Chapter Text
September 4th, 1980
On a rusty swingset, in a small, dark park just outside Privet Drive, Petunia spotted a young woman.
The swings creaked as the girl swayed back and forth, rocking a bundled up child in her arms and humming into his ear.
A twig snapped. The girl whipped her head up. Seeing there was no danger, she went back to soothing the infant.
Petunia stepped out from behind the bushes. Plucking a stray leaf from her hair, she huffed, bringing Lily’s attention back to her. “I suppose you have an explanation for calling me here in the dead of night, or—is that a child?”
The boy stirred. Lily shushed her and went back to rocking him. “How have you been?” Lily asked casually.
Petunia sneered. “That’s bold of you to ask, considering I haven’t heard from you in years.”
“If you think that’s bold, you’re going to hate what I say next,” her sister joked, though Petunia could see through the stiff movements and fidgeting that she was tense.
The girl carefully laid the child in a little basket at her feet, pulled a red blanket over it, then stood up. Lily slowly made her way towards her.
“Who’s child is that?” she asked.
“Mine,” replied Lily, as if it were the most normal thing in the world.
“Oh.”
Of course she could leave it to Lily to hide information as big as this, even from her sister.
She shouldn’t have been surprised; they’d never shared much with each other. She’d been the last to know when Lily and that wizard—James—had gotten married. Why would she mention anything about having a child?
At some point, Lily had stopped telling her things. Petunia was glad. She didn’t want anything to do with Lily’s strange, magical, perfect life.
“We hid it from everyone,” explained Lily, like she could read her mind. “For his safety, you see. I think you’re the first person to find out, other than James and I.”
“I know we haven’t always been the closest, but…” she continued, clasping Petunia’s hands as she drew near. “‘Tuney, what I’m about to ask you will be the biggest thing I’ve asked you in my life.”
Petunia looked down on the girl and sneered. How dare she? What could she possibly have been thinking, to show up in the blue like this just to ask for a favour!
Lily had always been like this: entitled, vain, oblivious.
It was no wonder their sisterly bond had decayed so quickly.
“What could you possibly want from me?” she scoffed.
Her cold expression slipped off her face when Lily looked back up, eyes wide and pleading.
Something had changed. That innocence which hung around her sister for as long as she could remember was gone. Something harsher replaced it, something so raw and desperate that it had her wondering ‘What in God’s name had happened?’.
Lily had mentioned, a long time ago, some conflict between their people. She may even have referred to it as a war. Whatever it was, it had clearly taken a large toll on her sister.
“I–” Lily’s grip tightened as she paused. The ends of her hair lifted up as a gust of wind brushed by. In the dim, orange light of the streetlamp nearby, she looked like a fiery goddess. “I need you to look after Harry—my child.”
“What?” shrieked Petunia, dropping her hands and backing away.
Lily held her hands up and stepped forward. “Petunia, listen, it should only be for a few months—”
“I want nothing to do with him!” Petunia spat. “It’s not my problem if you or your idiotic husband can’t take care of your own bloody child!”
“James is gone.” Her lip quivered as she said the words. “Please, ‘Tuney,” her sister begged, voice shaking. “It’s not—we lost. We lost the war, and they’re going to hunt me down just like they hunted James! I know I’m asking for too much, but Harry’s too young for me to look after and I–I don’t have anyone else!”
The way her voice faltered chipped at Petunia’s heart. “But Vernon—”
Lily dropped to her knees and prayed. “I need this, Petunia,” she whispered.
“‘Lils, you know how he feels about magic. He’s worse than I am!”
“Harry doesn’t have any! He’s just like you, trust me,” she replied earnestly, eyes burning with determination.
How could Petunia say no?
“...Alright.”
“Alright?”
“Yes. I’ll take him in, but only for—” Thin arms wrapped her in a heartbeat. Lily had lost far too much weight, Petunia noticed, gingerly putting a hand on her back. “Only for a few months,” she added.
Lily stepped back from the hug. “Of course,” she agreed, smiling.
She walked back to the swingset, where the boy still slept. Leaning over, she kissed him gently, then whispered something in his ear.
Her face was turned away from Petunia when she stood back up. “Goodbye, ‘Tuney,” she said quietly, turning on her heel and disappearing into the night.
*
Eleven years later
Bacon sizzled hotly in the pan. Sweet hints of its salty scent wafted tantalisingly through the air, its scent eyewateringly delicious.
“How much longer will you take, boy?” Aunt Petunia tutted behind him, tapping her foot impatiently. “Vernon, could you call Dudley down?”
