67Chapter 1 – Why People Feared Samhain Eve
There was once a time, long ago, when people feared the eve of Samhain. It was a time when the barriers between the worlds would be at their weakest and, with the right magic (used at the right time, in the right fashion), these barriers could be shattered, allowing for unspeakable evils to be unleashed upon the mortal world.
Thankfully, those knowledgeable enough in such magic fell, long ago, into myth and legend themselves. The knowledge waiting to be forgotten the same way as many other things were also forgotten.
Yet, a lesson can be learned here. A lesson which teaches us that even though the knowledge of how something is done may have been long since passed, the ability to unwittingly accomplish such a task will always be present.
~oOo~
H, minus ten years...
In a dark corner of a sleepy village that was nestled away in an almost forgotten corner of Wales, an unusual noise broke through the night. For the safety of the children running around this Halloween night, all things holy can be praised for the only thing that heard the mysterious Whoosh of air being forcibly displaced was a stray alley cat.
You see, the being that was responsible for this strange noise was a being that struck fear into many of Britain's population. At first glance, one would pass him off as merely a pale-looking (yet rather average) man, even with the long black cloak he wore. Yet a closer look would show a man of power, one who demanded respect and gave no mercy.
Unlucky people, who looked even closer, would remember one disturbingly distinguishing feature for the rest of their lives. Cold, heartless eyes that appeared to glow blood-red would often be the last thing they saw before their world flashed a brilliant green and everything faded to black.
The Dark Lord Voldemort stepped out of the small alley, pulling the cowl of his robe lower over his face as he surveyed the sight before him. Children dressed as oversized pumpkins and fairies were running around the area. It was a sight that would be seen as comforting to many; but to the Dark Lord Voldemort, it caused him to sneer. To him, these were nothing more than the children of mongrels, people that would soon learn their proper place in society. His dark thoughts were soon shattered though, as one of the small children had finally noticed him.
"Hey Mister, nice costume!" The boy called out before cocking his head in confusion. "What're you supposed to be?"
Momentarily startled by the bravery (or perhaps deadly ignorance) of the small boy, Voldemort turned and examined the child who dressed in an odd arrangement of black cloth and... 'plastic', if he remembered the name correctly. It looked like he carried a toy weapon, a cylindrical red plastic sword. A decidedly muggle thing that had no life, no feel to it. Not that such a weapon could ever dissuade him from his goal this night.
Allowing a burst of power to flow though his voice and a slight aura of malevolence to seep out of his skin, he stared into the boy's eyes and hissed his reply. His voice was so distorted one could easily mistake it for the sound of dead leaves being swept across stone.
"I am merely a man who is looking for a small boy to kill tonight. One who would be a fitting sacrifice to both my power and my greatness."
The acrid smell which was the mixture of fear and urine, followed immediately by a running child, let him know that he had been successful. A small grin crept onto his face. Perhaps Bellatrix was right after all, he mused. She had always said that playing with little children was fun.
Turning back towards the road before him, he strolled out into the night, absently rubbing something through his cloak, something that sat right over his heart. He was on a mission tonight, one that he didn't trust anyone with but himself. To think that they had the nerve to protect each other with complementing Fidelius charms.
Their trust in their friends would be their undoing.
~oOo~
Little Harry sat mesmerised. His Dada was doing it again; bright colourful clouds were flying around the room. There were clouds in the shape of all kinds of objects and animals, even one shaped like an old fashioned sailing ship.
After a brilliant feat of aerial acrobatics by none other than a flying, purple Padfoot, little Harry could only do what any fourteen month-old child could. Merrily squealing and clapping he called out one of the few words he had learned and understood.
"More!"
"Alright champ, how about this one?" James laughed as, with a swish and a swash of his wand, the clouds burst in a shower of coloured sparkles that began dancing around Harry, making him squeal happily once more.
"What are you doing James?" whispered a voice that was cool enough to make him cringe. Turning around slowly he saw the very noticeable signs of a very angry wife.
"Uh... father-son bonding?" he tried as the sparkles started to flicker out.
"Huh... You know, I clearly remember asking you ten minutes ago to get Harry ready for bed and here I see you getting him all worked up and excited. Do I need to start disciplining you like we do Harry?"
He was caught and he knew it. James may have been the one to wear the trousers in the household but (as he had learned years ago) one should never cross Lily Potter, nee Evans.
He stood there for a few seconds, fervently trying to come up with a way out of this situation. It was a skill that he had perfected over his years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, where he and his friends had been called upon numerous times to answer for many questionable deeds that had been conducted around the school.
