Mr. Happy Pig Loves You, Harry

The night was cloudy and damp, the air thick with the threat of storms to come.

And that was only outside the house in Godric's Hollow. Inside, the atmosphere was, if anything, even more electric.

"Are you sure everything's going to be all right?" a young red-haired woman asked her husband anxiously.

"Yes, Lily."

"But are you sure?"

"Of course, dear."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Trust me, Lily."

"I do -- "

"Good!"

" - but are you sure everything's going to be all right?"

"Okay, you got me, Lily," said James Potter in exasperation. "Not only do I not know if everything is going to be all right, but for all I do know, all our friends are already dead and the Death Eaters are coming to have a barbecue in our backyard. And we're what they're planning to slap on the grill. Happy now?"

"Not in the slightest - although I'm glad you finally stopped trying to lie to me." Lily shook back her hair and looked around the small bedroom with a kind of despair. It was exceedingly messy, piled high with the kind of paraphernalia associated with very young children - fuzzy toys, nappies in various stages of cleanliness, tiny, adorable little outfits with burp stains all over them, and colorful books with smiling bears on the covers. As she slumped on the bed, it occurred to her that if the Death Eaters did come, she and James could build a fort out of alphabet blocks and try to hold them off from inside. The thought actually brought a brief smile to her lips.

Her wandering gaze settled on the provider of the great mess. Little Harry sat in his cot, endeavoring to eat his left foot. "Silly baby," she told him fondly.

"Ah-gah-gah-gah-gloop!" Harry responded, beaming around three of his toes. He was not, in fact, a particularly attractive child. His fuzzy black hair resembled a cheap toupee and his skin was moist and doughy. But he slobbered endearingly, and Lily regarded him with that affection peculiar to mothers witnessing their child being disgusting. James attempted a proud, fatherly glow, but his heart just wasn't in it tonight, so he went back to peering out the window. Dark forces were at work. He could sense them.

"I'm going to go check the wards again," he announced, and immediately regretted it when his wife tensed up and flashed him an unhappy look.

"Do stop fidgeting about, dear," she told him. "You know those wards won't hold for a second if You-Know-Who comes calling anyway."

"Thanks, Lily," grumped James. "I sure feel swell now."

Lily patted the mattress beside her, beckoning him over. When he came - a little grudgingly, for he felt she was being condescending, she put an arm around him. "You're as fussy as Harry trying to stay awake past his bedtime," she cooed, ruffling his hair. "I'm sorry if I made you worry. I know Sirius would never tell anyone where we're hiding."

'Hiding' made it all sound so very gothic and romantic, which is why Lily used the word. It didn't well describe their current activity of sitting around their cheaply furnished but comfortable split-level flat and fretting, however. Especially with the little bunnies in jumpers on the wallpaper to keep Harry happy.

James did not seem reassured by his wife's words. If anything, his expression became even more morose. "I'm sure Sirius has hidden himself well," Lily continued, mistaking his concern to be over his best friend's welfare. "He'll be. . . What is it?" she asked, her voice changing sharply in tone. For she had suddenly recognized a great deal of guilt in her husband's expression as well as worry.

The guilt deepened a couple notches. "Nothing."

"Don't give me that." Lily took her hands away from his shoulders and settled them on her hips. "What did you do?"

James examined the ceiling as if hoping there would be a convenient spider he'd have to exterminate. There wasn't, but he pretended to be watching some infinitesimal bug anyway.

"James." Lily's shoe began tapping out an ominous little rhythm against the floorboards. Uh-oh. He turned to her.

"Don't worry," he soothed, forgetting the cardinal rule that those were the words calculated to make one's loved one do just that. Lily wondered if she should take Harry and run before he could utter another syllable.

"Don't tell me not to worry!" she cried. "My ass is on the line too! Not to mention Harry's!"

"Bloop?" asked Harry, watching his parents wide-eyed.

"You're absolutely right, baby. 'Bloop' as in 'blooper'." She turned her frenetically toe-tapping attention on James. "Out with it. What sort of blooper did you commit?"

"It wasn't a blooper!" he cried, holding up his hands defensively. "For goodness sake, Lily, you were worried about Sirius too. I mean, he's a clever bloke and all, but how much of a chance would he really have if the Death Eaters came for him?"

