Harry Potter and the Mysterious Legacy

Godric's Hollow

----------- After Harry is born and the Potter's return to the Potter Manor in Scotland-----------

"Sirius, will you be godfather? To my Harry?" said Lily

Tears welled up in Sirius' eyes..."Me?"

"Yes, you" said James.

"Of course, James"

"Thank you so much Sirius..." said Lily

"We ask of one more favour..."

"Speak it up James, no problem..."

"Be our Secret Keeper."

"What? Secret Keeper? Why?"

"Voldemort"

"What?"

"He's after us for a reason we have been forbidden to say anything about."

"Oh... So that's why... I will become your Secret Keeper. I will rather die than betray any of you..."

Remus had been silent till now, but then he and James hugged Sirius tightly. Petiggrew seemed freaked out and tensed, but the Potters, Sirius and Remus dismissed it, saying it was from the 'war raging out there'.

------------------25 October 1981---------------------

"James understand! Anyone can suspect that I'm your Secret Keeper. I was the Best Man at yours and Lily's wedding too for god's sake!"

"So? What do you want to say?"

"Well, Peter! No one will suspect it's him... No offence Peter..."

"Well, what do you say Peter?"

"I-I'll... James... I-I wil-will"

"You Okay? Wormtail?"

"Ye-Yes Ja-James"

"All righ', we'll consider... " said James, frowning, he suspected something, but... no, Peter would never, never join them. And even though he said that he would consider, he never did switch the Secret Keepers. For everyone, Sirius remained the Secret Keeper, as Sirius was quite powerful.

-----------------------------Halloween, 31st October 1981, Potter Manor-------------------------------

The night wet and windy, two children dressed as pumpkins waddling across the square and the shop windows covered in paper spiders, all the tawdry Muggle trappings of a world in which they did not believe... And Voldemort was gliding along, that sense of purpose and power and rightness in him that he always knew on these occasions... Not anger... but triumph, yes... Voldemort had waited for this, he had hoped for it...

"Nice costume, mister!"

Voldemort saw the small boy's smile falter as he ran near enough to see beneath the hood of the cloak, saw the fear cloud his pained face: Then the child turned and ran away... Beneath the robe Voldemort fingered the handle of his wand... One simple movement and the child would never reach his mother... but unnecessary, quite unnecessary...

And along a new and darker street he moved, and now Voldemort's destination was in sight at last, the Fidelius Charm broken, though they did not know it yet... And he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement as he drew level with the dark hedge, and steered over it...

They had not drawn the curtains; Voldemort saw them quite clearly in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man, James Potter, in his glasses, making puffs of coloured smoke erupt from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy, Harry Potter, in his blue pyjamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist...

A door opened and the Lily entered, saying words Voldemort could not hear, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. Now James scooped Harry and handed him to his mother. James threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning...

The gate creaked a little as he pushed it open, but James Potter did not hear. Voldemort's white hand pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open...

He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand...

"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Hold him off, without a wand in his hand!... Voldemort laughed before casting the curse...

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glow like lighting rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut...

He could hear her screaming from the upper floor, trapped, but as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear... He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in... She had no wand upon her either... How stupid they were, and how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments...

He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand... and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her son into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead...

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now."

"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead--"

"This is my last warning--"

"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please! I'll do anything..."

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all...

The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing--

He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage--

"Avada Kedavra!"

And then he broke. Voldemort was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he must hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped screaming, but far away... far away...

And slowly, Harry Potter fell asleep, with nothing but a scar on his forehead. He was the Boy Who Lived.