He was just about to reply to his wife's question when he saw it. A twitch at the corner of his wife's mouth, belying her displeasure with the caution to the wind, he plastered a crooked grin upon his face (one that would always weaken her resolve), and dove head-first into the challenge.
"You know, Lily, the more we tire him out, the more he's likely to sleep though loud noises." he said with a little waggle of his eyebrows.
Holding the grin, he attempted to stare down his wife. She would cave, he knew she would; she was never a good liar.
Unable to hold his stare any longer, Lily finally broke into a fit of giggles and wrapped her husband into a hug. Harry, not understanding what was happening (other than knowing that the sparkles had disappeared), decided he didn't like having fun-time ending so quickly.
"Dada, more?" he called, causing them to break apart and look down to him.
Lily managed to interrupt James, as his mouth started to open. "Na-uh, it's time you got ready for bed, Little Man, while Daddy here cleans up all the mess he made."
She scooped Harry up off of the floor and carried him out of the room and up the stairs. James could hear her loudly explaining to Harry about how they would have to spend the next few days teaching his father how to put the toys away.
With an indignant huff, James took one look at the results of his little "father-son bonding" and decided that maybe a nice cuppa would be much better than manual labour. So, with a flick of his wand, the living room began to set itself right.
"Marauders always put their toys away,"he grumbled to himself as he headed in the direction of the kitchen to put the kettle on.
~oOo~
Voldemort turned the corner of the street and began examining the letter-boxes as he walked by. Coming to a stop outside of number ten, he stopped and gazed at the small cottage before him. He had no way of telling whether the people within were the ones he sought, or even if there were people within... well, that wasn't entirely true. His spy had discovered a way round the Fidelius charm, all he had had to do was to concentrate on... concentrate on the... on... on the... concentrate on... concentrate?
The Dark Lord scowled as he wracked his memory for what it was that he had been thinking about. This had been happening with increasing regularity, these past few days. It was almost as though there was something at work here that was separate from the Fidelius charm. There was something about the charm though... The charm itself, perhaps? No, that wasn't it. Voldemort's eyes lit up with realisation. The secret! The secret didn't cover the child. That was it!
Voldemort growled to himself at this latest slip in concentration and murmured to himself the one sentence that was the key to it all. "Harry Potter lives at Number 10, Sparrow Lane, Godric's Hollow."
Confident that he could once again hold his destination in mind, he glanced back at the cottage with a smirk forming on his face. They really should have been more careful when picking their secret. That way they wouldn't have forgotten to hide their unborn child as well.
The Fidelius charm, however powerful, was not without its weaknesses. He had shaken his head in disbelief when he had first discovered how simple it would be to collapse one. A simple ward was all it took. Well, okay, maybe it wasn't a simple ward. But when one had followers deep within the Department of Mysteries, one had access to magic that few people had even heard of.
Shaking his head at the carelessness of the likely occupants, Voldemort put his hand into a pocket and withdrew four golf-ball sized tetrahedrons, each surface of which was decorated with tiny, pentagonally arranged, runic words. To think; the so-called mighty Fidelius could be brought down by such small things...
He would have preferred to use these stones at his ultimate destination, because this was the only set that existed for the moment. However, there had been no headway in countering the Fidelius surrounding his actual target and there was no more time to create another set. He knew perfectly well where the child was; he was in his grandmother's home. It was just that nobody knew where exactly that particular home was. However, that would be remedied in just a few moments.
With a mere flicker of a thought, the four stones flew out of his hand and began burrowing into the base of the house; one into each of its four corners. Confident that the Fidelius was already beginning to collapse and that there was now no escape for his current target, he approached the door and raised his hand to knock, only to falter before his hand could begin to fall.
Quickly, he dropped a hand to his chest in such a fashion that a passing muggle may have thought that he was having a heart attack. He had no such ailment, however. No, the most feared wizard in recent history was not having a heart attack, but was rapidly growing concerned about a peculiar sensation that he had felt ripple out from a powerful trinket that he wore.
Of all his prized possessions, the only one that he carried with him (aside from his wand) was the Amulet of Baal. Said to be forged by the very same wizard who had developed the Killing Curse all those centuries ago, it was a powerfully dark item that had been sought by many. Voldemort had been the one to find it though, while travelling in Eastern Europe as a young man. Of all the places that it could have been found, he had located it in a muggle pawn shop.
