Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything to do with it, I don't have any money either, so don't sue me.
Anything Written in bold (that is not underlined) was written by J.K. Rowling and belongs to her.
Harry sighed as he waited for Sirius and Remus to return, deciding to take the time to change and feed Teddy. Harry's heart ached for the small bundle in his arms, barely two months old when both his parent were torn away in a completely preventable war. "A lot of good people were taken in that war, Teddy. I'm just sorry…" He drifted off realising that Teddy would have no idea what he was saying. "It's ok, we can change that" He stated more to himself than to the child that now looked so much like him.
A soft knock on the door alerted him to Remus's presence. "Harry? We're ready for you." Harry nodded and grabbed the duffle bag, shoving the books back inside before following the werewolf down the familiar path to the kitchens. He could hear whispers as he got closer to the door "Do you really think he is who he says he is?" Mrs Weasley's hushed voice reached his ears. Harry tried to wrestle a smile off his face. He hadn't heard Mrs Weasley sound so lively since the battle.
They entered the kitchen and the room went silent. He scanned the room and though he knew what he would see, his heart wasn't prepared. Everyone he loved sat around a large dining room table that looked like it, as well as the room, had been expanded to fit everyone. Dumbledore, Snape, Sirius, Fred, George, Tonks, Remus, Sirius, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Mr and Mrs Weasley, Bill, Charlie, McGonagall and his younger self all sat there staring at him disbelievingly. Their confused faces all looked between him and Teddy. They were all here. His throat constricted as he looked at the faces around him and had to blink a few times. There wasn't a strained silence amongst everyone and besides Sirius, there wasn't that haunted look in their eyes that had been there since the war. "My name is Harry James Potter; I have come to save all of you from a war that will destroy every single one of you." He spoke slowly as to hide the waver in his voice. "And how do we know we can trust anything you say?" Snape's sneering voice cut through the air. Harry paused for a moment, a frown washing over his face. "You don't, but if I were anyone else, how do you think I got here? The house is still under the fidelius charm, no?" Snape's lip curled but he said nothing, instead turning to Dumbledore.
"Well I think that's sorted" Dumbledore spoke suddenly, clapping his hands together. "Now Harry, why don't you tell us how you plan to help us? Mr Lupin here has given us some details but I'm afraid the details are rather fuzzy." The familiar twinkle in his eye threw Harry off his train of though. He had gone through a lot for this man; He had looked up to him, trusted him, been betrayed by him and then forgiven him. Now he was here in the flesh, a man he had last seen lying broken and dead on the cold hard ground of Hogwarts. Harry once more was unprepared for the onslaught of feelings rushing over him. While he had forgiven the man, admittedly it had been easier to do so as the man himself had been dead. He found it a lot harder to do so seeing the man now before him.
"I brought three books of my past, his future" Harry said hoarsely, gesturing to his younger counterpart who looked rather alarmed at this. "They're all in my point of view. Hermione, my Hermione invented this spell that could turn your life, the major points at least, into books. She said something about it helping those after the war…" he drifted off realising that the details of how he made, or rather Hermione made the books were not important.
"So, you want us, to read books about Harry's future?" Ron spoke disbelievingly. "Yup" The Older Harry spoke, popping the P at the end. "Well I'm in" Ron answered finally, as though the matter had been settled. "May I take a look at these books, Harry?' Dumbledore's grandfatherly voice called out to him. Harry looked around at all the people in the room cautiously before looking to Remus "Can you hold him?" he said, gesturing between Teddy and Remus. The greying werewolf looked unsure of himself but nodded and held his arms out for the baby he didn't know was his. Harry looked at the father and soon, his eyes seeming to mist over as he did so, wishing that he could have gone back and saved his own parents but knowing that to do so would be selfish.
Harry picked up the duffle bag and placed it on the kitchen table before taking out four books and placing them in a row. "This book" Harry pointed to the first book on the table "IS called the 'The Goblet of Fire' It will have a little bit of the past, but the rest is of the future, just so you can catch where we are up to when it comes to the timeline." He took a deep breath before continuing "Once we have read that, we will move on to the Order of the phoenix, then Half-blood Prince and finally the Deathly Hallows" Dumbledore's eyes shot up to meet Harry's but the time traveller looked away quickly. "Any Questions?"
The room was silent as everyone processed all that he had said. "Right, well ill start then." Everyone sat around the table, the older harry at one end, Dumbledore at the other.
