Harry Potter and the Boy Who Lived

Chapter 7

Twenty Years Ago

There are certain things about which, when in the right mood, people will vehemently say "I wish", even though they really don't mean it. Then there are certain things about which people will truly wish, and because they don't actually vocalise this want, the wish is all the more fervent. James Potter was not exempt from either case. Indeed, he often would remind everyone how much he wished he wasn't an Auror so he could claim a normal blood-pressure level for someone barely pushing forty. He also harboured a real wish in the back of his mind and the bottom of his heart: he wished that he had let Severus Snape be ripped to pieces by Remus-the-werewolf that one time Sirius told Snape about the Whomping Willow.

It was the week after James had saved Snape from certain death that James came to formulate this wish. He'd never really wanted to kill the greasy git, just to cause him some grief and vent some of his own frustration on the bastard. But rage and bloodlust pooled behind James's eyes and clouded his brain that fateful day, willing a slow, tortured death upon Severus Snape.

Why, we ask, would Snape deserve the crazed hatred of James Potter? James would say, Because he hurt Lily.

James walked along the corridors quickly, covered by the invisibility cloak he inherited from his father, towards the kitchens. Tonight was his turn to get the food. Stomach rumbling with hunger, he rounded the corner at the beginning of the hallway that led to the kitchens and moved silently, but confidently, towards the other end. A sudden sound made him to turn around. He stared into the darkness unable to make out anything but the vague shapes of paintings on the walls and suits of armour that dotted the hallway. Another sound reached his ears - a dull thud that reverberated through the floor and walls - from the direction of the hall that led to, as the Marauders knew, a narrow passage connecting the lower halls to the dungeons.

Something thudded again. James, inevitably, followed the sound. With swift and unseen steps, James tiptoed towards the Slytherin passage, hoping to catch the maker of the sounds. As he drew nearer to the corner where the narrow hall behind a tapestry of the Slytherin emblem lay, he heard the distinct sound of a scuffle, and the occasional heavy breath. The thuds were sharper now, too. James's cloak caught on the chain-mail of a suit of armour that stood guard at the corner. He tried to catch the armour before it could fall and give away his presence but the heavy axe of the armour fell with a loud clatter to the ground.

His cover blown anyway, James abandoned his cloak to hurry into the corridor. Wand drawn, he called a light, to see a dark shadow speed away from him and dart behind the tapestry that led to the Slytherin passageway. James could only register the height of the fleeing shadow and the billow of black robes. His attention was accosted then by the slumped figure a few paces ahead. Rushing forward, James turned the limp body away from the wall to see who it was. One look and James let out a strangled cry, sinking to the floor as his legs gave way.

Vacant eyes stared through him, tears streaming down a face he knew so well. Lily's robes were torn and bunched around her shoulders, exposing her chest and red marks that littered the skin he so longed to kiss and caress.

Fighting the fear and rage that battled within him he scooped Lily up in his arms and cradled her. Recognition crossed her features and she cried out, crossing her arms across her nakedness and turning in shame. She struggled to break free of him but he whispered softly to her, murmuring reassurance until she finally collapsed into broken sobs, burying her face in his robes and clinging on to him for dear life.

James remembered his legs and stood; Lily still clutched in his arms, he made his way towards the hospital wing. James kicked at Madam Pomfrey's door seeing as his arms were full, and a few moments later, the nurse answered his calls in her dressing gown and night cap. She took the situation in at a glance, seeing Lily's limp figure and James's brow knotted with emotion. Madam Pomfrey ushered them into the infirmary and James gently laid Lily down on one of the cots.

Dazed and in shock, James sat on a chair beside the bed as Madam Pomfrey examined Lily and began examining her, giving her a dose of a clear blue liquid. His mind was racing. What happened? Who did this? Will she be okay? The thought of Lily being hurt, of her having to struggle at all, made his stomach flip. Lily tossed on the bed, swatting Madam Pomfrey with her arms, and her eyes fluttered open. She mumbled protests, staring ahead with unseeing eyes glazed over with fear. Without a second thought he jumped up and held her to him, much to Madam Pomfrey's surprise. The older witch looked down at young James cradling Lily to him, cooing softly to her, his whisperings patched with suppressed sobs.

