Disclaimer: There's no such thing as an objective opinion. Our opinions are an amalgam of those around us. Thoughts are honest but beliefs are biased.

I do not own Harry Potter.


A perpetual gloom hung over the Children's Ward of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

It wasn't the first time Lily entered this wing and the way things were, it wouldn't be the last. Unlike the other wards of the premier hospital, the Children's Ward was a place of transient joys and anguishes. The flickering life of a child didn't leave much time for hope; They either recovered quickly, or they died quickly.

Considering that, Lily didn't know whether to be grateful or spiteful.

Among the thousands of patients that passed through this place, Harry Potter was the most unusual. He had been brought on a Halloween night and never left. More than seven years had slipped by and while everything around him had changed in one manner or the other, he remained the same. The only sign that he was alive was the weak heartbeat and his aging frame.

Like the wave of heat that randomly hit the face on a warm day, the memories of that Halloween night passed behind her eyes at least once a day. It could happen when she was making breakfast early in the morning, or taking a nap on the couch in the afternoon, or eating a scone with tea in the evening, or slipping into sleep in the midst of the night. It never came announced but when it did, it took a long time to leave. Memories were cruel that way. The soothing balm of nostalgia soured into torturous acid quicker than thought.

Nights were the toughest. During the day, she could distract herself with a task as the remnants of that day revolved in her mind but the night offered no respite from their grasp. She woke up in cold sweat in the middle of the night by the end, and sleep wouldn't show its face again till dawn.

It was an unusually calm night, she remembered thinking at that time. As the world beneath celebrated Halloween in tense silence, the moon outside seemed to be frozen in time, until the occasional cloud obscured its all-seeing gaze. The stars colluded in peculiar patterns, miming a forewarning to those wise enough to comprehend their wisdom.

Harry was playing in his Nursery, paying no mind to his father who was trying desperately to gather the attention of his scion. The infant wore a look of intense focus as he waved his fake wand, wondering why it didn't produce the vivid colors he had seen his parents generate. His father's enthusiastic encouragements fell on deaf ears and Lily watched with a fond smile as her husband continued unabated. His cute frown turned upside down when his magic acquiesced to his wishes and painted the wand with a rainbow of bright colors. It might not be the result he was hoping for but a child's wishes were ever-evolving; Paradoxically, change was both an appreciated and understated entity to an infant.

The one-year-old might not have understood the magnitude of his accomplishment but his parents shared a proud glance between them. After all, it was not every day that a kid who hadn't even celebrated his second birthday managed to tame his wild magic with such success. It didn't take long for their smiles to shift into wary grimaces. The prophecy hung over their heads like an ever-present guillotine and these bouts of unforeseen magical prowess from their child only confirmed his role as the chosen one.

Lily turned to the stairs leading to the hall, lost in thought when the wards alerted the presence of an intruder. Her heart jerked in her chest, playing a discordant note, and her wand slipped into her hand in an instant. James rose to his feet, brandishing his own wand, and they shared a nod before slowly trudging down the steps.

"James! Lily!" The voice of Peter, one of their closest friends, echoed through the house.

The sighs of relief from the parents spoke more about their worry than anything else. Plastering a smile on her face, Lily rushed forward to greet their secret keeper but the smile dissipated like vapor at the look of abject terror on Peter's face.

"The Longbottoms are being attacked, the Headmaster has called for everyone in the Order," Peter informed in a hurry.

Lily hated herself for the rush of relief that spread through her frame. If the Longbottoms were being attacked, then that meant that her son was not the prophesied vanquisher of the Dark Lord. She crushed that feeling with extreme prejudice. She readied herself for the fight of her life as she gathered her cloak and boots, glancing at her husband out of the corner of her eye as he did the same. But she hesitated for a moment, her gaze inadvertently shifting to the Nursery on the first floor.

"But, Harry..." She made to speak.

"I'll stay with him," Peter said with as much conviction as he could manage through his fright.

