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batsutousaiTitle: Nose to the Wind
Series: Like a Ghost in My Town
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Batsutousai
Rating: Teen
Pairing: Harry Potter/Lord Voldemort, James Potter/Lily Potter
Warnings: AU, violence, universe hopping/rebirth, Dark!Harry, werewolf!Harry, underage relationship (ish)
Summary: While Harry had been content with his second chance, that didn't keep him from thinking what he could have done different, how many people could have survived if he hadn't been set on the very specific path he'd walked. Third time is the charm, though, right?
A/N: So, I did eventually realise that I'd named Harry's brother the same thing as Bill Weasley, but it was entirely unintentional; I was trying to think of names to use for more Potter children and decided to just pull from the royal family. Which...probably not my best game plan, since it seems like that's how Jo picked pretty much the entire Weasley family. XP
I got a request in later chapters for a note about how old Harry is at the start of each chapter, so there'll be a note at the start of each chapter with that information.
As of the start of this chapter, Harry is 2.
Cross-posted to Archive of Our Own and LiveJournal.
Chapter Two – Bring Out All the Good Inside Me
-0-
One nice thing about being able to become invisible at the drop of a hat, Harry quickly discovered, was that he could sneak out after he and Will had been put to bed and spy on their parents, honorary uncles, and any of their friends that dropped by in the evening to talk about the state of things in the world. Given, he had to cast some scent- and sound-blocking charms if Remus was in, but that was equally simple, now he knew he could.
As he'd expected, without Harry playing the part of boy wonder, Voldemort was largely winning. There were still pockets of resistance left, like the Order of the Phoenix, but their numbers were dwindling.
"I'm afraid I'll lead them to Andy and Dora," Ted Tonks admitted quietly. "I keep thinking it would be better if I didn't fight, but then I remember what they'll do to me if they have their way."
"Will and Dora, they'd probably be fine," Sirius added, tone dark, "but what about Harry? He's a squib. Voldemort will see him dead, same as you and Lily." He glanced towards Lily, expression apologetic.
"He's a were-born," Remus offered, head ducked down to watch where his fingers were folded together on the table in front of him. "A pack will take him in, will protect him; Voldemort's got too many allies among the werewolves to turn against them just because most of them are squibs or muggles."
"Still," Jacob Robins said, twisting his wedding band around his finger, "we can either fight and risk our lives and the lives of our families, or we can give in and hold still for the Killing Curse, all the while hoping our sacrifice will keep our families safe. There's bad choice at every turn."
"But is it fair to risk the children?" Amelia Bones asked, looking haggard. "This isn't their war, for all they're being dragged into it."
"But it is their war," James insisted. "By the very fact that they're born with magic – or born into the magical world at all – this is their fight. It's their future we're fighting for."
"How is leading them to the slaughter fighting for them?" Amelia shot back, and there were tears in her eyes, a reminder of the family she'd lost, for the too-young bodies she'd had to bury before their time.
Harry crept back upstairs, thinking over the debate. Back in the nursery, he looked towards Will's crib, and a lump in his throat nearly choked him.
He knew Voldemort, knew how utterly mad he was with his soul split too many times, knew how little sympathy he held for familial love. There was nothing any member of the Order could do to stop him from annihilating anyone and everyone who didn't bend a knee to him.
Harry touched his throat, where a chain of rings had hung in another life. One ring, horcrux and Hallow, the beginning of two separate collections. And Death's words, decades and another reality ago: "Your habit of collecting the horcruxes and keeping them in close proximity to each other has healed a great deal of the damage he did to his soul by creating so many."
Harry smiled a wolf's grin, showing too many sharp teeth for a two-year-old's mouth, and set about hunting down a toy he could spell to hold more than it looked like it could, yet was small enough that he could hide it on his person with no one the wiser. He'd spell it with as many protective spells as he could – both human and Death-based – and then it was time to go horcrux hunting. (Again.)
Harry spent the next couple weeks splitting his nights between spying on the adults and hunting down horcruxes. The locket and diadem were both easy, and he found a Peverell ring in the place of the Resurrection Stone, which seemed to hold the same purpose. The diary had served some difficulty only because Abraxas was still alive, so Lucius didn't have control of the office Harry'd found it in last time. A point me spell showed him to the right room, and his easy manipulation of both wandless and Death magic made acquiring it ten times easier than last time.