"We will read a chapter each, taking turns." Everyone nodded at the time travellers' words. Harry nodded to himself before opening the book to the first page.
"Chapter One, The Riddle House"
"The villagers of Little Hangleton still called it "the Riddle House,"
All who knew who Tom Riddle was, shivered slightly.
"Even though it had been many years since the Riddle family had lived there. It stood on a hill overlooking the village, some of its windows boarded, tiles missing from its roof, and ivy spreading unchecked over its face. Once a fine-looking manor, and easily the largest and grandest building for miles around, the Riddle House was now damp, derelict, and unoccupied."
"Gee, wonder why?" Harry muttered under his breath, causing Sirius, whom was sitting next to him, to give him a questioning look, only for harry to shrug and look down at the table.
The Little Hangletons all agreed that the old house was "creepy." Half a century ago, something strange and horrible had happened there, something that the older inhabitants of the village still liked to discuss when topics for gossip were scarce. The story had been picked over so many times, and had been embroidered in so many places, that nobody was quite sure what the truth was anymore. Every version of the tale, however, started in the same place: Fifty years before, at daybreak on a fine summer's morning when the Riddle House had still been well kept and impressive, a maid had entered the drawing room to find all three Riddles dead.
Everyone looked at each other with different expressions ranging from dread to suspicion. Dumbledore and Snape were the only two who did not give away their looks of horror.
The maid had run screaming down the hill into the village and roused as many people as she could.
"Lying there with their eyes wide open! Cold as ice! Still in their dinner things!"
"Dinner Things?" Fred looked to George with a raised eyebrow but only received a confused shrug in return.
The police were summoned,
"Police?" Ron turned and looked to Hermione for an explanation, only for Sirius to answer "The police is like a muggle Auror, they uphold the laws in the muggle world" Harry looked at Sirius with a raised eyebrow. "I thought you were a pureblood?" Sirius just smirked and gave him a small wink before ruffling his hair.
And the whole of Little Hangleton had seethed with shocked curiosity and ill-disguised excitement. Nobody wasted their breath pretending to feel very sad about the Riddles, for they had been most unpopular. Elderly Mr. and Mrs. Riddle had been rich, snobbish, and rude, and their grown-up son, Tom, had been, if anything, worse. All the villagers cared about was the identity of their murderer - for plainly, three apparently healthy people did not all drop dead of natural causes on the same night.
"No, they don't" Sirius spat bitterly, causing the older Harry to nod in agreement, a small disturbed look on his face. He knew what had happened to the Riddle family but kept quiet; the books would tell them in time.
The Hanged Man, the village pub, did a roaring trade that night; the whole village seemed to have turned out to discuss the murders. They were rewarded for leaving their firesides when the Riddles' cook arrived dramatically in their midst and announced to the suddenly silent pub that a man called Frank Bryce had just been arrested.
"Frank!" cried several people. "Never!"
Frank Bryce was the Riddles' gardener. He lived alone in a run-down cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House. Frank had come back from the war with a very stiff leg and a great dislike of crowds and loud noises, and had been working for the Riddles ever since.
There was a rush to buy the cook drinks and hear more details.
"Always thought he was odd," she told the eagerly listening villagers, after her fourth sherry. "Unfriendly, like. I'm sure if I've offered him a cuppa once, I've offered it a hundred times. Never wanted to mix, he didn't."
"Ah, now," said a woman at the bar, "he had a hard war, Frank. He likes the quiet life. That's no reason to -"
"Who else had a key to the back door, then?" barked the cook. "There's been a spare key hanging in the gardener's cottage far back as I can remember! Nobody forced the door last night! No broken windows! All Frank had to do was creep up to the big house while we was all sleeping..."
The villagers exchanged dark looks.
The younger and older Potter both exchanged looks and rolled their eyes. They knew how easily people turned on others. They, after all had been victim of the same thing multiple times.
"I always thought that he had a nasty look about him, right enough," grunted a man at the bar.
"War turned him funny, if you ask me," said the landlord.
"Told you I wouldn't like to get on the wrong side of Frank, didn't I, Dot?" said an excited woman in the corner.
"Horrible temper," said Dot, nodding fervently. "I remember, when he was a kid..."
By the following morning, hardly anyone in Little Hangleton doubted that Frank Bryce had killed the Riddles.
Almost everyone in the room sighed or made some sort of noise of outrage and disbelief.