Lily knew that every second she delayed meant the survival of the Longbottoms became that much more improbable. But the worry of a mother triumphed over everything else despite the situation. Even though Peter had been a friend of theirs for years, he was not as tightly knit part of their group as Sirius and Remus. Whatever the reasons might have been for this distance between them, Lily at least knew that every Marauder could be trusted with their life; He wouldn't have been their secret keeper otherwise. But Harry never seemed very enthused when Peter visited, always seeming on the verge of tears whenever the rat animagus lifted him into his arms. Seeing that she was not convinced, Peter continued.

"You know I'm not much of a fighter, Lily," Peter remarked self-deprecatingly, an uneasy smile playing on his face. "I won't be of any help there. But I promise you that I'll protect Harry with my life."

Before she could protest, James put a hand on her shoulder, his clenched jaw belying his urgency. He was one of the upcoming Aurors and along with his duty to his friends, there was an added obligation to his job for him that couldn't let him stay. She knew what the look in his eyes meant; If it was her family being attacked then Frank and Alice wouldn't hesitate to come to their aid and that thought solidified her resolve.

"I'm trusting you with my life, Peter," Lily's eyes never seemed so vulnerable. But there was a fire burning behind her irises that promised unholy vengeance if anything happened to her son.

Peter gulped before nodding in acknowledgment. There were two simultaneous pops signifying apparition and the next moment, Peter was standing alone in the Hall.

"I'm sorry, Lily, James," there was genuine regret in his tone until it was masked by his cowardice. "But I cannot trust anyone with my life."

He stood unmoving in his place for what felt like hours, tears of terror and remorse pooling in his eyes. He debated running away with Harry before it was smothered by a wave of panic as he remembered the cold, red eyes of the Dark Lord. He knew that no matter how far he ran, he would be groveling at the feet of the Dark Lord by the wake of dawn, and he was not as strong or as brave as any of his friends to even dream of survival.

His terror reached a fever pitch when soft footsteps echoed in the garden. He turned to face the door, his countenance turning a sickly white pallor as he trembled in his shoes. The door blasted open and a figure walked in, calm as a tiger stalking its prey.

The intruder was garbed in a thick black cloak that obscured his frame and his face was shrouded in darkness by the hood of the cloak. His blood-red eyes peered through the darkness, scanning the cozy home with a look of distaste. The only visible part of his frame was a chalk-white textured hand and the lithe fingers that held his pale wand.

"My Lord, I-I did as you s-said, I-I did it, my Lord" Pettigrew sniveled, stumbling upon himself as he bumbled his way to the Dark Lord. "Y-your plan worked b-brilliantly, my Lord. The P-Potter didn't s-suspect..."

Peter's words got stuck in his throat as Voldemort shifted his cruel gaze to the trembling man. The distaste in Voldemort's eyes shifted to disgust, and he pointed his wand at the rat animagus.

"Where's the boy?" Voldemort spoke in a subdued whisper. He never felt the need to raise his voice these days, the innate fear of the people making his words sound loud and clear.

"I-I'll bring h-him to you, my lord..." Pettigrew made to speak.

"Crucio!"

Screams of agony reverberated through the house as Peter writhed on the carpet, startling the infant in the Nursery into awareness. "I did not ask for your assistance."

Harry looked around, only then noticing that his parents were nowhere to be found, and combined with the screams ringing from somewhere, made tears spring up to his eyes. Voldemort cut off the spell as fitful cries were heard from the first floor, and his eyes gained a satisfied glint. "You seem to be outliving your usefulness, Peter."

Without giving the whimpering Pettigrew a chance to reply in defense, Voldemort walked up the stairs to reach the Nursery. He slithered in, finding a child sitting on the floor with a dummy wand in his hand, staring defiantly at the intruder even as tears slipped out of the corners of his eyes.

"You are a brave one, Harry Potter," Voldemort spoke, looking down at the child with undisguised curiosity. The child hardly looked a year old, with chubby cheeks that were marred by tears and pudgy hands. He had delicate features like most children and unusually bright green eyes. He might be considered cute by most standards but there was nothing to indicate that he would grow up to be a powerful wizard unlike anyone had ever seen. But the defiance that shone in the child's innocent gaze proved that even if did not end up being exceptionally powerful, he would definitely grow up to be a thorn in the Dark lord's side. "Seems like I chose right."