"Not as much as some other people -- which is what I was trying to remind you when we were choosing our Secret Keeper in the first place."

"Well, I took your advice."

"Oh!" Lily brightened at once. "Oh! You changed Secret Keepers!"

"That's exactly right." James straightened up and looked noble. Lily kissed him on the cheek.

"Oh, that's wonderful dear! Dumbledore is ever so much safer a choice." Noticing that Harry had flung every single one of his toys out of his cot and was preparing to cry about it, Lily got up to rectify the matter. She'd only taken a couple steps when her brain caught up with the strange silence that had fallen. Usually when she praised James, he instantly angled for more in the most exasperating and unsubtle ways. Instead, when she sneaked a peek back over her shoulder, he was still scanning the ceiling for imaginary insects.

Lily whirled on her heel. "You did change to Dumbledore, didn't you?"

James blanched. It wasn't exactly a question. More of a 'say no and I'll throttle you' sort of a statement. This was going to require finesse.

"Dumbledore is very obvious," he began. "I mean, pretend you're Voldemort."

She made a face. "I'd rather not."

"It's just pretend. Pretend you're Voldemort and you want to find us and murder us -- "

"I really don't want to pretend this, James!"

" - but you can't. Find us, I mean. So what's the first thing you're going to think?"

"Gee, I'd like some bacon."

"Lily! Be serious!"

"What? I imagine Voldemort's thinking 'I could really eat some meat' at least seventy percent of the time."

James studied his wife a moment. "You're weird," he decided.

"Okay, enlighten me. What is Voldemort thinking?"

"He's thinking 'aha! They have a Secret Keeper!" James slammed a fist into the palm of his other hand. "And then he thinks -- "

"Well, damn, it has to be Dumbledore. Can't do anything about that. Guess I may as well go eat some meat."

"Lily, can you forget about the meat thing a minute?" James ran a hand through his mussy hair. "You're making me forget what I was - Right! He thinks: 'Their Secret Keeper must be Sirius Black! Everyone knows he's James Potter's best friend!'"

"And then he thinks: 'no, wait, that's too obvious. Besides, they know the only one I fear is Dumbledore. Damn, it must be Dumbledore. Can't do anything about that. Might as well go eat some -- "

"Lily."

Lily sighed and gave it up. "It's not Dumbledore, is it?"

"No."

"Why is it not Dumbledore?"

"Because it's too obvious."

"Obvious, but safe." Lily emphasized the word, because she was coming to suspect her husband was dumber than she had previously imagined. "Safe."

"The new choice is safe too, Lily," James assured her. "Safe as safe can be."

Lily dug her fingernails into her palms. Flight was beginning to sound like a better and better option. But there were plenty of other good potential Secret Keepers, she reassured herself. Like Professor McGonagall. Yes - she'd always thought Voldemort was slightly daft for being more frightened of Dumbledore than McGonagall. That woman was mean. Maybe the Dark Lord was just a sexist. "Is it Professor McGonagall?" she asked hopefully.

"No. I'd have been too scared to ask her."

James could turn into a puss at the damndest moments. She cursed to herself and thought again. "Filius Flitwick?" He was a strong wizard, but also an unlikely choice that might bamboozle Voldemort.

"Uh-uh." James leaned back against the headboard, looking like he was enjoying this. Lily wanted to strangle him, but she kept her hands still with an effort.

"Mad-Eye Moody?" Not a great choice, since he always threw himself into the line of fire, but at least he was good at taking care of himself.

"No." James grinned. "See? You just can't guess, can you?"

"I've only been guessing for two minutes, James. Don't get cocky. If Voldemort wants us, he'll spend more than two minutes on us." She thought again. "And after all, it has to be someone in the Order, doesn't it?"

"Well. . . yeah. I can't exactly go around asking random people to be our Secret Keeper. Well, I suppose technically I could, but -- "

"Yes, yes. So, not Sirius, not Mad-Eye, not McGonagall or Dumbledore. . . " She shook her head, frustrated. "It seems all the best choices are gone, except for Remus."

James frowned at her. "Remus is the traitor, Lily."

"So you say. The logic escapes me, however."

