Bathilda's Secret – Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

"Not Harry! Please … have mercy … have mercy … Not Harry! Not Harry! Please – I'll do anything-"

"Stand aside – stand aside, girl -"

He could have forced her away from the cot, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all …

The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like her husband. The child had not cried all this time: he could stand, clutching the bars of his cot, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his mother would pop up any moment, laughing-

He pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: he wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The child began to cry: it had seen that he was not James. He did not like it crying, he had never been able to stand the small ones' whining in the orphanage -

"Avada Kadava!"

The curse struck its target, illuminating the cot in a burst of green.

It was instantaneous, the ricochet impossible and just as bright and deadly. Voldemort dropped to the floor, barely dodging the retaliating curse.

The wall exploded behind him, glass and rubble scattering across the room. Voldemort's wand cut downwards, his shield absorbing the brunt of the tremendous force. The crib remained undisturbed, sitting at the edge of the room but untouched from the shattering debris.

Dust flooded the room. It would have suffocated Voldemort's senses had it not been dispersed by his wand.

Voldemort stood, his robes draping heavily as his fierce gaze settled on the cot. The child was no longer standing; instead one small hand clutched the bars feebly. The boy was limp and slack as he lay resting upon his small bed spread.

Voldemort stepped closer, ignoring the smouldering wreckage and the sprawled body of Lily Potter. He only had eyes for the child.

It only took a single moment to tear Voldemort's resolve apart as all logical explanations disintegrated. His curse had failed.

It was impossible, but confirmed with his own eyes. The child's chest moved gently, rising and falling softly.

The Boy Lived.

Voldemort stared at the blood dripping from the boys forehead as he tried to understand.

The curse was never meant to mark, nor the victim survive, but the child was clearly defying all magic as he lay almost as if he were sleeping. A raw lightening bolt cut into his forehead. Voldemort moved his hand towards cautiously forwards, tracing the bloody pattern with his own long fingers.

It burned. The boy woke at his touch, his screams sobbing loudly in the otherwise silent room. Voldemort drew back, hissing under his breath as he came to one single conclusion.

He could not touch the child.

What magic was this-

Voldemort's gaze flicked towards the mudblood, unmoving and definitely dead on the floor. She surely did not have the power for such protection but something was clearly amiss. No one survived the killing curse.

The small treasure that Voldemort carried remained tucked in his robes, unused and useless without this boys death. His soul remained in tact, not even dented as the boy lived, unhurt, but for his bleeding forehead.

There could only be one answer. One way to unearth the truth behind the child's survival.

The prophecy.

It had to be the prophecy which protected the boy, nothing else could have saved him. Only, its secret was locked behind Dumbledore and the Ministry.

Voldemort tapped his wand on the cots edge, his eyes narrowing as the child's screams did not silence. He only had a few minutes to act, the Aurors would surround the property within minutes and the boy had to be secured. Voldemort needed more time to think, to understand what had occurred.

Pettigrew arrived to his summons, eyes wide and alarmed as sweat dripped from the Death Eater's brow. The wizard failed to hide his fear and pain as his gaze instantly found the stiff body situated in the room.

"Take the boy," Voldemort hissed.

"M-My Lord?"

Lord Voldemort did not need to ask again. One fierce glance was enough.

Pettigrew nodded, his hands shaking as he bent over to pick up the child.

The boy fell silent at once, seeking out the familiarity of Pettigrew's robes as he buried his head in deep, as if it would hide him from the Dark Lord.

"Take the boy to Malfoy Manor and wait for my arrival," Voldemort said.

Pettigrew daren't say another word as he bowed low. He donned his white mask, which seemed to alarm the child as he squirmed, pushing weak hands in an attempt to be free.

Pettigrew clutched the child tight as he left the room. This time he ignored the body lying distinctly in the middle of the floor.

The Dark Lord didn't linger, his thoughts unrelenting and useless in providing any conclusion. He stepped over his newest victims, before he too disapparated away.

Voldemort moved quickly, summoning his most trusted and loyal. His Death Eaters alone knew his darkest secrets and the desperation that lay within. And yet, this child had something he desired, had conquered the one thing Lord Voldemort prized above all else.

The room itself was grand, with a long ornate table as its centrepiece. A dozen Death Eaters waited in silence, watching Pettigrew and the boy with more than mild interest.

"Pettigrew, place the boy on the table."

Pettigrew only pulled the boy closer in his arms.

"My Lord, please-" he started as the child struggled unhappily, his sobs loud and obnoxious.

