Jamie grinned and clapped his hands. Harry grinned too, so big that it hurt his face. He felt, well, happy for the first time in years. He didn't really feel like he hated the world anymore.
Jamie clutched to Harry's neck and whimpered. "What is it?" Then Harry felt it. His dark mark on his shoulder, burning.
Jamie held out his finger, which had a small red mark on it. "Oh, did it burn you?" he asked sweetly. Jamie nodded. "I think we'll have to cut our afternoon short. I have to take you to Hermione's then go to- a place, all right?" The little boy nodded again, almost in comprehension, but a few tears ran down his cheeks.
***
He was back at the graveyard again. He hated leaving Jamie with Hermione, to burden her so, but he didn't have any option. When the mark burned, he had to go. So there he stood, amidst the gray, cracked tombstones, with the grass grown up to his knees and the chilling breeze. Is it always dark here? Is it always this cold? Harry shuddered to himself as the rest of the dark robed figures arrived. He looked around for Voldemort, but saw that his master's face was missing.
The dark grounds no longer held their mystery, their hate that Harry had been so fond of. It was merely dark and cold. Harry wished he was still at the zoo with Jamie, making his son laugh by performing charms on the animals. He almost smiled at the memory, but knew that if he did suspicions would arrive.
He saw Draco in the back of the group, his head bent and staring at the ground. His silvery blonde hair looked dirty, darker than usual, and when he looked up, his eyes looked more sad and hurt than cold and cruel. Harry pondered his change, and fought the instinct to run to Voldemort and tattle on Draco's obvious vulnerabilities. A weak Death Eater was as good as a dead one, his lord said often enough; it was one of his favorite lines. Harry would have otherwise been overjoyed to get his enemy in trouble, but today, didn't care the slightest. Oh, Ginny, he remembered. It's Ginny's death that's creating Draco's pain. He closed his eyes, remembering her laying face down on the floor of the Burrow, her fiery hair cascading behind her.
Harry walked over to his childhood enemy. "Draco," he said kindly.
"What is it, Potter?" Draco snapped coldly. His voice, although frigid, lacked its usual confidence and stability.
"I'm sorry," Harry said lamely.
"About what?"
"Ginny."
Draco gave a short, forced laugh. "A Weasley? Do you really think that Weasley girl's death? I could care less!"
"I think you do care. I know you were seeing her," Harry replied.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco snapped.
Harry sighed. "I think you do. Draco, I'm not about to run over there and tattle on you to Voldemort." Draco cringed ever so slightly at the name.
"No, my father already did that, thank you," Draco whispered.
"He's the one who told him?"
"He's the one that killed her!" Draco shouted. "He went to her house and killed her! He told Voldemort about us and he was ordered to kill her!"
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.
"I loved her," Draco stated. "I was going to marry her, but now I'll never have the chance, now will I?"
"You were going soft. That's why they did it," Harry stated.
Draco shook his head. "Soft? I may be soft, but I feel more alive being soft than not."
"I know what you mean," Harry said, thinking of Jamie, thinking of Morgan.
"Do you? You going soft too, Potter?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Yesterday I would have said no, but today I don't know."
"Were you the one who killed that Australian Auror?" Draco asked, changing the subject.
"Morgan?"
He nodded. "Yeah, her name was Morgan Andrews. You were the one who did it, right?"
Harry nodded sadly. "Yes, that was me."
"Did you love her?" Draco questioned. "I know that she was your girlfriend."
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I thought I did, but then he said that I didn't and-"
"Do you know why Voldemort told you to kill her?" Draco interrupted.
"Yeah, she was an auror, and she was researching counter curses for the unforgivable curses-"
Draco shook his head. "That's not it. I mean, that was a part, but not all."
"What?" he inquired, puzzled.
"The same reason my father killed Ginny."
"What?"
"You were going soft, Potter," Draco explained. "He knew that he wouldn't have long before you were completely gone to the other side, and he couldn't have that."
"What?" Harry repeated, shocked.
"You heard me, Potter. You were going soft, and a much too profitable asset to be lost over a pretty auror. So he fed you a bunch of crap and told you to kill her."
"No," Harry moaned. "That's not true."
"Whatever, Potter. You believe whatever you want, but I'm telling you the truth. You also better watch over your kid, because the second he thinks you've gone too soft over him, he's gone. He thinks that you're still savable, but I'm lost for good. I can't do this anymore."
"I can't believe this."
"And if you know what's good for you, you won't tattle about our little conversation, will you?" Draco snapped.
"Draco, I wouldn't do that."
"I also thought I'd never see you, Harry Potter, as a death eater, but here you are."
Harry looked down at his feet. "I guess I got screwed up."
"Didn't we all?"
"What?"
Draco sighed impatiently. "We all got screwed up. By our families. By our friends. By him. We're all screwed up."
"He fed me lies and told me that my parents, my friends were wrong. That they were bad."
"Don't feel so sorry for yourself, Potter. How would you like it if both your father and him recruited you for this? Would you like that?"
"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.
"I'm sorry for you too. We're both over our heads."
"What can we do? We can't get out. Once you're a death eater, you can't just stop. You're one for life."
Draco looked down at the dirt. "If you find a plan, Potter, fill me in on it. I want to get out as much as you do."
"Only if you do the same."
Draco gave a small smile. "Does this agreement mean we're companions?"
"You mean friends?"
He cringed. "Yes."
"Do you think so?"
"I don't know."