"Process of elimination." James suddenly grinned. "You know, you were really close to the right answer when you thought of Remus."

Lily heard the words, but they didn't go into her brain. She rejected them, as she would a virus. "I was? Who is it?" she asked.

"C'mon. You can figure it out. What other old friend do I have?"

She tried to ward off the second infection, but this time it seeped in. She tried to deny the import. James would not be that stupid. "Mundungus Fletcher?" she asked to gain time.

"No! Peter!"

"Peter," repeated Lily, as if she'd never heard the name before.

"Peter."

"Peter. . . Pettigrew?"

"Yes! Peter Pettigrew! My old school friend - how many Peters do I know?"

Lily took a long, deep, calm, fulfilling breath. Then she exploded. "Are you mad?!"

"Huh?"

"Peter?! Peter Pettigrew? As our Secret Keeper? Why, the last time he was here, Harry beat him with a rattle until he broke down and confessed to wanking off in the prefect's bathroom!"

"Oh, is that what he was blubbering about?" James grimaced. "Ugh. Think I could have happily gone through life without knowing that."

"A-booh-glooh," said Harry.

Lily stalked around the bedroom, snatching up toys and baby clothes. "And that's the man you're trusting our lives to, James. A man whom a year-old baby can beat into a confession!"

"Poo-bah-gleep-gah!" said Harry with more force. He seemed to be attempting to communicate something.

"Aw, come on, Lily. He probably wanted to tell you about it. Let you know he'd gotten some action, as it were."

Lily growled deep in her throat and added a Paddington bear to her already precarious armload.

"Gloopy-bah-pah-moo-meeee!" wailed Harry. Both parents turned to their son. Their nostrils flared.

"Bappi-pwah!" explained Harry, glad that he finally had their attention. He'd made a present and was ready for them to unwrap it. It was a rather large one, by the smell of it.

"You clean it up," Lily growled at James. He blanched, but her manner didn't allow for any backsass. Obediently, he began hunting for a clean nappy and some baby powder. As he searched, he tried to reason with his wife.

"Voldemort will never think we'd choose Peter. Not if we gave him a hundred years to think about it."

"That's because it's a stupid choice, James."

"It's exactly because it's a stupid choice that it's such a brilliant choice."

Lily flung her arms in the air, dropping every single item she'd collected. "Where do you even get logic like that?" she cried. "How can you be such a smart man and such a bloody moron?!"

"Lily. . . Lily. . . " James would have liked to take her hands in his, but he was dealing with Harry's very smelly bottom and doubted she'd appreciate it at the moment. "Peter is one of my best friends in the entire world. He'd never tell Voldemort where we are hiding."

"Remus Lupin was one of your very best friends too," Lily pointed out. "And you're perfectly willing to suspect him of being Voldemort's spy."

"Er, well. . . that's an entirely different matter."

"How is it a different matter?" Lily wanted to know. "If you're convinced that Remus can cheerfully sell information to Voldemort for a few Knuts, why not Peter? At least Remus has a spine."

"Yes, Remus is clever and he has a spine," James explained, liberally dusting Harry's bottom with a coating of powder. Harry watched the process, burbling happily. "That's why it has to be him. I know it isn't Sirius, and Voldemort probably doesn't even know Peter exists."

Lily sat down on the pile of discarded toys and crossed her arms. "So, enlighten me, James. Is Voldemort a genius or an idiot?"

"Huh?" asked James, caught off guard. He nearly put his hand in Harry's soiled nappy, but caught himself at the last instant.

"Well, one minute he's the nearly omnipotent, evil, deadly Dark Lord whom we must hide from, and the next instant he's a lazy moron who can't even be bothered to keep track of a potential enemy."

James wrapped a clean nappy over Harry's exposed bits over Harry's objections. He considered her question. "So you think he knows about Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes, James. Absolutely."

"So then he knows how weak and bad at magic Peter is." James's face split into a grin. "He'll never think we chose Peter!" He tickled Harry's tummy, and Harry laughed and belched grossly.

It was definitely time to run, Lily decided. She calmly began working out places of refuge. Perhaps she should go stay with her sister - Petunia wouldn't like it, but Voldemort would probably choke on the stench of furniture polish if he came calling. Rumor had it he was allergic.