Pettigrew silenced himself at Voldemort's horrendous stare. Pettigrew bowed his head low as he presented the boy.

"James and Lily Potter are dead," Voldemort said softly, "This is their son, Harry Potter."

He held his wand lightly, directed just above the boy's vision.

"For some reason I cannot touch the boy," Voldemort said, his eyes glowering down into such small frightened green.

"My Lord?" Lucius Malfoy said as his brow knitted together. "Any protection should have died along with his parents."

"Crucio," Voldemort hissed. The curse struck the child, but instead of the intense pain and despair the boy only shifted uncomfortably, his cries still ringing on.

Lucius Malfoy shifted forwards, his mouth agape, while others could only stare, each one unable to comprehend what they had just witnessed.

"Lucius, harm the child," Voldemort said. Pettigrew tensed but he made no further protest.

Lucius obeyed, his own wand cutting down as high pitched screams pierced the room.

With only a nod from his Lord, Lucius cast a silencing spell over the boy cutting short his lingering cries.

Too many of his death eaters had tensed, their eyes wide with alarm as Voldemort sneered.

"How weak," Voldemort hissed. "You let your feelings cloud your judgements. This boy would be the death of me and you would see the child unharmed?"

It was Parkinson who spoke up.

"My Lord, many of us have young children. I have no pity towards the child only for reflection on my own if they ever were to come to harm."

"Then let us hope they never come to harm," Voldemort hissed.

If Lucius had any pain he covered it well as he cleared his throat.
"It would seem that the boy's protection is isolated to you, My Lord, although I suspect the spell is only weak, surely a mere-"

"Avada Kedarva," Voldemort hissed, positioning his aim so that the retaliating flash of green shot past his shoulder.

It took a moment for the realisation of the true implications.

"Did that curse rebound? How is this possible?" Lucius said.

"I do not understand it," Voldemort admitted. Something was terribly wrong, he alone had created Horcrux's to conquer death so how was it possible that only a child could defy it so easily. The first curse had already left a clear mark, a distinct lightening bolt scar on his forehead but now there was a second cut onto the boys arm, it was identical to the first as blood ran freely.

There was only one thing clear to Voldemort. He had to have whatever was saving the boy from deaths icy clutches and he would find out no matter what the cost.

"Pettigrew, the boy is your responsibility," Voldemort said.

Pettigrew looked miserable but he nodded weakly as he took the boy in his shaking grip. The boy was limp and unconscious and his face was flushed red as Pettigrew cradled him closely.

"No doubt Dumbledore will come looking for the boy," Lucius spoke up as he flicked his eyes away from Pettigrew to his Lord.

Voldemort acknowledged this with a nod.

"Of course. This child is prophesied to destroy me and as a result Dumbledore will not stop searching. We must keep the boy here until I alone understand the secrets of why he lives."

His Death Eaters nodded but Voldemort had other questions he wanted to address.

"Severus," he spoke to the more reserved death eater at the end of the table.

The younger Death Eater tensed but he spoke quite calmly.

"My Lord?"

"I want to know the entire contents of that prophecy," he instructed.
Severus bowed low, his voice already laced with the apology.

"Forgive me, My Lord, I will do everything I can to fulfil this," his voice shook slightly but he held his steady gaze.

Voldemort did not respond, he only had eyes for the boy, who was still resting uncomfortably in protective arms.

Sirius ran up the front path to the small house, his paws digging into the ground, forcing him along faster then his human form would allow. His heart was pounding fiercely but he could not stifle his growing panic.

Peter hadn't been home.

Sirius' knew his instinct was right, his own body felt odd and disconnected from the rest of him as he forced his feet to move one in front of the other. Something was terribly wrong.

Sirius entered Godric's Hollow, transforming in the doorway as grief took him.

"J-James."

James Potter was lying sprawled on the floor. His glasses smashed, cutting into his face as he stared on vacantly.

Sirius let out a howl as he fell to his knees.

Hot sticky tears ran down his face, uncontrollable and wet as Sirius cradled his closest friend. He rocked back and forth, nothing made sense any more.

It took all of Sirius' will power to force himself to stand. He had to find Lily and Harry.

The house was disturbingly dark as he climbed the familiar stairs, surely Lily had managed to get out with her son. They both had to be alive.

But it was hot anger that washed over his grief as he stared at the body of his former friend. Lily's hair covered her face as she lay still on the floor of Harry's room.

Peter had betrayed them all, thrown James and Lily to the mercy of the Dark Lord.