Well," Harry began. "If we are going to be friends, call me Harry, not Potter, all right?"
"All right, Harry."
***
The morning held a wet, dewy feeling to it. Harry shuddered against the early November cold. He hugged Jamie to him, clutching his son against his black robes. The Weasleys stood together, each one ashen faced and gloomy. Their hair seemed to lost most of its fire and for once, seemed dull. The priest was talking, saying things about how wonderful Ginny Weasley was. He didn't even know her, Harry thought bitterly. He shouldn't be talking at her funeral. Hermione stood next to Harry, watching the coffin being placed in the ground with tears in her eyes. Harry stared at her, watched her bend her head with sobs, then look up and shake her hair from her eyes, then look down again with a new burst of tears. Harry put a comforting arm around her, and she leaned on him, crying into his shoulder. "It's okay," he comforted her. "It's all right." He caught Ron's gaze; instead of looking at him with appreciation for calming his fiancée, Ron looked almost jealous and angry. Harry snorted. You think I'm going to steal her? Fat chance. If I didn't manage that years ago, do you think I'll do that now? He didn't want her anymore. He didn't know what he wanted.
"Thanks," Hermione sniffed, wiping her tears. "I'm sorry."
Harry shook his head. "There's nothing to be sorry about."
"I hate funerals," she muttered.
He laughed. "Doesn't everyone?"
"Not Draco," she muttered. "The murderer."
Harry shook his head. She doesn't know, he thought. She doesn't know that I'm a killer too, more of one than Draco is.
He noticed a black robed figure in the back of the group, staying away from everyone else. The man kept his hood down to disguise his face, but once the wind succeeded and pulled the hood back, revealing bloodshot, pain lined gray eyes, blonde hair, and blotchy skin from crying. The man watched Ginny's coffin be lowered into the ground, her gravestone placed upon the newly placed dirt. He bowed his head in pure grief. Harry felt his heart going out to his former enemy. I am going soft, he concluded. Maybe Draco was right, it was better to be soft than hard. It was better to love than hate, although both hurt. Hate hurts because it burns one's soul into nothing, and love hurts when it is lost. But love was much more appealing to Harry than hate at that moment, cradling his son, watching his friend being buried deep into the earth, and seeing his enemy cry. Love was much more appealing. It was hate that created this funeral, not love.
"Hermione?" he asked softly.
"Yes?"
"Would you hold Jamie for a minute?"
She forced a smile. "Of course." She took the baby from Harry. Jamie looked at Hermione, then back at Harry. He started to whimper.
"Jamie," Harry said warningly, making the baby hush.
"He's grown attached to you," Hermione noted.
Harry nodded and walked off. He didn't know where he was going, but knew that he would know when he arrived. He walked between the rows of tombstones. He noticed that families were buried together, like the Browns and Patils and Macmillans. The gray-brown morning sky fit the occasion, patrolling in a graveyard, in which he had been in several times.
He reached his destination. "Potter," he read. "James." He walked to the next grave. "Lily." He sat down between his parent's graves. "Mum, dad," he whispered. "I'm so sorry," he cried, not thinking of anything else to say. "I'm so sorry about everything. I'm sorry about how my life has turned out. I'm so sorry I disappointed you." Tears ran down his cheeks. "If you were still alive, would you hate me?" He knew he sounded like a little child, but didn't care. "Would you hate me?" He suddenly knew the answer- no. They wouldn't hate him. They felt towards him what he had started to feel towards Jamie- unconditional love. Harry suddenly understood everything, his parents, his son. He smiled and stood up.
He walked until he came to the burial of the Andrews family. "Alexia," he read, walking down the row. "David. Peter." He stopped in his tracks at the next grave. "Morgan," he whispered. He kneeled in front of her grave. "Morgan," he cried. "Damn it! Morgan." Remorse filled him, making his heart physically ache and his head sore. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed. He stood their a long time, just crying for his lover, for his baby's mother. He cried for his parents, for Ginny, for Ron, for Hermione, for Jamie. Tears blurred his vision and the only thing he knew was his pain.
They saw none of this. The Weasleys, Hermione, they didn't see this. They saw a man crying for his dead lover. They didn't see a killer crying for his victim. Harry liked it that way.
***
"Hermione?" Harry squeaked, panicked, holding the phone to his ear.
Ten blocks away, Hermione Granger held her phone to her ear. "Harry, it's one o'clock in the morning."
"Hermione, something's wrong," Harry stated, holding Jamie in his arms. "It's Jamie."
"What is it?" Hermione asked, sitting straight up in bed. "What's wrong?"
"He's-" Harry paused and touched his son's forehead. "God, Herm, he's burning up, but he's getting chills. He's crying and refusing to eat or drink."
In her dark and empty bedroom, Hermione almost smiled. "It sounds like he's sick, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes, although Hermione couldn't see him. "I noticed that."
"He probably has some muggle cold," Hermione stated, throwing the covers off her bed and standing up. She walked over to the door to her bathroom and slipped her robe around be pajamas. "Do you have a thermometer and muggle medicines like Tylenol?"
"What?" Harry questioned. Jamie had just gotten a chill, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. I am going soft.
Hermione sighed at Harry's naïveté. "Do you want me to come over and bring what you need?"
"Would you?"
"Of course. You've had him for less than a week; of course I will." Hermione walked to her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and an old, ragged sweater. "I'll be there in ten minutes, all right?"