He pointed his wand at the child, an inkling of wariness caressing his thoughts. He felt that his actions here would usher an unforeseen change but whether that was for his benefit, or for the World at large, he couldn't be certain. The few seconds of delay was enough for Pettigrew to reach the Nursery, his body wracked with tremors and a deluge of sweat coating his blistered skin. The whimpering man fell to his feet as he stepped inside the infant's room, and he crawled forward until he knelt beside Voldemort.

"My Lord, w-we can take the b-boy with us," Peter pleaded from the Dark Lord's side, his back partially facing Harry. "T-There is no n-need to kill him."

Even with the bemusement that spread through his features, Voldemort's glare was sharp enough to cut through stone. The earlier curiosity in his gaze was nowhere to be found as the red in his eyes darkened. "Step aside, Peter."

"I made a promise, my lord," Peter said, his voice devoid of his previous stutter. He reached an epiphany as he suffered under the Cruciatus, as his thoughts converged on nothing but his own survival.

Even if he survived the ordeal, he would never be in peace as long he served under the Dark Lord. The casual brutality of Lord Voldemort confirmed as much. And even if he whittled through his days after Harry's death, the rest of the marauders would hunt him to the end of the world. There was no scenario in which he ended up the victor, and he gleaned as much. But if he ensured the survival of Lily's son then that would be his bargaining chip against both sides of the war. If all else failed, he could at least die with the comfort that he really did defend the boy with his life. A glance at Harry's bright green eyes, which were a perfect image of Lily's own, solidified his resolve.

"A lot of people made a lot of promises today, Wormtail," Voldemort veered his wand to point at Peter. His patience was already thinning and only the thought of losing a useful pawn stayed his hand. "Yours is not any more significant. Step aside. I will not ask again."

"You can raise him as you like, my lord. He will never become a threat to you," Peter's voice gained strength with each word, his conviction in his plan growing stronger until he was standing on his feet. "I-I will ensure it with my life..."

A flash of sickly green and Peter's voice was silenced. The portly man fell backward like a marionette with its strings severed, striking the carpet with a heavy thud. Harry jerked in surprise, his gaze stuck on Peter's still frame, not understanding why the man appeared lifeless like one of his toys.

"You proved yourself to be a Gryffindor in death," Voldemort tutted as he glanced at the rapidly cooling corpse of his spy. He didn't spare a second thought to Peter and turned to face the prophesied child, the bemusement back on his visage. "You lost me a spy, child, a poor one though he might be. Is this the power I know not?"

Harry could only blink in return. Voldemort raised his wand once again, and Harry lifted his toy wand in an attempt to mimic the man in front of him. The Dark Lord's amusement rose to levels he hadn't previously experienced, though the wariness returned to linger on the back of his mind. "You fancy a duel, child? Then do your best."

"Avada Kedavra!" Voldemort hissed, uttering the spell to cast it with that much more power.

A radiant jet of pale green raced towards the infant, lighting up the entire room with its sinister tint, and hit the child right on the forehead. Voldemort could scarcely comprehend the result of his spell before he was hit by what felt like lightning in its purest form. It ripped a hole in his cloak and struck him on his chest, burning his skin to ashes as it spread like Fiendfyre across his frame.

The next few moments were sheer agony for the Dark Lord, not even allowing for a modicum of coherent thought. His body liquefied under the intense heat and it felt as if molten lead was running through his veins. He heard concurrent screams echo in the room, the high pitched scream of a child and the guttural scream of a man; It didn't register until much later that the latter was his.

A section of the house was blasted to smithereens as the magical power built up to a crescendo. The residents of Godric's Hollow witnessed a tremendous burst of light, illuminating the night as if the Sun had returned a few hours early before they heard an ear-shattering blast of sound. The phenomenon lasted barely a second before it died down. To those acutely aware, it felt as if the World itself held its breath for a moment.

Citizens rushed out of their homes to behold a sight that would go down in history.