The cup, however, was much harder to find, as it wasn't in Bellatrix's vault. At a bit of a loss for where else it might be, he eventually resorted to calling on Death for a hint.
"He has yet to settle on protectors or unattended hiding places for both the cup and his most recent horcrux, the one that ended up a part of you in your past two lives," Death supplied.
"Oh?" Harry snorted and kicked his feet lightly against the lowered gate of his crib. "I shouldn't be surprised the paranoid fool went through with it. Well then, I assume he's keeping them in his base?"
"His bedroom, Master," Death agreed, hood dipping like a nod of acknowledgement. "They are well warded, but it is nothing you couldn't combat with little difficulty, given sufficient time."
"So, not at night," Harry muttered.
"Not tonight, Master," Death corrected, something almost mischievous in its genderless voice. "In truth, you need only await a night attack."
Harry grinned. "You really are my favourite, Death. Let me know when such is?" He glanced across the room at Will's silent crib, his brother long asleep. "Assuming it's not Will's birthday; I don't expect I'll have the energy to do more than sleep, after what Dad and Sirius have planned for his first birthday."
"I shall keep you apprised," Death promised with a short bow, then vanished.
Harry sighed, glancing down at the small blue cube – part of a set of cubes that fit inside of each other, which it hadn't been hard to create a lid for – that he was using as his horcrux storage locker. "Well," he whispered to it, "with luck, between me holding you lot together and Tom keeping the other two close, he'll be sane enough, if he catches me, that he'll be more curious about a two-year-old poking around his personal effects than feel threatened."
Yeah, because that always worked out.
Let it never be said that Tom Riddle didn't have a flair for dramatic anniversaries; his next late night attack fell on Guy Fawkes Day and, according to Death, involved blowing holes in the sides of the homes of ministry employees who were publicly against him.
Harry rolled his eyes, hoped no one he cared about would be hurt, then had Death lead him through the Realm of Death to Voldemort's bedroom. As Death had said, the wards were little deterrent to Harry, and he had the last two horcruxes in his cube within half an hour.
Before he left, he set a piece of paper down in the spot where the horcruxes had been. He'd spent a whole day agonising over what to write on it, especially since he didn't want Voldemort going on an uncontrolled murderous rampage. In the end, he'd settled on:
'Voldemort,
'They are safe. We'll talk when you're less likely to murder me for my theft.'
He'd drawn an approximation of the Elder Wand, as he remembered it, tipped with the blade of a scythe as his signature. He'd honestly thought about referring to himself as 'Lord Sol', but there was too much attached to that name for him to use it again. And, anyway, there was no way Voldemort would ever react well to someone who was calling themselves 'Lord' stealing his horcruxes.
Will's birthday was a chaotic event which, for all the hopes of their father and Sirius, had never been destined to end well.
All the members of the Order who had children brought them, and the kids were left to play in the backyard while the adults clustered in groups at a short distance. Most of the kids were Harry's age or a bit older, as the younger members of the Order and their families hadn't lasted as long, so they were less inclined towards patience when it came with dealing with Harry's little brother or his own silence.
"Haven't you learnt to speak yet, baby?" one of the boys joked as he pushed Harry.
Harry held his ground and pinned the boy with the stare that had had even his most rebellious werefolk baring their throats in another reality.
The boy stumbled backward. "What are you, some sort of freak?!"
Harry rolled his eyes and turned to join Will over in the lonely corner of the sandbox that he'd been left in when the older kids decided they didn't want to play with a baby.
"Hey, freak! I'm talking to you!" the boy called.
Harry sensed the projectile in plenty of time to dodge it, and it sailed harmlessly over Will's head. Will glanced up and, upon seeing Harry, gave him a wide grin and motioned towards him with his hands, babbling Harry's name and some nonsense that was as close to real speech as he could manage, beyond a handful of words.
Harry smiled back and held his hands up, palms out, for Will to slap his own hands against. Will giggled and did so a few times.
"What, are you both freaks?" the rude boy from before asked.