But the feeling ripping through him was nothing compared to when his eyes darted to where Harry should have been sleeping.

Harry's crib was empty and Sirius' anguish was overwhelming.

Sirius would kill the rat. His dog instincts wanted to hunt Peter down and tear him limb for limb, but Sirius' head was screaming. He had to find Harry, that should be his priority above all else.

"Returning to the scene of the crime?" a cold voice spoke from behind him.

Sirius spun around with his wand raised. But his shield remained untouched as he came face to face with Dumbledore.

Dumbledore's usually warm eyes were anything but, they were cold and filled with such cold hatred.

"I would never betray James- I wasn't their secret keeper," Sirius hissed, as he stared at the old wizard with a mixture of anger and pain, he didn't have time for this.

"I was used to your poor excuses at school," Dumbledore said coolly. "But I find it an insult to James and Lily's memory to even attempt to do so now."
Sirius growled, barely restraining from transforming into his dog form.

"I would never betray James," he repeated. "It wasn't me."
Dumbledore's expression didn't lighten.

"Who?"

Sirius could barely stand still much longer, he needed to act, he had to find Harry.

"Peter," he growled. "He was their secret keeper. We switched."

If Dumbledore was surprised he hid it well.

"Convenient," the old wizard stated coolly but he didn't lower his wand.

"Look in my eyes, Dumbledore," Sirius spat, completely wild now with his body flooded with emotion. "Look me in the eye and tell me I would ever think about betraying James. I would die for him and don't you dare say otherwise."

The assault on his mind was devastating. Dumbledore barely had to move as Sirius head swelled in pain.

If he had focused Sirius was pretty sure he could have slammed Dumbledore out of his head with his grief alone but Harry didn't have any time left.
It was with a mixture of relief when Dumbledore stood back and lowered his wand.

"You suspected Remus?" Dumbledore questioned, sad blue eyes now replacing angry ones.

"I was over cautious," Sirius snarled. If only he hadn't convinced James to switch. "I thought Voldemort would come after me."

"We all did," Dumbledore nodded warily, but he seemed distracted as his head turned towards the empty cot.

"Where is Harry?" Dumbledore's voice was calmer now, although filled with worry.

Sirius shook his head.

"I don't know-" he took a deep breath. Harry had to be alive. There was no other opinion which Sirius could consider.

"Our priority should be to find Peter," Dumbledore instructed. "I shall summon the Order at once."

Sirius felt his stomach churn, this didn't seem enough.

"I will hunt Peter out," Sirius snarled, "Remus will know where to find me."

Dumbledore nodded the twinkle in his eyes diminishing.

"We must move quickly. I fear that if we do not find Harry at once, he will be dead before the night ends."

NINE YEARS LATER

Elegant portraits used to hang on the walls, now all that remained were dark empty frame which cast long shadows from the flickering candle light. Harry had little recollection of the once grand hall but he knew the truth and nothing would prevent it.

Harry would die in this room.

Harry kept still with his head bowed low as he waited for the inevitable.

There were other people scattered about, all masked and hooded apart from a select few.

"Bring the boy," Lord Voldemort commanded.

Harry flinched under the Dark Lords command as he shut his eyes and took a shaky breath. A masked death eater grabbed Harry, his nails digging into his arm as Harry was pulled forwards.

Voldemort was stood in front of a large cauldron which was spitting from the burning fire, washing the room in an unpleasant smell. The Dark Lord was only had to nod.

Harry watched with wide silent eyes as a masked death eater drew a large knife and ran it just above Harry's bare arm. Harry braced himself, expecting the worse as metal met fresh.

His screams filled the room, echoing in his own head as Harry failed to pull away. Harry twisted distraught as the death eater squeezed his arm tightly as red oozed from the cut, pooling into a single vial.

Finally, the Death Eater let go and Harry fell back, breathing heavily and with tears in his eyes as he held his bleeding arm tightly to his chest.

The Death Eater stepped forward as another unmasked one stepped forwards to summon Harry's fresh blood.

Harry had never liked Severus Snape. He was a cold man with little emotion, but Harry had to admit he had inhuman skills when it came to brewing concoctions.

Snape tilted Harry's blood so it dripped slowly into the bubbling cauldron, turning the plume of smoke an instant black.

Harry watched silently. He didn't dare move as his heart beat uncontrollably.

"My Lord," Snape bowed low as he presented the freshly prepared potion to Voldemort.

Voldemort moved closer and Harry wanted nothing more than to withdraw, pull back and behave like the frightened ten year old he was, but he forced himself to endure.