But over in the neighbouring town of Great Hangleton, in the dark and dingy police station, Frank was stubbornly repeating, again and again, that he was innocent, and that the only person he had seen near the house on the day of the Riddles' deaths had been a teenage boy, a stranger, dark-haired and pale. Nobody else in the village had seen any such boy, and the police were quite sure Frank had invented him.
Ginny shrunk in her seat slightly, knowing exactly who this man, Frank, had seen and wished that these 'police' thingies had been right, and Tom Riddle was just an invention of some old man's mind.
"Then, just when things were looking very serious for Frank, the report on the Riddles' bodies came back and changed everything."
Harry took a breath before continuing
"The police had never read an odder report. A team of doctors had examined the bodies and had concluded that none of the Riddles had been poisoned, stabbed, shot, strangles, suffocated, or (as far as they could tell) harmed at all. In fact (the report continued, in a tone of unmistakable bewilderment), the Riddles all appeared to be in perfect health - apart from the fact that they were all dead. The doctors did note (as though determined to find something wrong with the bodies) that each of the Riddles had a look of terror upon his or her face - but as the frustrated police said, whoever heard of three people being frightened to death?"
"Ever seen Ron around a spider?" Fred joked, nudging George as he did so, who laughed loudly. "Shut up" Ron muttered, flushing a bright red. "Leave your brother alone you two." Mrs Weasley glared at the twins, causing them to stop immediately and look down at the table to hide their identical grins.
"As there was no proof that the Riddles had been murdered at all, the police were forced to let Frank go. The Riddles were buried in the Little Hangleton churchyard, and their graves remained objects of curiosity for a while. To everyone's surprise, and amid a cloud of suspicion, Frank Bryce returned to his cottage on the grounds of the Riddle House."
"Poor guy" Harry, the younger one, said out loud, causing many to nod in agreement.
"As far as I'm concerned, he killed them, and I don't care what the police say," said Dot in the Hanged Man. "And if he had any decency, he'd leave here, knowing as how we knows he did it."
But Frank did not leave. He stayed to tend the garden for the next family who lived in the Riddle House, and then the next - for neither family stayed long. Perhaps it was partly because of Frank that the new owners said there was a nasty feeling about the place, which, in the absence of inhabitants, started to fall into disrepair.
The wealthy man who owned the Riddle House these days neither lived there nor put it to any use; they said in the village that he kept it for "tax reasons," though nobody was very clear what these might be. The wealthy owner continued to pay Frank to do the gardening, however. Frank was nearing his seventy-seventh birthday now, very deaf, his bad leg stiffer than ever, but could be seen pottering around the flower beds in fine weather, even though the weeds were starting to creep up on him, try as he might to suppress them."
Harry remembered the long list of chores he would be forced to do at the Dursleys and winced in pity for the old man.
"Weeds were not the only things Frank had to contend with either. Boys from the village made a habit of throwing stones through the windows of the Riddle House. They rode their bicycles over the lawns Frank worked so hard to keep smooth. Once or twice, they broke into the old house for a dare. They knew that old Frank's devotion to the house and the grounds amounted almost to an obsession, and it amused them to see him limping across the garden, brandishing his stick and yelling croakily at them. Frank, for his part, believed the boys tormented him because they, like their parents and grandparents, though him a murderer.
"What horrible children" Mrs Weasley shrieked, who only calmed down when her husband, Mr Weasley, placed a calming hand on her shoulder.
"So, when Frank awoke one night in August and saw something very odd up at the old house, he merely assumed that the boys had gone one step further in their attempts to punish him."
The Older Harry winced, as did the younger one, wishing that it was just some muggle boys.
"It was Frank's bad leg that woke him; it was paining him worse than ever in his old age. He got up and limped downstairs into the kitchen with the idea of refilling his hot-water bottle to ease the stiffness in his knee. Standing at the sink, filling the kettle, he looked up at the Riddle House and saw lights glimmering in its upper windows. Frank knew at once what was going on. The boys had broken into the house again, and judging by the flickering quality of the light, they had started a fire."
"Maybe you should just call the police" Hermione fretted but then blushed as everyone looked at her. "You realise this is just a book, OW!" Ron rubbed his arm as Hermione swatted at his arm to shut him up. "Sheesh woman"
"Frank had no telephone; in any case, he had deeply mistrusted the police ever since they had taken him in for questioning about the Riddles' deaths."