Harry clenched his jaw and refused to respond to that, though when he heard the boy shift to one side behind him, he copied the motion, keeping himself between his antagonist and his brother.
"Kenny, come on. Leave them alone," a girl tried.
"No!" the boy shouted, and Harry heard the girl let out a startled sound before she hit the sand. "Why should these little freaks be living so happy when Mum–!"
Harry sensed the object coming, but any attempts to move out of the way would let it hit Will, so he held still and took the hit, then spun and snarled at the boy, baring his teeth in a clear warning to back off.
Which was, of course, the part of the altercation that an adult spotted, and it started a shitstorm that ended with Harry scowling out the window of his bedroom, Will being held by Lily with the adults, and the other kids continuing to play, unbothered.
Harry felt absolutely zero shame in using his vantage point to cause minor magical incidents to get the boy who'd attacked him back, especially since no one would ever suspect him.
From what he heard in the evenings over the rest of November, Voldemort had seriously cut back on his attacks and the number of magical lives he was taking, though non-magical lives were another matter entirely. While Harry felt fairly certain he could visit the dark lord at the beginning of December, he was also rather fond of anniversaries, and he knew of an important one that was approaching. One that, with some help, he could use to get to Voldemort in a way that the dark lord would never expect. (Which might backfire, but he had to try.)
So he held out until the thirtieth of December, then dozed until a silent alarm he'd set woke him just before midnight. He slipped quietly downstairs to tug his winter cloak down from the rack in the front hall and put it on, pulling the hood forward far enough that it would shadow his face, though it wasn't deep enough to fully hide him. Only thus dressed, did he open a doorway to the Realm of Death and head towards the access to Voldemort's room.
He found the dark lord working at his desk, a tumbler of something alcoholic at his elbow. From behind, he appeared to have the bald and white-skinned appearance that the Voldemort of Harry's first reality had, which served well in distinguishing him from Harry's lover during his last life. He also didn't seem to have noticed Harry's entrance, and he raised an eyebrow at that before clearing his throat.
Voldemort jumped and spun around in his chair, wand held tight in his hand. But he was looking too high up to actually spot the two-year-old standing barely three feet away. "Who's there?" he demanded, voice hard.
"Happy birthday," Harry offered and Voldemort finally looked down, his wand lowering to point at him.
Voldemort blinked at him for a moment, then dropped his wand to his side and rubbed tiredly at his eyes. "The hell?" he complained. "Hallucinations, now?"
"Incidentally, I'm not an hallucination," Harry offered as he started towards a chair that looked like it might be comfortable, and also had a little bar along the front that he could use to boost himself up into the seat. "Which, yes, I'm aware that all hallucinations say that. I'd offer to poke you or something, but I'm not sure how much that would prove, given that sight isn't the only sense that can be fooled by your brain."
Once he'd made it into the chair, Harry turned to look back at Voldemort, only to find the dark lord openly staring at him. "Is there something on my face?" he demanded.
Voldemort shook his head. "Who are you. What are you?"
"Were-born, and not your enemy, which is all you really need to know for the moment."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed and he abruptly stood. "It is not up to you, child, to decide what I do and do not need to know!"
Harry tilted his head slightly. "Are you done?" he requested when Voldemort didn't say anything else, just stood there, looking imposing and angry.
Voldemort's lips curled up in a snarl. "Who. Are. You?"
Harry sighed. "Not your enemy," he repeated. When Voldemort pointed his wand at him, Harry scowled and snapped, "If you don't point that somewhere else, I will use your horcruxes against you. Don't test me."
Voldemort froze, his face seeming almost to pale even further, and his wand dropping from his fingers. "You have my–?" he breathed.
"One black diary, originating from a bookshop on Vauxhall Road; one gold ring with the Peverell coat on a black stone, likely having belonged to Cadmus Peverell; one gold diadem with a large sapphire, originally belonging to Rowena Ravenclaw; one gold locket with green gems in the shape of an 'S', originally belonging to Salazar Slytherin; one gold cup with two handles and a badger relief on one side, originally belonging to Helga Hufflepuff; and one steel dagger with a small ruby in the end of the hilt, originally belonging to Godric Gryffindor," Harry listed calmly.
