AN: Ahem. Ahem. Shit, I'm beginning to sound like Umbitch. Oh yeah, speaking of which, the no bashing thing at the beginning of the book does not extend to Umbitch, though I think nobody really cares about that, seeing as we all hate her.
Also, it was just pointed out by someone that Peter Pettigrew wasn't mentioned in the first chapter. My bad, I was thinking of referencing that he was somewhere else, but it completely slipped my mind. He was... somewhere.
Two updates in two days... hopefully? If I can't, then slam future me about it. Alright?
Time: Halloween, when Rose Potter is Four Months Old
Voldemort easily blended into the Muggle world tonight, not even caring to hide his hideous appearance with the charms he usually did whenever going out on a stealth mission... which was not very often, he had to admit.
But he found himself not particularly caring tonight.
He sneered at the passing Muggles who 'ooh'ed and 'aah'ed at his 'costume', making him twitch in anger, his sneer intensifying until Severus would be proud of him. He had to hand it to that greasy bat, apart from bootlicking and potions, the art of sneering was something the man could boast of mastering. Well, perhaps Voldemort might have been jealous of the way the Potions master made his robes billow like a bat, too, but he had to restrain himself from copying him. No, however much he liked the idea, it just wouldn't do to copy someone beneath him.
No, he thought idly, suppressing the urge to whip out his wand and torture the Muggle couple who passed him, so tooth rottingly sweet and ignorant.
Foolish Muggles, so ignorant of their own inferiority.
If it was one thing that Voldemort could respect above all else, it was knowledge. For, knowledge was power.
But above all, knowledge and reason were what made them human, superior to all else. The tool that their ancestors had used to carve out their own paths, the tool which Salazar Slytherin prided in, encouraged his successors to sharpen.
And these Muggles, knew nothing of reason. They were mindless sheep, though the wizarding world could not boast of being any better. They were beasts, prey, for the humans to hunt.
And Voldemort, despite being twisted beyond all recognition, his soul torn and mutilated, was the most human of them all. The fool, Dumbledore, would define humanity as something else, and would say that the main objective of reason was to show mercy, but Voldemort knew better.
Nature had given man reason to hunt with, and man had used it for himself, like he was meant to. Voldemort could respect Dumbledore's decision to use his reason for his own ideals, and he followed suit. It was just a bad incident that their ideals collided with each other.
He sighed, raising a slender arm to run his clawed fingers along his bald head, enjoying his own, perfect smoothness. Being bald and hairless was another defining aspect of humanity, and Voldemort prided himself in being the most perfect of them all.
After all, humanity was created in God's image, and he strived to be as close to God as could be, even going so far as to misuse His gifts to get closer, not caring that he was going against Him in the first place.
Not that Voldemort believed in shit like that, of course. That was bull, he just liked the idea because of its poetic nature, the academic in his heart shining through his hardened, monstrous exterior.
Where was he before he went off into an evil, villainous monologue?
Right.
Today, he would take a big step towards his ambition of world domination by removing possibly the biggest threat to his reign. The biggest, and, ironically, the smallest and the most helpless threat, at the same time.
He breathed in deeply, allowing himself to relish the moment despite the vermin crawling all around him, sighing as he raised his hand and embraced the beautiful night sky, facing upwards. His long, dark flowing robes billowed in the soft wind, creating a faint rustle like the leaves of trees in a faint breeze. Wisps of grey clouds flitted across the dark night sky like ghosts dancing across shadows, the pinpricks of starlight the only light available tonight, it being the new moon. No moon, which meant no light for the day-dwellers to feel safe in when night fell, and the predators hunted.
He was in no hurry tonight. Tonight, the predator did not need to hunt. He could take his time.
Sighing softly to himself, he trudged on, his body heavy with exhaustion that came with weeks of no sleep, something that only his improved body could allow, yet his mind remained lively.
The evening of Samhain, or Halloween, as the ignorant Muggles called it, had always been special. The night when the veil between life and death thinned, allowing ghosts and spirits to walk the world once more, the night when Dark magic was at its most potent, when magical rituals for fertility were performed. Ironical, that death should lead to life, yet nature worked in strange ways and he should know, being as intimate with magic as he was.