"Trust me on this one, Lily. Please."

She sighed and stood. "I'm sorry, honey. I just can't." She went to the closet and dug out her suitcase. James's eyes widened in alarm.

"Lily! What are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" She threw a few items inside. "I'm going someplace safe, if there is such a thing."

"But we're safe here!" Leaving Harry on the bed, he rushed over to grab her arms. "Stop being silly," he told her, trying to wrestle the suitcase out of her hand.

She let him take it. She folded her arms across her chest and watched as he unpacked the few bits of clothes she'd stuffed in there. And she waited for him to face her, which he did as soon as he gave up on trying to fold her nightgown neatly and just stuffed it in a drawer.

And before he could open his mouth, she beat him to it. "James," she said. "Let's imagine you're wrong for a moment. I know it's a rare occurrence, but try. You know one of your old friends is passing information to Voldemort. You're sure it isn't Sirius. Well, what if you're wrong about Remus? Who does that leave?"

"It couldn't be," James insisted. He attempted a light laugh and went back to the bed and began brushing baby powder off the sheets. "Not Peter. Why, every time he attempts a simple Wingardium Leviosa, his pants fall down. It can't be silly Uncle Peter, can it Harry?"

"Why---yy nott?" gurgled Harry.

It was certainly just one of those strange coincidences, but James, startled, drew back and looked at his son. Harry stared back earnestly and let some drool trickle out of the corner of his mouth.

A high-pitched whine shrilled through the air as something outside struck the wards. They froze like nifflers caught in the glare of an oncoming Knight Bus, each searching for explanation for the sound that had nothing to do with Death Eaters. Perhaps some local kids were amusing themselves by throwing rocks through windows -

Another whine, but this one quickly faded and died. The wards were down.

A brief silence, then a high, cold laugh rang out - an unmistakable laugh. It was followed by a light burp. A moment later, a foul smell wafted up the stairs. Apparently Voldemort had had franks and beans for dinner.

James and Lily's eyes met in an instant of mutual, electric panic. In that bare half second, Lily wished - oh, God, how she wished! - that she had never brought up the possibility of Peter being a traitor, that she'd kept silent like the dutiful little housewife she never would be and decided that anything her husband did was brilliant. It was crazy, but it almost seemed as if her suspecting the possibility had brought it to horrid life.

Harry wriggled, sensing their fear. "Booka-whin-pappaba!" he whined.

Harry's voice unfroze James from his trance. "Lily, take Harry and go!" he commanded, fear and determination turning his voice sharp. "It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off --" Without waiting for a response, he dashed out of the room. In his left hand was Harry's dirty nappy, snatched up in an instinctive grab for the nearest weapon.

And just like that, Lily and Harry were left alone. Lily squeezed her eyes shut. Awful sounds were coming from downstairs - a roar of anger from Voldemort as James inadvertently shoved the soiled nappy into his face -- probably while trying to make a suitably dramatic gesture, bless his heart. James was shouting anything that came into his head that seemed even vaguely threatening. Unfortunately he wasn't very good with threats, so it sounded rather like he was trying to shoo a large chicken from their living room. The stairwell lit up with flashes of light, as James attempted every combination of spells he knew to drive their unwanted visitor away.

Voldemort began laughing, a horrible icy-cold sound.

"Mwehhh. . . mwehhh. . . " Harry screwed up his face. His mouth began to quiver in a way that suggested it would be wide enough to swallow a hippopotamus whole in another minute. Lily snatched him up and cradled him to her breast.

"Sshhh, sshhh," she soothed, wanting to him to hear her voice and not the horror downstairs. Not wanting him to hear the Avada Kedavra that would end his father's life.

Silly James, telling her to run. Run where? There wasn't so much as a fireplace in the room, even if the floo network wasn't being watched. What was she supposed to do, jump out the window?

No, her wonderful, brave, foolish husband's gesture had bought her nothing but time. Time she couldn't use to save her own life.

But perhaps she could save Harry's.

She looked at her son. His lips were still quivering. His eyes were squinted into greenish slits and his nose was running all over his face. His bottom felt damp too. Had she not been his mother, she might have decided he wasn't worth it and tried jumping out the window anyway. But of course she never considered that option.