Voldemort stumbled gracelessly into his desk chair, expending just enough energy to turn it towards Harry before drooping. "You're the scythe. A child."
"You appear very stuck on my age," Harry commented drily. "You're not the only child genius around here, Voldemort; you should know better than to be surprised by the brilliance of determined children."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed at the suggestion that Harry knew anything about his childhood, but that wasn't what he addressed. "Determined, boy? What are you intending for my horcruxes?"
Harry sighed. "You know, you did a very stupid thing, splitting your soul so many times," he pointed out, struggling to keep his tone conversational, rather than confrontational. "It rather dehumanised you to such an extent that you're no longer questioning the sanity of your own actions. In collecting them all in one place, I have managed to undo some of that damage, though I'm afraid this is as sane as you'll ever again be, without endangering your life by trying to accept the Horcruxes back. Which–"
The dark cloud of his soul re-entering Tom's body, the agony lining his face, the Resurrection Stone dropping soundlessly to the rug between them, Tom's lifeless body following.
Harry looked away, swallowing against the memory he would give almost anything to forget forever.
"No," Voldemort said, tone quiet. "It didn't sound like something I would be particularly interested in attempting." He shifted in his seat, and Harry looked back to find him leaning forward, eyes narrowed. "So my new clarity of thought is your doing. To what purpose?"
Harry shrugged, aware that he needed to tread carefully around this issue, or it could blow up in his face. "I need you to consider something from an unbiased standpoint and, as you were, you never could have."
Voldemort laughed, the sound grating, and Harry clenched his jaw. "Really?" the dark lord demanded, spreading his arms wide. "You wanted me sane so you can get a second opinion?"
Harry let out a derisive snort. "On the contrary, I wish only to provide you with some facts and hope you make the choice that will most please me."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and one hand flexed, as if longing for the wand laying on the ground between them and just to one side. "And if I don't make the choice you prefer?"
Harry shrugged. "Then we fight, you die, and the wizarding world will be left wondering what happened to you. Not my preferred outcome, admittedly, hence my waiting for you to be saner." He eyed the dark lord's murderous expression and sighed. "Please, don't take that as a threat."
"It's rather hard to do when you're holding all the cards," Voldemort snapped.
Harry offered him a smile and spread his hands. "Do I? Perhaps you may bank on the probability of a were-born pup surviving against a rather accomplished adult wizard."
Voldemort's scowl deepened. "How old are you?"
Harry considered that for a moment, wondering how much it would give away about him, then shrugged the concern away. "Two and a half."
Voldemort stared at him, clearly disbelieving.
Harry rolled his eyes and folded his hands in his lap. "If you would, consider the number of magical humans still remaining in Britain right now. Both sides, muggleborn and halfblood and pureblood, not werefolk. How long do you think that population will last if this war doesn't end?"
Voldemort shook his head and sneered. "You want me to, what? Capitulate to Dumbledore and his supporters?"
Harry sighed. "No, I know better than to expect that from you. I want you to offer them a truce; a promise of safety for anyone fighting against you – no matter their blood purity – and their whole family, should they turn themselves in within a specific, yet reasonable, timeframe."
Voldemort snorted. "Ah, yes, that's absolutely going to happen."
Harry just stared at him, waiting for the man to consider the options.
Voldemort stared back at him for a long moment, sneer firmly in place, but then his mind clearly started running, for he frowned and looked away, towards the door leading – Harry assumed – to the rest of his base. "Children," he murmured, looking back at Harry. "Promise a future for their children and they will flock to me."
"Yes," Harry agreed quietly, thinking of his own absolute loyalty to his brother. "But you'll have to hold to that promise; you'll have to enforce the fact that those children, no matter who their parents are, will be safe. If you fail them, even once, this war will begin again. And it will be a thousand times more bloody, for the second war will stand on the back of a dead child."
Voldemort closed his eyes, rubbing angrily at the bridge of his nose. "You think me unaware of how ridiculously attached parents get to their offspring?"
"She loved you," Harry told him, keeping his voice gentle, and Voldemort's eyes snapped open again to stare at him. "Your mother. There are magical means to induce a stillbirth, a potion that would have easily been within her skills. It would have saved her life; she chose to save yours, instead."