The sun had set an hour ago, yet the dark night sky remained alight with the slight glow of the festive Muggles beneath, unknowing of the Monster that walked in their midst. But that was okay, today, the monster was not looking for small prey, rather, he had one specific, big fish in mind.
The wind blew through the streets, slightly chilly, reminding everyone that winter was near, rattling the bones of the skeletons and flickering the flames of the jack o' lanterns like they had come alive. The streets were dusty, making him feel slightly thankful for the cleaning charms sewn into his long, dark robes that trailed on the ground behind him. The October evening was slightly stuffy, but Voldemort could not bring himself to care about the bad weather. Nothing short of mass extinction could spoil his mood tonight.
The children moved trick o treating from one door to another, dressed in garb of all sorts and colours, even some little witches and wizards being spotted by the Dark Lord's keen, sweeping eyes.
Feeling merciful, and just in case some higher power existed, Voldemort beckoned them near, the cloying excitement of Halloween and the rush of sugar in their blood inhibiting the children's fears and instincts, allowing them to approach him quite easily.
Laughing at their stupidity, the Dark Lord put his hand in his robes, wandlessly summoning some chocolate bars and dropping them into the bucket held by one child.
No, don't worry, he was evil, but not that evil. The chocolate bars were perfectly safe, after all, children, even of his prey, were precious. They would grow up to restock the population, and everything had its place in the ecosystem, even vermin.
Laughing and cheering, the children went away, allowing Voldemort to continue his silent ponderings until he finally reached the particular house he had been looking for, hidden from the eyes of everyone else.
Perhaps he had helped those children earlier out of some lingering dregs of guilt in some dark corner of his mind at spilling the innocent blood of infants. Their parents? Not so much.
But luckily for the parents in question, they had been called away by the order to stop a raid he had set up for the very purpose of serving as a distraction. If they got killed there, well, it could not be helped. He wouldn't regret it either, one less thorn in his side.
Smiling genuinely at the thought of victory, so close that he could almost taste it on his lips, the Dark lord pushed the door open, his hand sliding into his sleeve, his fingers curling around the familiar, comforting wood of his phoenix feather wand, just in case.
However, just as the rat had said, nothing came to surprise him, making him laugh at how easy it was. He would probably go back and torture the rat some more for ratting out his friends so easily, lest he should try to do the same to him, not that he cared. It was not as if the rat had any sensitive information about him.
How naive of the Potters to trust him as their secret keeper, he would make sure they regretted it. Although, he supposed, he could not fault them for it, since they had been steadfast friends since childhood, and that's the precise reason he did not let anyone close. After all, the closest people are the ones who have the most potential to hurt you.
He strode in confidently, casting a wandless detection charm to search for any traps or hidden people.
Of course, as expected of someone of the Potters' calibre.
The entire house was booby-trapped to the teeth, making even the wards of some old familial mansions pale in comparison. Voldemort guessed it would take him a couple of hours work to set them all up, and it was definitely better than the defences he had back at his base of operations.
But that didn't matter, not really. The Potter parents were away for several hours minimum, and he knew he hadn't tripped any alert wards. He had taken several precautions to ensure that it did not happen.
Taking out his wand and a tuft of unicorn hair he had brought just for the purpose of dispelling all the wards, the Dark Lord drew a complicated string of runes in the air, searching for any weakness in the dense network of interwoven wards and spells and traps, some even borderline Dark, his wand leaving a trail of burning red. He finished the runic lines with a little flourish he rarely allowed himself, before throwing the tuft of hair into the fiery runes, completing the little ritual.
Unicorns were the purest of creatures around, something so pure should not be restricted by wards.
Voldemort recast the detection spell, and as he had expected, there were no wards or traps remaining.
Shaking himself out of his victorious stupor, the Dark Lord strode forward purposefully, reminding himself that the war was not won, yet. It would be won when the little four-month-old Potter girl prophesied to be his equal, stopped drawing breaths.
He did not care to climb the stairs, those were for inferior beings, merely floating himself to the top using magic, in a small display of his superiority to an invisible audience. Either that, or he was just marvelling at how easier magic made everything.
He stepped into a small, dimly lit corridor, using his wand to turn on the magical lights he knew were sewn into the walls, immediately flooding the deserted corridor with light.
Stopping for a moment, the Dark Lord looked around, glancing at the plain doors that lined the walls, nothing to give away the children's location, before casting another detection charm.