There was an old magic, an ancient magic. One the Dark Lord had probably never heard of, would scoff at even if he had. . .

There was a flash of green light from downstairs. A thump. Then silence. Lily's heart contracted painfully in her chest. It started pounding fiercely again at the sound of heavy footsteps treading towards the kitchen. The door of the icebox was opened and bottles rattled as Voldemort rooted around inside, apparently searching for a quick snack. Even as her heart swelled with indignation, it gave Lily time to put the final touches on her desperate plan.

The refrigerator door closed and the footsteps started up the stairs. Slowly. Voldermort intended to make every step of his entrance count. Harry began to wail again.

"Hush, baby, no need to worry," Lily told him, stroking his head. Her eyes blurred with tears. Reaching blindly behind her, she picked up the first soft, fuzzy toy she touched. "Here, Harry, look. It's your friend Mr. . . ." She blinked at it; it was pink and pudgy. "Mr. Happy Pig, here to play with you." Not the most imaginative name, but she was under stress. She cuddled the toy next to Harry's face and he quieted, one plump hand reaching out to grasp the pig. "That's right. Mr. Happy Pig will keep you safe. He loves you. He loves you. . . "

Lily poured all her love, all her strength, all her determination into the ridiculous toy. Now if Harry just held on to it. . .

The footsteps were right behind her. Lily set Harry in his cot and turned around in time to see Voldemort swagger slowly into the bedroom. His sinister, mocking appearance was marred slightly by the traces of baby poo from Harry's nappy on his face. Serves him bloody right, thought Lily. She cast a quick glance over her shoulder at Harry. He was sitting in his cot, eyes wide with puzzlement, Mr. Happy Pig still clasped in his arms. "That's right," she told him. "You just hold tight to Mr. Happy Pig and you'll be fine."

Voldemort laughed. Lily gritted her teeth at the shrill, irritating sound and wondered if the Dark Lord's evil crusade was all some grudge against the world because his testicles had never dropped. But she masked her annoyance and her anger and arranged her face into an expression of helpless, groveling fear. "Don't hurt Harry!" she begged, making her voice quaver.

"Hurt him?" Voldemort laughed again, and she resisted the urge to sock him in the jaw. "I won't hurt him. I simply mean to kill him!" He seemed to think this very witty, for he giggled again. "Stand aside, girl!"

Oh, come on! You don't really think I would, do you? Lily thought. Then she took a second look at Voldemort. From his dismissive glance, she surmised that he considered the year-old baby boy to be a greater threat to him than a mere woman.

How about that. The Dark Lord really was a sexist.

So much the better for her plan. "Not Harry, not Harry!" she wailed. "Please - I'll do anything!"

Voldemort laughed heartily. Lily was finding it hard to grovel and grit her teeth at the same time.

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

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

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

"Eh?" The Dark Lord drew back and looked at her, slightly puzzled. After a moment, he shrugged. "Well, if you insist," he said obligingly. He raised his wand. "You have a point, after all," he mentioned casually. "Your husband might need someone to cook his dinner in the afterlife." He giggled.

Harry was busy chewing on Mr. Happy Pig, so he was never treated to the sight of his mother socking the Dark Lord in the jaw.

There was a flash of green light and a thump. And a spell, a desperate last-ditch gambit of a spell, flew through the air, unnoticed by Voldemort.

Harry, who had gotten most of Mr. Happy Pig's snout in his mouth by this time, looked up in confusion. Mummy was sleeping on the floor. Infant though he was, Harry felt there was something not quite right about that. And he certainly didn't like this weird, tall, black-cloaked man who was looming over him. If this was Mummy and Daddy's idea of a new babysitter, he'd just have to scream a lot and change their minds. Perhaps if he started wailing now, he could wake Mummy up and she'd chase the strange person away and play Happy Pig with him. Yes, that was a good idea.

Harry opened his mouth, but his would-be cries died in his throat as the dark man came closer. Harry decided that this person was not merely strange, but downright scary! Why was Mummy just laying there? And what had happened to Daddy?

The ominous stranger moved closer until he was actually bending over Harry's cot, leering inside. His breath stank. Tears started to well up in Harry's eyes. This wasn't right! He didn't like this person and it was mean of Mummy to just lay there and do nothing.