"Ron too?" Harry asked, not really sure if he wanted Ron there. He did, because Ron was his friend, but he didn't, because Harry had some hidden grudges against his favorite Weasley.
"No," Hermione admitted. "Would you hold on?" She placed the phone down, and quickly took of her pajama top and threw on her sweater. She again picked up the phone. "I haven't the slightest where Ron is; I have only seen him twice since, well, Ginny died."
"It was only three days ago," Harry reasoned. "The man's in shock. I mean, his sister's dead; the funeral was today; I would be too."
"I know," Hermione sighed. "It's just that, I don't know where we're going from this." She pulled her pajama pants down and pulled on her jeans.
"What do you mean?"
"Are we still getting married? Does he want to postpone it for the billionth time?"
Harry almost laughed. "Come over and bring Jamie some medicine. We'll talk more then."
"Be there in a few minutes," Hermione agreed, then hung up the phone.
***
"There we go," Hermione said, placing the ear thermometer in Jamie's ear.
"You know what you're doing?" Harry asked nervously.
"I'm sure," Hermione stated calmly. "103.2," she stated. "You are sick, aren't you?"
"Will he be all right?"
"Fever is just a sign that the body is fighting disease. It's good, but this might be a bit high."
Harry looked around. "And we do what?"
Hermione grinned. "We calm down. Being nervous won't help Jamie."
He smiled. "Ok. What do we do now?"
"We give him Tylenol," she stated.
"Oh, all right."
She turned Jamie on his stomach and pulled down his pants. "Hand me the Tylenol, please."
"What the hell are you doing?" Harry asked, incredulous.
"Watch and learn," she said. "Now hand me the Tylenol."
Harry handed her the medicine. "You're going to stick the medicine up his ass?"
"Harry!" she scolded. "Don't swear!"
"Well, are you?"
She sighed. "That's what you're supposed to do. They can't keep down liquids or solids yet, so this is the only way."
"Ewww."
"Baby," Hermione hissed under her breath. "There, all done."
Harry picked up Jamie and held the child in his lap. "Now what?"
"I wouldn't put him to bed until he breaks the fever," Hermione instructed. "He'll probably need a change of clothes afterward."
"All right," Harry said, settling on the couch. "I'm tired."
"Me too." She smiled. "Are you doing well as a father?"
"I guess so," he said. Not before our second night, he thought, when I- he didn't even want to think about it.
"How long did it take you to learn how to change a diaper?"
"An hour," Harry admitted.
"Pretty good," Hermione stated. "It took Ron three."
Harry laughed. "What were you saying on the phone?"
She looked at her feet. "I'm so confused. I don't know what to do."
"About what?"
"Ron and I. We haven't talked about the wedding in ages. Are we still going through with it? We've been engaged for about five years now. First, it we were scared; we weren't used to these dangerous times. Then my mum died, then Morgan, and now Ginny." She laid her head back. "I don't think we're ever going to get married."
"There, there," Harry comforted. "I'm sure you will, eventually."
She snorted. "Yeah, EVENTUALLY."
Jamie mumbled something in his sleep, and Harry pulled him closer. "Shhh," he told Hermione. "Keep your voice down."
She smiled. "You certainly are turning into a true father, aren't you?
"I'd like to think so."
Jamie opened his eyes and yawned. "He's so cute," Hermione commented.
Harry kissed Jamie's curls. "He's adorable. Aren't you?" Jamie fluttered his long eyelashes and yawned again. "Aren't you adorable?" He looked up at Hermione. "He's all sweaty."
She nodded. "His fever most likely broke. He'll be feeling a bit better now."
"Do you feel better?" Harry asked Jamie. The baby smiled and cooed. "I love you," he whispered.
In the corners of the room, a small, fat rat ran from its hiding place in the shadows to the open window. He crawled up the desk next to the window, and carefully climbed from the window to the ledge below. Then he raced away, as fast as he could, considering that he was missing a finger.
Harry's mind went blank. He had just said the three words that he had believed were bullshit. He had said them, and meant them too! Harry felt scared to leave the comfort that he had lived in, how he had lived in his hate. Did he love the baby? Did he really mean the words he had said? Yes, Harry decided. He did love Jamie. The acknowledgment of this fact made him feel like a weight had been lifted, but he felt scared because everything he had believed for the five years had just been thrown out the window. He felt shaky, unsteady, but lighter than air.
"Harry?" Hermione inquired. "Are you all right?"
"Huh? Oh, I'm fine."
"You just were staring out into space. Are you sure you're ok?"
He nodded. "I'm fine, Herm. Don't worry about me."
She grinned. "I'm going to go now, all right? Do you need me to stay longer?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. You can go if you like."
They both stood up and walked towards the door. "Thanks for everything," he said.
"You're welcome."
He pulled her into a tight hug. He decided to test his new ability to say those three words. "I love you."
She squeezed him. "I love you too. Now, try and get some sleep, all right?"
He laid his head on her shoulder. "Ok," he whispered.
"Harry, what's wrong?" She placed one hand on his shoulder and on his neck. She felt something on his shoulder, so she lifted the short sleeve of his shirt a bit, and felt something. A tattoo? No, that's not it. An engraving. A head- no a skull with something coming from its mouth - a snake. Oh, shit, she thought, not even chastising herself for swearing. The dark mark. Voldemort's dark mark. On Harry's shoulder. Is he one of them? Is he a death eater? He must be if he has a dark mark, her head screamed. Oh god. He's evil. How did this happen? My Harry, our sweet, trusting Harry- a death eater? Gone bad? A thought came to her that made her almost gasp. Was he the one to kill Ginny, not Draco? The timing was perfect-. Her thoughts ran together and she tried not to panic. Oh my god. Oh my god.