“Let the boy take his time Petunia. He needs to look presentable for his first day at Smeltings,” replied his uncle, puffing his chest out in pride as he read the morning paper, which displayed on the front page, ‘BREAKING NEWS—over 20 confirmed dead in London apartment building fire’.
They didn’t care whether Harry seemed presentable or not. In fact, he’d been called into the kitchen before he even had a chance to clean himself up. It wouldn’t have made much difference if he had, to be fair. Nothing could save his hastily sewn hand-me downs, or his impossibly unruly hair.
Despite the rough morning, Harry had high hopes for the day. He had heard that a new school means a fresh start.
Maybe this year he’d finally make friends. After all, he and Dudley wouldn’t be going to the same school anymore. His main worry was ending up in the same class as Malcolm or Dennis, Dudley’s friends. Though in a school as big as Stonewall High, it was unlikely.
Vernon mumbled something indecipherable about the news.
“What’s the matter?” Petunia asked, walking towards the foot of the staircase to shriek, “Duddikins! Breakfast is ready!”
“Bloody terrorists,” grumbled Vernon, “You would think our useless government would take some action.”
Petunia hushed him as she stepped back into the kitchen. “You should be careful what you say, dear. What if Dudley hears?”
She pursed her lips when Vernon scoffed. “Don’t you remember the Loughborrows down the street? Always complaining about something or the other, especially if it involved the government—heaven knows how I put up with them. Well, Annie told me that the day their little boy mentioned something to his teachers at school, the entire family disappeared. No one’s seen them since.”
“You think they’ve been kidnapping families? Hah! Petunia, I think you’ve been spending too much time on the telly,” chuckled Vernon.
Petunia didn’t smile back. “I’m being serious, Vernon,” she whispered, conscious of Dudley’s footsteps thudding towards the stairs. She glanced, rather obviously, at Harry, “That woman warned me, back then, that things like this might happen.”
Harry had no idea who “that woman” was. She must be rather intimidating, considering just the mention of her had Vernon go pale so quickly. If the man’s fingers held onto the paper any harder, they’d punch holes through it.
“You—you think that all of this is because of…” Vernon gulped loudly. “Is it because of his lot?”
“Who’s lot?” asked Harry.
“Don’t ask questions!” snapped Petunia. “Pass over the plate—oh! Duddikins, dear, come over. I’ve made your favourite!” With a fake smile, she beckoned him to the table.
Dudley, clueless as ever, looked around the table and asked, “What’s wrong with Dad?”
“Nothing dear. Here, try some of the bacon,” said Petunia, scraping food onto his plate. It shut the boy up quickly.
*
It was raining when he walked home.
Pouring, in fact. Heavy droplets fell to his head like buckets. The rain was so heavy he could barely see ahead. Vehicles sped by, sending sprays of water into the air.
Any hopes Harry had that morning had been slowly chipped away.
Thanks to Aunt Petunia making him stay back to wash the dishes, Harry had arrived on his first day ten minutes late. By then everyone had already paired up at their desks, leaving Harry to sit alone on the only empty table.
To make matters worse, he was right in front of Malcolm and Dennis, the people he wanted to see the least. They clearly had not forgotten how fun it was to torment Harry in primary school, seeing as they spent most of the day teasing him behind his back. The other students avoided him during breaks. They probably thought he looked odd, with his ill-fitting clothes and botched haircut and scrawny figure. At the very least he stood out.
The cold seeped through his clothes and spread along his body. He should have brought a coat.
He’d really thought things would be different this time. That, for once, he would be accepted.
Maybe he really was a freak, just like everyone said. Maybe that was why his only family, the Dursleys, didn’t like him.
Voices appeared behind him. Voices which sounded suspiciously like Dudley and Piers.
“Mum won’t let me go out after school. She says it's too dangerous," complained Piers.
“Yeah, mine too. I think it's because of those…’terrorismic’ attacks in the news,” replied Dudley.
“Have you heard the rumours?”
“What rumours?”
“Well,” Piers switched to a whisper, only he was so terrible at keeping quiet that Harry could hear it over the rain. “I hear they aren’t normal terrorists. Apparently they dress funny, like they wear pointy hats, and huge jackets that look like cloaks. I’ve even heard they have, like, magic powers—”
“Magic isn’t real,” Dudley said firmly, copying the mantra Vernon liked to repeat when anything supernatural was brought up.
“Is that your cousin?”
Harry’s heart dropped to his stomach.