"Oh" Hermione's face darkened more; The older Harry chuckled softly and continued reading.
"He put down the kettle at once, hurried back upstairs as fast as his bad leg would allow, and was soon back in his kitchen, fully dressed and removing a rusty old key from its hook by the door. He picked up his walking stick, which was propped against the wall, and set off into the night."
Why do I feel like this wasn't the greatest idea?" Bill leant back in his chair, folding his arms. The others didn't say anything in response, but they knew nothing good could come out of this.
"The front door of the Riddle House bore no sign of being forced, nor did any of the windows. Frank limped around to the back of the house until he reached a door almost completely hidden by ivy, took out the old key, put it into the lock, and opened the door noiselessly.
He let himself into the cavernous kitchen. Frank had not entered it for many years; nevertheless, although it was very dark, he remembered where the door into the hall was, and he groped his way towards it, his nostrils full of the smell of decay, ears pricked for any sound of footsteps or voices from overhead. He reached the hall, which was a little lighter owing to the large mullioned windows on either side of the front door, and started to climb the stairs, blessing the dust that lay thick upon the stone, because it muffled the sound of his feet and stick.
On the landing, Frank turned right, and saw at once where the intruders were: At the every end of the passage a door stood ajar, and a flickering light shone through the gap, casting a long sliver of gold across the black floor. Frank edged closer and closer, he was able to see a narrow slice of the room beyond.
The fire, he now saw, had been lit in the grate. This surprised him. Then he stopped moving and listened intently, for a man's voice spoke within the room; it sounded timid and fearful.
The two Harry's looked at each other again, both their hearts beating just a little faster.
"There is a little more in the bottle, My Lord, if you are still hungry."
"Later," said a second voice. This too belonged to a man - but it was strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. Something about that voice made the sparse hairs on the back of Frank's neck stand up. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."
Remus and Sirius hissed under their breaths, Sirius almost standing up if it wasn't for the tight grip that the younger Harry had on his arm, almost predicting the movement Sirius was about to make.
"Frank turned his right ear toward the door, the better to hear. There came the clink of a bottle being put down upon some hard surface, and then the dull scraping noise of a heavy chair being dragged across the floor. Frank caught a glimpse of a small man, his back to the door, pushing the chair into place. He was wearing a long black cloak, and there was a bald patch at the back of his head. Then he went out of sight again."
"Ugly little Git, isn't he?" Fred Snorted at Gorges words. Harry couldn't help but agree.
"Where is Nagini?" said the cold voice.
"I - I don't know, My Lord," said the first voice nervously. "She set out to explore the house, I think..."
"You will milk her before we retire, Wormtail," said the second voice. "I will need feeding in the night. The journey has tired me greatly."
The younger people blanched while the adults exchanged disgusted glances. "That's disgusting" Ron croaked. "I think I might be sick" Hermione said in agreement.
Brow furrowed, Frank inclined his good ear still closer to the door, listening very hard. There was a pause, and then the man called Wormtail spoke again.
"My Lord, may I ask how long we are going to stay here?"
"A week," said the cold voice. "Perhaps longer. The place is moderately comfortable, and the plan cannot proceed yet. It would be foolish to act before the Quidditch World Cup is over."
"Quidditch!" Fred and George shouted, throwing their hands up, causing the older Harry to startle. "Boys!" Mrs Weasley snapped, "Settle down"
Frank inserted a gnarled finger into his ear and rotated it. Owing, no doubt, to a buildup of earwax, he had heard the word "Quidditch," which was not a word at all.
"Yes it is" the twins muttered lowly as to not let their mother hear them, least they be forced to face her wrath once more.
"The - the Quidditch World Cup, My Lord?" said Wormtail. (Frank dug his finger still more vigorously into his ear.) "Forgive me, but - I do not understand - why should we wait until the World Cup is over?"
"Because, fool, at this very moment wizards are pouring into the country from all over the world, and every meddler from the Ministry of Magic will be on duty, on the watch for signs of unusual activity, checking and double-checking identities. They will be obsessed with security, lest the Muggles notice anything. So we wait."
Frank stopped trying to clear out his ear. He had distinctly heard the words "Ministry of Magic," "wizards," and "Muggles." Plainly, each of these expressions meant something secret, and Frank could think of only two sorts of people who would speak in code: spies and criminals. Frank tightened his hold on his walking stick once more, and listened more closely still.