Ah, sweet innocence.
His shoes (Good question, what sort of footwear does the Dark Lord wear?) made barely a sound against the polished wooden floor of Potter cottage as he stood in front of the nursery, thanks to the innumerable charms sewn into his shoes. Raising his wand, he cast a few more anti-ward spells just for safety, before finishing his elaborate spell chain with a simple Alohomora.
The door clicked, swinging into the room as Voldemort pushed it open, his slender, white arm revealed from his black robes like a snake shedding its skin, revealing its fangs to bite.
His predatory eyes swept the room once over, looking for any hidden traps or people he had somehow missed.
Nothing.
His red, slitted eyes finally rested on the two children sitting on the floor, playing with an infant that he knew was his target for tonight. The one prophesied to be his equal, and possibly, slay him.
Narrowing his eyes as he looked at the shocked faces of the two children, he quashed the little annoying feeling of guilt bubbling up inside him. He was a predator, a hunter who chased his prey down, enjoying the utter despair in their eyes as they tried to fight back, to defend themselves without any hope of survival. He wasn't someone to kill helpless infants or children who hadn't even learnt to read properly yet.
It would leave a stain on his fearsome, ruthless reputation, tarnishing his blade of fear, something which he had hoped to avoid, but which, as luck would have it, now seemed unavoidable.
He tried to push down the guilt of spilling the blood of magical infants, instead concentrating on the feeling of absolute, crushing victory that he could feel on his thin lips.
Raising his hands, ignoring the three Potters, he laughed, announcing his glee to the world.
Samhain, when the demons and the monsters walked the world in human skin. Samhain, when evil would triumph. When Mother Darkness would conquer the punishing sword of light.
The laughs of Muggles in monstrous garb, pretending they were predator instead of prey, reached the Dark Lord's ears, only increasing his mirth.
Lowering his hands as he looked down, trying to suppress the silent glee shaking his chest, he finally, painfully slowly, acknowledged the three with a cruel grin on his face.
"Potters." He greeted, deciding to be polite before he inevitably killed at least one of them.
His words seemed to shake the three out of their shocked stupor, making Harry scramble backwards with little Rosy in a pink bundle of clothes in his arms. Almost as if the twins had a telepathic connection, Violet covered him, standing in front of him with every ounce of the Gryffindor bravery she had inherited from their parents.
"Violet!" Harry called out, trying to resist the tears prickling at his eyes as he looked up at the tall, bald monster standing in front of them with a twisted grin, showing off all his sharp teeth, gleaming pearly white. His heart trembled in terror, more for his two helpless sisters than for his equally helpless self, but Harry found himself unable to move, paralyzed in terror as fear seeped into his bones, robbing him of all reason.
"Good evening. Although I must admit my surprise at finding the three of you awake, I was sure your parents had told you to go to sleep. A little rebellion, eh? Don't worry, I won't tell your parents... Although this does unnecessarily complicate things."
"Stay back!" Violet shrieked in response, tears already flowing down her cheeks as she raised her little meaty fists to fight the bad man their parents had warned them about.
Why was he here? How was he here? Where were Daddy and Mommy?
She needed help.
All of her animalistic instincts flaring, Violet stood in front of her twin and her little sister, baring her teeth in a childish snarl despite her messy face.
Harry stood transfixed, his senses too overloaded to feel anything.
The intoxicating feeling of fear rolling off his sister was addictive. The feeling of power rolling off the bad man, so similar yet so different to the Headmaster. If the latter was the leader of their herd, the bad man was a predator, the leader of a pride of lions.
He had no way of knowing that Voldemort would not appreciate the comparison, if he had even bothered to look into the mind of a small child.
"Such Gryffindorish insolence, even in such a young child!" He admonished Violet in a playful manner, merely flicking his hand and sending her into sleep with a weak, wandless sleeping charm.
Seeing his sister slump over, his brave, cool older sister, snapped Harry out of whatever stupor he was in.
He followed his instinct, the little voice in his head that always told him what to do to get out of any situation. His body which sometimes moved on its own, without his input, to tell a lie or give a fake smile to protect him from their parents' scolding, moved on its own, once again, this time under the control of the little voice.
