Disclaimers and Notes: Harry Potter is not mine, nor are any of the characters or items used in this fanfiction (thus, the word/term "fanfiction"). HP belongs to J. K. Rowling.
Charmed Curses
By Lady Geuna
Rated: PG
Summary: What if James Potter wasn't killed on Halloween, 1981? Voldemort devised the perfect punishment for his insolence, a curse that would cause James more pain than the Cruciatus Curse could ever. But things don't exactly turn out as planned, and fate takes a strange turn: for those in the past, as well as the future.
Forgetting the Pain
An hour must have passed before James finally lifted his head from the ground. He couldn't cry anymore, he realized. He'd finally reached the point where there were no tears at all. James rubbed at the dry salt tracks on his face and soon found himself staring at the blacked shell before him. He hated the sight of it, as it made his heart tighten for some reason.
This was the future...?
It didn't look very different, really. He had noted that the street itself looked quiet, peaceful, even during the night. Much like it had been during his time, though everything looked a bit older, worn with age. Was he not in his own time? Of course, his home certainly wasn't like this the last time he saw it. Was this really the world of darkness Voldemort spoke of with such certainty...? Could it actually be daytime? Had Voldemort taken over?
Were the people who lived in these houses long dead...?
James wasn't aware of it himself, but he wasn't in his right state of mind. His actions were based solely on instinct, faint memories, and scattered thoughts as they flitted through his fuzzy mind. A breakdown, perhaps. He had suffered so much in such a short period of time...
His mind wouldn't allow James to accept this horrible fate, and instead marked it all as some terrible nightmare.
Yes, just a nightmare...
A terrible, terrible nightmare...
'Where could Lily and Harry have gone to... They weren't home, he should be with them...'
James nodded to himself and slowly stumbled to his feet. His head was aching terribly, though he was no longer sure why. He his wand was missing, and his wand hand ached terribly. He figured he wouldn't be able to cast spells anyway, given how much it hurt just to make a fist. But he wouldn't need that to Apparate. Maybe Lily had run down to Diagon Alley. After all, it was probably day time.
Yes, this was light...
There was a faint popping sound and he Disapparated. The street was empty once more.
It was past midnight at the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Arthur Weasley was one of few that had decided to stay late that night. It was practically expected on nights like this, Halloween. For starters, some idiot Wizard had decided to enchant an entire Muggle pottery shop, causing everything in the place to levitate.
In another unrelated incident, some poor dear named Martha Hatchet had gotten a bit too drunk during the evening Halloween festivities and accidentally let a few curses fly. That resulted in a number of incinerated jack-o-lanterns, as well as a few children being transfigurated into the very creatures they were disguised as. Then, after the Accidental Magic Reversal Square came to control the situation, there were some more upsets due to their new rookie...
Most of this could be let go due to many carefully placed Memory Charms, and the excuse that perhaps the trick-or-treaters were a little too enthusiastic that evening. But Miss Matchet had been using magic while inebriated, and if Arthur heard the word "Obliviate" one more time...
Oh, it had been a long... long evening.
Though Mr. Weasley had been close to finishing for the day, he had made the mistake of putting his head on his head and resting his eyes. That was some time ago.
His sleep was interrupted, however, by a slight popping sound. He sat up suddenly at his desk, looking dumbly at the person who had just Apparated.
Percy smiled slightly at him, crossing his arms. "Mum wanted me to check up on you." He suddenly lost the smirk and frowned disapprovingly, eyes narrowing. "Good thing I did or you wouldn't be home until morning, if at all."
Mr. Weasley blinked, then glanced at the wall clock. The arm had since moved past "home" and now rested solidly on "sleep." The arms were slowly moving back to the first message, now that he'd woken up. Drat, the paperwork would have to wait until tomorrow after all...
"Hello, Percy," he yawned in greeting, stretching his arms. "How was your day?"
Percy rolled his eyes slightly and pressed his glasses firmly to the bridge of his nose, a habit of his. He thought it looked cool, and hey! It did... The first three times in the first five minutes... "The same as always; a lot a paper work, and a few classified documents..." He sighed as though exasperated. "Mother is extremely frustrated that you for not saying anything. For all she knew you've... you've been eaten by an ogre, or bitten by a vampire, some equally ridiculous, unlikely scenario given your occupation and location..."