She pulled out of his embrace quickly. "Well, I really must be going."
"You can stay if you want," Harry offered.
She laughed nervously. Straighten up, Hermione! "No, really, I should go."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Fine, fine. What, do I not seem like I'm fine?"
He shrugged. "You seem a bit edgy. What's going on?"
"Edgy? Oh, I'm not edgy. Why would you think that. Don't answer- I really have to go. Bye Harry," she said as she raced out of the door.
"Bye," he said after she had slammed the door in his face.
***
Riddle graveyard didn't intimidate Harry as much as it once did. The chill in the air, the ice cold ground- none of it made Harry feel almost giddy as it once did. He was young, and the being evil made him feel as if he was rebelling against his almost perfect existence. The perfect Potter he was. Some perfect, he snuffed. He noticed that their was only a few others, himself, Draco, Lucius, Macnair, and Goyle. His dark mark had been burning. Could Voldemort only summon certain people? He guessed so, but wasn't sure.
He noticed a caterpillar on the ground. He raised his foot to stomp on it, but stopped at the last minute. The worm like insect was kind of cute, and would turn into a butterfly when it became spring. Morgan loved butterflies. She would catch the caterpillars and watch them as they went into their cocoon and turned into the colorful flying butterflies. He recalled a picture of her in where she was in the park and had three butterflies in her hair. He never laughed as much as the day he took that picture.
Voldemort was beckoning him now. He was almost scared, the man-he wasn't a man, a demon- was so ugly looking, with his red eyes and snake like features. "Potter."
"Yes, sir?"
"Your son, his name is James, correct?"
You already knew that, you dumb-ass. "Yes, sir."
"Potter."
"What?"
Voldemort looked at him with his evil, scarlet eyes and Harry almost trembled. "You do not address me in that manner."
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry apologized. "I'm a bit crabby today, and I apologize."
"Why?"
"I didn't get much sleep."
"Why?"
"My son was sick."
Riddle looked away for a minute, then turned his stare back to Harry. "About your son-"
"Yes?"
"You need to kill him."
"What, sir?" Harry cried.
"He- he has to much of his mother in him. He'll go back to their side, Potter. You don't want that, do you?"
"No."
"Then you need to kill him. It'll be very easy to fake, my loyal spy. Very easy indeed."
Kill Jamie? What? "Yes, sir."
"Good," Voldemort grinned. "I trust that I will not be disappointed in you, Potter."
"I would not disappoint you, my lord."
"Good. You're dismissed, Potter."
Harry turned away. He started walking away from Riddle, away from the death eaters. He had not the slightest idea where he was going; his mind was blank.
Kill Jamie? He's my son. I can't do that. Ah, but you killed Morgan, the little voice in his head so annoyingly told him. I can't do it. I can't! What if Riddle is right? What if he is bad? But Voldemort is the one who is bad. And anyone he says is bad; it's like a double negative. If a bad person says someone is bad, then he's good. Jamie was the best thing Harry had ever known. He was perfect, an angel. What could that little baby have ever done to be killed? He's making you soft, Harry thought angrily. Draco's right; he wants me to kill Jamie because I've become soft over him. I love him; he's my son. I'm not going to be as stupid as I was with Morgan.
So Harry apperated away. He left the graveyard, the tombstones, the death eaters, Draco, Riddle himself. He left with the knowledge that he would never, could never, EVER kill his son.
A/N: That one wasn't as creepy as the last two, although it was dark. What did you think? Please review! Please, pretty please with cherries on top? :-) I think there'll be two more parts. I still have a few twists and surprises, so look forward to it!
"I've got to be honest
I think you know
We're covered in lies and that's OK
There's somewhere beyond this I know
But I hope I can find the words to say…
But I've been unable
To put you down
I'm still learning things I ought to know by now
It's under the table so
I need something more to show somehow."
-Vertical Horizon, "You're A God"
To the spectators they seemed normal. They were a pair, a father and his baby son going to the zoo. It was a usual site to see parents taking their young children to the zoo, so they thought nothing of it. They only saw the two share a vanilla ice-cream cone, laughing at the lion chasing his tail, waving to the friendly zebras. They didn't notice how the father started up a friendly conversation with the resident rattlesnake, creating squeals of delight from his son, or how the father whispered a few words under his breathe and made the lion think his tail was his lunch. They didn't see a killer holding his baby, the only thing in the world with any worth to him. No, they didn't see that; they only saw a dark haired, green eyed man carrying his seven month old son who resembled the father greatly.
"Hey, Jamie, look," Harry whispered, pointing his wand at the bubble gum pink flamingos. An instant later, the flamingos were attempting dance like steps that resembled Riverdance. Jamie giggled and clapped his hands.
"You like that?" Harry asked, hugging his son closer to him. Jamie giggled again and told Harry something in baby talk that he couldn't understand.
"What?" Harry questioned. "You're still hungry?" Jamie shrugged and grinned. The baby shut his eyes and laid his head on his father's shoulder.
"Oh, you're sleepy?" In response, Jamie looked up at Harry from his position, then closed his eyes again. "I'll take that as a yes," Harry said softly, not wanting to wake his son.