"Get out," Voldemort ordered.
Harry sighed and jumped off his chair. "No mother – no parent – deserves facing that choice, Tom. Please, for once in your life, find it within your heart to give someone the same chance your mother died to give you," he said before motioning for a doorway into the Realm of Death to open and, once he was through, close behind him.
On the other side, waiting for him, stood a sickly-looking woman whose eyes pointed in opposite directions. "Did you tell him?" she pleaded.
Harry reached up and lightly touched Merope's hands where they were twisting in the skirt of her dress. "Yeah. I don't know how much of a dent it made, but I told him."
Merope's eyes filled with tears. "Thank you."
Harry shook his head. "Merope, telling your son how much he meant to you on his birthday was a small price to pay for the chance to speak to his better nature." He sighed and pulled away, glancing over his shoulder at where the doorway had been. "I only hope it works; I don't want to have to choose between my family and Tom."
Merope knelt behind him and wrapped him in a hug chilled with death. Harry reached up and squeezed her arm in response, unbothered by the reminder of her lack of living warmth. "Thank you for giving him a chance," she whispered. "All that he's done, as horrible as he is..."
Harry carefully extracted himself from her arms and gently held her chin with one hand, pushing his hood back with the other so they could lock gazes. "He is only as horrible as I am, Merope. I'm simply giving him the same chance he's given me," he told her, thinking of that other Tom, who had loved him enough to let Harry move on without a hope to ever find each other in future.
Merope swallowed and nodded. "Still."
Harry smiled and agreed, "Still," before stepping away. "I need to get home and get some sleep; knowing my family, it's going to be a long day tomorrow."
Merope smiled back and inclined her head, leaving Harry to pick his way across the Realm of Death alone. It wasn't neglect; nothing there would dare try to harm Death's Master.
When Voldemort made his offer of amnesty for his opponents on the fifth, he was not quiet about it. Harry spotted it on the front page of the Prophet, heard it read on every wireless station Lily tried, looking for someone playing music, and James mentioned over dinner that there'd been flyers all over the ministry, with an especially large bunch in the auror department, where James and Sirius both worked.
Their adult friends started dropping by shortly after dinner, with Sirius leading the charge. He picked up Will and blew a raspberry into his stomach, then turned to where Lily was washing the dishes James brought her. "So?"
"So what?" Lily shot back, looking strained.
The floo activated again and others in the Order started stepping through, everyone offering apologies for dropping by unannounced. Though, clearly, Lily had expected them.
"Harry, why don't you take Will to play in the living room," James called as the kitchen and dining room started to get a bit overcrowded.
Harry nodded, knowing he could hear the conversation from there, and slid out of his chair on the far side of the room from the doorway to the living room. He walked up to Sirius and tugged on his robe, staring pointedly at his brother.
Sirius flashed him a smile that spelt trouble. "Say please, Harry."
Harry rolled his eyes and clucked his tongue, catching Will's attention. The younger looked vaguely uneasy about the crush of people, and when he saw Harry standing beneath him, he immediately squirmed in Sirius' arms, reaching for his brother. "Hawwy! Hawwy, down!"
Sirius sighed good-naturedly and knelt to set Will on his feet next to Harry. "You win this time, my little mime," he informed Harry as he helped steady Will.
The minute Harry made to lead his brother through the forest of adult legs between them and freedom, though, Will baulked, shaking his head and clinging to Harry's hand. Harry considered him for a moment, then sighed, kissed his forehead, and gently freed his hand so he could transform into a wolf.
As he'd expected, the presence of a changed werewolf in the room very rapidly formed a path for them out of the room, and while Will still looked uncertain, he trusted Harry-the-pup to get him through safely. Possibly, Harry thought with some amusement as they made their way out of the room, because we're both moving on four paws. Or, well, two hands and two feet, for Will.
Really, he knew, it was more likely a product of Harry protecting his brother in this form the night of the attack, which was still recent enough that Will equated Harry-the-pup with protection. Which... Well, Harry was okay with that.