Harry jumped to the side, bracing himself on his little hands and feet against the little cupboard in the nursery, his lips curled into a snarl similar to his sister's, poised to attack.
If Voldemort was surprised by the sudden movement of the boy, he gave no indication, too preoccupied with studying his future nemesis to care. She looked so cute and helpless, wriggling in her swathes of clothes, even her infant mind picking up that something was wrong.
So, he was caught completely off-guard as he was attacked by the Potter son, trying to pounce and grab his robes, making him give a small, involuntary gasp as he reacted on reflex, using wandless magic as he backhanded the helpless child into the wall, creating a sickening crunch of four-year-old bones as he crashed into the wall.
Voldemort sighed, raising his wand. No use dilly-dallying anymore. It was not as if he could actually get any pleasure gloating in front of children who could barely begin to understand anything.
The dark wood of his trusted wand, polished especially for this moment with the best wand polish in the world, glowed a sickeningly bright green for a brief moment, before Voldemort intoned what were possibly his favourite words by now.
"Avada Kedavra."
Harry watched as the wand tip glowed green, a sick feeling sitting in the bottom of his stomach. The wand aimed right at his little sister.
Protect your sisters, alright little guy? James had said, taking him to the side a few minutes before he and Mum left, adding, You are strong, aren't you? As strong as Dumbledore! You will protect your family, right? No matter the cost.
No matter the cost. Harry had promised, nodding his little head, recognising the seriousness in his father's words.
It was unnecessary. Even without the promise, he would have protected them. No matter the cost.
Together, right? Dumbledore had said.
Yes. Together.
Harry's body was in immense pain, making him see red, practically blind with pain. His eyes could not see anything, and his ears rang. His brain had stopped working long ago, and his body screamed in protest as he forced himself to move.
The little voice in his head kept screaming like mad, almost deafening, despite being an incorporeal, imaginary voice.
And his body moved.
Without seeing where he was going or what was happening, Harry jumped between his sister and the bad man.
A flash of green light, and pain pain pain.
It was as if it had been all that Harry had ever known, making him open his mouth to scream, to gasp for breath as he usually did. However, nothing happened. Now sound came out.
His world was darkening, everything becoming hazy and grey. Occasional splashes of bright light swam in his vision.
Somewhere Dumbledore screamed, Together!
His mother, his beautiful mother, calling out for him. His sisters, fighting so valiantly.
He was helpless. He could not do anything.
The last thing he heard before he gave in, his world fading into black, was Voldemort's words, laced with distaste. "Stupid child."
He could almost feel the sneer on his face, adding to his hurt. He had not even been able to give his enemy a good fight.
What... what sort of human was he?
Harry felt a cool breeze ruffle his clothes, making him feel chilly, and shiver as he kept his teeth from chattering. He felt his legs, bare, pressed against a soft, cool surface, as his clothes fluttered, a breeze making its way to his pee-pee.
Harry did not care, nor could he bring himself to crack a pee-pee joke like Pa'foo.
His head hurt, all of his muscles aching, and the light behind his eyes formed a red glare that hurt his eyes. Whispers reached his ears, which slowly adjusted to the sound, only the whispers of the deafening ringing remained.
Daring to crack an eye open, Harry winced at the light that flooded his vision, immediately shutting his eyes back again.
"Harry, child, try to open your eyes." A soft, comforting voice reached his ears, making him perk up immediately as he recognised Dumbledore's voice.
"Headmaster!" His throat was dry and his voice raspy, all pain forgotten as he flung open his eyes and tried to sit up, immediately colliding with a cold surface.
Harry collapsed to the bed, at least he assumed it was a bed, once more, slightly hunched over in a coughing fit, his eyes closed again to protect him from the light.
"Slowly, Harry. Like you do in the mornings." Dumbledore advised, making him lie straight, feeling as if he was doing something important.
He squinted, opening one eye just a tiny crack, then the other, like he usually did when Mum woke him up, until his eyes adjusted to the light and he could make out shapes and forms.
He immediately brightened up, returning the old wizard's soft smile with a bright one as he gave a little wave to Dumbledore, who was sitting at the side of his bed. The Headmaster childishly returned his little wave, making Harry laugh.
"Hello, Harry-"
He was cut off, the child's naive mind not understanding that he had more to speak.