No matter how he had come across it, it had proven to be a most spectacular discovery, as with it he had discovered that he was able to undermine the authority of the one of the Ministry's most useful creations. How exactly it worked, he still couldn't divine. However, that wasn't something that he was concerned about it at the moment. If people chose to believe that he was simply too powerful to succumb to the presence of dementors, then who was he to argue with them?
Shaking his head slightly, he shook off the odd sensation. It would be something he would have to investigate later, as he had come too far to stop now. With that in mind, he raised his hand once more and knocked loudly on the front door. He may be the mighty Dark Lord Voldemort, but even he liked to surprise people from time to time.
It was a shame really, because if he had spent but a moment longer pondering that odd sensation, he would have realised that the feeling was one that he used to experience a lot, when he was a small child: trepidation. Something bad was about happen and he had forgotten how that same feeling had saved him, countless times, before he had discovered magic.
~oOo~
"Dammit!" James cursed as he jumped back from the cup of hot tea he had just dropped, trying not to burn himself. It was a small side effect, he would say, of being startled out of one's skin while trying to drink.
Lily had been edgy for most of the day after another one of her nightmares, which of course meant that he had been getting jittery as well. A thought flashed across his mind at his wife's odd dreams; they started happening when she had first became pregnant. Perhaps... just perhaps...
Grinning to himself, at the thought of gaining a second sprog, he sent a cloth off to clean up the mess while he moved towards the door. Without conscious effort, he ignored that little niggling feeling in the back of his mind that was telling him that maybe, just maybe, his wife was correct.
"I swear Padfoot, if this isn't serious you are so getting your arse kicked!" he called out as he approached the door. "And no name jokes!" he added as an afterthought.
Looking though the peep-hole made all thoughts of his best friend flee from his mind. Standing on his front doorstep was the last person that he had ever expected to see on this side of the Fidelius charm.
It took a few moments for the realisation of their friend's betrayal to sink in, but when it did his inner Gryffindor couldn't help but let out a predatory growl. His blood began to pound in his ears and he knew only one thought, he was a Lion and his Pride was in danger, his Cub was in danger. Nobody harmed his Pride while this Lion still stood!
Taking several hasty paces back from the door, at an angle, he steeled himself then roared as loud as he could while taking aim at the door.
"Lily! Take Harry and run!"
He had barely managed to yell it all out before the front door came flying into the house with a resounding crash.
~oOo~
Voldemort had heard the small crash of falling crockery and the cursing from the direction of where he was told would be the kitchen and he smirked to himself; the Fidelius had fallen. He had to fight a full-blown grin as he thought of how much fun he was having so far, and the main event had yet to even start.
Pulling his emotions into check, he waited until he noticed the blood-traitor start yelling.
"You didn't expect me, did you, you fool," he murmured to himself as he raised his wand. "No one will run tonight" he snarled as he cast a silent bludgeoning hex, sending the door flying down the hallway.
Before he could enter, he was forced to dodge quickly, when a bright orange spell came flying back towards his head. He knew that James Potter was an adequate dueller, one of the better ones from Dumbledore's pitiful band. Yet he also knew that he himself was much, much better than the deluded fool that now stood in his way. A fool who would be dying very, very shortly.
Easily sliding into a duelling stance Voldemort advanced and the first fight of the night began in earnest.
~oOo~
When the various aurors and other assorted magical law officials would arrive on the scene, in the wee hours of the following morning, each one would stop briefly to survey the damage around the front entrance and each one would envision the fight that had happened here.
They would follow the trails of scorch marks and general damage laying around the area. The scattered remnants of a transfigured army of furniture could be seen splattered with blood. The shattered doorway that was noticeable from the outside. The burnt carpet and broken banister on the stairs. Even the great gaping holes in the inner walls told a story.
Each one would be able to tell that this wasn't the work of a fellow junior auror, or the work or a talented dueller, or even the work of a skilled transfigurer. No, this was the work of a man who had been willing to single-handedly fight the very demons of Hell in order to keep his family safe.
Having an idea of what awaited them upstairs only made the mourning of a fallen comrade all the more painful for them. The realisation dawning upon each of them, that he had well and truly given his all for his loved ones; all the while knowing (with a certainty) that he would never get to see them again.
~oOo~
Lily had been feeling edgy all day. It hadn't helped that she had started the day awakening from the same reoccurring dream that she had been having ever since becoming pregnant with Harry.
She had always thought divination to be a load of rubbish. A side effect, she guessed, from spending too much time with McGonagall as her mentor. Even so, there was just something about these dreams that unnerved her. There was always darkness, always shadows, always running, always terrified and never able to find him... never able to find her son.