"Your Lordship is still determined, then?" Wormtail said quietly.
"Certainly I am determined, Wormtail." There was a note of menace in the cold voice now.
"Determined to make my life a living misery" the younger Harry muttered louder than he had meant to, causing a few pitying glances to be thrown his way.
A slight pause followed - and the Wormtail spoke, the words tumbling from him in a rush, as though he was forcing himself to say this before he lost his nerve.
"It could be done without Harry Potter, My Lord."
Sirius looked panicked at the mention of Voldemort wanting anything to do with Harry, only for the said younger potter to squeeze his arm that he had still in his grasp.
Another pause, more protracted, and then –
"Without Harry Potter?" breathed the second voice softly. "I see..."
"My Lord, I do not say this out of concern for the boy!" said Wormtail, his voice rising squeakily. "The boy is nothing to me, nothing at all!"
The remaining Marauders winced at this, though they knew he was a traitor, they still remembered the glassy eyed boy he used to be and how Harry would call him Uncle Wormy long before the war ruined everything.
"It is merely that if we were to use another witch or wizard - any wizard - the thing could be done so much more quickly! If you allowed me to leave you for a short while - you know that I can disguise myself most effectively - I could be back here in as little as two days with a suitable person -"
"I could use another wizard," said the cold voice softly, "that is true..."
"My Lord, it makes sense," said Wormtail, sounding thoroughly relieved now. "Laying hands on Harry Potter would be so difficult, he is so well protected -"
"Damn right he is!" Ron shouted, slamming his fist on the table, only to blush bright red and sit back in his chair as though he had forgotten where he was
"And so you volunteer to go and fetch me a substitute? I wonder...perhaps the task of nursing me has become wearisome for you, Wormtail? Could this suggestion of abandoning the plan be nothing more than an attempt to desert me?"
"My Lord! I - I have no wish to leave you, none at all -"
"Do not lie to me!" hissed the second voice. "I can always tell, Wormtail! You are regretting that you ever returned to me. I revolt you. I see you flinch when you look at me, feel you shudder when you touch me..."
"Who wouldn't?" Harry muttered bitterly, his older counterpart nodding in agreement at hearing his words, causing the two to share a small smile between them.
"No! My devotion to Your Lordship -"
"Your devotion is nothing more than cowardice. You would not be here if you had anywhere else to go. How am I to survive without you, when I need feeding every few hours? Who is to milk Nagini?"
"But you seem so much stronger, My Lord -"
"Liar," breathed the second voice. "I am no stronger, and a few days alone would be enough to rob me of the little health I have regained under your clumsy care. Silence!"
Wormtail, who had been sputtering incoherently, fell silent at once. For a few seconds, Frank could hear nothing but the fire crackling. The second man spoke once more, in a whisper that was almost a hiss.
"I have my reasons for using the boy, as I have already explained to you, and I will use no other. I have waited thirteen years. A few more months will make no difference. As for the protection surrounding the boy, I believe my plan will be effective. All that is needed is a little courage from you, Wormtail - courage you will find, unless you wish to feel the full extent of Lord Voldermort's wrath -"
"What does he want Harry for?!" Sirius could no longer hold it back, all this talk of needing Harry sent a shrill of fear through him every time. He had already lost James and Lilly, even Peter in a way. He refused to lose his godson too. The older Harry looked at Sirius, having very similar thoughts. "It's ok Sirius, everything will be ok, and even if it's not, I came back to change it." This calmed Sirius enough that he sat back in his seat and nodded.
"My Lord, I must speak!" said Wormtail, panic in his voice now. "All through our journey I have gone over the plan in my head - My Lord, Bertha Jorkin's disappearance will not go unnoticed for long, and if we proceed, if I murder -"
"If?" whispered the second voice. "If? If you follow the plan, Wormtail, the Ministry need never know that anyone else has died. You will do it quietly and without fuss; I only wish that I could do it myself, but in my present condition...Come, Wormtail, one more death and our path to Harry Potter is clear. I am not asking you to do it alone. By that time, my faithful servant will have rejoined us -"
"I am a faithful servant," said Wormtail, the merest trace of sullenness in his voice."
The sneer reached almost everyone's faces once more "Pathetic" Ron muttered.
"Wormtail, I need somebody with brains, somebody whose loyalty has never wavered, and you, unfortunately, fulfil neither requirement."
