In the Dark Lord's Service

"Chapter Three: The Boy Who Survived"

Bewildered, Pyrites called out for his master yet again. "My lord! Where are you? Master! Are you there?"

But there was no response. The only sounds were the screams of the infant Potter upstairs and the howling of the wind as it swept by Pyrites. He looked up at the house and wondered what had happened in that room upstairs. There was only one way to find out.

Pyrites entered the kitchen of the house and was immediately met by the fallen James Potter. His seemingly untouched body was sprawled on the linoleum floor, and if his hazel eyes weren't still open, staring blankly at the ceiling, Pyrites might not have thought the young man was dead, but merely asleep or passed out. He left the kitchen and headed to the stairs. As he climbed them, he noticed photographs hanging on the wall. Some were of the Potters' wedding, one of the baby Harry, and the last one, at the top of the landing was of four teenaged boys. Pyrites turned to see a much younger James Potter no longer dead, but animated and laughing with his friends. Pyrites recognized a handsome boy as Sirius Black, and a scholarly looking one as the werewolf, Remus Lupin. Both were potent adversaries to Voldemort's campaign, unlike the fourth boy in the picture. It was a younger and slightly less plump Wormtail. Looking at the happy quartet of boys, Pyrites couldn't help but wonder if Wormtail had set his master up tonight. In a rush of frustration and anger, Pyrites struck the glass with his fist. Though the frame was broken, Pyrites himself was unscathed. His white silk gloves, though worn for fashion purposes, had cushioned his knuckles during the blow. Pyrites left the broken picture frame on the wall and finally walked into the baby's room.

Like her husband downstairs, Lily Potter lay dead on the floor. Her neck was bent in a funny way and her body was arranged in a jagged position that suggested pain and surprise. Pyrites noticed how beautiful the young woman was, even after falling to the Killing Curse. Her deep red hair rippled sparks of scarlet and gold in the lamplight, and Pyrites shivered to see still wet tears on her ivory cheeks.

Pyrites finally turned from Lily to see her son crying hysterically in his crib. As Pyrites approached the baby, he noticed that greenish grey dust circled the crib, like debris from an explosion or some strange voodoo rite. His master's wand lay haphazardly to the side of the dust circle. If he had not known better it would have appeared that the wand had just been tossed aside or misplaced there.

Something must have happened that night that had changed the world, turned the laws of magic upside down and rendered the greatest wizard in existence to the point of extinction. Pyrites knew Voldemort was gone. His power zapped and turned into powder by an infant. The tide would soon turn and the days of the Death Eaters would be numbered. Pyrites would be discovered for what he was and sent to Azkaban. He wasn't afraid of the mental anguish the dementors would inflict upon him-his entire youth was spent battling inner demons-and besides, he had survived the Azkaban before. He was more afraid of how prison life would tarnish his appearance, name and pride. He could not go back to Azkaban; he would not go back to Azkaban.

His thoughts flew frantically through his mind as he tried to think of his options. There was always the Imperious Curse plea. He could make something up and swear he was forced to serve Lord Voldemort. But what if Voldemort ever came back? He was supposed to have done everything magically possible to escape death. What if one of his spells or incantations had actually protected him somehow? If Voldemort came back from the dead, which was possible-hell, anything was possible if a baby could survive the Killing Curse-then Pyrites would be...well, in a rather precarious position. And then, there were the Lestranges and other fanatical followers who were likely to punish any Death Eaters who denounced their beloved Dark Lord. Pyrites needed a back-up plan. He needed insurance. He needed something to secure his safety on either side of the battlefield, and needed to find it fast. Suddenly, he realized it was right in front of him.

Harry Potter was still crying. His chubby, little baby fists were coiled around the bars of the crib and his dark hair was glistening with sweat. He was just an ordinary infant: small, defenseless and absolutely helpless. If Pyrites abducted-no, adopted-this child and raised him up in secret to be the all-powerful wizard that his defeat of Voldemort suggested he could be, then Pyrites would be in control of the greatest weapon in the wizarding world. No one could touch him if Harry Potter was his hitman and ward. Pyrites had found his insurance.

He walked up to the crib and spoke to Harry, "Why are you crying baby? Yeah, you might be an orphan, but Uncle Pyrites is, too. Yeah, I'm your Uncle Pyrites, and I'm going to take care of you from now on. I'll take care of you, and you'll take care of me. It's reciprocity. It's what we adults do."

Harry simmered down, distracted by the emerald cufflinks on Pyrites' sleeve. The large bobbles caught the light of the lamp and let it dance around the room. Pyrites smiled and let out a sigh of relief.

"And who says you can't negotiate with a baby?" Pyrites asked aloud smartly. Finally he gathered the gall to reach into the crib and pick up the one-year-old. As he awkwardly wrestled Harry up, the baby began to squeal loudly again, as though in pain or severe distress. Harry began to squirm and kick violently, as though he knew exactly what Pyrites was up to and wanted no part.

Trying to calm him down, Pyrites said, "Shh!! Shh! Stop it, Harry! If you don't stop it, Uncle Pyrites will leave you here to die like your wretched mum and dad. Yeah, they're dead, and you should be too! So be quiet you little monster! You have no one left to take care of you. No one, Harry, but me!"

"That's not true!"

Pyrites swung around, Harry still squirming in his arms, to see a man he had not seen in person in a long time, though he had just seen a picture of him in the Potters' stairwell. In the doorway, wand at the ready, stood Pyrites's younger cousin, James Potter's best friend, and Harry Potter's enraged godfather, Sirius Black.