First of September 1980.

"You should have seen it." Bella's hair was mangled, her eyes wide and lively. She waved her hands about, walking circuits around the nursey. "With a single incantation, he destroyed it!"

Narcissa squeezed her eyes shut. Her sister's enthusiasm on top of Draco's walling was snowballing into a headache. "So, the chosen is dead?" Bella had probably explained it over three times, but her mind wasn't taking a bit of it.

"No, Cissy!" Bella stopped her pacing and walked straight to her sister. "He destroyed the prophecy itself."

Narcissa persisted to bounce Draco. She had a feeling something was wrong, he usually calmed after his bottle. "You can't destroy a prophecy."

Bella's mood dropped. "Well, he did."

"How?" Still bouncing and hushing Draco, Narcissa summoned a thermometer from the changing table.

Bella shielded Draco with her hands. "Cissy. Careful with magic around the baby!"

The ache in Narcissa's head worsened. "I know, I know, it's risky." Draco was taken out of her hold. She didn't fight it and stumbled back into the nearby rocking chair.

"You need a nanny." Bella swayed. Draco's head was resting against her shoulder.

Narcissa wouldn't listen to Bella's advice until she had a baby of her own. She rubbed her forehead longing for bed.

Bella had changed tactic and was now rubbing circles across Draco's back. Narcissa held out the thermometer. "So how did he do it?"

"I don't really know. It was elaborate; an entire ritual was involved. Then he spoke in a language I've never heard." Bella was trying to take Draco's temperature. It proved troublesome, his little hand kept trying to grip the thermometer.

Despite the noise coming from Draco, sleep was beginning to take Narcissa. She adjusted herself further into a slouch. "I don't believe it," she mumbled.

Ministry of Magic, the twenty-fourth of July 1991.

Harry saved the easiest paper for last. Since his father was an Auror, Harry was expected to know his defensive spells. He managed through the first four pages of his question booklet well. His answer spaces were packed with writing. Harry kept telling himself to write neatly but time was constrained. The final set of questions brought his mind to a holt.

Select the three basic formations all death eaters use:

Harry stared at the words for a bit. His father refused to teach him anything about the death eaters. He should have known something like this would turn up. Hogwarts had two different classes for defensive magic. The first was your normal class where everyone learnt how to deal with bogarts and other trivial dangers. The second was an elite class where future death eaters began training for their recruitment. Rumour was, within that second class, the best students attended fortnightly lectures from the Dark Lord. Harry's gut twisted, at least the question was multichoice. He glanced up at the clock, there were five minutes left. He focused back on the answers applying a logical process of elimination. Thankfully, he knew enough technical lingo to decipher each formation.

"One minute to go."

Ultimately, Harry made a guess. He was reasonably confident with one choice, the others were gambles.

"Quills down."

Harry sat back in his chair. The auditorium was silent. If many spoke at that moment, they would automatically fail the entrance exam. The stakes were high for Harry. Purebloods were accepted before half-bloods, he had to do extremely well in his exam to secure a Hogwarts letter. Harry kept his eyes firmly on the head of the boy in front of him. It felt like an eternity until an examiner tapped his shoulder and escorted him out. All the children in the elevator were dead quiet, looking straight ahead as if they were still in the exam. They reached the atrium. Everyone poured out to search for their waiting parents. Past the fountain, Harry saw the roundish figure of Uncle Peter, who jumped when Harry called out to him.

Peter patted over his robes. "So how did it go?"

"I can't really say. I didn't choke under the pressure." He felt he had gotten some details wrong on his history essay. It was hard to say when Dumbledore was defeated, his parents were adamant he survived.

Peter was scanning the floor. "I think I've misplaced my pocket watch."

Harry chuckled and flicked the chain dangling out of his uncle's vest pocket.

Peter grabbed his forehead. With a sigh, he looked at Harry. "I'm sure you did well. Now, come on, we should get out of here."

As more children left their exam the more crowded the atrium was getting. They shuffled their way over to a fireplace and flooed to the leaky cauldron. They order their drinks then went to a small table in the corner. Peter's gaze was lost elsewhere, he kept fidgeting with his fingers.