"Hello, Mister Headmaster!" He intoned in a sing-song voice, giggling.
"Harry! You're fine!" His Mum's voice interrupted whatever Dumbledore was going to say, making him laugh at the constant interruptions, as Harry turned to the other side of his bed, his smile brightening as he saw his beautiful mother, her fiery red hair and glistening emerald eyes standing out from everything else. Her cheeks were puffy and her nose red, as if she had been crying.
"Mommy? What happened? Where are Rosy and Violet? Dad?" He asked, looking at her, before his gaze shifted to his Uncle Pa'foo, standing behind her.
"Pa'foo!" He cheered, again hitting his hands against the barrier.
"Owie." He frowned, ignoring whatever they were saying to lay his hand flat against the barrier that separated him from the outside world. He recognised it as glass, smooth and cold and transparent.
"Where am I?" He asked, turning to Dumbledore, seeing as his Mum was too busy sobbing in relief.
"Harry, we're in St. Mungo's. Everyone is okay, don't worry. Your Dad and Uncle Remi are with Rosy and Violet." Dumbledore reassured, sitting a little straighter.
Except Rose has a Horcrux in her head, and you almost accidentally killed both of your sisters, he mentally added, much to his regret.
"Harry... can you tell us what happened that night?" Were the words that escaped his lips.
"There was this big bad man that Mum told us about, and I tried to be strong like Dad said, to protect my sisters, and we were so scared, but we were brave like Gryffindors, Violet and I fought the bad man like the knights in stories Mum tells us, and... after that, I don't remember." Harry finished somewhat lamely, embarrassed slightly after he rushed out everything in a single breath.
"Alright, Harry. Do you want to know what happened?" Dumbledore spoke softly, placing his hand on the glass that separated him from the outside world.
"Headmaster, I don't think it is wise-" Sirius started, but was cut off as Dumbledore opened his lips, fixing Harry with a proud look that made him grin at his unofficial grandfather's approval. "You were very strong, Harry. You were stronger and wiser than any of us, like a real knight! You were a hero. You saved your sisters."
Harry's smile threatened to split his face, making the adults around him reflect his expression with various degrees of relief that he was safe, that he was safe and sound after an entire week of being comatose, with no responses whatsoever, even with magic aiding them.
"Hey, Harry!" Both James and Remus rushed in at that moment, making him impossibly smile even wider.
"Dad! Uncle Moony!"
"How are you feeling, Prongslet?" Remus asked, his face showing visible worry as he looked down at Harry lying on the bed, placing a hand on the strange glass dome that separated him from the rest of the world.
"I'm good!" Harry responded cheerily, despite the ache in his muscles and the spikes of pain that shot through his head, as he laid his little hand on the other side of the glass, matching Remus'.
He sighed in relief. "I'm glad to hear that."
"You were really strong out there, little Gryffindor!" James laughed at him, giving him a high five, their palms striking the different sides of the glass as Harry giggled.
However, he could feel his breaths shortening, a familiar pressure on his little chest that happened whenever he was feeling too excited, inevitably followed by the disgusting potion he had to take, but Harry did not particularly care for either, riding on adrenaline and his high spirits at surviving a one on one meeting with the bad man that even their parents were afraid of.
The sounds of the family laughing and cheering seemed to draw unwarranted attention, though, as a nurse dressed in an all-white garb entered the room, several potions on the tray in her arms.
"I'm sorry to interrupt your reunion, but you're making the patient uncomfortable." She spoke in a strict, no-nonsense tone that made Harry whimper, even as he gasped for breath, no longer able to hide his condition.
The little raspy sound seemed to shock all the adults out of their jubilance, dragging them down to earth in a painful way and reminding them of Harry's sickly body, hushing them without delay.
"We're sorry, Sister." Dumbledore apologized on their behalf, standing up. His age wrinkled hands immediately smoothened his horrendous purple and red robes, stroking his beard in a thoughtful manner. "We will leave at once."
"No! I won't leave Harry's side!" Lily protested, making James hug her from behind.
"Come on, Lily flower, it's for Harry's own good. If we don't make a fuss, they will let us come again tomorrow. Besides, we're getting all the medical reports today. They will probably discharge Harry in two days' time." He reassured, making Lily push through her tears and pull herself up, no matter how reluctantly.