He sat down upon a green park bench, leaning back against the painted rod iron. He held Jamie in his arms, cradling him close. Harry noted how sweet he looked in sleep. With Jamie's dark, wispy curls, his creamy, ivory skin, his rose colored cheeks, and his long, thick eyelashes, Jamie really did resemble a little angel. All he needs now is a little halo, wings, and a harp, Harry thought with a smile. He looks like Morgan. And me. He has my hair color, my eyes, my knobby knees, and my skinny build. Jamie shifted in his sleep and turned closer to Harry. "You're sweet, aren't you?" he whispered.
In response, Jamie's eyes sprung open. He grinned and cooed. "Ah ah," he mumbled.
"Ah ah?" Harry questioned.
Jamie nodded. "Ah ah."
Harry kissed his son's forehead. "Sorry, sweetie, I haven't the slightest of what that means."
Jamie shrugged. "Ah uh ew."
Harry shook his head. "I'm going to have to teach you English soon, all right?"
"Ah uh ew," Jamie cooed.
He smiled. "Ah uh ew too, whatever that means." Jamie giggled and flailed his tiny arms and legs in the air. Harry laughed too and pulled his son closer.
"You're so tiny," Harry commented. "It's amazing how much personality you have for such a small boy."
Jamie grinned and clapped his hands. Harry grinned too, so big that it hurt his face. He felt, well, happy for the first time in years. He didn't really feel like he hated the world anymore.
Jamie clutched to Harry's neck and whimpered. "What is it?" Then Harry felt it. His dark mark on his shoulder, burning.
Jamie held out his finger, which had a small red mark on it. "Oh, did it burn you?" he asked sweetly. Jamie nodded. "I think we'll have to cut our afternoon short. I have to take you to Hermione's then go to- a place, all right?" The little boy nodded again, almost in comprehension, but a few tears ran down his cheeks.
***
He was back at the graveyard again. He hated leaving Jamie with Hermione, to burden her so, but he didn't have any option. When the mark burned, he had to go. So there he stood, amidst the gray, cracked tombstones, with the grass grown up to his knees and the chilling breeze. Is it always dark here? Is it always this cold? Harry shuddered to himself as the rest of the dark robed figures arrived. He looked around for Voldemort, but saw that his master's face was missing.
The dark grounds no longer held their mystery, their hate that Harry had been so fond of. It was merely dark and cold. Harry wished he was still at the zoo with Jamie, making his son laugh by performing charms on the animals. He almost smiled at the memory, but knew that if he did suspicions would arrive.
He saw Draco in the back of the group, his head bent and staring at the ground. His silvery blonde hair looked dirty, darker than usual, and when he looked up, his eyes looked more sad and hurt than cold and cruel. Harry pondered his change, and fought the instinct to run to Voldemort and tattle on Draco's obvious vulnerabilities. A weak Death Eater was as good as a dead one, his lord said often enough; it was one of his favorite lines. Harry would have otherwise been overjoyed to get his enemy in trouble, but today, didn't care the slightest. Oh, Ginny, he remembered. It's Ginny's death that's creating Draco's pain. He closed his eyes, remembering her laying face down on the floor of the Burrow, her fiery hair cascading behind her.
Harry walked over to his childhood enemy. "Draco," he said kindly.
"What is it, Potter?" Draco snapped coldly. His voice, although frigid, lacked its usual confidence and stability.
"I'm sorry," Harry said lamely.
"About what?"
"Ginny."
Draco gave a short, forced laugh. "A Weasley? Do you really think that Weasley girl's death? I could care less!"
"I think you do care. I know you were seeing her," Harry replied.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Draco snapped.
Harry sighed. "I think you do. Draco, I'm not about to run over there and tattle on you to Voldemort." Draco cringed ever so slightly at the name.
"No, my father already did that, thank you," Draco whispered.
"He's the one who told him?"
"He's the one that killed her!" Draco shouted. "He went to her house and killed her! He told Voldemort about us and he was ordered to kill her!"
"I'm sorry," Harry whispered.
"I loved her," Draco stated. "I was going to marry her, but now I'll never have the chance, now will I?"
"You were going soft. That's why they did it," Harry stated.
Draco shook his head. "Soft? I may be soft, but I feel more alive being soft than not."
"I know what you mean," Harry said, thinking of Jamie, thinking of Morgan.
"Do you? You going soft too, Potter?"
"I don't know. I don't know anything anymore. Yesterday I would have said no, but today I don't know."
"Were you the one who killed that Australian Auror?" Draco asked, changing the subject.
"Morgan?"
He nodded. "Yeah, her name was Morgan Andrews. You were the one who did it, right?"
Harry nodded sadly. "Yes, that was me."
"Did you love her?" Draco questioned. "I know that she was your girlfriend."
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I thought I did, but then he said that I didn't and-"
"Do you know why Voldemort told you to kill her?" Draco interrupted.
"Yeah, she was an auror, and she was researching counter curses for the unforgivable curses-"
Draco shook his head. "That's not it. I mean, that was a part, but not all."
"What?" he inquired, puzzled.
"The same reason my father killed Ginny."
"What?"
"You were going soft, Potter," Draco explained. "He knew that he wouldn't have long before you were completely gone to the other side, and he couldn't have that."
"What?" Harry repeated, shocked.
"You heard me, Potter. You were going soft, and a much too profitable asset to be lost over a pretty auror. So he fed you a bunch of crap and told you to kill her."
