4This is kind of a repost. Was it even up here long enough? I don't know. Anyway, you can blame this on Lana Del Rey and maybe The Weeknd. I was inspired by this set of lyric. I found that they represented how this story is going to go, perfectly. What you're about to read, it is disturbing and if you are in any way sensitive, please don't read. I have been writing this to soothe my sadistic, obviously evil nature. I don't own any fandoms I use, the only set of lyrics I will probably ever use in this story, or anything else I obviously don't own.
I love you the first time
I love you the last time
Yo soy la princesa, comprende mis white lines
Cause I'm your jazz singer
And you're my cult leader
I love you forever,
I love you forever
ULTRAVIOLENCE
CHAPTER 1: An Ever-Consuming Flame
Laughter filled the house-A child's laughter, a few womanly giggles followed after it. Lily Potter, formerly Evans, sat on their obnoxiously burnt orange sofa, her son, named Harry, laid on his side as he tried to avoid Lily's quick and nimble fingers. At first glance, it could easily be deducted that her son took greatly after his father. He had the dark brown, nearly black, mess of hair that sprouted across his scalp in all directions, the aquiline nose, and the terrible eye-sight that Lily knew was coming (the medi-witch had already made her aware). Yes, at first glance, Harry looked strikingly like James Potter. Everyone would agree, even more, so the father himself, for Lily believed, it fed his ego greatly. However, she would politely agree to disagree. She saw herself in her son.
As her fingers playfully dipped inside Harry's rib-cage, Lily took note of his alabaster skin, so pale, so very her. James was tanned from so many years of playing sports, specifically quidditch, but Lily had seen his childhood photos, he had always been darker-toned. With a smile, Lily knew her son would have the same struggles with the sun as she did. Of course, the obvious part, her eyes. For once, Lily could stare at her own eyes without it being a mere reflection. Since she was a little girl, long before she realized the world beyond home, her eyes had always been called a "peculiar" and "unsettling" shade of green. James had tried to find an object that could describe them, but he flailed each time he attempted, but Lily wasn't dumb, she was not an idiot, and she didn't dare pretend to be something else other than herself. They were the shade of the killing curse, Aveda Kedavra. When she was twelve, she did not understand the whispers, the weird mocks, but now that she was an adult, she realized how horrible it was, to be cursed with such eyes. Lily had prayed, to whoever would listen, that her children would turn out with James' hazel eyes, anything but her cursed green.
She had only seen the spell once, and only once, for soon after the great battle she had faced, Lily was diagnosed pregnant, and James hardly let her leave the house because of it. It had been a terrible night in Diagon Alley. As a muggle-born, she was ashamed to say, she never really saw Diagon Alley as anything but Hogwart's school supply list. She had forgotten people lived there, that their children played there, and that it was the perfect spot for a bloodbath. It had occurred in May, over forty people had been killed or grievously injured. Lily had hated herself for months-In fact, she still did. Medi-witch Prewitt had declared that she held a mentality called "survivor's guilt". The trauma of seeing former classmates dropping to the ground, two of which, had been in her year. Mary MacDonald and Andrew Brown, Mary had been a close friend of Lily's, having been sorted into Gryffindor, one of the four houses at Hogwarts. She had been dating one of James' best friends, Remus Lupin. Quickly Lily forced herself to continue focusing on Harry once more. She was dangerous when her mind went to those dark memories. She could no longer see Mary MacDonald as she once was, all Lily saw was a corpse, a cold, dead corpse hitting the ground.
Harry looked up at her, his happiness faded as he stared up at her, worried. She could see the glassiness in his eyes as he didn't know what to do, not that he should. Lily mentally swore. She felt like a terrible mother for putting so much stress on Harry, especially at such a young age (or rather at any age, he didn't deserve a mother like her...So damaged, so broken). "Mummy?" He whispered, his lip began to tremble.
"Oh, Harry! No tears now love-Mummy was just thinking!" As swift as she could, Lily came up with an excuse. James. James was supposed to be coming home soon. "You don't want to be crying now, do you darling? Daddy is coming home soon. You know how he feels about you being upset." She turned her voice into a soothing tone, motherly. Lily had learned from Molly Weasley, a woman nearly a decade her senior, that she had an aptitude for motherhood. At just nineteen years old, of course, Lily had blanched. Not that she didn't love children, she did, but she had held higher aspirations in life than to be a mother.