"Harry. This good lady will take care of you for now, alright? Be nice to her, and don't misbehave. We will come to visit you again tomorrow, alright? Two days more, and then you will come back home with us to your sisters, and we will have a party, alright, little ruffian?" James explained to the shy boy softly, extending his hand to ruffle his hair playfully like he usually did. However, his smile dimmed as he realised he could not.
Harry nodded his head, being aware of what hospitals were, turning his head towards Dumbledore for reassurance.
Seeing the wizened Headmaster smile and nod his head, Harry relaxed, even as the nurse tinkered with something at his head.
"The medical reports are waiting for you, Headmaster Dumbledore." She spoke briskly, adding as an afterthought, "All leading medical professionals from all over this country and a few from abroad have come to review the case. They are waiting for you in Conference Room Number Four."
Bowing his head in silent thanks, Dumbledore left, after offering Harry a last parting smile, the others much more expressive with their farewells. However, they did not matter much to Harry, not even his parents, the wise Headmaster's strong, reassuring smile still on his mind.
Harry clenched his fist as he watched his mother leave, shooting a small, teary look his way.
Slowly, his emerald eyes drifted down to his clenched fist, lost in thought as the nurse bustled around him.
He would become as strong as Dumbledore one day. No, he would become stronger, so that he could protect everyone he loved with no problem.
The door to Conference Room Number 4 slowly swung shut behind them as Dumbledore entered the long hall, all the medical professionals gathered there immediately standing to pay their respects to the strongest wizard in the world.
Dumbledore laughed at that, raising his hand in a reassuring manner as the others filed in quietly behind him. "No need to stand for me, ladies and gentlemen. You are all more learned and capable in this subject than I will ever be."
His words made them all relax as they were reminded of the man's benevolent nature, making them all smile and greet him genially.
Lily and Remus remained outside, the Muggleborn witch not sure if she had the strength to sit through the discussions, and Remus remained behind to comfort her.
Dumbledore sat at the head of the table, which was the nearest vacant seat available, opposite the giant white screen that spanned the opposite wall, Sirius and James sitting beside him on either side.
"Permizzion to ztart, Schulleiter?" A foreign expert spoke in a German accent, making him nod. Such was his influence, that even foreigners who had never been to Hogwarts and even his fellow members of the ICW had begun to call him Headmaster.
"Please continue at your own pace, sirs and madams. I have to admit that I have zero knowledge about this field par the basics, so you would know best how to proceed. I would only be a hindrance to an otherwise enlightened discussion."
The experts nodded, the German man standing up to speak. "I'll delve ztraight into ze matter. We have received reports after extenzive tezting, conducted by all of us perzonally in our own methodz, to ensure zat ze reportz are accurate."
The secretary who was standing quietly before the screen flicked her wand, the screen immediately lighting up with texts and images and graphs, most of which completely went over their heads.
Thankfully, another person took up where the German left, this one seemingly American. "We have never seen anything like this! This is... a miracle! Tell me, Headmaster, are you aware of the true source of sustenance of ghouls?"
"Ghouls?" Sirius asked, a puzzled look on his face. "Don't they eat bugs and shit?"
Dumbledore sent a sideways glance at his crass language. Thankfully, neither of them was immature enough to laugh at that, in such a serious situation.
"Ja, zat is what ze common folk are made to zink."
"As my German friend said, yes, that is what the common people are made to think. Ghouls, in reality, survive on magic. That is why they are found only in places with magic, like magical homes, shops or schools?"
"Yes, I distinctly remember calling in exterminators a few years back to clear out a nasty ghoul infestation in the dungeons." Dumbledore nodded, seeing the truth in his words. It was true, no ghoul ever survived in a Muggle environment.
"But wouldn't that mean that... ghouls weaken wizards?" James asked, confused and unsure how it related to his son.
"No, normally, ghouls absorb magic at a very slow rate, much slower than the rate at which the average wizard can regenerate his or her magical reserves. Ghouls are harmless in low numbers. And this exact thought that they 'weaken' wizards is the reason the ICW thought it prudent to spread the lie that they survived on insects, lest they should be hunted to extinction by zealous, insensible wizards." The American continued, "And do you know what the Girl Who Lived and her sister were suffering from when they were rushed here? Severe magical exhaustion, almost to the point of being irreparable."