"No," Harry moaned. "That's not true."
"Whatever, Potter. You believe whatever you want, but I'm telling you the truth. You also better watch over your kid, because the second he thinks you've gone too soft over him, he's gone. He thinks that you're still savable, but I'm lost for good. I can't do this anymore."
"I can't believe this."
"And if you know what's good for you, you won't tattle about our little conversation, will you?" Draco snapped.
"Draco, I wouldn't do that."
"I also thought I'd never see you, Harry Potter, as a death eater, but here you are."
Harry looked down at his feet. "I guess I got screwed up."
"Didn't we all?"
"What?"
Draco sighed impatiently. "We all got screwed up. By our families. By our friends. By him. We're all screwed up."
"He fed me lies and told me that my parents, my friends were wrong. That they were bad."
"Don't feel so sorry for yourself, Potter. How would you like it if both your father and him recruited you for this? Would you like that?"
"I'm sorry," Harry said softly.
"I'm sorry for you too. We're both over our heads."
"What can we do? We can't get out. Once you're a death eater, you can't just stop. You're one for life."
Draco looked down at the dirt. "If you find a plan, Potter, fill me in on it. I want to get out as much as you do."
"Only if you do the same."
Draco gave a small smile. "Does this agreement mean we're companions?"
"You mean friends?"
He cringed. "Yes."
"Do you think so?"
"I don't know."
Well," Harry began. "If we are going to be friends, call me Harry, not Potter, all right?"
"All right, Harry."
***
The morning held a wet, dewy feeling to it. Harry shuddered against the early November cold. He hugged Jamie to him, clutching his son against his black robes. The Weasleys stood together, each one ashen faced and gloomy. Their hair seemed to lost most of its fire and for once, seemed dull. The priest was talking, saying things about how wonderful Ginny Weasley was. He didn't even know her, Harry thought bitterly. He shouldn't be talking at her funeral. Hermione stood next to Harry, watching the coffin being placed in the ground with tears in her eyes. Harry stared at her, watched her bend her head with sobs, then look up and shake her hair from her eyes, then look down again with a new burst of tears. Harry put a comforting arm around her, and she leaned on him, crying into his shoulder. "It's okay," he comforted her. "It's all right." He caught Ron's gaze; instead of looking at him with appreciation for calming his fiancée, Ron looked almost jealous and angry. Harry snorted. You think I'm going to steal her? Fat chance. If I didn't manage that years ago, do you think I'll do that now? He didn't want her anymore. He didn't know what he wanted.
"Thanks," Hermione sniffed, wiping her tears. "I'm sorry."
Harry shook his head. "There's nothing to be sorry about."
"I hate funerals," she muttered.
He laughed. "Doesn't everyone?"
"Not Draco," she muttered. "The murderer."
Harry shook his head. She doesn't know, he thought. She doesn't know that I'm a killer too, more of one than Draco is.
He noticed a black robed figure in the back of the group, staying away from everyone else. The man kept his hood down to disguise his face, but once the wind succeeded and pulled the hood back, revealing bloodshot, pain lined gray eyes, blonde hair, and blotchy skin from crying. The man watched Ginny's coffin be lowered into the ground, her gravestone placed upon the newly placed dirt. He bowed his head in pure grief. Harry felt his heart going out to his former enemy. I am going soft, he concluded. Maybe Draco was right, it was better to be soft than hard. It was better to love than hate, although both hurt. Hate hurts because it burns one's soul into nothing, and love hurts when it is lost. But love was much more appealing to Harry than hate at that moment, cradling his son, watching his friend being buried deep into the earth, and seeing his enemy cry. Love was much more appealing. It was hate that created this funeral, not love.
"Hermione?" he asked softly.
"Yes?"
"Would you hold Jamie for a minute?"
She forced a smile. "Of course." She took the baby from Harry. Jamie looked at Hermione, then back at Harry. He started to whimper.
"Jamie," Harry said warningly, making the baby hush.
"He's grown attached to you," Hermione noted.
Harry nodded and walked off. He didn't know where he was going, but knew that he would know when he arrived. He walked between the rows of tombstones. He noticed that families were buried together, like the Browns and Patils and Macmillans. The gray-brown morning sky fit the occasion, patrolling in a graveyard, in which he had been in several times.
He reached his destination. "Potter," he read. "James." He walked to the next grave. "Lily." He sat down between his parent's graves. "Mum, dad," he whispered. "I'm so sorry," he cried, not thinking of anything else to say. "I'm so sorry about everything. I'm sorry about how my life has turned out. I'm so sorry I disappointed you." Tears ran down his cheeks. "If you were still alive, would you hate me?" He knew he sounded like a little child, but didn't care. "Would you hate me?" He suddenly knew the answer- no. They wouldn't hate him. They felt towards him what he had started to feel towards Jamie- unconditional love. Harry suddenly understood everything, his parents, his son. He smiled and stood up.
He walked until he came to the burial of the Andrews family. "Alexia," he read, walking down the row. "David. Peter." He stopped in his tracks at the next grave. "Morgan," he whispered. He kneeled in front of her grave. "Morgan," he cried. "Damn it! Morgan." Remorse filled him, making his heart physically ache and his head sore. "I'm so sorry," he sobbed. He stood their a long time, just crying for his lover, for his baby's mother. He cried for his parents, for Ginny, for Ron, for Hermione, for Jamie. Tears blurred his vision and the only thing he knew was his pain.