"Mr Potter, please. I understand your concern for Miss Evans, but I think it best if you let her rest. The headmaster will see to this in the morning. I will leave the issue of your being out at this hour to him as well," she said, drawing the curtains around the cot and shooing him out in a not-so-subtle-suggestion.

James was still in too much emotional turmoil to actually protest, and before he could voice dissent he found himself on the outside of the closed door to the infirmary. His legs took him back to the hallway by the dungeons instead of Gryffindor Tower, his brain snapping to attention as he reached the spot where he found Lily. The dark deserted corridor showed no sign of anyone having been there but James was determined to find some indication of who hurt Lily. The search was fruitless. He did find his invisibility cloak, fortunately, at the foot of the armour that gave away his position earlier. Grabbing the cloak he snuck back into the Hospital Wing and sat by Lily's cot the whole night and fell asleep with his head at her side.

The next day James looked a wreck at breakfast. His plate was still empty and his head was pressed against it.

"Prongs?"

"Fuckoff."

"Eat something. Unless you had too much to eat last night - you never came back with the food for us, mate," Remus trailed off in hopes of getting an answer.

James muttered something into his plate that sounded like "I'll tell you when I'm awake" so Remus, knowing better, let it drop and turned his attention to getting Sirius to stop charming the sausages to bite back.

James sat up and looked around the Great Hall, zeroing in on the Slytherin table. His eyes landed on another face that betrayed a night without sleep. Severus Snape looked like he hadn't been to bed at all. Snape stood up, gathered his things and swept out of the great hall. Snivellus had grown over the past few years, hitting his growth spurt during sixth year, and was just shy of six feet tall. James and Sirius were not short in the least, but somehow the fact that they were only an inch (or two, in Sirius's case) taller than Snape was a sore point. As Snape crossed the hall to the door his school robes billowed out behind him and James suddenly found himself very awake.

*

The Present

This is ridiculous, Rose thought to herself as she trudged her way up to the North Tower. On a Saturday, no less. The Divination Room was quickly becoming Rose's least favourite place on the planet with a possibility of two exceptions, the memories of which made the corner of her eye twitch in distaste. A scowl firmly planted on her lips, her bag clutched in her arms, her eyes fixed on the snow fluttering down outside, her mind completely elsewhere, Rose waited for the hour to strike and managed to stand in the worst possible spot. The ladder from the Divination Room dropped in front of her, escaping the notice of her diverted eyes. She snapped back to reality when she turned to see a pair of grey eyes looking at her, a sculpted eyebrow raised above the left.

This is ridiculous, Draco Malfoy thought to himself as he crossed the Divination Room. On a Saturday, no less. It was high on his list of places to torch, outranked only by Gryffindor Tower and Hagrid's hut. Dumbledore was getting rather adept at finding the most torturous detentions for Draco to serve - sending him to polish crystal balls for Trelawney was the headmaster's most creative and successful so far. Draco was running through possible ways to murder Trelawney, descending the ladder, and was not expecting someone to be standing below. It became apparent to him as he tried to cover for the shocked look that came over his features that the girl was just as distracted as he, and didn't notice his descent. It was a full five seconds before Rose turned to him.

She stepped back at the sight of him then deepened her scowl. This was a new experience for Draco. He prided himself on his princely bearing and perfect features: two assets that seldom went unnoticed, much less unappreciated. Yet this girl was scowling at him in the utmost distaste. Rose knew him from the receiving end of his taunts and barbs, and her brother's dislike for him was far from secret. Her scowl became even more pronounced as he continued to stand, one foot on the last rung; his arms slung nonchalantly a few rungs up, his eyebrow still raised.