A large portion of the Potter Cottage was destroyed without a trace, and all that remained of its once pristine garden was a giant scorch mark on the ground. Those that rushed inside the gate with a show of bravery were rewarded by an awe-inspiring sight.

A child laid on the floor, surrounded by utter chaos that somehow left no mark on him, except for a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead. A foot away from the child rested the smoldering robes of a man and a pale wand that was as infamous as the man that once wielded it.

Imperceptible to the eyes of the observers, Voldemort's soul escaped his burning body an instant before it was incinerated to ashes. Its search for a suitable host was short-lived as it found a child with such magical potential that it didn't waste a moment to attach itself to the infant like a leech. In another world, a mother sacrificed herself for her son and that act of pure love created a protection so powerful that it held the soul shard at bay for fifteen years without fail; until the machinations of the Dark Lord rendered the protection null.

But Peter Pettigrew held no great love for the progeny of his friends beyond simple affection. The protection offered by his unwitting sacrifice didn't extend any further than blocking a killing curse, and barely at that. The corrupted soul of the Dark Lord battled with the sinless soul of a child, neither winning the fight nor losing it, and while the fractured soul held a deeper desire for control, it couldn't hold a candle to the complete soul of an infant with immense potential.

But an infant's body could barely withstand under such duress and the one-year-old slipped into an eternal slumber, while unaware to anybody, two souls clashed in an endless struggle between the Light and the Dark.


Lily's arrival at the Longbottom Manor was greeted by a purple-colored spell and she produced a shield out of instinct. The luminescent barrier held under the dark curse and she dismissed the shield before firing a silent stunner in return. The atmosphere was electric as spells of a myriad of colors flew around, striking and deflecting as they raced towards anything and everything in sight.

The Death Eaters formed a tight circle around the members of the Order, resorting to the vilest of curses to take the Order down to the count. Their allies apparated in a diffusion of acrid smoke, and the barrage increased with the addition of new wands. The defenders colluded into a tight group, with the vanguard casting a continuous chain of shield spells while the attackers behind them fired cutting charms from the gaps in the shield.

Voldemort stood behind his Death Eaters, his hands bereft of his Yew Wand, and seemed content to let the battle continue without his contribution. The members of the Order chalked it up to the arrogance of the Dark Lord but the cleverer ones began to comprehend that there was a feeling of wrongness about the man.

The fight halted to a standstill as an immense presence entered the battlefield, his spiked white hair and the sharp beard giving away his identity at a glance. He was calm as the sea before the storm as he scanned his surroundings, his alighting on Voldemort, and a frown marred his face. No one dared to fire a spell at the Headmaster of Hogwarts despite the man appearing at ease, aware that he could end their life with a flick of his hand.

"You're not Tom Riddle," Grindelwald spoke at last in his soft baritone. "You neither have the power nor the presence to imitate him."

"The Dark Lord has no equals, not even your precious child of the Prophecy," Barty Crouch Jr. cackled as his disguise wore off. "It's already too late. The boy must be dead by now, don't you think, Headmaster?"

Lily's breath froze in her chest as the realization hit her at the Death Eater's words. To her side, James paled in horror, stumbling back in distress, until Sirius caught him. She heard the roar of the wind as Grindelwald cast a powerful spell but she didn't wait to see the results. She disappeared with a pop, and her feet landed on arid ground, with not a hint of vegetation in sight. For a moment, her rattled mind wondered if she had apparated to the wrong location.

She peered into the smoke that obscured her surroundings, only then noticing the ramshackle cottage ahead, looking as if a tornado had run it over. Her heart stopped for a brief moment, her mind conjuring up a bleak image, and she ran into the Cottage without concern for her own safety, ignoring all the bystanders that made to reach her.

Dumbledore was coming down the stairs as she crossed the entrance, abject sorrow staining his visage as he held something in his arms. She fell to her knees in comprehension, eyes clouding up with tears as she gazed at the unmoving form of her son, appearing so tiny and vulnerable in the arms of Dumbledore. A deep ache settled in her heart, cleaving her chest like the chasm that split mountains in two.