Something—or someone—shoved him from behind, forcing him to twist around. The boys cornered him. They flanked his sides, while the only thing behind him was the busy road.
“How’s Stonehill High going?” asked Dudley, cloyingly nice.
“Isn’t that the school where they stick first years’ heads down the toilet?” asked Piers, wrinkling his nose in disgust.
“Only the odd ones,” answered Dudley, “Harry, how was the view from inside a toilet? I’ve always wanted to know.”
“I’d take it over the view I’ve got right now,” Harry retorted, looking straight at his cousin.
It took the other two a good moment to understand what he meant, before Dudley’s hands gripped his shirt.
“You know, Piers, I think if anyone could have magic powers it would be Potter. He’s always been a bit queer.”
“I think he is a queer,” remarked Piers.
“No I’m not,” snapped Harry, who was trying and failing to pull Dudley’s hands from his shirt.
Dudley laughed. “He definitely is. Have you seen how he stares at other boys? I bet he’s a pervert.”
“Pervy Potter!” sang Piers.
Before he knew it, Harry pulled free from Dudley’s hold, blood rushing through his ears and into his head. He made a massive a swing at Piers’ stupid, spotty face— and missed.
The boys found this hilarious. It set them off into a bout of laughter that had them clutching their stomachs and wiping away tears. Meanwhile Harry stood in place, frozen with embarrassment. His eyes stung furiously.
“I can’t believe he missed!” wheezed Dudley.
Harry grit his teeth as another surge of anger flooded through him. “I only missed because your fat head blocking my—“
He was swept off his feet. For a moment time seemed to freeze, while he was suspended in the air, and it felt an awful lot like flying. The moment was broken by the force of something heavy, and fast, crashing into him. Everything went black.
*
His back felt cold. No, it felt wet. For some reason his entire underside was drenched. Under his hands he felt hard ground, coated in a thin sheet of water. It splashed as he flexed his fingers.
He was more confused as to why he was sprawled out on his back. He was also confused as to why his eyes were still closed.
Groaning, Harry forced his eyes open. The ceiling was blindingly white. He sat up and looked around, only to be met with more of the same colour. This place seemed to be an expanse of endless white. It wasn’t a room, as far as he could tell. If it was, it was too large to find any walls. Surely this couldn’t be somewhere outside, though?
The memories flooded back like water bursting from a dam. The rain, the road, the fight, the fall. Something heavy had hit him. It must have been a truck. Suddenly Harry realised where he must be.
He was in heaven.
Surprisingly, he wasn’t scared. In fact, he was weirdly calm, apathetic even. His mind felt like it had been replaced by cotton candy, and all his reasonable thoughts had fizzled away.
Wasn’t heaven meant to have other people in it? As far as Harry could see there was no one. Maybe if he went searching he would—
“Hello Harry.” Harry jumped. He twisted around in the direction of the sound.
Upon seeing her, his jaw fell open. She towered over him, dark red hair falling over a black, feathered cloak. Black clothing shrouded every area of her, except from the ivory skin of her face. Most notable were her eyes, emerald green, which glinted unnaturally. They seemed to swallow up her entire face.
She also looked suspiciously like him.
“Mum?” he whispered, awestruck.
She tried to smile softly at him, but on her warped face it was jagged. “Not quite,” she replied.
“Not quite?” repeated Harry.
The woman nodded, extending an arm for him to get up. “Come walk with me, I’ll explain.”
Despite his better thoughts, he took her hand.
For a while they walked in silence. They may as well have been walking in place, seeing as the scenery didn’t change one bit. The lack of colour was becoming an eyesore.
Eventually the silence became too much for him to stand. “Who are you?” he asked.
“I’m the owner of this place,” she said.
Harry gasped. “So…you must be God!”
“Close,” she shrugged, turning right and tugging him along with her. After a pause she asked, “Where do you think we are, Harry?”
“Heaven, right?”
She laughed. It was a horrible, barking sound. “They’re related in a way, I suppose. You can think of this like a bridge from your dimension to the afterlife. This is my domain.”
“Oh,” said Harry, even though the thought made his head hurt.
For the first time during their walk the woman turned her head to look at him. “What must happen for a person to go from life to the afterlife?”
“Er…you’d have to die?” replied Harry, thinking the answer was obvious.
Then it came to him. If this woman was in charge of the space between the afterlife and life, that meant she would be in charge of death, which meant… “You control death?” he asked, uncertain.
“I am Death,” she corrected.