Then he remembered: Mummy had given him Mr. Happy Pig. She'd told him Mr. Happy Pig loved him and would protect him. Perhaps Mr. Happy Pig was his new babysitter and he was the one who was going to chase this unwholesome intruder away? That must be it.

Voldemort raised his wand with slow confidence, an evil sneer curling his lip. At the same time, Harry held up Mr. Happy Pig.

"Avada Kedavra!" The words rang out coldly in the small room.

There was a flash of light as the spell hit - not Harry, but Mr. Happy Pig. And hidden in the depths of Mr. Happy Pig's cotton stuffing was Lily Potter's soul, conjured there in a final attempt to save her child.

No one, not even Voldemort, could kill a soul. The toy burst into a shower of ash and was gone in the blink of an eye, but the evil green glow reversed its direction. The startled Dark Lord did not have time to so much as gasp before it struck him. . .

"Boogy-goo?" Harry asked no one in particular. The nasty man was gone, but so was Mr. Happy Pig, and Mummy was still sleeping. Not only that, but his bottom was uncomfortably wet, and there was a hot, unpleasant smell in the air that made him sneeze. For once, he didn't think crying was going to help.

Man, thought Harry, life sucks!

Not in those words, precisely, but the sentiment was there.

* * * * *

Six-year-old Harry Potter was miserable. It was his cousin Dudley's seventh birthday, but instead of getting to join in the fun, the Dursleys had set Harry to scrubbing the kitchen floor while Dudley and his friends romped around outside. Later, they'd go to the movies while Harry would be sent to Mrs. Figgs's house to look at pictures of Bobo and Snookums. There was a great big chocolate cake with yellow flower decorations perched on top of the fridge. The smell was rich and lush, almost overpowering for a little boy who'd had nothing but half a slice of stale toast for breakfast, but Harry knew he wasn't going to get so much as a lick of the icing, although he'd undoubtedly be made to wash the dishes afterwards.

Sniffling as he pushed the heavy wet mop across the floor, he wondered why nobody loved him. It just wasn't fair. He'd never asked to come live here.

As he gulped back the tears, he lost control of the mop for a moment. The heavy wooden handle banged against the leg of the table, where all Dudley's presents were piled amongst their torn wrappings. A few fell to the floor. Terrified that he might have scuffed the table or broken one of Dudley's gifts, Harry froze, but the other children were screaming so loudly outside that no one had heard. Relieved, Harry dropped the mop and scrambled to pick up the presents before anyone came in and caught him at it.

One of the toys squeaked in his hands. Startled, Harry paused and took a closer look at it. It was a soft, pink, cuddly stuffed pig, a toy much more appropriate for a child of two or three than one of seven. Probably from Dudley's grandmother, Harry decided. The old lady was a bit daft and kept forgetting how old Dudley actually was.

Strange feelings welled up in his heart as Harry stood and stared at the little stuffed pig. Long-buried memories began to surface. The pig in his hands seemed to represent all that was good, warm, and wholesome in the world. . .

Harry promptly ate it.

Immediately, he felt much better. Stronger and more confident, prepared to cope with whatever life threw at him. It was a wonderful feeling, one he'd give anything to keep alive. So he opened the refrigerator and looked through the shelves. Sure enough, there was a plate of cold ham. . . ooh! A leftover pork chop as well!

Petunia Dursley entered her kitchen, expecting to find it clean and shining with her nephew sitting quietly in the corner, hoping to be overlooked. Instead, the floor was only half mopped while he sat, bloated and greasy, in the middle of a puddle. His big green eyes gleamed with an inner satisfaction.

"Harry Potter!" she screeched. "How dare you?!"

"Blerf," replied Harry, releasing a cloud of pig-laden gas into the world. His aunt didn't frighten him so very much anymore. He felt as if there was a warm, loving presence hanging over his shoulder. His smile didn't falter even when he was banished to his cupboard under the stairs full a full week. He didn't care what the Dursleys thought of him anymore.

No matter what happened, no matter what trials awaited him in life, he would always have bacon. Pork was a perfectly decent substitute for affection.

And ever so much more delicious.