"Why is daddy working so late?" Harry questioned. It still amazed Lily to see how articulate her son was at his age. He is was nearly three years old, and it was obvious who in personality he took more after. Her dear Harry was inquisitive, rather than her husband, bless him, who simply took things as fact without looking into their depths.
Of course Lily couldn't tell him James was out attacking death-eaters or performing some dangerous mission that could get him killed. Lily was frantic enough about it, she wasn't going to bring Harry into it with her! Besides, Lily was a pacifist, she didn't at all believe in violence. "He is out being a hero, Harry."
"Oh," Harry said sadly, "Mummy...Daddy always says that being a good person, a hero, it's important, right?"
"Well, darling, it depends on what you think is a good person," Lily explained this easily, her mind shifting back and forth on what she should say. At twenty-one, Lily considered herself quite young, and even now, she struggled to define on what a good person should be. She had settled on that the idea was up to interpretation, and she would state as such, "Like daddy, he thinks that being a good person is helping someone no matter what, being brave and chivalrous."
"I don't think I agree with Daddy." Harry looked up at her, his bright eyes, gleaming with an unshed sheen of tears, his lip began to shake violently.
Lily placed her finger lightly on his nose as she stared deep into his eyes as if peering down into his pure, innocent soul. "Don't tell anyone-But Mummy doesn't agree with Daddy either." It felt like a heavy weight had been released from her shoulders, and as unfathomable as it sounded, she knew Harry wouldn't say a word to James, or to anyone else.
"I promise Mummy!"
As he spoke, the clock dinged at ten. Lily spoke, "I believe it is time for a certain Harry to get to bed."
"Oh come on Mummy!" Harry playfully whined. With a laugh, Lily got up and picked Harry up with her. Despite his none-too-serious protests, Harry was compliant as he dug his face into her shoulder. His face rubbing into her green cotton sweater.
"Now, now Harry," She shushed, "You know you'll be grumpy by the time Daddy gets home."
"Will you wake me up when he gets home?" Harry muttered in her shirt.
Lily rubbed his back, "Of course I will, darling."
It had been no more than two hours after she had put Harry to bed when the door to her home flung open. Lily was sat up on her sofa, reading To Kill a Mockingbird, by the muggle author, Harper Lee. She flinched and her eyes went wide as she scrambled for her wand. James never went to the front door, in fact, Professor Dumbledore had forbidden them to, claiming that it was too easy for Lord Voldemort to find them. The Fidelious Charm held many flaws, but it was the greatest thing that could protect them. It hid their location, but that was it. James could very well walk into their house, into the door, and reveal their location to anyone. However, there were few people who could enter their home, but if Lord Voldemort had access to a master ward-man, then he could break the protection surrounding their home. Luckily for Lily, she had placed her wand on the little side-table nex to the Sofa.
She grabbed it and pounced up, only to find she was pointing her wand at her beloved husband. James held up his hands, and Lily could see there was dried blood covering one side of his face. "James! What-" She stopped, shaking her head, "When did you first ask me out?"
"The first day on the train," James answered almost impatiently. His voice was stern. "Now, Lily, we must pack our bags. We have to leave. Now."
"James-", Lily began, but she was interrupted.
"Not now Lily! He is coming."
The door blasted open once more. The wood splintered into what looked like a million pieces, all that remained of the door was a cloud of wood chips. "Run! Run Lily! Get Harry and run!" Those were the last words Lily heard from her husband. Those were the last words anyone heard from her husband.
Lily found herself running, her wand was still grasped in her hand tightly. She practically flew up the steps to the second floor. She found herself sobbing, her shoulders jerking. How could she be brave in a situation like this? She pushed open the door to the nursery, shut it, and locked it. That would buy a few seconds at most. She began to push the small bookcase over the door. Another few seconds were placed in her favor. But she could do nothing but buy useless time. The only escape was the floo system in the living room. She couldn't apparate, especially not with Harry (there was no doubt he would get splinched in the process).
Harry lifted up his head and saw his mother pushing the bookcase across the door. "Mummy?" He said tiredly. His little fist rubbed at his eyes. "Is Daddy-" he yawned, "Is Daddy home?"
Lily looked at him sadly. She knew she looked frightening. "I am so sorry Harry darling." She swept across the room. She knelt down by Harry's crib, she pulled her face up to his and rested her forehead against his cheek. "Mummy tried, Harry. Never forget that. Mummy and Daddy tried and we love you very much." She heard the door unlock. She heard the book-case be pushed away, and Lily braced herself. She looked up, away from Harry.