"Troubles at work?" Harry asked.

Peter nodded a bit. Harry took a mouthful of drink. His uncle rubbed his eyes. Harry noticed a sheen of sweat forming over his face. After a deep breath, Peter said. "Actually no… It's James."

A stone dropped in Harry's heart. "What happened?" A thousand thoughts were running wild in his mind.

"You know how reckless your father can be. He just couldn't keep his head down."

Harry stared at Peter waiting for more. He knew his dad wouldn't sit quietly in Azkaban, his fighting spirit was what made him a good Auror.

Peter twitched his lips in a - I'm sorry I have to tell you this - kind of way. "You'll be eleven next week, that's the age young boys start to go out into the wizarding world. Sadly, I don't believe James even considered your future when he behaved the way he did."

Harry could feel it, something was coming for him. His hands gripped the table.

Peter gulped. "You know how this world works. Keep your head down and follow the rules. James's reputation ruined yours and the odds weren't in your favour to begin with."

"What are you saying?" Harry was staring into Peter's eyes, drilling him for an answer. He knew his situation.

"I've applied for full custody. The Pettigrew name will do you good, especially at Hogwarts." Peter grabbed his tankard and drank.

Harry stared at his fingers. Peter wasn't wrong, walking around as Harry Potter would give the purebloods ample reason to bully him. His eye started to water. Harry was always told to play inside and not mention his mother to anyone. It wasn't until his dad was arrested that Peter came along and explained why. The Pettigrew name would give him a clean slate in wizarding society. However, Potter was his real name. How much of himself would he have to sacrifice in order to live a normal life?

Sometimes Harry wished that his parents hadn't got so involved with the rebellion. Then they could have had a quiet life in Godric's Hollow. His father wasn't like that, he always stuck by his beliefs. "What happened to dad?"

Peter choked on his drink. He beat his cheat and eventually the coughing subsided. "You've just come out of an exam. I wouldn't want to burden you."

Harry wordlessly pleaded to him. Not knowing in itself was a burden.

"Alright, but its grim." Peter patted his forehead with a handkerchief. "There was an incident…" He paused, mouth agape. Slowly, he let his mouth close allowing silence to explain the rest.

A jolt shocked Harry's body. "No. What? Explain."

Peter down another quick sip. "They haven't announced why, but word around the office is the Lord went to examine Azkaban. They say the Dementors made him more reckless because He and Sirius tried to gang up on him…"

The rest of his uncle's words had become background noise. Harry was lost in another world. The spectre to an imaginary duel. His dad, backed by Sirius, going against the Dark Lord – wandless.

"Harry?"

He was shaken out of his vision. "Ah, yeah?"

"Its time we went." They returned home by the floo network. Peter ran upstairs to change his shirt before returning to his job at the ministry. Harry went to his room. After spending so much time studying for the entrance exam, he didn't know what to do with his time.

July thirty-first

Harry followed Peter past the ninth-floor offices. They stopped at a narrow office labelled on-call ministry attorney. Inside, Peter pulled out a chair for Harry to sit on. A lady soon came by with a tray of tea. Her cheeks flushed as she poured their drinks. Harry noticed that his uncle was looking a bit red in the face too.

"How are they today, Angie?"

The woman smiled brightly. "Well, they all have a soap story, don't they?"

"They sure do."

She and Peter broke into laughter. Then her eyes turned to Harry.

Peter patted his shoulder and proudly said, "that's Henry, I took him in for a friend."

The lady grinned brightly. "You have such a big heart, Mr Pettigrew."

Peter went even redder in the face. "You exaggerate."

"Never." She blew him a kiss then continued her tea deliveries.

Peter faced Harry with a dreamy look in his eye. "that's Angela."

"She seems nice." Harry was lazily swinging his legs off the stool.

Peter suddenly raised his finger then when rummaging through his desk drawer. A blue box tied with ribbon was held out to Harry. "Do you want to open now or after?"