Mr. Weasley smiled lovingly, his mind filling with the mental image of him wife hugging him, her eyes filled with tears of relief... then an image of her chasing after him, wielding a spatula and threatening with things that always made him wince. Ah. He wouldn't 've married any other woman...
"How sweet of her to worry—"
"With missing Dementors?" Percy interrupted. "I don't—oops!" He obviously hadn't meant to let that slip…
Mr. Weasley gave his son a very stern look. "Where did you hear that?"
Percy seemed to regret saying anything. He lowered his head sheepishly, hurriedly saying "I-I heard some people talking about it... Saw a few files..." Ah yes, Percy just loved knowing things that other people didn't. Sometimes he ended up knowing things he shouldn't... Sometimes it worried Arthur, like right now.
"Percy," he said quietly. "You know perfectly well that the Ministry is simply on edge because of the rumors." The fine line between rumors and facts was blurred these days. The Weasley family had taken Harry Potter's experience as solemn truth rather than mere hallucination or spectacle as the Ministry would like to believe. "The Dementors aren't truly under the Ministry's control, everyone knows that. If a few of them decide to wander off... Just consider that Azkaban isn't the only place where they flourish..." Percy looked unnerved at this fact, so Mr. Weasley quickly added, "If you say even a single word of to your mother, I can be certain that she won't allow me to return to work ever again, much less allow any one of us out of the house. She's deadly protective." Mr. Weasley allowed a hint of humor to enter his voice, seeing as how his scolding had gotten to his son.
But some subjects weren't meant to be toyed with... Not with the risk of widespread panic that the Ministry was already fighting to contain.
Percy nodded acquired, taking the opportunity to change the subject. "You know how she gets when she's not fully informed, highly irrational..."
'Yet you don't realize you take after her.' Mr. Weasley grinned at this thought, but didn't voice it out loud. Just like his mother, Percy was likely to make a big deal out of it and become frustrated.
And when he was frustrated, he let everyone know, also just like his mother.
Mr. Weasley stood and began gathering his things, placing them in his briefcase. "I've been right here this whole time, anyway... The house clock should say so."
"And we have just been informed that Fred and George have been starting another undercover business. They have made a few special items for the Halloween holiday. "Weasley's Exploding Bat Bombers" or some such." Percy made a face to show his distaste. "A dare say we can't do anything about it until they get home, unless mother sent a Howler or two already..."
"Really?" Mr. Weasley smiled, leaning forward a bit. "Is the, er, "business" working out at all...?"
"Father! I can't believe you would approve—"
"Where do you think they get it from, their mother?" Mr. Weasley chuckled at the face Percy made. "They are still children, Percy, give them a little room. They grow out of it, or grow into it, but either way things will work out."
Percy was about to comment, but loud noises coming from the hallway caught his attention, the sound of hurried footsteps. Next, a man holding a thick stack of files came bursting in, his face flushed with excitement. He was practically trembling, eyes glittering. "Arthur, you won't believe what's happened!"
Mr. Weasley looked confused, stepping away from his desk. "What is it, Will?"
Will Furginson, a fellow Ministry employee in the Transportation department, took a paper from one of his files and shoved it excitedly in his face. "Today, the Ministry got wind that some Wizard went off and Disapparated in a Muggle neighborhood out west. He was laying there for a while, and a Muggle family called the police. Then he just got up and poof! Was gone! They told the police about that, too, and afterwards they had to use Obliviate on 'em." Arthur couldn't help but wince; Obliviate, again… "Don't know where he went, exactly, no one can figure that out. He isn't a registered Wizard, either." Every Wizard and Witch in Britain is registered under the Ministry, like having a Social Security Number in America.
"That isn't right," Percy spoke up loudly, coming to stand by his father, his chin held high as he nodded knowingly. "The Ministry should be able to figure out who it is. If he left the right traces, they surely can."
"If they find some traces, yeah. The Department of Magical Transportation got right on that. But that's the thing." Furginson's voice had lowered and become very grave. "They did figure out who it was. The guy had bleed all over the sidewalk. But his name's been off record for the past fourteen years..."