She had tried to hide from Dumbledore's prophecy. She had thought that they had outsmarted him; that the ignorance of the magical populace would keep them safe. But, as soon as they were told that Voldemort was looking for her, for her secret, she had known that she couldn't stop it. The Darkness would discover her baby... and she would never see him again.
Her greatest hope, at this point, was that he would somehow survive to grow old and have a full life. Even if she couldn't be there to see it happen.
An inquisitive plea from Harry broke her from her morbid thoughts and she disentangled herself from her husband to scoop up her pride and joy.
"Na uh," she said, more to husband than her son. "It's time you got ready for bed, Little Man, while Daddy here cleans up all the mess he made."
As she walked out the door and made for the stairs, she couldn't help but put in an extra bit of ribbing. The amount of time she spent around the Marauders showed itself by making sure to speak loud enough for James to hear.
"You know Harry, I think we are going to have to sit your father down and show him how to pick up his toys, like a good boy. Just like you do," she said as she bounced Harry in her arms and earning her self a small chuckle from her bundle of joy.
Said laugh didn't last and it quickly turned into a fully-fledged yarn. "Oh, you are a tired one, aren't you? Here we are, one Harry-sized bed." she commented as she gently lay Harry down in his crib.
She couldn't help but stare at him at that point, something maternal firing deep within that she didn't want to fight. With a flick of her wand, his birdie mobile started spinning and playing its hauntingly beautiful music. Starting to hum along with the tune, she contemplated her son's long-held fascination with it. Her contemplation was quickly broken by a loud knocking upon the front door, causing her to turn towards the sound. Glancing back to Harry, she could tell he wasn't too pleased at being disturbed from his dozing so set about lulling him back to sleep.
"Lily! Take Harry and run!"
In that instant, time stopped for Lily Potter. All of her fears of loosing her son instantly jumped to the forefront of her mind. She never noticed the door being blasted off its hinges, or her son complaining about her husband's yelling. It wasn't until the sounds of fighting broke out in earnest, that the need to protect Harry overrode her frozen body and she sprung into action.
Grabbing Harry, she flicked her wand at the door, closing it and securing it with a squelch. Harry was still too young to portkey safely (let alone allowed to be apparated) and the only floo capable fireplace was downstairs, past whomever James was fighting. She wasn't much of a dueller herself, so didn't want to risk that option.
Hoping against hope that Harry would be okay with a short distance apparation, she glanced out the nursery window and saw that the street was clear. Holding Harry tightly she spun on the spot only for both of them to cry out in sudden pain.
Under normal circumstances, trying to disapparate though an anti-disapparation ward was an unpleasant experience, trying to side-along someone (even a small child), made it down-right painful. Whomever it was, they didn't want anybody running.
"Dammit!" she cursed, as she tried to catch her breath.
Trying for a more simplistic approach, Lily moved towards the window, all the while cringing against the sound of Harry wailing in her ear. Throwing the latch, she pushed on the large window to open it outwards. However, she soon found that it wouldn't budge any more than the door she had just sealed. Taking a few steps back, she quickly conjured a heavy brick before rapidly banishing it towards the window only to watch with rising panic as the brick bounced harmlessly off the undamaged glass.
Whomever it was that her husband was fighting definitely didn't want anybody running.
She soon discovered who it was, when she heard a sound that would haunt her for the rest of her short life; two of the three most feared words in the magical world being yelled, by the voice belonging to the third. It was followed closely by a sound that could only be her beloved James, the other half of her very being, falling to the floor with a sickening wet sound. A sound one would normally only hear when dropping a piece of raw meat upon the kitchen bench.
No one could withstand the killing curse, and her husband was now its latest victim.
"This is it, Harry," she murmured as she tried to choke back her tears. "This is it."
Swallowing thickly, she flashed a teary, false smile towards her still crying son. "Come on, Little Man. How about we find somewhere to hide you while Mummy takes care of the big bad monster, huh?"
Glancing quickly around the room, she spied a small cabinet sitting in the corner of the room. The one where she normally kept Harry's spare nappies. Rushing over to the cabinet she quickly vanished the shelves and their contents before placing Harry inside. Cursing at the fact that Harry wouldn't quieten down, she quickly cast a Muffliato on the inside of the cabinet and sent a silent thank-you to her old friend, for teaching her that spell.
Closing the door and securing it with another locking charm, she turned towards the door just in time to see it being blasted off its hinges.