Harry snorted, followed by Remus and Sirius "If that isn't the truth" Harry chortled
"I found you," said Wormtail, and there was definitely a sulky edge to his voice now. "I was the one who found you. I brought you Bertha Jorkins."
Hermione sniffled slightly and turned her head, thinking about that poor woman.
"That is true," said the second man, sounding amused. "A stroke of brilliance I would not have thought possible from you, Wormtail - though, if truth be told, you were not aware how useful she would be when you caught her, were you?"
"I - I thought she might be useful, My Lord -"
"Liar," said the second voice again, the cruel amusement more pronounced than ever. "However, I do not deny that her information was invaluable. Without it, I could never have formed our plan, and for that, you will have your reward, Wormtail. I will allow you to perform an essential task for me, one that many of my followers would give their right hands to perform..."
"So, if it was a lie… then what did Peter want with Jorkins..." The older Harry finished off before looking slightly nauseous. Everyone who caught on to his train of thought paled as well, feeling ill at the implications.
"R-really, My Lord? What -?" Wormtail sounded terrified again.
"Ah, Wormtail, you don't want me to spoil the surprise? Your part will come at the very end...but I promise you, you will have the honour of being just as useful as Bertha Jorkins."
"You...you..." Wormtail's voice suddenly sounded hoarse, as though his mouth had gone very dry. "You...are going...to kill me too?"
"We can only hope" Said Sirius in a wishful tone
"Wormtail, Wormtail," said the cold voice silkily, "why would I kill you? I killed Bertha because I had to. She was fit for nothing after my questioning, quite useless. In any case, awkward questions would have been asked if she had gone back to the Ministry with the news that she had met you on her holidays. Wizards who are supposed to be dead would do well not to run into Ministry of Magic witches at wayside inns..."
Wormtail muttered something so quietly that Frank could not hear it, but it made the second man laugh - an entirely mirthless laugh, cold as his speech.
"We could have modified her memory? But Memory Charms can be broken by a powerful wizard, as I proved when I questioned her. It would be an insult to her memory not to use the information I extracted from her, Wormtail."
The fact that Wormtail wanted her alive was even more disturbing than what was previously thought.
Out in the corridor, Frank suddenly became aware that the hand gripping his walking stick was slippery with sweat. The man with the cold voice had killed a woman. He was talking about it without any kind of remorse – with amusement. He was dangerous – a madman. And he was planning more murders – this boy, Harry Potter, whoever he was – was in danger –
"You don't say?" Harry said sarcastically. The adults looked at each other, concerned while the older Harry nodded, agreeing with her younger self.
Frank knew what he must do. Now, if ever, was the time to go to the police. He would creep out of the house and head straight for the telephone box in the village...but the cold voice was speaking again, and Frank remained where he was, frozen to the spot, listening with all his might.
"One more murder...my faithful servant at Hogwarts...Harry Potter is as good as mine, Wormtail. It is decided. There will be no more argument. But quiet...I think I hear Nagini..."
Sirius sneered and unconsciously pulled the younger Harry closer him, as though to shield Harry from Voldemort. The younger Harry was slightly shocked by this but welcomed the affection.
And the second man's voice changed. He started making noises such as Frank had never heard before; he was hissing and spitting without drawing breath. Frank thought he must be having some sort of fit or seizure.
And then Frank heard movement behind him in the dark passageway. He turned to look, and found himself paralyzed with fright.
Something was slithering toward him along the dark corridor floor, and as it drew nearer to the sliver of firelight, he realized with a thrill of terror that it was a gigantic snake, at least twelve feet long. Horrified, transfixed, Frank stared as its undulating body cut a wide, curving track through the thick dust on the floor, coming closer and closer - What was he to do? The only means of escape was into the room where the two men sat plotting murder, yet if he stayed where he was the snake would surely kill him -
Everyone sat on the edge of their seats, all bar the younger and older Harrys, one of whom was still reading the book and the other who was yanked halfway onto Sirius's lap, feeling rather like a child.
But before he had made his decision, the snake was level with him, and then, incredibly, miraculously, it was passing; it was following the spitting, hissing noises made by the cold voice beyond the door, and in seconds, the tip of its diamond-patterned tail had vanished through the gap.
There was sweat on Frank's forehead now, and the hand on the walking stick was trembling. Inside the room, the cold voice was continuing to hiss, and Frank was visited by a strange idea, an impossible idea...This man could talk to snakes.