"Merlin's Beard." Mr. Weasley's eyes had widened in shock, then shot up to meet Furginson's. "There must be s—...some mistake."
"There must be, yeah. You don't keep dead men on record. A prank of some sort, probably. Although to pull a prank like this you've got to be pretty clever... Arthur..." Furginson paused for a moment, seeing how pale Arthur had become. "The creepy thing is... is that whoever the bugger was, he'd been standin' right in front of the Potter's old house..."
"Potter? James Potter...?" Percy had had looked over his fathers shoulder, and was now goggling just the same. "That's preposterous! Who could do something like this? Why?" And tonight of all nights!
"Will," Mr. Weasley said sternly, handing the paper back, "I want to see the rest of this report. I don't care if this isn't my department, and don't give me excuses. Percy, go home and don't breathe a word of this to your mother. I'll be working later than I expected tonight..."
Percy didn't get a chance to argue, his father had already strode out of the office with Furginson.
James Apparated only to find himself in darkness again. He was in a small room filled with tall shelves, each and every one of they full of tiny boxes from floor to ceiling. A storage room, perhaps?
Oops, he must've gotten it wrong... this isn't look at all like Diagon Alley. There were no people, no noise... "I need to sleep," he stated to himself, his voice barely audible even in the silence. He was exhausted, mentally as well as physically. James vaguely wondered what had happened to make him feel that way, but gave into it just the same. Sleep didn't seem like a bad idea at all. He would look for Lily and Harry when he woke up, when he got his energy back. Maybe then all the clouds in his head will have cleaned.
He settled himself tightly in a dark corner, wrapping his arms around himself. The person who owned this place, wherever it was, would've mind if he stayed for the night.
Yes, James would find Lily and Harry tomorrow. It would be odd, sleeping somewhere other than his bed, with his wife lying next to him. The sound of her light breathing, her red hair tickling his nose when they got close…
A faint memory flashed in his head, but he couldn't focus on it. Flashes of color... Red... Laughter? Horrible laughter…
Something was wrong. Something wasn't right. Why wasn't Lily with him? She was always there...
Slowly, James let blackness fill his mind as he fell into a dreamless sleep...
Harry lay awake in bed, his eyes half open. His curtains where open the slightest bit so he could look out the window at the moon filled sky. For a brief moment, Harry though of the fact that Professor Lupin would be transforming tonight. It was a full moon…
And all the while he couldn't figure out why he was being plagued with anxiety. Well, it was sort of like anxiety. It was also this oddly warm feeling he had in his chest. Harry had been feeling it since the Halloween Feast that evening, but still couldn't put a finger on why.
His thoughts went back to the conversation he had with Ron just before they'd gone to bed...
/Flashback/
"So," Ron prompted.
Harry looked over at him as he straightened out his blankets for the night. "'So'... what?"
Ron sighed. "D' you have any idea of what that was? When you got dizzy an' all?"
"No..." He frowned, shaking his head as he climbed onto bed. "It was weird. Like deja vu, but worse."
"Worse?"
"Hmm… I don't know..." Harry's head sank into his pillows. Normally that would be relaxing, but it didn't help now. "Like it was all too real. Like I was repeating something, a memory, but I still wasn't sure of what that memory is."
"Weird," Ron agreed, sitting down on his own bed. "What kind of deja vu?"
"What do you mean 'what kind'?"
"You know, deja vu is like you've done something twice. Or like you've done something, but can't remember what that something was. But then you remember... You've done it before but it's happening again. Or at least I think that's what it is..." He sounded confused.
Harry thought on this. "Maybe it wasn't deja vu... I just had the strangest feeling..."
"Ask Hermione tomorrow! She can probably look something up in a book! Maybe you accidentally ate something. Or you still had something on your hands from potions? And weedroot or whatever can do some weird stuff!"
Silence.
"You feeling all right, Harry?"
Harry sighed, but smiled. "Of course... I don't really want to think about it anymore. Goodnight, Ron."
"Yeah. G' night, Harry."