"I am so sorry, Lily," Dumbledore whispered as he gently lowered the child. "I was too late."

She lost consciousness just as Dumbledore uttered the final sentence.


She later got to know that all the Death Eaters that attacked the Longbottom Manor were detained, and Voldemort was dead. The entire nation was shrouded in a joyful atmosphere, and celebrations ran for days all over Britain. But to the members of the Order, the victory felt hollow, knowing that were used as a distraction for the actual attack and they fell for it like fools.

Peter was awarded the Order of Merlin First Class for his part in defending the savior of Magical Britain. His words about protecting Harry with his life turned out to be prophetic, Lily mused in melancholy. If there was one positive side to the whole ordeal, it was that her son hadn't died as she had thought. Dumbledore explained that the Killing Curse was too powerful to survive without any repercussions and that his soul itself was in turmoil. She knew that there was something that Dumbledore was not revealing but the only part that mattered to her was that the chances of his survival were still slim.

She didn't know which was worse; Thinking that Harry had died or finding out that his death was simply postponed.

Her feet inadvertently brought her to the room in which her son rested, a white door marked with the number Three-Hundred and Seventy Three blocking its entrance. Despite it being a single, nondescript room, it was protected by powerful wards to ensure that any remnants of the Dark Lord's forces didn't succeed if they plan to harm the boy-who-lived. She spun her wand in complex patterns and the door shone a light blue before it slid open.

The room was bereft of anything unique, except for the pale nine-year-old resting on a white cot and mattress. Lily felt that the Healers were subtly trying to indicate that there is an oncoming funeral by giving the room a vacant and uninhabited ambiance. The boy's frame was thinner than a wire and he took silent toiling breaths. His long black hair curled like vines around his head, a few bangs brushing his forehead and obscuring the lightning bolt scar. His lips were a pallid blue-pink, small yet slim as they stayed closed.

He appeared as he always did if but an inch taller than last time. The daily dose of nutritional potions could only do so much. But there was always a steady thrum of energy that surrounded the sleeping boy as if his magic was working in tandem to fight against something invisible. Today, the energy seemed particularly potent, almost palpable as it rolled around the boy.

Lily sat in the chair that laid by the top-half of the bedside, idly running her fingers through her son's messy hair. The energy peaked for a moment at her touch, rolling and coiling akin to the waves of the Ocean. She paid it no mind, used to the strange phenomenon that happened around her son until it abruptly vanished. She started, her eyes roving over the room to identify the cause. The atmosphere felt hollow as if a vital part that completed it previously had gone missing. For a moment, she feared that her son had died, and that terrifying thought forced her into action.

She leaned over his body, placing her ear over his chest, and listened intently. For a frightening moment, there was sheer silence, like a desolate graveyard at the peak of the night. Then his chest lurched beneath her, resembling the last breath of a dying man. Her brain conjured up the darkest implications; The situation was hauntingly similar to that Halloween eight years ago. Just as she was about to run for the healers, there was a powerful heartbeat, and to her amazement, it steadied into a constant, resilient thrum. She lifted her head to gaze at his face, hoping to deduce anything out of the ordinary. His visage was as perfect as ever to her eyes despite the years of malnourishment, and she watched in wonder as blood rushed to his face to produce a healthy flush. His lips reddened with each passing moment and his chest rose and fell with his every full breath.

Then his eyes opened.

Lily froze, her mind unable to comprehend the image below her. He blinked drowsily, and Lily blinked in return, befuddlement hazing her thoughts. He blinked again, a giddy part of her brain shouted, and her eyes widened in realization. He was awake!

"Harry!" she gasped as her voice failed her at that moment. She lunged forward, tears cascading from the corners of her eyes, and hugged him with all her might. She sobbed as years of anguish bled out of her, displaced by immense happiness that she could barely contain.

She thought that this moment couldn't get any better, and she was proven wrong when a slender pair of arms wrapped around her weakly. Her heart threatened to burst out of her chest in joy as she let out a wheezing laugh and smothered his face with kisses.