Out in the living room, Harry and Will settled in to play with one of their balls for a bit, Harry remaining in wolf form because it was comfortable enough, and he didn't have any clothing to change into, having left his robe in the dining room. (With luck, Sirius would think to pick it up for him.) Eventually, however, Will started yawning, so Harry helped boost his brother up onto the couch and dragged a blanket over him so he could sleep, one hand curled around Harry's tiny tail.
Through it all, Harry kept half his attention on the conversation in the kitchen, which went back and forth about the topic for quite some time.
Shortly after Will dozed off, the living room floo activated. Harry immediately placed himself on the edge of the cushion, between the fireplace and his brother, teeth bared. As the visitor stepped through, however, Harry relaxed, recognising Dumbledore more from his robes – soaring phoenixes on a dark blue background – than anything else.
"Goodness!" Dumbledore exclaimed once he'd cast a quick cleaning charm over himself and caught sight of Harry and Will. He tensed, hand tightening around the handle of the wand he hadn't quite slipped fully away, then very carefully asked, "Harry?"
Harry nodded, then cocked his head to the side in a silent request for an introduction.
"I'm Albus Dumbledore, a friend of your parents. I assume they're in the dining room with the, ah, party?"
Harry snorted and nodded, then moved back to his original place at Will's side, so his brother could hold his tail again.
"You seem to have a rather effective guard-son," Harry heard Dumbledore say to James and Lily, breaking the silence that had fallen at his arrival in the dining room.
"He's a little protective of Will," Lily agreed tightly.
Dumbledore sighed and a chair screeched against the floor. "I expect that some of you are considering taking Voldemort's offer of amnesty."
"We have our families to think about, Albus," Ted Tonks agreed, voice strong, and Harry wondered how much of his determination had come from Andromeda, who likely missed her sisters, to some extent, and thought the promise of amnesty would serve as a bridge between herself and Narcissa, if not her and Bellatrix. "He specifically said muggleborns would receive the same forgiveness and offer of citizenship as pure- and halfbloods."
"It's Voldemort," snapped a woman whose name Harry didn't know. "He'll never hold to his end of the bargain." She huffed. "Albus, please. Talk some sense into them."
Dumbledore sighed again. "This is not a move I could ever have expected Voldemort to make, honestly. As much as I want to tell you to turn your backs on his offer, I cannot, in good conscience, ask you to continue risking the lives of your children in a war that, from all appearances, no one will survive long enough to win."
The Headmaster sounded as tired, now, as he'd ever sounded during Harry's first life, and Harry closed his eyes and let his head droop. For all that he needed his family to take Voldemort's offer, he was sorry to hear such exhaustion in the voice of one he'd respected in his youth, despite their differences. Though, truly, that was the price of war, and Harry was grateful that Dumbledore was willing to at least admit that he thought Voldemort might be speaking the truth in offering amnesty.
"In the end," Dumbledore continued, "it can only ever be your own choice, whether you wish to step off the battlefield. I won't pass judgement on anyone, either way." A chair scrapped against the floor. "Whatever you choose, I wish you – each and every one of you – the greatest of luck."
Harry opened his eyes to watch as Dumbledore walked back into the living room and to the fireplace. He grabbed a pinch of floo powder from the jar on the mantle, then paused as if in thought, before turning to Harry and meeting his eyes with a serious stare. "Harry, no matter what, you keep your brother safe. It doesn't matter if you don't have a speck of magic, you'll find a way, if you think it's worth it."
Harry stared after the man as he tossed the floo powder into the fireplace and stepped into the green flames.
As Harry gently set the paper in the centre of Dumbledore's desk, he couldn't help but be amused by how much he was turning into something not unlike a muggle spiritual medium, passing on messages from the dead to the living. Then he turned and left back into the Realm of Death.
'Albus Dumbledore,
'Ariana wanted me to tell you she forgives you, for everything. Aberforth too, if you'd like to pass on the message.
'p.s. - he'll always be worth it'
(The last was maybe a little too telling about who he was, assuming Dumbledore would even connect it to his parting comment, especially given his age, but a part of Harry couldn't leave him without an answer, not with Voldemort's win as likely as it was.)
Voldemort's offer of amnesty was good until the end of February, which really just gave everyone more time to debate over it. Surprisingly, in the Potter household, it was James who was the holdout, insisting he didn't want to chance Lily's life for a questionable promise of safety in future.