~oOo~
As he toed the body of his latest victory, Voldemort couldn't help by ponder the shame in having to end the life of such a strong wizard. Even though the man wasn't a true pure-blood (at least as far as he was concerned), the man had proven to have had more potential than many of his own inner circle.
He shook his head sadly at the broken body before him, too many had had to die, too many. It would be over soon, though. Soon, the magical population of the world would ascend to the their rightful place in society. He had already succeeded where others had failed and he would do so again. He was Salazar's heir. He was Lord Voldemort. He was a god amongst mortals.
Taking a breath, to clear his thoughts, he stepped over the man that he had once hoped would join him. The guardian was defeated, now the map to his prize awaited. The child's last real protection would fall this night, right there, at the top of these stairs.
With a slight frown, he paused upon the base of the stairs and raised a hand to his medallion once more. It is doing it again. Whatever it was, Voldemort was rapidly beginning to dislike the sensation.
He removed the medallion from under his cloak to examine it. The black, glassy, obsidian disc, through which no known light could escape, was as flawless as ever as it sat in his pale hand. The fine golden chain was also as perfect as it had ever been.
With his frown deepening, he allowed the medallion to fall from his hand, the weight of it around his neck giving comfort to his rising unease. As soon as he had completed his errands tonight, he would have to seclude himself for a while, while he determined just what was happening with his medallion.
Continuing up the stairs, he made for a door that was covered in colourful images; the nursery. Laying a hand against the wood, he couldn't help the sinister grin that appeared on his face.
"She locked the door. How... quaint."
A locked door certainly wasn't going to stop him and with a casual flick of his bone-white wand the door flew off its hinges. A significantly more pronounced flick caught the incoming stunning spell and sent it careening down the stairwell. There were times like these when he wished that he didn't try to be an honourable wizard, as anyone who was foolish enough to think they could simply stun Lord Voldemort deserved to be punished in the most humiliating way imaginable.
But no, he had promised her as a prize for his spy and he kept his promises. He would not damage her... much.
Sidestepping the bright orange magical pulse that could only be a bone breaking hex, he aimed his wand and fired off a succession of bludgeoning hexes towards her legs. She managed to block one of them and jump clear of two more, but the fourth one hit her on her right knee, shattering her kneecap and sending her tumbling to the floor in agony.
"Lily, Lily, Lily... I am not here to kill you. You know what it is I seek," he chided as he summoned her fallen wand to him. Prizes didn't deserve such items.
His words seemed to cut through her pain, and she glared at him in anger. "I'd rather die," she growled.
"Neither you, nor you friends have to die this night. There is only one that-"
Voldemort's reply was cut off and he blinked in surprise when the wand which he had just captured flew out of his hand and back towards its owner. Wandless magic was nothing new to any decent witch or wizard but, surprisingly enough, this was the first time that he could remember being bested by a simple piece of wandless summoning. Now he knew why his spy had asked for such a prize; this woman had fire in her.
His introspection was cut short when he felt a piercing pain shoot though his left arm, reminding him that even the weak can still get lucky. Hazarding a glance, he saw a good chunk of his left biceps beginning to melt off of his arm. Freezing the curse with a flick of his wand, he regarded his opponent with a new sense of respect as she rose unsteadily, favouring her uninjured leg. Until now, only Moody and Dumbledore had dared to use his own art-form against him. Although, grudging respect aside, something told him that his arm wasn't what she had been aiming at.
Hardening his gaze, he conjured up a floating bronze shield in time to absorb her next curse. The shield didn't survive long and quickly fell to the floor as little more than shredded metal. In sudden shock and anger, Voldemort forcefully banished her into the wall. He wasn't shocked by the power behind her curse; he was shocked for the simple reason that she knew the curse. One which he had believed only his Death Eaters had known.
It was curse offered to him by one of his low-ranking Death Eaters, whom had apparently created it. The young Death Eater had sworn that he had never taught it to any other living soul. If she hadn't been taught before then, then she had to have been taught after.
Suddenly, there were two pieces of priceless information to collect from this woman. He had a spy in his midst.
"Who taught you that curse?" he growled at her as he angrily sent a blasting hex towards her fallen wand.
The woman didn't offer any answer, but did scream in pain when her wand exploded just as she was wrapping her fingers around it.
"Who taught you that curse?" he asked again.
Again, no answer as she cradled her mangled fingers, but he did detect a flicker of worry cross her face. She was hiding something. His spy would now have to pray that she told him what she wanted. Either that, or that they were very, very well versed in the healing arts.