"Sod off, Malfoy," she said as she walked behind him and yanked him off the ladder. Stunned, Draco could only raise the other eyebrow as Rose scampered up through the trapdoor. Appreciative of the view it afforded, his eyes followed her upwards, his mouth curling in disappointment in the presence of trousers. His mind tried to place her face, for indeed he couldn't remember what house she was in and where he'd seen her. Red hair, but that's not a Weasley. Ah - Weasley, that's where I've seen her. Damn, she's a Gryffindor then. Not that's ever stopped me before. A smirk found its way to his lips as he left the North Tower, his mind replaying the view of her up the ladder.

In the Divination Room Rose found Professor Trelawney hunched over a crystal ball. She approached the desk on quiet feet and stood waiting. When the professor looked up she hiccupped in shock then recovered.

"I knew you were there - I was watching you in the ball, dear. I was just not expecting you to be standing quite so close. Now, please sit and we shall begin the lesson," she said pseudo-mystically.

With a barely-concealed long-suffering sigh, Rose plopped down in the chair before the desk and, hunching her shoulders, looked at the bug-eyed professor. Lily was far too busy to coach her daughter in the Sight herself so the next logical choice, according to everyone except Rose, was Sibyll Trelawney. She may have been credited with two true predictions in her career, but then again, so had Rose.

Lessons were held every Saturday and consisted of Rose trying to See simple things while Trelawney tried to direct her. Today, the professor asked Rose to See what her mother was doing. Rose closed her eyes and let her mind go blank.

"It should seem as if you are in a hallway of sorts," Trelawney intoned, "and your mother is behind one of the 'doors' - open that door to See, child." Rose lost her train of thought every time Trelawney tried to compare the Sight to something mundane - it made her mildly exasperated to have similes planted in her brain. Rose seemed to See when her mind was completely blank and the thoughts would just come to her. Actually scrying was difficult because she had to clear her mind of all thoughts but the one thing she needed to See.

Rose let out a frustrated sigh and tried again. What is mum doing now? She asked herself as she cleared her mind only to be swamped by memories. A third try was equally futile, as was a fourth. Rose opened her eyes and glared at the teacher.

"I don't understand what's wrong. Describe to me what it is you are doing, Miss Potter - you seem to be concentrating too hard."

"Well I'm trying to block concentrate on my mum so I can See what she's doing. But it's impossible! I keep seeing things I remember and nothing else."

"That's the problem, then. The memories of your mother intrude on your search for visions of the present and future - what you have seen already is easier to access than what is happening or will happen."

Rose thought about that. I'll be damned - she makes sense for once. She closed her eyes again and let her thoughts go blank. She then placed the single word, mother, in her mind and ignored the images of Lily from the past. Then it happened. She saw her mum reading on the couch but she wasn't looking at the book. Rose could see Lily staring out the window, tears streaking her face. Rose snapped her eyes open, losing the image. She knew she'd Seen her mother - she didn't remember ever having seen Lily cry before.

Trelawney looked at her expectantly. Rose stammered for a moment then made up something about Seeing her mum at the Ministry. Trelawney seemed pleased and dismissed Rose for the day. Rose stood, still a bit shocked, and hurried from the room. She headed straight for the owlery and found Igraine, her long-eared owl, and scribbled "don't cry, mum, I love you" on a bit of parchment, sending the owl off to find Lily. She smiled a bit at the thought of what her mother's reaction when she received the note. Mum will know how, she thought, and back to Gryffindor Tower.

*

Luna was more than distracted at dinner that evening; more so than the past few days if at all possible. She tried and failed miserably at hiding her glances in the Ravenclaw direction until Ginny decided she'd had enough.

"Why don't you just go and sit over there? Why are you still keeping this under your hat? You didn't have a problem telling us - what does it matter to you what anyone else says anyway?"

Luna didn't pry her gaze from the other table when she answered, "You know why."

"It's not like people will know, and if they do, they won't really care," Rose said, rolling her eyes. "You're allowed to have friends in other houses for fuck's sake. Vicky and Sarah spend all their time over at the Hufflepuff table with their friends - no one says anything about that. Just go over there before you strain your eyeballs." Vicky Frobisher and Sarah Capper were the other two girls who shared a dormitory with Ginny, Luna and Rose. It was a matter of constant debate as to just how in the name of Merlin Vicky and Sarah managed to get placed in Gryffindor; their cognitive powers were certainly at a Hufflepuff level.