/End Flashback/
'So much for not thinking about it', he scuffed mentally. Maybe Harry was just making a big deal out of nothing. After all, it wasn't like his scar was hurting or anything. Maybe if it still bothered him in the morning he'd talk to Dumbledore, and he could mention it in his next letter to Sirius...?
Finally, after much effort, Harry drifted off to sleep…
"Wake-up."
James grumbled, shaking his head. "No..."
The sound of footsteps. A hand on his shoulder. The hand shook him persistently. Then it moved away.
"Wake-up, I say. Who are you? What are you doing in my shop?"
Frustrated, James slowly opened his eyes. It was still dark, and that alone was beginning to annoy him. How long had he been asleep, anyway?
"Who are you," the voice repeated. The man was no more than a faint black outline before him, holding his wand at a ready position. "If you don't tell me immediately, I'll..." He shifted his wand hand some more, indicating that he was more than ready to simply let a curse fly.
James knew that voice. For once, a happy memory came to mind and he smiled. "Mr. Ollivander, how good to see you, er... hear you."
The shadow—Ollivander—stiffened. His wand hand lowered a bit, and then he lifted it again. "Lumos!"
He winced at the sudden presence of light. James held his arms in front of his eyes in an effort to keep it away. When that didn't help, we patently waited for his eyes to adjust. Then he was able to see Mr. Ollivander clearly. The man stood, looking rather... terrified, actually. What in the world would he have reason to be afraid of?
"W-Who are you!?"
James was finally able to look up toward the light, but unfortunately his glasses weren't doing much to focus his vision anymore. They were badly damaged by now and scraped up as though by sand paper. His smiled slightly, unaware of Mr. Ollivander's reaction. "Don't be daft, I'm James, as always. I thought you remembered every customer you've ever had..."
"Mr. Potter...?" His voice was trembling and he shifting on his feet. "Twelve inches, phoenix tail feather, Beechwood..."
"Eleven," he corrected instantly. "Mahogany." James chuckled knowingly. "Trying to trick me, are you?"
"N-No, I—"
"Lily has a unicorn tail hair. Remember? Willow, ten and one fourth inches. We're looking forward to the day when we can bring Harry here, when he's old enough of course..." He didn't need perfect vision to tell that Mr. Ollivander was in some sort of shock. "Are you alright, sir? You look like you've had quite a fright, like you've seen a ghost! The Halloween spirit got a little away with you, hm?" He laughed at this. And didn't stop.
It felt good to laugh.
James wasn't paying attention as the older man knelt down next to him and examined his injured right hand. It wasn't broken he didn't think, but it felt bruised and was terribly painful to move the fingers.
"How did this happen... Mr. Potter... James..." It was as if saying that name was frightening and painful in itself, like he had some difficulty getting it out. But nevertheless, his voice was soft and quiet, just like it normally was. What an absolutely pleasant fellow… "Where is your wand?"
He instantly stopped laughed, looking into the other man's eyes. "I don't quite remember... Oh yes... Voldemort had a few tricks up his sleeve, I suppose." 'No wait, that was the dream...' He noted that Mr. Ollivander flinched when he said that name.
So, people still feared that name...? Oh yes...
"Have you seen Lily? I am sure she's here somewhere... I had the worst dream..." He stood, realizing that Mr. Ollivander was urging him to get up off the floor.
"It's very good to see you, my boy," Mr. Ollivander whispered, squeezing his shoulder as if James was in need of some sort of comfort. He didn't need comfort, he was perfectly fine. "I don't know why or how..."
He was led forward toward a chair. Around the corner of a shelf James could make out a window. Sunlight was streaming through it. 'Ah, so there still was daylight after all... It had all been a dream. Thank God.' "Where is Lily, sir?"
Mr. Ollivander once again didn't answer his question and instead said quickly, "You say your wand was destroyed." He 'tsk, tsked.' "Pity!" He was speaking ten times faster than James was accustomed to. Was he nervous? "But wait here, I think I can find another one similar, one that will suit you..." Then he was off, looking at a shelf that was out of sight.
He nodded absently as the man left, barely taking notice. James enjoyed just watching the sunlight. Faintly, he could make out the noises of people walking up and down the street of Diagon Alley. Not very many people at the moment, though. It must be very early in the morning, otherwise the streets would be jam packed, as the Underground of London usually was. Well, at least he had gone to the right place after all. Imagine what would've happened if he found himself in Knockturn Alley!?
