*** 2001 ***

Harry held on to the rail of the window. Refusing to think.
He didn't want to remember.
God where was Hedwig?
What had happened to him. Had those Death Eaters hurt him?
He didn't want to remember, he didn't. He really didn't want to see what had happened. Never again. Not now, not ever.
But as it came down, he couldn't not remember.
And all he could think of was uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia as he arrived at the Dursley's home.

He'd been dragging his trunk up to the door, barely managing to hold on to his owl as the cabdriverdelivered him at Privat Drive. He'd wondered what they were going to say. Were they still angry about Dudley and the ton ton toffee? How would they react to seeing him?
Nobody opened as he knocked the door. To his surprise the normally locked door gave in at themost minor touch. Harry pushed it further and was blocked by something, someone...

Uncle Vernon had dropped a foot away from the door. There was a mixture of disdain and fear frozen on his face. Harry touched him, dipping his finger in the blood. Not believing.

He heard sobbing and moved up in its direction. He nearly fell over his aunt Petunia's feet.
There was blood all over her good dress.

Dudley sat hunched down in a corner, trying to hide his enormous bulk behind the couch. He started screaming as soon as he saw Harry. His big body raged in shocks. Harry tried to calm him down but the boy just kept on screaming.
Harry could feel, more than hear something happen. He turned around, just in time. A shot rang. Dudley was pushed up against the wall, blood flittered down from the hole in between his eyes.
Harry had stared up at the strange man aiming a gun at him, unable to move as he saw the fire moving in his blood.

Harry shook up. The moving fire.

Just like the man at the Dursley's. He turned around, staring at the man who had brought him here. Another man with fire in his veins. The stranger just stood there, staring down at him.

*** 1983 ***

Severus cowered on the steps. His eyes glued to the cage a few steps ahead of him and the creature attempting to hide inside of it. It was sleeping, dreaming.
What does a Swordsman dream of? Ancient memories, fire in the sky? He wasn't sure.

It murmured something, the wizard wished he knew what. Odd but true, he found himself curious. The beast's language was too ancient, too strange. There was something about it, mostly the way that it seemed so small, so incredibly young.
Defenseless almost.

He wondered how that was possible, remembering the carnage of it's capture.
This wasn't some young boy, it was an ancient creature of the most dangerous forms of magic. Something existing beyond the mundane world.

Yet as it lay there none of that showed.

He turned his eyes back to the potion that was stirring next to him, giving off huge bursts of smoke. He filled a small goblet with the stuff and poured it over a plate with food that stood next to him. The food glowed for a second before returning to it's normal appearance.

It didn't smell, it didn't taste. But it would make the creature as harmless as a child by disconnecting the immortal soul from the body, making the swordsman's soul and power ripe for the taking.

It was a forbidden potion. An unforgivable curse.
Yet it was the best, but utterly darkest way for a wizard to gain immortality.
Highly dangerous, extremely painful for the swordsman, but in the end granting the highest possible reward.
Power beyond imagination.

Severus could feel it pulsing under the creatures skin every time he approached it. It would take a while, but in the end the Dark Lord would be unbeatable.
So why was he starting to dread that very notion?

He gave the swordsman one last glance, then he took a knife and in a matter of seconds he changed his fate. All it took was a little cut in the swordsman's skin, the creature barely even noticed it. It merely squirmed in its sleep.

The wizard waited a few seconds, letting the magical blood drip in a vial he held in between his fingers, careful not to let it touch his skin.
He left the food in the cage and stepped away without turning back once.

** 2001 **

Methos was rubbing his arm, staring at the boy.
Voldemort's worst nemesis.
A mere child.

Even younger than Richie had been at first death.
Way too young.
Yet here he was in a position that even most full grown warriors would dread.
The immortal turned his back to the boy and left him to the silence. It was not up to him to talk the child through his shock. In all honesty, he wasn't sure he could. Not without the darkness climbing up around him.

"Make yourself comfortable," was all he could say.

But what comfort could a wizard child find after he'd just lost his entire family, for the second time around.
The idea of becoming this child's family filled him with dread.
Instead he left him alone, deciding to think of himself first and foremost.

The darkness in the living room was forbidding, but Methos didn't dare light the fire. All too aware for what it could be used. He didn't dare leave a window open, aware as he was that it wouldn't stop them. All he had was his blood but even now he couldn't be sure that it would help.

The door was but a small barrier to them either, he grabbed it open, daring them to come.
He nearly screamed for them, shivering in the cold welsh air. He took a step further, outside.
He had nothing, nothing but his blood. Blood that made him immune to magic

He grabbed a knife and let his blood sip on the ground.
Each time the cuts healed he'd open them again, leaving a trail of blood in his wake as he stepped a full circle around the house.

He wondered why, how much belief was he putting in the words of wizards. But then he remembered, shivered and cut the wound once more, letting the red trail continue.