Her son bore it all with a perplexed look on his face, and that snapped her back to reality. It might've been foolish of her to wish that he would recognize her at sight but that didn't stop the slight pang of sadness. It was to be expected though; He was barely more than a year old when he was cursed and he had scarcely started speaking words by then.

Lily leaned back in her chair and spoke with a deliberately slow tone. "Harry? Do you understand me?"

Harry replied with a blank stare. A part of her urged her to bring the healers if only to ensure that he wouldn't relapse into a coma, but another part didn't dare to leave him after seeing him healthy in years. So, she conjured a Patronus to relay her message and glanced back at Harry, only to find him staring at the Patronus with an amazed gaze.

"Do you like it, Harry?" Lily smiled as she made the corporeal doe prance around. "It's called a Patronus."

Lily wasn't sure if he understood anything of what she said but the excited nod and the way his green-eyes tracked the doe filled her with satisfaction. She let the Patronus bounce around a few seconds longer before sending it off to find a healer, albeit reluctantly.

The betrayed look that graced Harry's face as the doe whisked out the door made her regret her decision immediately. She scrambled her brain for any idea that would let him forget about the non-existent doe, panicking with each further moment. He hadn't even been awake for more than a minute, and here she was, making him sad, Lily thought as she reproached herself.

Her panicked glance fell on her wand and a metaphoric bulb lit up in her head. She slid closer to his bed, and Harry's gaze shifted to her, a cute pout playing on his lips.

"Do you want to try it?" Lily asked as she met his gaze, placing her wand in his palm. She was certain that as weak as he was after being in a coma for so long, he might produce a few sparks at most as he waved her wand around.

He might not have understood her words but the intent was clear. He gave a little nod and clasped his thin fingers around the stick in his hand. He twirled it around, looking all over the wand in fascination. He couldn't wrap his mind around how this innocuous stick produced such a weird thing.

"Give it a wave," Lily coaxed her son, miming the movement with her hand.

Harry shifted his stare from her face to her wand, as if asking whether she would really allow it. Lily replied with an encouraging smile, her eyes shining with excitement.

Harry puckered his lips and furrowed his brows in concentration. A weak voice in his mind whispered that this should be child's play for him, invoking a sense of familiarity with the spell. He felt that he had conjured that weird light animal thing a lot of times in the past, despite how improbable that thought seemed.

He thrust the wand forward with a wave of his hand and willed the light to appear. It didn't appear as if anything happened for an instant before a thick, ethereal mist surged out of the tip of the wand. The bare hospital room lit up a bluish-white as the mist spread, suffusing the room with an aura of safety and happiness.

Lily looked on in startled wonder as her nine-year-old cast a spell that most adult wizards struggled with. Though it wasn't a Corporeal Patronus, she couldn't deny that it was the Patronus spell that he had managed so effortlessly; Without any wand movement or incantation at that.

Before she could even begin to comprehend what had happened, Harry's hand dropped down to the mattress, and her wand fell out of his limp fingers. He stumbled back into slumber as his meager reserves of stamina ran empty after performing such a taxing spell, leaving a bewildered Lily in his wake. The mist slowly disappeared after he fell unconscious and the room appeared as it was a few moments ago.

At that very instant, two healers rushed in to the room in a hurry and stood by the bed, looking for any sign that their patient was awake. After their findings implied the contrary, they turned their scrutiny to the conscious one of the two. "Mrs. Potter, what is this? You said your son woke up?"

It took a few suspenseful seconds for her to snap out of her reverie, and even then, her gaze was lacking the clarity that it usually contained. "You wouldn't believe what had just happened."

The healers shared a commiserating glance and the braver one of the two spoke. "Yes, looking at the lack of evidence, I am sure I wouldn't believe."

"No, no, you don't get it," Lily rose to her feet in agitation, a feverish look in her eye. "He cast the Patronus spell! With my wand!"

The healer sighed. It appeared that he needed to prepare a bed in the Psych Ward. He had a feeling that this was going to be a long day.


Author's Note: You wouldn't believe how long it took me to write the last couple of hundred words. Lethargy is a dangerous thing.

The Closer You Look will be updated the next Tuesday.