Brandishing his wand, he gave it a forceful jab, conjuring a flying spike of pure silver. Said spike pieced the woman's left shoulder with enough force to drive it through her shoulder and into the wall behind her.
The woman screamed once more and her head flew back. Taking advantage of finally being able to see her eyes clearly, Voldemort brutally ripped into her mind, only to be momentarily stumped by what he saw. She wasn't trying to protect a spy... she was trying to protect her son.
The Dark Lord Voldemort grinned.
~oOo~
Lily couldn't help but feel violated as she felt the invading presence leave her mind. She was also confused about Voldemort's sudden interest in the curse she had used. It was one that she had seen the results of numerous times and had learnt it upon seeing a Death Eater cast it upon the family of one of the squibs that had been helping The Order. Curiously enough, the Death Eater had fled upon seeing her standing there, defenceless, as she stared in shock at the results of the curse.
All thoughts and confusion fled her though, when she saw Voldemort make his way over to a certain cabinet which sat in the corner of the room.
Harry!
With as much effort as she could, she gritted her teeth and pulled on the spike pinning her to the wall. It was awkward as she wasn't able to use her (now ruined) right hand, but her adrenalin filled veins allowed her make a quick job of it without succumbing to the pain that was currently burning throughout her body.
Using the wall for support, she hauled herself up, while Voldemort crouched down at the cabinet that she had cast the Muffliato charm upon. Praying that her damaged leg would hold her, she hobbled as quietly as she could towards Voldemort. She needn't have been concerned about any noises, as her son's terrified cries were soon exposed to the room.
Grinding her teeth at the agony that shot through her with each step, she raised the spike in her good hand and lunged at the Dark Lord's back.
It was no use.
Voldemort had known of her approach and had spun around just in time to banish her backwards, once more. This time he didn't allow her to hit the wall, but left her hanging in mid-air, suspended by her outstretched arms in a sick mockery of a crucifixion.
"Tut-tut-tut," Voldemort chuckled over her son's cries as said child struggled to free himself from the grasp Voldemort had on the back of his pyjamas. "Where is the vaunted Gryffindor bravery? Attacking someone while their back is turned; how... cowardly of you."
Lily felt rage boil within her. Despite the flaring pain, she struggled to wriggle free of the invisible bonds which held her in the air.
"It is pointless to struggle, My Dear. You cannot free yourself. Well... there is one thing you can do, to be granted your freedom," Voldemort paused to catch her eyes in a cold stare. "Tell me what I want to know," he demanded.
"I'll never betray my friends," she rasped in anger before she took advantage of his current position and spat at his face.
Half of her had expected Voldemort to strike her for her insult, the other half expected to be cursed. She didn't however expect to see Voldemort wipe her spittle from his face and lick it off of his finger like it was the most sensual offering that she could have given him. It was a sight that made bile rise in her throat.
"Oh, I think you will tell me everything I want to know," the Dark Lord whispered sadistically, sending a shiver down her spine. "Crucio!"
It took Lily a few seconds to realise that, while she was screaming, she wasn't actually screaming in pain. It took only a fraction of a second longer to realise that her son was no longer crying in fear, but was now wailing in agony.
"HARRY!"
Voldemort lifted his curse and turned back to Lilly. "You know what you have to do to stop this," he said calmly.
She opened her mouth instantly, but a portion of her mind, one that held undying loyalty to her friends stilled her tongue before she could say anything that she would regret.
"No? Crucio!"
"NO! Please! Have mercy, torture me."
Voldemort lifted the curse once more.
"Mercy? I am an honourable man, you know," he enounced clearly. "All you have to do is tell me what I want to know."
Lily was torn. She knew that whatever she decided this night, she would not survive to see the sun rise. She also knew that her son's life depended on her decision, along with that of her closest friend, who had placed her life, and the life of her family, into Lily's hands.
"Oh well... Crucio!"
She was screaming again, in a sick harmony with her baby boy. Where was The Order? Where was Dumbledore? Where was -
"When the time comes, Child, call for help. It will be there"
The words of that crazy old man, the one who attacked her in Diagon Alley, cut through her anguish. Was that really two years ago now? Why was it that she could still remember his voice? Whatever the reason, her screams quickly became pleas. Pleas that she knew nobody would be able to hear because of the Fidelius charm.
The pain in her shoulders was almost unbearable and it was getting harder and harder to breath, with her arms held up the way they were, let alone call for help. Even so, she couldn't help but believe that this was her only chance. Drawing in as much air as she could, she opened her mouth, one more time.