It was no wonder he'd recognized this place, though. You don't forget the place where you buy your first wand. Never. All those many years ago... He couldn't wait to take Harry to get his first wand. Lily would be so proud. His beautiful Lily...
He saw Mr. Ollivander go to the front door for a moment, flipping a small sigh on the door to indicate the store was closed and lowered the shades. Even though the room was now—magically—illuminated, James couldn't help but miss the natural sunlight that had been shut away. Why would Ollivander need to close the store? Oh dear, he hoped he wasn't being a nuisance... The man returned again, carrying a wand box in his hands... He looked much older than he should, now that James' really thought of it.
"Here." Mr. Ollivander carefully opened the box and brought out the wand inside. "Mahogany, phoenix tail feather. Ten inches but rather close I should hope. The built very strong."
Absently, James reached for the item with his right hand, his wand hand. It still ached terribly, and he noticed that the rest of his body still felt the same. Goodness, a lot must have happened to him. Why couldn't he remember?
Mr. Ollivander noticed his discomfort, but prompted, "You just need to test it, dear boy." Each word he uttered was quiet and precise. How peculiar the man had become. "I hate to admit I'm not skilled in the ways of healing, but maybe I can find something. Trust me when I say you will need this... For your own protection..." Holding the piece of wood delicately, Mr. Ollivander thrust the wand forward so the handle was touching James' palm. "You won't have to cast any spells right now, just give it a wave..."
James obeyed, taking the wand, and with a bit of difficulty, wrapped his fingers tightly around it. He gave it a small wave and... Ah yes... A stream of gold and red sparkles flew in front of his eyes. Just like the first time he'd ever gotten a wand. He could hardly see a difference. How pretty. James smiled at the memory, remembering how his father and mother had reacted with such joy. "Thank you, sir... Oh, I will need to get some Galleons from Gringott's. I'm afraid I have no money with me, if maybe a few Muggle coins..." He tried handing back the wand, but Mr. Ollivander refused.
"No, no, no," he insisted, pushing his wand gently back to him. "It's yours, you need one."
James smiled. "Thank you, sir… I don't know what to say..."
"Just take it, please." He obeyed once again, slumping into the chair. James' body protested any movement he made. It was getting to be annoying. "I'll... get you something to wash that blood off..."
'Blood?' James brought his hand up to his face. 'Oh yes, just like in his dream... That's not right.' James sighed. "I had a strange dream," he murmured, even as Mr. Ollivander left. "Lily and Harry were in danger... Voldemort... I hit my head on the kitchen floor I think. Then I was at our home, but it wasn't really. It was gone. I Disapparated... and Apparated here, I think..." He touched the long line of dried blood that clung to his brow and down the side of his face. He must look a complete mess, no wonder Mr. Ollivander was so nervous. "How very odd." He noted that dried blood was caked under his fingernails.
Mr. Ollivander returned, juggled and bowl of water, a rag, and a half full bottle of some sort of clear blue liquid. For the lack of a table nearby, he set it all at James' feet. The man still seemed very apprehensive. James couldn't remember ever seeing the man like this.
"Is something wrong, sir?"
"No, my boy, nothing is wrong." He gave what to James seemed like a forced smile. "You... You stay here. Right here, Mr. Potter. I have something very important to do. Will you stay here?"
James barely paid attention to the question, his mind going back to his own. "Sir, have you seen Lily? My son?"
"I-I..." Mr. Ollivander became very pale, his eyes fleeting around rapidly, then something seemed to hit him and he answered, "Harry is at school."
That was a surprise. "Really? But Harry is only a baby... School already...? Hogwarts...?" Mr. Ollivander nodded slowly. This was wonderful news, even though it didn't make any sense! "His house?"
Mr. Ollivander frowned a bit. "Um... Gryffindor, I believe...?"
His heart swelled with pride when he heard this.
His son, a Gryffindor. But how...?
"I will be right back, Mr. Potter. Please... Um, you may use this if you would like." He gestured at the things he'd brought. "It will all be alright, Mr. Potter. It will..." He gave James another squeeze on the shoulder and disappeared off to somewhere within the wand shop.