Voldemort's smile was horrible, his eyes so cruel as he placed the glass to his mouth and consumed the liquid in a single gulp.

Harry didn't dare watch as he tried not to think of what he was about to face.

Voldemort moved his wand elegantly as magic swirled around him. Harry could feel an uncomfortable pressure underneath his chin. It was not enough to force it up but Harry didn't resist as his gaze locked with his murderer.

Curious eyes studied him briefly, a lingering smirk so eager for result.

"Feeling lucky, Harry?" Voldemort hissed, his voice so soft and cold.

Harry closed his eyes, not wanting to stare into the eyes of death.

"No, My Lord," he whispered. He would not be afraid, he was better then that.

Harry knew what was coming and he feared it every time, dying was always the hardest part. At least it didn't hurt, but that didn't mean he was ever ready.

Perhaps this would be the time Harry thought dully in the back of his head, he braced himself as Voldemort hissed those two familiar words.

"Avada Kadarva."

Green flashed and Harry collapsed to the floor.

Voldemort watched with little emotion as Potter was engulfed in green light. It happened so fast, but as always the Dark Lord expected the rebounding curse as the boy collapsed to the floor.

Yaxley stepped forwards and skated his hand over the boy's pulse. He only had to nod once.

The boy still lived.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed.

"Severus?" he hissed.

"Forgive me, My Lord," Severus bowed. "I dared not add more of the boy's blood. The slightest imbalance could have done significant damage to yourself."

Voldemort's wand sparked. It had always been this way, ever since the boy had survived the first killing curse.

Years of searching and preparations had granted him five precious Horcrux's, each protecting him from death. How dare Potter have the capabilities to deflect his curse. It shouldn't be possible, but yet the boy continued to live and defy the odds.

Voldemort flicked his eyes towards Potter as Yaxley hovered him up from the floor.

"Return him to his room," Voldemort commanded.

Frustratingly the problem remained isolated to the Dark Lord. His Death Eaters had no problems, their curses inflicted pain with ease, each cutting down Potter completely. But it was different with him, Voldemort could not even touch the boy without immense pain to himself, even his curses were weak and did little.

Severus had identified the answer lay in the boy's blood. The potions master had often extracted it for various experiments, injecting it into others which had caused similar effects which mimicked Potters immunity from the Dark Lord.

The problem, My Lord, resides in the quantity of blood you can sustain," Severus said. "Your tolerance is low, each drop of the boys blood is poison to yourself. To accomplish our goals and conquer Potter's defences will require further reading, My Lord. Currently, I believe we have reached our limit."

Voldemort's glare deepened, he would not give up.

"I do however, have one leading theory," Severus added. "Potters blood sustains his protection, if I may be so bold to say, it is not enough for mere potions to overcome."

Voldemort tapped his wand idly at his side, he knew what was being referred to, something would have to change.

"I want to understand," Voldemort hissed, repeating what he had been saying for the last nine years. "I want to know why the boy can survive death. I need to have it."

Harry opened his eyes and stared up into the beds canopy. He closed them again as his memories swam rapidly in and out of coherent thought.

He was alive and Voldemort had failed. Of course playing the odds this was to be expected but it still stung bitterly.

Sighing heavily, Harry forced himself up as he ignored his protesting muscles.

Harry moved slowly across to the large mirror which decorated his room and stared at his pale reflection.

Scars littered his body, scratched into every inch of his skin. The red lightening bolt shape was prominent in each cut, jagged and distorted and clearly defined in each mark.

Harry's body was covered, lines crossed lines in perfect formation. They defined him, each branded by the Dark Lord's killing curse.

Only three scars marked Harry's face. One was on his left cheek from a particularly nasty punishment, another sat strikingly on his forehead currently hidden behind his mess of black hair.

The newest addition was cut just below his jawbone. Harry tilted his head up, tracing the fresh lightening bolt gently with his fingers. Voldemort only marked his face when he was particularly angry, when his true intent was for Harry to die not just for his twisted experiments.

Harry's skin was still raw and it stung gently.

Voldemort was angry with him, that much was clear. Otherwise the Dark Lord would have marked his body like so many countless times before.

Harry was stumped though; he had done little to offend the Dark Lord recently, nothing that would result in a true punishment.

Harry stared at the mirror blankly, hardly taking in his small reflection. He had lived with Voldemort for as long as he could remember and had never known any other life.

But that wasn't going to stop Harry. He was going to find a way out of the Dark Lord's manor no matter what the consequence.