Harry looked at it for a while. "I think it's better saved for after, that way I'll have something to look forward to."

The box was returned to the drawer. Peter shook his head. "They pick a hell of a day for you to come."

They both looked at the other for a silent moment. Harry smiled to lift the mood. "So, how does your job go?"

"Ah, see this." Peter pointed to a brass chain dangling beside his desk. "When I tug that, it tells Angela I'm ready for a client." He counted the files in his inbox. "Since I'm an on-call attorney, most of my cases need to be sorted on the spot. The bigger cases, I pass on." Peter glanced back at Harry. "Ready?"

He nodded and Peter gave the chain a tug. A few minutes later a red-haired woman shuffled into office, taking the seat across Peter. She clutched a patchwork purse, clearly on the verge of tears.

"Case number."

From her purse, she handed Peter a scrap of parchment. He glanced at it before shuffling through his inbox. He withdrew a file that was ticker than Harry had expected. For a brief while, Peter scanned through its contents before addressing the woman. "To clarify, Mrs Weasley, your household was discovered to contain a large collection of muggles artefacts?"

The woman snuffled. "Yes."

Peter scribbled in his notebook. "Those objects were apprehended, and you were fined a thousand galleons."

She kneeled over her purse. "Yes."

After re-checking the file and adding another note, Peter said, "And when you were unable to pay the fine, your husband was sent to Azkaban instead."

The woman flooded with tears. "Oh, Arthur!"

With a bored expression, Peter slid over the tissue box. After some minutes the woman was able to speak again. "It's my children, Mr Pettigrew. Without Arthur, I can't…" She grabbed a handful of tissues to bury her face into.

Peter tapped the desk impatiently. Harry wondered if should wait outside.

"I have seven children, four in home school." She blew her nose loudly. "With Arthur out of work, we have no income."

After a sigh, Peter said, "The Dark Lord values the pure magical youth of Brittan." He slid her a piece of parchment. "Write the details of the children attending Hogwarts and those under eleven years of age. The ministry will arrange for their care."

The woman sniffled. "Arrange for their care, what do you mean?"

Peter straightened the loose paper and jotted down another note. "Northhome for the under elevens and Batchman for the Hogwarts students. I'm afraid you do not meet the requirements for family assistance."

The woman took a silent gasp. "Halfway homes? They're my children, you can't just take them. And what of Fred and George? They didn't pass their Hogwarts entrance exam."

"Do you have any relatives who could take them?"

The woman clutched her chest and wailed loudly. She sat sobbing her soul out. Peter re-checked his pocket watch then shrugged at Harry.

After some minutes, she dabbed out her tears and took the quill. Halfway through writing the first name, she asked, "But I can visit them?"

Peter took another glimpse at the file. "Unfortunately, your loyalty score isn't high enough for me to allow that."

The woman screamed. Harry stiffened on the spot. She threw the quill like a dart. It narrowly missed Peter and embedded into the wall behind him. Peter slid his hand for the parchment, but she quickly shoved into her purse. Still screaming she left the office, slamming the door on her way out. Peter slouched into his chair and sighed. Harry blinked a few times.

"This job can take a lot out of you." Peter took a sip of tea.

Harry was too shocked to say anything.

After a quiet minute, Angela reappeared with a letter in hand. Peter raised his cup to her. "Good tea, Angie. What do you need?"

She thanked him and placed the letter on the desk. "They want you to sort out Cornelius, also the call for Henry has arrived."

Peter examined the letter, then looked to Harry. "I guess you're off then."

Harry took in a breath. He didn't know what to expect. He ceased his cup and downed the tea.

"You'll be fine. Angie will point you in the right direction." Peter gave Angela a wink.

She escorted Harry down a number of long corridors until they reached a clinical space. Most of the nearby offices were for researchers. There wasn't a waiting room, Harry had to sit on a bench beside Undertaker Kirp's office. Angela waved him goodbye and went on her way. Harry gripped the side of his bench. The sound of Angela's heels died away. He was alone.