James starred down at the bowl for a moment before getting up from his chair and kneeled beside it. The surface of the water was slightly reflexive, so he took a look... He looked absolutely ghastly. James' face was deadly pale, and he had dark circles under his bloodshot eyes. One side of his face was covered with dried blood the color of rust. Frowning, James processed to wash it all away using the rag. He never touched the blue substance.
When you can't identify it, assume the worst, that's the key. He and Sirius had learned that the hard way one day in second year Potions...
James never liked that class, but at least it wasn't Herbology. Dreadful subject.
When he was finished, he half wondered where Mr. Ollivander had gone. Then...
Oh yes, Lily. He felt a little better, so now he could go look for them.
"Borrowing" a cloak which he found on a wall hook nearby, James hurried from the shop and into the slowly growing crowd outside...
'I'm coming, love...'
It was all a dream, it was all a dream...
Just a nightmare...
Mr. Ollivander returned after a moment to check on James. He shouldn't have left the poor boy alone, not in his state... But when he returned, Mr. Ollivander found the chair James had occupied vacant. The rag and water where tinged with red. James had used them, and it stood as the only evidence that the boy had ever been there at all in the first place. This gave Mr. Ollivander some measure of relief, because that meant that he wasn't going insane or hallucinating...
Though his cloak was missing its hook.
And the front door was wide open.
"Oh dear..."
Clutching the letter he'd just written in his hands, Mr. Ollivander rushed into the street to see if he could stop the man. But he was long gone, and there would be no was to pick him out in the crowd. Quickly, Mr. Ollivander Disapparated to the Owl Office, the one right near Gringott's.
Phantom hallucination, a cruel trick or not, he had to tell Albus Dumbledore of what he'd just seen...
The next morning at Hogwarts was a dingy one, but no less cheerful in his case. If wasn't an hour until the students—most of them anyway—would be getting up from bed. Most of the faculty was also awake, to either get lessons ready or to eat.
Albus Dumbledore was heading out of his office early that Tuesday morning, ready to walk down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Going there early was always a good habit, where he could think and gaze up at the incarnated ceiling. And, from time to time, prevent the Weasley twins from planning, erm, "jokes" under the Slytherin table. Though, watching a person become totally blue and sparkly was indeed an amusing sight...
Though it's no good to encourage such behavior... Maybe he should stop it, then?
He also wished to talk to Dorrey. The... new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor... Sadly, the man didn't seem to up for the job any longer. A number of Slytherins had gotten it into his head that he wouldn't last through the year, considering the number of people who've gone through the position in the past four years, and even long before that...
Which was, admittedly, true. Perhaps it was better that he got out while he still could…
When Dumbledore reached the stone gargoyle outside his office, he found a large gray owl stood perched upon the gargoyles head. A minute owl, by the looks of it, and a very nice one at that. It also looked exhausted, it's rapidly heaving chest feather fluffed up in an attempt to block out the chill from the cold winds it had flown through.
"Hello," Dumbledore said, eyeing the message tied to the owls' leg. "Is that for me?" He saw no outside indication of who the letter was for, but the owl gave a weak hoot in response and allowed Dumbledore to remove the parchment. "You've had a long flight, friend. Just rest a bit..." The owl simply hooted, tucked its head under its wing, and fell asleep instantly.
For a moment Dumbledore thought of waiting until he got to the Great Hall to open the letter, but curiosity got the better of him. If someone was this eager to get a message to him then it must be important. He immediately recognized the symbol on the wax seal to be of "Mr. Ollivander's Wand Makers"...
As he walked toward to Great Hall, he began reading. He only traveled a few paces before stopping in his tracks.
Dumbledore's face gained an unusually serious quality as he began walking again. Well, running actually.
He now had a very urgent mission for both Severus and Minerva. Word to Sirius would be sent immediately to Lupin's home. They needed to know...
To be continued...?
The next part is going to be very exciting, I'll tell you that much. I'm on the edge of my seat just thinking about it. Fun, fun, fun!! (grins) Danke sehr, meine Freunde! Später!
Geuna