“Oh.” If he’d been told this in any other situation, he’d probably have freaked out. However in this dazed, dreamlike state, he moved on quickly. “So why do you look like my mother?” Harry asked.
Death shrugged. “Humans tend to find their mothers comforting. I needed you to be as calm as possible.”
They walked in silence, hand in hand, for a little while longer. Harry let his thoughts wander, until they settled on a rather pressing question. “How long will it take for me to reach the afterlife?” he wondered out loud.
“It depends. Do you want to go?”
Harry frowned. “Where else would I go?”
“You could go back,” Death replied.
“What?” Harry exclaimed, dropping her hand and freezing.
She turned back to him and tilted her head, eyes wide and unblinking. “I can send you back, if you want. Your precious life, cut so short, could be extended.”
He didn’t need to think twice. “How?” he asked.
Death smiled, revealing a wide set of sharp teeth. “We could make a deal. I have business down in your dimension, but I can’t reach that place without a link. You could be my link.”
“How much business do you have, exactly?” Harry asked warily. He had the feeling that he was being drawn into something much, much more complicated than what Death was letting on.
Her smile grew wider, more desperate. “I need you to defeat the Dark Lord.”
“Who?” Whoever it was, he sounded dangerous. The idea of this deal was getting increasingly less appealing.
“You’ll learn who he is soon enough,” she replied flippantly. “What you should be more concerned about is your lack of time. We’re quickly approaching the afterlife. You can’t make any decisions there.”
She kneeled down and held her arms out. Water soaked through her heavy robes. “All you have to say is one word, and I’ll send you back. No human has ever been given this chance.”
She was right. To anyone sane it would be an obvious decision. Harry gulped. He took her hands, body shaking so hard it sent vibrations through the endless puddle at his feet. “I’ll do it,” he whispered.
Goosebumps prickled up his arms. A sudden wind picked up around them. He felt it first on his neck, where his hair lifted up, and felt the wind tug at the back of his shirt, then his body was pulled backwards, as if sucked through a narrow tube, with only the iron grip of Death holding him.
He silently begged the creature with his eyes to not let go, not let him fall, not let him get pulled into the darkness— She let go. The last thing Harry saw before being pulled through was the cloaked figure staring past him, standing out like a blot of ink against a white sheet.
*
Lucius waited in the hall, foot tapping anxiously.
‘Remember to clear your mind,’ was what Narcissa always reminded him. He was never as talented as her in Occlumency. How she managed to conceal her thoughts, to trick the intruder into seeing something else, he would never know. The best Lucius could do was to dispel the thoughts entirely.
Many thought the Dark Lord’s most dangerous ability was his immense power. Others believed it was his mind. To Lucius, his most terrifying skill was Legimency. With only a glance, the man could slip into your head and grasp the deepest corners of your mind.
‘Clear your mind.’ The stone hallway was cold. Every breath echoed across the long walls.
Lucius was relieved when the Dark Lord finally called him into his study. Sitting at his desk, writing calmly, the Dark Lord looked almost like a normal man. It didn’t help that, after his mysterious travels, he had returned with a new look.
Replacing the disfigured and snake-like face was the appearance of a handsome young man with dark hair. The only remnant of his old form were the glaring red eyes. Lucius found this form even more terrifying than the last.
“The reports, Lucius?” said the Dark Lord, cocking an eyebrow.
He flushed slightly, embarrassed at having been caught staring. “Y–yes, my Lord,” Lucius stammered as he bowed slightly. “The ministry has been running smoothly. There hasn’t been an uprising in years, as you know, of course. However…there was a recent attack on the muggles. I believe some Death Eaters were behind it.”
It was always a pain to deal with muggle attacks. Just this morning he’d received multiple angry messages from their Prime Minister. If these attacks went on too long they might jeopardise their arrangement.
The Dark Lord nodded. “Send an order for them to stop,” he said.
“Of course. I was also wondering, my lord, if you were planning to announce your return soon. Narcissa wishes to throw a celebration, you see—”
“You can tell her she won’t need to worry. I’m not interested in making myself known for the time being,” the Dark Lord said sharply.
Lucius nodded. When he still lingered by the doorway, the Dark Lord sighed, as if he didn’t want anything more than for the blonde man to leave. “Is there anything else, Lucius?”
Lucius hesitated. He didn’t want to waste the Dark Lord’s precious time on useless information. This, however, may be something of interest to the man.
“Yes, my lord,” said Lucius, bowing a second time. “The Potters…the ministry found their child. He was taken a few days ago.”