"I still don't think I should. I'll ask Morag this evening to see what she thinks. If I go over there and she's not expecting it she might get embarrassed, and then where would I be? No, I'll stay here."

Rose let out a colourful stream of expletives, interspersed with choice morsels from Ginny, finally understanding why women drove men crazy. "We're fucking mad - we read far too much into these things. No wonder they can't stand us half the time. Luna, just look at Morag - she's more likely to pull something trying to catch your eye than you are craning your neck to see her. She wants you to go over there, so go!"

A pointed look from Rose and a kick under the table from Ginny managed to get Luna to stand up. She stood there for a full ten seconds and Rose groaned into her hands at the sight. Ginny kicked her again and Luna managed to extricate herself from behind her chair and walk to the Ravenclaw table, bee-lining for Morag MacDougal, a sixth year Ravenclaw with dark brown ringlets and amber eyes. A grin spread across four faces when Luna finally sat down next to Morag. Ginny and Rose exchanged knowing looks and returned to their meals quite satisfied thank-you-very-much.

*

Cornelius Fudge made quite a show of shuffling parchments around on his desk in pretence of working. Willbridge, or Wesley (he could never remember the boy's name), had knocked on the Minister's door, startling him out of his reveries. The read-headed under-secretary was a nuisance to the Minister, constantly prattling about laws and deficiencies. Today was no different. Fudge reminded himself why he needed to keep Weatherby around and, employing the skills that had landed him the position of Minister of Magic in the first place, proceeded to carry on with his most important project.

Get rid of Dumbledore.

The latest failsafe plan had failed and Fudge could not, for the life of him, discern why. This week he would try again, and Merlin's Tree for me if this doesn't work, he swore.

"Woodridge, I'm still rather concerned about the reports I'm receiving from Albus Dumbledore regarding our poor Boy-Who-Lived. They aren't any more encouraging this week; I feel the need to do something more. The cookies were a lovely idea, Walton, but I fear they may not have cheered him as much as we'd hoped."

Percy Weasley furrowed his brow in thought. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that. When he was younger, shortbread seemed his cure for anything." Searching his memories of Neville from the many holidays he'd spent at the Burrow with the Weasleys, Percy tried to pinpoint something that had made Neville feel better. Percy had always liked the boy - quiet studious type and very polite - and really felt rather bad about having to shun him along with the rest of his family. Determined to do an anonymous good deed to somehow compensate for his necessary estrangement, Percy thought harder. The proverbial light bulb went on with a pop.

"His parents, Minister Fudge. Something to do with his parents might be nice. It's nearing Christmas after all, and perhaps some token or memorabilia associated with them would be a thoughtful gift."

Fudge pulled at his moustache. Food was the better idea - you can't share pictures of your dead parents. "Perhaps, Wilson, perhaps. Though I sense that may be a trifle... melancholy?"

Percy nodded in agreement. "Oh you are perfectly right, Minister, as usual. No, that would be most inappropriate. My apologies. Perhaps, then, a new broom?"

"No, he appears to have the latest anyway, courtesy of the Potters."

"Ah, I see. I suppose that means he is involved with Miss Rose Potter?"

"I don't know, truly. I remember someone mentioning him having a young witch in his special company; if my reports serve me right I do believe she has red hair."

Forgetting his family's most noticeable trait, Percy congratulated himself on his accurate speculation. "Most definitely Miss Potter, then. OH! I know - some money or a gift certificate to a shop where he can purchase something for the young lady!"

Fudge brightened at the idea. "Yes, that's a marvellous idea. What sort of, ahem, goods would he be likely to buy for her?"

"I couldn't begin to fathom, sir. Though I must say when I manage to find something for my Penny it's usually something rather pretty and feminine. Perhaps something from Gladrags or Madam Malkin's. Or from The Vault - jewellery is a nice gift. Certainly."

His narrow mind ticking, Fudge calculated in his head some way to turn this into a workable plan. Potter would be a perfect choice for this. "Thank you, Waterford. That will be all."

"At your service, Minister."

*