With every word that the experts spoke, the simple matter of discussing medical reports and getting Harry discharged turned into a nightmare straight from hell.
"Your son's magical core is completely fractured." A woman picked up, "Now, the magical core is an organ by itself, like a gland that secretes magical power, much like electrocytes of eels. This gland is absent in Muggles, and non-functional in squibs. Your son is a unique case. His magical core is completely functional and capable of holding magic. But since it is fractured, it can theoretically hold an infinite amount of magic, but due to damage to the organ, is incapable of producing any magic by itself. I think you can see the problem..." The blonde woman stopped for a moment, "An infinite storage, and no supply. Your son's body began to act like a half-ghoul, sucking magic from everything around him, but storing it for his own use instead of sustenance."
Realisation dawned on Dumbledore's face before it soon turned to horror, as the two beside him slowly processed his words, too shocked to say anything.
"What you mean to say is that..." Sirius started, before James finished for him, "That my son is some sort of ultimate ghoul?! Are you barmy? Out of your mind perhaps?"
"I understand that this might be tough for you, Head Auror Potter. Even I doubted the authenticity of the results at first, and ran several tests, and checked for errors, but no, everything was correct." Another man cut in, this one definitely English. "I am the Head of Medical Staff in St. Mungo's, and I personally ran tests on your son. He is sucking magic at an exponential rate, at the same rate as a million ghouls at once. At this rate, he can completely suck Hogwarts, except the students and creatures, devoid of magic before he graduates, in less than seven years."
"That is why we are keeping him in a special glass container used by us at the Department of Mysteries to contain any... volatile subjects. It completely cuts off any flow of magic to the interior. Not only that, we have also placed several powerful binding charms on little Master Harry's core, to ensure that he does not suck himself devoid of magic." Another man added, his black mask identifying him as a Ministry Unspeakable.
What ensued was a three-hour-long argument, with the two Aurors in denial that their son or godson could be possibly dangerous.
In the end, James collapsed in his chair, hands on his head in despair. "No, no, this can't be happening... No, this is all just a bad dream."
The others stayed silent, unsure how to break to a desperate father that no, it was indeed all true.
"Then... then, what should I do? To save my family?"
"Despite everything, hope is not lost, Mr. Potter. We have a last-ditch effort to make him better, if not cure him entirely, though it is of course up to you." The Head of St. Mungo's medical staff cleared his throat uncomfortably, shifting in his seat at what he was about to say. "Master Harry will kill any magical creature and destroy any magical item within a one-kilometre radius, though not intentionally, of course, but he will be okay in a Muggle environment. I would recommend sending him to live with Muggles and avoid any sort of magical contact for as long as possible. Perhaps, if you send him away now, then he might be better around say... thirteen? Around the time he will be starting Hogwarts, according to the new Ministry regulations."
Everything was falling around James, falling, falling, falling.
No, not his son. Please, take him, he will give anything, just please, not Harry...
"Will we be able to maintain any sort of communication with him? Letters, visits, perhaps meeting his guardians when he is not there?" Dumbledore asked, unable to mask the grief leaking into his voice at losing his favourite grandchild so soon.
"I'm afraid, Headmaster Dumbledore, we tried something similar. We put a completely normal, mundane rat in his chamber, but it died. Probably because any contact with magic leaves an imprint that is sucked by Harry, killing the host. We confirmed this hypothesis by putting another mundane rat, this one isolated from us, into the chamber, and nothing happened."
James was in a daze as they continued talking for some more, stiff like a poor animation. He would not be able to see Harry at all for the next... nine years?
No, he did not think they would be able to live without his son, who had somehow managed to wrap everyone around his little finger.
He heard them cast Unbreakable Vows of secrecy one by one, Dumbledore swearing them into carrying the secret to the grave. He guessed he should thank the Headmaster for protecting the privacy of his family, for being the only strong one in the room in this time of need, despite his great age, even though his own heart was in a million pieces, but James could not bring himself to make any move, even to speak.
Beside him, Sirius was in a similar state of permanent shock, just sitting there, slumped forward in his chair, his grey eyes staring off into nothingness, everything seemingly so far away.
The Black heir was aware of just sitting there, besides James, none of them able to move as they all left one by one, offering their condolences as if Harry had died already. His fist tightened around the handrest of his chair, until his knuckles turned white. How dare they.