"It's true what you said," James tried for the umpteenth time, "the boys and I will be fine, one way or another. But if he's lying, if he's going to turn his back on anyone, it's going to be you, Lils!"
Lily continued her current practice of ignoring her husband, instead focussing on changing Will's nappy while Harry dangled a toy in front of his brother's face and grinned as he tried to grab for it.
James sighed and turned away, dejected.
Harry glanced between his parents, chest aching, then nudged Will and nodded towards James a few times, until the younger got the message and screeched, "Dada! Dada, back!"
James looked back towards them and, when Harry motioned him over, despite Lily's frown, he came. "Harry, what–?" he started.
Harry grabbed his father's hand, then his mother's, and set them one over the other before bringing them over so Will could high-five Lily's hand, which was on the bottom. Harry very firmly set his own hand on the top of James', then looked between them with a determined expression.
Lily and James traded confused looks, then Lily ventured, "All for one and one for all?"
Harry rolled his eyes, but nodded.
"What, we've got to stick together?" James asked, scoffing, but he didn't pull away from their hand pile over Will. "Funnily enough, I did, actually, get that memo."
"No," Lily said slowly, watching Harry. "We can protect each other best together, but we have to each acknowledge that it's our own job to help where we can."
Harry sighed and shrugged; close enough.
Lily wrapped her hand around Will's, her hold gentle, yet protective, and turned to face James more fully. "James, I know you want to protect me, but you can't do that if you're dead. And neither of us can protect Harry or Will if we're both dead. Maybe Voldemort will renege on his promise, but even if he does, at least you'll survive to keep these two safe. In the grand scheme of things, isn't it better that they have one parent, rather than none?"
James closed his eyes and swallowed. "Dammit, Lily."
"Language!"
James snorted and opened his eyes to smile sadly at her. "All right. We'll accept the amnesty. Should we try dragging Sirius, Remus, and Peter with us?"
Lily looked towards Harry, who started nodding as hard as he could. She laughed, which made James turn to look, then laugh as well.
"I guess," James managed around his mirth, "that's a yes."
"I guess so," Lily agreed as she picked Will up.
James picked Harry up, then whispered into his ear, "And you, just because you're not going to Hogwarts, doesn't mean you're allowed to turn into a slimy snake."
Harry decided sticking his tongue in his father's ear was the only appropriate response to that, even if he did spend the next ten minutes tasting earwax.
Peter, surprising everyone except Harry, was the quickest to agree that going to Voldemort was the best option. Remus capitulated pretty quickly, after a private word with Lily, but it took all of the adults combined to convince Sirius, and he still looked surly when they got to the coordinates they'd been told to head for, Harry and Will being brought along with simply because there was no one who could stay behind and watch them. (Anyway, there was a sense of 'if this is a trap, at least all five of us will be there to protect the kids' amongst the group.)
A Death Eater with a bag of portkeys was waiting at the coordinates. He jerked in surprise at their arrival, took a moment to stare over the group of them, then grunted and fished a circular chain out of the bag, large enough that everyone could get a handhold. "Rules is, you keep your peace upon arrival, everyone else keeps theirs. If someone draws a wand on you, you may defend yourself, but leave retaliation to the Dark Lord. Do you all understand that?"
When everyone had nodded, James and Sirius somewhat grudgingly, the Death Eater handed over the chain and, once they were all touching it, tapped it with his wand to activate it.
They appeared in a tall, medium-sized room with no furniture, save two large fireplaces on the wall across from the door. Another Death Eater entered the room after a moment and requested, "Please follow me."
They were led, this time, to a massive room with a high ceiling and large windows – all of which were currently covered in drapes – lining one wall, which Harry suspected had once been intended as a ballroom. It currently had a throne on a dais at the far end, which Voldemort sat upon, looking – to Harry's experienced eyes – so very bored. Around the room, Death Eaters were tossing curses back and forth in groups of two or three, but they all stopped as their guide led their party forward, towards Voldemort.
The dark lord straightened, eyes narrowing as he looked them over. "James and Lily Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin," he murmured, showing he recognised them. Then he turned his gaze on Peter, who ducked his head. "Wormtail."