"Help! Please, for the love of God. WHOEVER YOU ARE... HEEELLLP!"
With all the screaming that was occurring within the room, nobody noticed the odd reverberation that that rippled through the air.
They did, however, notice the sound caused by the only window in the room shattering.
~oOo~
Voldemort was on a high; he hadn't felt this alive for years. Bellatrix had definitely been correct about playing with the kids. He had to be careful though. The brat was useless to him dead. It had been one of Bellatrix's ambitions to torture someone to death via Cruciatus, not his. There was a brief flicker of a thought that passed though his head as he lifted the curse to give the woman chance to speak; perhaps he should start reigning Bellatrix in a bit, before she got out of control.
He felt his irritation rise. The woman still wasn't cooperating.
"Oh well... Crucio!"
The pure power that surged though him,as he tortured the toddler, and through him the mother, made his blood tingle and a warm feeling pulsate in his chest... just beneath his amulet. Voldemort frowned slightly in confusion, and was just about to break off the curse when the sound of braking glass made him turn towards the only window in the room.
To his shock, a small flock of birds had broken though the the glass. He just had enough time to make a mental note to express his displeasure in Rookwood (who had only been able to make the wards one way) when an unbelievably sharp pain shot through his wand arm as it was wrenched to the side by a large white owl. The owl had been travelling at such a speed that the bird's talons were soon forcibly ripped from his arm when it would no long swing in the direct that the bird wanted. It was a rather significant inconvenience for Voldemort that the owl succeeded in tearing off rather large chunks of flesh in the process.
With a strangled grunt of pain, Voldemort sent a hasty wandless banishing charm towards the birds that were trying to attack his face and summoned his wand to his off-hand. A few quick fire hexes and the floor was soon littered with crispy owls, pigeons, starlings and the lone falcon which he assumed had been responsible for 'opening' the window.
The Dark Lord Voldemort had seen many strange and unusual things in his fifty odd years of being a wizard. He had even been involved a fair number of them himself. From the nearly harmless ability to project oneself from one side of the country to the other, all the way though to tearing his own soul in twain, whilst walking the path towards immortality. But seeing a flock of birds come crashing though a heavily warded window, with the apparent singular mindset of stopping him from harming a child: that was definitely something new.
Looking over the injuries he had gained, he felt something; something he thought he would never feel again. He cast a furtive look at the boy on the floor, framed in the moonlight reflecting off the floor, as the child started to slowly crawl away from him. Voldemort may not have understood what had happened, but he did know one thing; there was now another emotion that pulsated though him, centred around his prized medallion. One he recognised intimately: Terror.
It was an emotion that he had not experienced directly since the time before he had discovered that he could make the other children hurt, simply by willing it. But why was his medallion making him feel this way? Or was it that he was terrified but trying to rationalise it as being caused by the medallion? But what was there to be terrified of? Of the mother? Of this child? A child who apparently could still function after being submitted to a lengthy Cruciatus Curse?
Voldemort took a hurried step away from the child and lifted his wand. No. There was no way that such a young child should be still cognisant enough to move this soon after that curse. Unless... Could it be that he had it wrong? That the Longbottom boy wasn't the one; that this child was the child of the prophecy, the only one that had the power to stop him...
But, how? The boy in front of him wasn't even born in the correct month!
He didn't know how long he stood there staring at the boy, but he was broken out of his stupor by a voice that was filled with an overwhelming terror. A voice that screamed within his mind, ordering him to action.
~KILL HIM! KILL HIM! NOW!~
And follow the order he did. Doing his best to reign in the turmoil of emotions that were coursing though him, he aimed his wand and called forth all the hatred and anger that he could muster.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!" He roared, pushing all the will he could spare though his wand, while the sound of rushing wind filled the air; the sound of Death's scythe racing to claim another victim. He had already let his confidence get the better of him once this night and he wouldn't risk it again, not when he now knew what lay before him.
For the second time that night, the Dark Lord Voldemort witnessed something highly unusual, even by Wizarding standards. As the brilliant green of the curse rushed towards the child, he saw the child's eyes harden as they reflected the moonlight pouring in through the shattered window.
This, in itself, wasn't enough to unnerve the greatest Dark Lord of known history. No, what finally managed to do that was the fact that when the unblockable, infallible, always successful curse made contact the child's chest... it failed to kill him. Instead, the curse rebounded and came flying back towards him, whereupon it struck the medallion hanging from around his neck.