No, not Harry. Not their family.
He was aware of standing in the corridor, everything feeling like it was far away, as if he was not in his body, merely observing through his eyes.
James was aware of a few of the medical experts, whitecoats, explaining the situation to Lily in the kindest words they could manage, but nothing could soothe the mother's agony. They stood around awkwardly for a few minutes as Lily sobbed in despair, at losing her son so soon after finally talking to him, before they, too, went away, leaving the tightly knit family torn, alone.
Remus was crying softly in Sirius' arms, the homosexual couple taking comfort in each other, each of them giving the other some space.
Dumbledore stood in the corner silently, his tall, lean body wracked with silent sobs, the Headmaster taking off his misted over half-moon spectacles to wipe them in his robes. Glistening tears trailed down his wrinkled face no matter how much he fought them, eventually disappearing into the long silver beard Harry loved.
The white sanitised hospital suddenly seemed suffocating, too clean, too quiet.
James collapsed into the empty chair next to Lily, unable to make any move to comfort her, no matter how much his conscience screamed at him to comfort his wife. He just... couldn't.
Not when Harry was... when Harry had to...
Eventually, James wiped his eyes, meeting Sirius' despairing grey. "What do you plan to do, James?"
Sirius did not use his nickname.
James gave a choked self-deprecating laugh mixed with a constricted sob. "What sort of father am I, Sirius? What sort of father can't even protect his own children, his own son? What sort of father am I, that my son had to step in to save his sisters?"
His voice was strangled, desperate, seeking answers. Beside him, his words only seemed to spur Lily into another round of tears.
"I'll- I'll- Dursleys- call- explain situation- Petunia- Har-" Lily choked out, not trusting herself to speak complete sentences, her voice breaking at her son's name.
"If we don't do this, then nobody will be able to have a good life, huh?" Sirius spoke, his eyes filled with self-loathing, hate even greater than the one he harboured for Voldemort and his own parents. "Lyra, Rose, Violet... They deserve a happy childhood. I'm sure Harry would be happy too at the Dursleys, right, Lily? I'm sure... we will ask him what he wants, then..."
"It's not like everything is lost," Sirius spoke, trying to erect his best smile to lift the atmosphere in the room. It came out crooked, false and broken, like a shattered reflection of its usual self. Things were bad, indeed, when Dumbledore cried. He was not sure if anybody had ever seen Albus Dumbledore cry.
"Harry will be back with us at thirteen, right? A grown, young man. We just have to work hard and make sure his three sisters are happy, right? Then, then we will all be a happy family once more. It is what he would want... what Harry would want... yes..."
Nobody was sure whom Sirius was trying to convince, himself or someone else, but nobody paid his ramblings, half-insane from the pain of loss, any attention, either. James might have been Harry's father, but Sirius sometimes felt he was closer to Harry, and the feeling was reciprocated by the young Potter son.
This had been a shit Halloween.
A dark day, its memory darkened for the family by the thought that people were out still celebrating when their family had been torn apart at its seams.
It was up to them to stitch it all together.
To make sure Harry returned to a happier home.
AN: 7K words in one day, wooh! Warning, long, perhaps important AN ahead!
I hope I portrayed the angst properly, and also made sure to communicate everyone's close relationship with Harry without any miscommunication.
James wants to protect his family, Dumbledore is crying over the loss of his grandson in all but blood, and Lily is distraught. Remus had a pretty strong reaction as well, but I have expressed him to a lesser extent because Remus is closer to Violet, as will be revealed. And Lyra hasn't really had much exposure, something I'll be looking to cure in the incoming chapters.
Also, in case you are wondering, yes, this contains Tokyo Ghoul references, because why not? The entire story will contain only tentacles formed of pure, primitive magic, like Kaneki's kagune, cannibalism to sustain his magic, the singular black and red eye because it's cool, the eye patch because it's cool, the mask because he will go on a killing spree, like duh, and needs to keep his identity a secret, and it's cool, and lastly, Jason's finger cracking... yeah, you guessed it, because it's cool.
To sum up why I have included Tokyo Ghoul references, it's cool, and it gives a nice context to the cannibalism thing. Gimme a chance.
I hope you will stick around for more.
Keep calm and headbang!