The older Harry frowned "Smart Muggle" he murmured, too low for anyone else to hear.
Frank didn't understand what was going on. He wanted more than anything to be back in his bed with his hot-water bottle. The problem was that his legs didn't seem to want to move. As he stood there shaking and trying to master himself, the cold voice switched abruptly to English again.
"Nagini has interesting news, Wormtail," it said.
Everyone held their breath
"In-indeed, My Lord?" said Wormtail
"Indeed, yes," said the voice, "According to Nagini, there is an old Muggle standing right outside this room, listening to every word we say."
Frank didn't have a chance to hide himself. There were footsteps and then the door of the room was flung wide open.
"Oh no" fretted Mrs Weasley, Her husband looking equally as worried, not daring to say a word.
A short, balding man with graying hair, a pointed nose, and small, watery eyes stood before Frank, a mixture of fear and alarm in his face.
"Wormtail" The Marauders and the Potters hissed
"Invite him inside, Wormtail. Where are your manners?"
""Oh no, you have to run!" Hermione said wide eyed. Harry and Ron exchanged glances, bot thinking the same thing. No one dared to tell her that running was useless
The cold voice was coming from the ancient armchair before the fire, but Frank couldn't see the speaker. the snake, on the other hand, was curled up on the rotting hearth rug, like some horrible travesty of a pet dog.
Wormtail beckoned Frank into the room. Though still deeply shaken, Frank took a firmer grip on his walking stick and limped over the threshold.
The fire was the only source of light in the room; it cast long, spidery shadows upon the walls. Frank stared at the back of the armchair; the man inside it seemed to be even smaller than his servant, for Frank couldn't even see the back of his head.
"You heard everything, Muggle?" said the cold voice.
"What's that you're calling me?" said Frank defiantly, for now that he was inside the room, now that the time had come for some sort of action, he felt braver; it had always been so in the war.
"I am calling you a Muggle," said the voice coolly. "It means that you are not a wizard."
"I don't know what you mean by wizard," said Frank, his voice growing steadier. "All I know is I've heard enough to interest the police tonight, I have. You've done murder and you're planning more! And I'll tell you this too," he added, on a sudden inspiration, "my wife knows I'm up here, and if I don't come back -"
"You have no wife," said the cold voice, very quietly. "Nobody knows you are here. You told nobody that you were coming. Do not lie to Lord Voldemort, Muggle, for he knows…he always knows…"
Winces were seen all around the room, pitying the poor muggle who has had a hard life and was now faced with the most evil man of this era.
"Is that right?" said Frank roughly. "Lord, is it? Well, I don't think much of your manners, My Lord. Turn 'round and face me like a man, why don't you?"
Harry was mildly impressed with the man, but knowing how this ended, he wished he had gone back, just a little bit further, to save this man.
"But I am not a man, Muggle," said the cold voice, barely audible now over the crackling of the flames. "I am much, much more than a man. However...why not? I will face you...Wormtail, come turn my chair around."
The servant gave a whimper.
"You heard me, Wormtail."
Slowly, with his face screwed up, as though he would rather have done anything than approach his master
"I never thought I would have anything in common with that rat" Ron spat, Harry and Hermione nodding in agreement.
and the hearth rug where the snake lay, the small man walked forward and began to turn the chair. The snake lifted its ugly triangular head and hissed slightly as the legs of the chair snagged on its rug.
And then the chair was facing Frank, and he saw what was sitting in it. His walking stick fell to the floor with a clatter. He opened his mouth and let out a scream. He was screaming so loudly that he never heard the words the thing in the chair spoke as it raised a wand. There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound, and Frank Bryce crumpled. He was dead before he hit the floor.
The women gasped and covered their mouths in shock, the men bowing their heads, paying their respects to the poor muggle who had died needlessly at the hands of a monster.
Two hundred miles away, the boy called Harry Potter woke with a start.
Sirius turned to the younger Harry; his eyes wide. "You saw that?" Harry bowed his head and tried to flatten his hair down, a nervous habit he had gained since he had returned to the wizarding world. "I, I didn't know that it wasn't a dream" The boy sighed and shook his head, feeling sick to his stomach.
"Well, that's the end of the first Chapter, who wants to read next?" The older Harry held out the book, taking the attention off of the younger version of him, if only for a little while.
"I will!" Hermione raised a hand immediately before taking the offered book. Everyone gathered themselves and prepared for the next chapter.