Everyone in their group turned to stare at Peter as he stuttered, "M-Master."
"You lying little rat!" Sirius snarled, hand going for his wand, but Remus jumped forward and stopped him, hissing reminders to keep his peace in the manor into Sirius' ear.
Voldemort smirked at their little byplay for a moment before flicking his wrist to send Peter away. He scurried from the room gratefully, and Harry would be honestly surprised if any of them saw him again before the end of the year.
"I suspect that you have come to lay claim to my promise of amnesty," Voldemort said, his tone careless.
Lily stepped forward, chin up, arms tight around Will. "We have. For the fi– four of us, as well as James and my sons."
Voldemort glanced towards Will, then Harry. He was just starting to look back towards Lily again when he stiffened and focussed all his attention on Harry. "He was the other one," he stated, tone cold. "The other boy born at the end of July in 1980."
James tightened his arms around Harry. "He's a squib. He's no threat to you."
That didn't seem to soothe Voldemort, only made his eyes narrow. "Were-born, I heard. He'd be, what, two and a half?"
Harry bit his tongue to keep from reacting; he should have known better than to give Voldemort any true information about himself.
"About that, yes," James agreed, his voice tight. "Are you going to uphold your promise, or are we to fight our way out of here?"
Voldemort stared at Harry for a long beat, before finally looking up at James, then over the other three adults in their party. "Mrs Potter, you have a friend among my followers; I gave my word three years ago to give you the option to live, should we ever again cross wands." He considered her for a moment, while the Marauders traded uncertain frowns. "It seems I shall be holding to that promise." He leant back in his chair and waved a negligent hand at them. "From now until the moment you raise a wand against one of my people in other than self-defence, you six are under my protection." He glanced between Harry and Remus, then added, "Do try to avoid biting anyone, though I can be brought to forgive moon madness."
"And James and I?" Sirius demanded. "We're aurors."
Voldemort narrowed his eyes. "I'm aware of your day job, Black," he hissed, and the nearest Death Eaters shuddered at the undercurrent of Parseltongue.
"Stunners," James said, and Voldemort's glare turned on him. James' arms tightened minutely around Harry, but he didn't flinch. "We can't not do our job, but we can promise to use nothing more damaging than a stunner if we're called out to answer a summons to a battle. If we catch someone with something more damaging for doing misdeeds without their mask, we can't be held accountable for not knowing who your people are, but if their allegiances are clear, we'll use stunners."
Voldemort considered that for a moment before waving an irritated hand towards them. "Acceptable." He turned to the nearest Death Eater. "Take them back to the receiving room so they can apparate out."
"My Lord," the Death Eater agreed with a low bow, then he motioned for them to follow him from the room.
"I know you now, Scythe," Voldemort said at just the right volume that only Remus and Harry, with their werewolf-enhanced hearing, could hear him.
Harry was high enough in James' arms that he couldn't resist peering back, over his father's shoulder. Voldemort was watching him, red eyes blazing, and Harry narrowed his eyes at the dark lord, letting a hint of gold shine through his own eyes. Voldemort's mouth twitched, threatening a smile, and Harry couldn't help but wonder where this future would lead.
He supposed there was nothing to do but find out.
Stand Against the Moon Chapters:
Pro | 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05
06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12
Nose to the Wind Chapters:
1 - Death Once Again ||
4 - Orphan Man || 5 - Using Gentle Words to Shelter Me || 6 - Living on Your Breath
7 - You Just Might Get it All || 8 - Never Want to Come Down || 9 - Only the Silence Remains
10 - Love is a Doing Word || 11 - Nothing Sacred || 12 - The Heart Yearns
13 - Mirrored in Your Stare || 14 - Camouflage Denial || 15 - Precious and Fragile Things
16 - Perfectly Reckless || 17 - Your Arms Feel Like Home || 18 - The Sun Will Set For You
19 - Your Love Has Always Been Enough || 20 - Keep Up This Charade || 21 - Truth Like a Blazing Fire
22 - Give Yourself a Try || 23 - Done Pleading Ignorance || 24 - Your Razorblade Caress of Love
25 - Summer's Scent Still Lingers || 26 - Burn Out the Stain || 27 - Final Masquerade
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