The last thing Lord Voldemort would know of that night would be an indescribable sensation as he fell to his knees, before the world around him exploded in immeasurable pain.
~oOo~
It had known that it was a mistake to come here. It had heard the child's cry. It had felt its power and it did not like what it had felt. The last time it had felt a power like that, it had feared for its existence. It did not understand; a small human child was not supposed to have such power at its command.
No matter how it tried to unravel this puzzle, it could only divine but one thing; it was in danger. A danger it had not known for many an age.
The last time that such a danger had existed, things had ended with it being completely cut itself off from Master; it had been the only way to protect itself. By using all but an infinitesimally small amount of its power, it had hastily constructed a prison for itself. It was a horrible action, a necessary action. An action which had cost it its link to Master.
It hoped that Master was still be out there somewhere. It had, after countless years, gathered enough power to be able to feel an influence upon the world and felt overjoyed at the thought that there was proof that Master may have survived. However, stuck within its self-constructed prison, it didn't have the strength to break out and call to Master.
Here and now though was a bigger problem, a terrible threat to both itself and to Master. With as much power as it could muster, power it had taken centuries to amass, stolen from the very life-force of the sorcerers that had carried it, it reached out to the current thrall and commanded.
~KILL HIM! KILL HIM! NOW!~
If it could have sighed in relief, it would have when it felt the thrall deliver a killing strike. That relief was short lived though, as it sensed a new threat, one far worse than before. It was a power that definitely didn't belong within a small human child, or any being of this world, for that matter. It was a power that had just sent the killing strike back towards the thrall.
Then there was pain.
Terrible, terrible pain rocked its very being. Pain such that it had never felt before. Terrible, terrible pain. Terrible pain wrapped within so much power. Power... yes... yes, the power! Unbelievable, angry, hate-filled, power!
Seriously weakened from being forced to command the thrall, it did the only thing it could think of at that time, it drank; it drank and it didn't stop. Oh, it knew that it was most likely killing the thrall, given that it was drinking in the thrall's life-force in the most direct way imaginable. But the power! The glorious, never-ending power. It was almost almost as if the thrall was actually unable to die.
Oh the glorious strength that was returning to it, greater than it had felt in many a millennia. Soon it could... soon it would... finally it would be able... just a little bit more... there!
With a sharp burst of power the prison shattered, releasing a force so powerful that the walls of the flimsy building were forced outwards, far beyond where they should have been. At the same time the thrall was sent flying backwards.
Basking in its new found freedom, it couldn't help itself... it sung.
~oOo~
Lily was sure that she would need to see a cardiac specialist after this night was over. Any more shocks, or stress, and she was sure she would suffer from a heart-attack. It had been heartbreaking listening to her husband be killed, and then to be forced to watch as her only child was tortured. On top of that, she was positive that her heart had stopped beating altogether when she saw the green of the killing curse strike Harry, only to see the impossible happen, when the curse was reflected back towards Voldemort.
Rolling over to take her weight off of her injured shoulder (the one that she had unfortunately landed on when Voldemort's spell had broken), she stared in shock at the sight of the most feared man in recent history kneel there in a silent scream of agony, as tendrils of killing-curse-green magic pulsed, non-stop, around his body.
Looking quickly towards her son to make sure that the same wasn't happening to him, she felt panic rise up again when she saw his eyes flutter closed. Dragging herself across the floor towards him, she was unbelievably revealed to see that he was still alive, but her minimal medical training was screaming at her to keep him awake.
"Harry! Harry, wake up! Mummy's here, you have to sta-"
Lily was cut off when a great explosion occurred behind her, forcing her down upon her son. Pushing herself up, she had just started to turn towards the source of the explosion when her vision suddenly exploded in white light.
Lily Potter would never get to see what had caused the explosion, or find out why her vision was suddenly filled with white light. Instead, she became the latest example of the much overlooked fact that even witches and wizards were obliged to obey certain laws of physics. In this case, it was the law which implies that a human skull is highly unlikely to survive a collision with a falling support beam. A falling support beam that still had a good-sized piece of a roof attached to it.
It was an unfortunate thing too, as there was now only a single, small pair of sleepy eyes left to witness a small, golden object roll around under the debris of the collapsed roof. An item that projected odd looking symbols upon the surrounding surfaces as it moved.
It was unfortunate, because it would be many years before those eyes would realise just what it was that they had witnessed. After all, who was alive that could recognise those strange symbols, let alone understand the meaning behind the words: Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk, agh burzum-ishi krimpatul.