The door then flew open, not as dangerous and bold as the front door had, but a whiff of air flew across both mother and son. "Please," She whispered. Cruel laughter swept across the room. "Please spare Harry!" She found herself yelling. Killing curse green met vivid, demonic red. "Please!" she begged.
"Stupid woman," were the first words spoken, they made Lily wince. "I do not see what Severus does. I doubt I ever will. Now, I give you one chance, move away from the boy."
"Never," She uttered. Her tears began to stop as she mustered up Gryffindor courage.
"Very well." Those were the last words Lily heard before she felt a blank sensation wrapping around her head, then, nothing. Lily's hands swept from Harry's cheek before she fell to the ground, her head hitting the base of the crib with a loud thunk.
Little two-year-old Harry watched this with an odd fascination, "Mummy?" He looked at her curiously. What was his mother playing? He looked at whom he thought to be his Daddy. He stood up in his crib and clapped his hands, trying to get his mother to wake up again.
"She is not waking up...At least not as you know her." Harry may have been two, but he knew that was anything but his father's voice. Harry whimpered, his hands stopped, and he stared at the man standing in his doorway. He recognized that what he held in his hands was a wand, Harry looked down at his mother once more. As quick as a two-year-old could connect the dots, he realized. "M-Mummy!" A wave of tears swept over the young boy.
"Such a shame, such a smart boy. Now, Harry Potter, prepare to die. Do not fret, for I will be merciful." There was only one person to "die" and it wasn't Harry.
Harry cried. He cried for what felt like ages for what had happened his young brain could not comprehend. The bad man had raised his wand, had aimed, had uttered two slimy words. Pain, unlike anything the toddler had felt, seemed to explode in his forehead. He couldn't hear the loud yell of, "James! Lily! Harry!" that had come from downstairs. He wanted his Mummy. Harry couldn't open his eyes, the pain was so great. He felt liquid slide across his forehead, his cheek. He wasn't old enough to differentiate on whether that was tears or blood.
Sirius looked at the wreck of the house. The door had been permanently dislodged. He had easily stepped into the home. The Fidelious Charm had broken. He saw James' body laid limp on the ground, right before the stairs. Sirius heard nothing, but he could smell burning fabric. Ignoring his inner pain, he knew he had to check for Lily and Harry. Dark thoughts raced across his mind. Stumbling up the stairs, he made his way to the nursery, letting out a yell of relief. "Harry!" he croaked. The door to the nursery was wide-open. Racing into the room, he noticed the ashes spreading across, a bookcase was on fire. The books melting and burning. The drapes across the wide window had caught aflame as well. He reached the toddler boy as quick as his feet could take him. He noticed Lily's body. Harry was screeching, his fist in his mouth, and Sirius noticed the blood flowing across his face, from the small cut on his forehead that resembled a strike of lightning. He grabbed at the toddler, and despite Harry struggling, he was able to grasp at Lily's body. The fire could wait. James, Lily, and Harry could not. When he stepped away from the stairs, Lily on his shoulders, and Harry in one of his arms, he noticed that James' body had been moved.
"Hagrid!" The half-giant man was holding James' body, he was about a step away from the door. "Take them both! I have a rat to kill!" Sirius shoved Harry in Hagrid's arms and gently, he placed Lily on the front steps of her former house. Hagrid could hear the rage in Sirius' voice and it didn't dawn on Hagrid that Sirius was supposed to have been the secret keeper.
It had once been a beautiful home; It had stood two stories high and when first built, had been painted a light green color. The oak wood had been enchanted to forever withstand the grasps of time, to forever block nature's fury. Those words were placed in past tense for a reason. Fire. Within two hours, on October 31st, 1982, the house had fully caught on fire. The Order of the Phoenix had arrived the moment Sirius had left. He and Hagrid had been the first to arrive, the closest, the one's prepared, for truly Lord Voldemort's attack had been surprising. Especially on the Potter's. The rest of the Order had been situated around Alice and Frank, and their son, Neville. One of the medi-wizards had taken away Lily, ignoring Hagrid's protests, and James. They did so, of course, after looking at Harry.
"We can't heal the wound-It will scar and it will be the forever," one of them had said. Hagrid had gone to school for three years, but that didn't mean he didn't know what that meant. Harry had been harmed with Dark magic and Harry will forever have a reminder of it. The poor babe.