They saw none of this. The Weasleys, Hermione, they didn't see this. They saw a man crying for his dead lover. They didn't see a killer crying for his victim. Harry liked it that way.
***
"Hermione?" Harry squeaked, panicked, holding the phone to his ear.
Ten blocks away, Hermione Granger held her phone to her ear. "Harry, it's one o'clock in the morning."
"Hermione, something's wrong," Harry stated, holding Jamie in his arms. "It's Jamie."
"What is it?" Hermione asked, sitting straight up in bed. "What's wrong?"
"He's-" Harry paused and touched his son's forehead. "God, Herm, he's burning up, but he's getting chills. He's crying and refusing to eat or drink."
In her dark and empty bedroom, Hermione almost smiled. "It sounds like he's sick, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes, although Hermione couldn't see him. "I noticed that."
"He probably has some muggle cold," Hermione stated, throwing the covers off her bed and standing up. She walked over to the door to her bathroom and slipped her robe around be pajamas. "Do you have a thermometer and muggle medicines like Tylenol?"
"What?" Harry questioned. Jamie had just gotten a chill, and Harry's heart skipped a beat. I am going soft.
Hermione sighed at Harry's naïveté. "Do you want me to come over and bring what you need?"
"Would you?"
"Of course. You've had him for less than a week; of course I will." Hermione walked to her closet and pulled out a pair of jeans and an old, ragged sweater. "I'll be there in ten minutes, all right?"
"Ron too?" Harry asked, not really sure if he wanted Ron there. He did, because Ron was his friend, but he didn't, because Harry had some hidden grudges against his favorite Weasley.
"No," Hermione admitted. "Would you hold on?" She placed the phone down, and quickly took of her pajama top and threw on her sweater. She again picked up the phone. "I haven't the slightest where Ron is; I have only seen him twice since, well, Ginny died."
"It was only three days ago," Harry reasoned. "The man's in shock. I mean, his sister's dead; the funeral was today; I would be too."
"I know," Hermione sighed. "It's just that, I don't know where we're going from this." She pulled her pajama pants down and pulled on her jeans.
"What do you mean?"
"Are we still getting married? Does he want to postpone it for the billionth time?"
Harry almost laughed. "Come over and bring Jamie some medicine. We'll talk more then."
"Be there in a few minutes," Hermione agreed, then hung up the phone.
***
"There we go," Hermione said, placing the ear thermometer in Jamie's ear.
"You know what you're doing?" Harry asked nervously.
"I'm sure," Hermione stated calmly. "103.2," she stated. "You are sick, aren't you?"
"Will he be all right?"
"Fever is just a sign that the body is fighting disease. It's good, but this might be a bit high."
Harry looked around. "And we do what?"
Hermione grinned. "We calm down. Being nervous won't help Jamie."
He smiled. "Ok. What do we do now?"
"We give him Tylenol," she stated.
"Oh, all right."
She turned Jamie on his stomach and pulled down his pants. "Hand me the Tylenol, please."
"What the hell are you doing?" Harry asked, incredulous.
"Watch and learn," she said. "Now hand me the Tylenol."
Harry handed her the medicine. "You're going to stick the medicine up his ass?"
"Harry!" she scolded. "Don't swear!"
"Well, are you?"
She sighed. "That's what you're supposed to do. They can't keep down liquids or solids yet, so this is the only way."
"Ewww."
"Baby," Hermione hissed under her breath. "There, all done."
Harry picked up Jamie and held the child in his lap. "Now what?"
"I wouldn't put him to bed until he breaks the fever," Hermione instructed. "He'll probably need a change of clothes afterward."
"All right," Harry said, settling on the couch. "I'm tired."
"Me too." She smiled. "Are you doing well as a father?"
"I guess so," he said. Not before our second night, he thought, when I- he didn't even want to think about it.
"How long did it take you to learn how to change a diaper?"
"An hour," Harry admitted.
"Pretty good," Hermione stated. "It took Ron three."
Harry laughed. "What were you saying on the phone?"
She looked at her feet. "I'm so confused. I don't know what to do."
"About what?"
"Ron and I. We haven't talked about the wedding in ages. Are we still going through with it? We've been engaged for about five years now. First, it we were scared; we weren't used to these dangerous times. Then my mum died, then Morgan, and now Ginny." She laid her head back. "I don't think we're ever going to get married."
"There, there," Harry comforted. "I'm sure you will, eventually."
She snorted. "Yeah, EVENTUALLY."
Jamie mumbled something in his sleep, and Harry pulled him closer. "Shhh," he told Hermione. "Keep your voice down."
She smiled. "You certainly are turning into a true father, aren't you?
"I'd like to think so."
Jamie opened his eyes and yawned. "He's so cute," Hermione commented.
Harry kissed Jamie's curls. "He's adorable. Aren't you?" Jamie fluttered his long eyelashes and yawned again. "Aren't you adorable?" He looked up at Hermione. "He's all sweaty."
She nodded. "His fever most likely broke. He'll be feeling a bit better now."
"Do you feel better?" Harry asked Jamie. The baby smiled and cooed. "I love you," he whispered.
In the corners of the room, a small, fat rat ran from its hiding place in the shadows to the open window. He crawled up the desk next to the window, and carefully climbed from the window to the ledge below. Then he raced away, as fast as he could, considering that he was missing a finger.