Hagrid felt tears slip down his cheeks, they were watery, fat ones. They slipped into his massive, bushy beard. His shoulders involuntarily shook. The air was heavy, filled with smoke. It blinded Hagrid completely, filling his ears, stuffing his mouth, causing his eyes to blear and sting. A calm hand was placed on his shoulder, it was cold in comparison to the heat of the flames. "Th-They were so y-young!" He sobbed, and normally, in a tear-jerking situation like this one, Hagrid would fetch the big, handmade handkerchief from his pocket, albeit filthy, and dab it at his eyes. His hands were filled, they were tanned, calloused, and they were cradling a toddler.
"The wizarding world will miss another set of brilliant, young wizards, but dear Hagrid, their just as brilliant son yet remains in this world. And now-Due to their sacrifice, the wizarding world can celebrate!" The tone of the man, the man who had placed his hand comfortingly on Hagrid, it was melancholy, soothing.
Despite this, Hagrid jerked at the contact. "Buh they meant somthin', Professor Dumbledore, an' it feels like thuh world is celebratin' their deaths." His stutters had simmered as Hagrid's anger flared. He looked to his side and stared down at Professor Dumbledore (which if you did not know, was quite a distance for Hagrid's height reached nearly eight feet). Hagrid would never be truly angry at Dumbledore, but he looked for more condolence than resound acceptance and happiness. "And this blasted fire! Why haven' the aurors put it out yet?" Hagrid made a shouldered movement as if pointing at the house.
"Hagrid, my dear boy, it is a magical fire. They can only let themselves out. The aurors can only place wards to keep it sanctioned away from other wizarding folk, as well as the residing muggles in Godric's Hollow." His words, his posture, his face: They portrayed no anger. Only a comfort that seemed to know no bounds. "James and Lily were beloved, in their sadly brief adulthood, and in their school years. It is for certain that those of the greater good, those who are light, who can love, they are in mourning for the great loss, of not just James and Lily, but of all of the masses of deaths. It is during this day, and I am sure, for the rest of mine and your life-times, that all of the good wizarding kind shall rejoice of their sacrifice."
"I-I understand Professor," Hagrid whimpered. "Where will Harry go?"
"He has an Aunt and Uncle, in Surrey. You were sent to guard them once." Professor Dumbledore said solemnly. "He shall be safe there. Mrs. Potter and I, we had a plan. Now go-" Professor Dumbledore found himself looking at a certain motorbike, with a side-car and all. "Sirius Black." The older man whispered. He looked sharply at Hagrid. "Sirius Black was here!"
"Yes, sir Professor Dumbledore," Hagrid said gruffly, not realizing what Professor Dumbledore meant.
"He should be-No matter! I will search for him myself later if I have too, now, what matters more is successfully hiding Harry. Take that bike, Black will no longer need it. I will meet you in Surrey."
Hagrid nodded, and then the light bulb in his head lit up, "That right bastard!" He then quieted down when he realized that he cursed around a child. Fortunately, Harry was still asleep and would be for another hour due to a tonic one of the medi-witches had given him. He made no movement other than his deep breathing. How could Black act so angry, so furious at the deaths of the Potters, when he was the one to bring that wrath onto them. Hagrid took the bike, and in his head, claimed it as his, and settled Harry in the side-cart. "If you could do thuh honors, Professor."
Professor Dumbledore nodded politely, waved his wand, and whispered a charm that Hagrid couldn't hear. Hagrid nodded and turned the motor-bike on. He pressed his foot on the pedal and took off into the sky.
"Professor Dumbledore! Is that you?" Professor Dumbledore turned and noticed the running girl, a medi-witch. She was Molly Weasley's, formerly Prewitt, first cousin. A Gryffindor of course.
"Yes, it is, Ms. Prewitt. What is it?"
"Am I too late? Sir, Lily Potter is alive."
Professor Dumbledore turned deadly white. "And in what condition?"
"Obliviated sir. Everything wiped. She has been declared mentally unstable for the time being. At least two years of damage has been done to her brain. We might have everything fixed by then."
Albus Dumbledore knew that the heaviness in his chest was not a heat-attack, but it was aligned with panic. This meant the ritual did not take place! Harry was susceptible to danger from not just outside the wizarding world but in himself! There is nowhere else for Harry to go, Albus tried to assure his frantic mind. There was still nowhere safer than outside the wizarding world, where Harry could grow with muggles, and see that there is no danger to fear from them. Wiser words have been thought.