Harry's mind went blank. He had just said the three words that he had believed were bullshit. He had said them, and meant them too! Harry felt scared to leave the comfort that he had lived in, how he had lived in his hate. Did he love the baby? Did he really mean the words he had said? Yes, Harry decided. He did love Jamie. The acknowledgment of this fact made him feel like a weight had been lifted, but he felt scared because everything he had believed for the five years had just been thrown out the window. He felt shaky, unsteady, but lighter than air.
"Harry?" Hermione inquired. "Are you all right?"
"Huh? Oh, I'm fine."
"You just were staring out into space. Are you sure you're ok?"
He nodded. "I'm fine, Herm. Don't worry about me."
She grinned. "I'm going to go now, all right? Do you need me to stay longer?"
He shook his head. "No, I'm fine. You can go if you like."
They both stood up and walked towards the door. "Thanks for everything," he said.
"You're welcome."
He pulled her into a tight hug. He decided to test his new ability to say those three words. "I love you."
She squeezed him. "I love you too. Now, try and get some sleep, all right?"
He laid his head on her shoulder. "Ok," he whispered.
"Harry, what's wrong?" She placed one hand on his shoulder and on his neck. She felt something on his shoulder, so she lifted the short sleeve of his shirt a bit, and felt something. A tattoo? No, that's not it. An engraving. A head- no a skull with something coming from its mouth - a snake. Oh, shit, she thought, not even chastising herself for swearing. The dark mark. Voldemort's dark mark. On Harry's shoulder. Is he one of them? Is he a death eater? He must be if he has a dark mark, her head screamed. Oh god. He's evil. How did this happen? My Harry, our sweet, trusting Harry- a death eater? Gone bad? A thought came to her that made her almost gasp. Was he the one to kill Ginny, not Draco? The timing was perfect-. Her thoughts ran together and she tried not to panic. Oh my god. Oh my god.
She pulled out of his embrace quickly. "Well, I really must be going."
"You can stay if you want," Harry offered.
She laughed nervously. Straighten up, Hermione! "No, really, I should go."
"Are you all right?"
"I'm fine. Fine, fine. What, do I not seem like I'm fine?"
He shrugged. "You seem a bit edgy. What's going on?"
"Edgy? Oh, I'm not edgy. Why would you think that. Don't answer- I really have to go. Bye Harry," she said as she raced out of the door.
"Bye," he said after she had slammed the door in his face.
***
Riddle graveyard didn't intimidate Harry as much as it once did. The chill in the air, the ice cold ground- none of it made Harry feel almost giddy as it once did. He was young, and the being evil made him feel as if he was rebelling against his almost perfect existence. The perfect Potter he was. Some perfect, he snuffed. He noticed that their was only a few others, himself, Draco, Lucius, Macnair, and Goyle. His dark mark had been burning. Could Voldemort only summon certain people? He guessed so, but wasn't sure.
He noticed a caterpillar on the ground. He raised his foot to stomp on it, but stopped at the last minute. The worm like insect was kind of cute, and would turn into a butterfly when it became spring. Morgan loved butterflies. She would catch the caterpillars and watch them as they went into their cocoon and turned into the colorful flying butterflies. He recalled a picture of her in where she was in the park and had three butterflies in her hair. He never laughed as much as the day he took that picture.
Voldemort was beckoning him now. He was almost scared, the man-he wasn't a man, a demon- was so ugly looking, with his red eyes and snake like features. "Potter."
"Yes, sir?"
"Your son, his name is James, correct?"
You already knew that, you dumb-ass. "Yes, sir."
"Potter."
"What?"
Voldemort looked at him with his evil, scarlet eyes and Harry almost trembled. "You do not address me in that manner."
"I'm sorry, sir," Harry apologized. "I'm a bit crabby today, and I apologize."
"Why?"
"I didn't get much sleep."
"Why?"
"My son was sick."
Riddle looked away for a minute, then turned his stare back to Harry. "About your son-"
"Yes?"
"You need to kill him."
"What, sir?" Harry cried.
"He- he has to much of his mother in him. He'll go back to their side, Potter. You don't want that, do you?"
"No."
"Then you need to kill him. It'll be very easy to fake, my loyal spy. Very easy indeed."
Kill Jamie? What? "Yes, sir."
"Good," Voldemort grinned. "I trust that I will not be disappointed in you, Potter."
"I would not disappoint you, my lord."
"Good. You're dismissed, Potter."
Harry turned away. He started walking away from Riddle, away from the death eaters. He had not the slightest idea where he was going; his mind was blank.
Kill Jamie? He's my son. I can't do that. Ah, but you killed Morgan, the little voice in his head so annoyingly told him. I can't do it. I can't! What if Riddle is right? What if he is bad? But Voldemort is the one who is bad. And anyone he says is bad; it's like a double negative. If a bad person says someone is bad, then he's good. Jamie was the best thing Harry had ever known. He was perfect, an angel. What could that little baby have ever done to be killed? He's making you soft, Harry thought angrily. Draco's right; he wants me to kill Jamie because I've become soft over him. I love him; he's my son. I'm not going to be as stupid as I was with Morgan.
So Harry apperated away. He left the graveyard, the tombstones, the death eaters, Draco, Riddle himself. He left with the knowledge that he would never, could never, EVER kill his son.
A/N: That one wasn't as creepy as the last two, although it was dark. What did you think? Please review! Please, pretty please with cherries on top? :-) I think there'll be two more parts. I still have a few twists and surprises, so look forward to it!