Harry waited as healers passed, some occasionally carrying specimen jars. He didn't want to think, it would make what was to come worse. The Minutes were passing slower than normal. Finally, Undertaker Kirp came out of his office.

"Just follow me." The healer ushered him down the left corridor. They passed more offices, a lab and a ritual theatre until they came to a pair of double swinging door. Kirp when in first, Harry was almost smacked in the face by the door.

The odour of the white tiled room was awful. Overpowering incense sticks barely masked the smell of decay. Kirp was scanning the rows of square steel doors that lined the wall. He unlocked the middle one, five doors down.

"Come along."

He felt like insects were crawling over him. His mind was telling him not to do it, but he got closer.

Kirp didn't look at Harry, he was busy levitating the body to the examination bench. "We'll need a drop of blood to confirm identity. If all goes well, you might be allowed to see him."

Harry avoided looking at the sheet covering the bench. Instead, he watched the clock tick in the corner. Presumably, Krip was taking a sample from the body. Every tick of the clock seemed to echo in Harry's mind.

"Henry?"

He twitched as Krip tapped him.

The healer held out a needle. "I'll need to prick a finger."

Harry nodded and wiped his hands on his vest. Behind Kirp, the cloth covered bench demanded to be looked at. He spread out a hand. Krip gripped it still. The tip of his index was promptly jabbed. Drops of blood were squeezed into a dish then poured into a potion. Kirp took his leftover equipment and began rinsing them in the sink. Harry crossed his arms and stared at the floor. The bubbling of the potion was dying down. Within his shoes, Harry's toes were clenched. He listened intently for the sound to die completely.

Krip looked back. "Henry, you'll need to step out."

"Sure." Harry wandered away, struggling with the swing door on his exit. Something about standing outside was starting to clear Harry's head. His heart wasn't numb like before. His feet walked him up the corridor. He didn't get far. His knees failed. It was the wall that kept him standing. He pulled off his glasses. Heat was rising to his head. He squeezed his eyes shut.

He was unsure which he preferred. If the body wasn't James, then his dad had faked his death. Harry's breath was strained. His dad would have lied, he had done that too many times. He was always doing things for the 'greater good', Harry had started to wonder what those words even meant. A tear shed, he promptly rubbed it away and tried to gather himself. If it was faked, than at lest Harry wouldn't be an orphan.

In an odd sense, if the body was his dad then Harry's waiting would be over. The last time Harry had seen his dad was on his sentencing day. Peter refused to visit Azkaban. Harry didn't argue, he would rather imagine the place than experience it. His dad was always making him wait, be it in Azkaban or on some mission for the rebellion. Harry sometimes wonder if his dad did it because he was lonely himself. His mum was what kept them together.

A door had swung open. Harry covered his face bracing for Krip's uninterested tone. Someone cleared their throat. Harry shoved his glasses back on and looked up.

He knew he was forgetting something. The stranger before him was waiting. He was the oddest man Harry had ever seen, tall, pale and maybe a little snake-like. He didn't even have whites in his eyes, all red with a black sliver for a pupil. Harry did understand was that the man was a dark wizard – it was required knowledge for Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts.

The man widened an eye. "Have you never seen a coin before?"

Harry must have croaked or something equally as stupid, his head wasn't making clear thought. "A coin?"

The man smirked. "If you've ever seen one, you'd recognise my face."

Two and two came together in Harry's head. He went for the deepest bow he could manage but ended up falling to the floor.

The man stepped back and watched him faceplant. "What brings you here, boy."

Harry peeled himself off the floor. His mind was a mess. Fortunately, his mouth conjured up a response. "My dad, James."

"Ahhh… Henry Potter."

He was on his feet again, but he avoided the red eyes. He was an idiot for not recognising the Dark Lord. Worse yet, he forgot to bow and ended up falling instead.

The Dark Lord leaned over Harry like he was studying a curiosity. He drew a short a breath. "I would treat James as memory. Dead or alive, he will distract from your future."

Harry gaze unknowingly looked back at the red eyes. The Dark Lord gripped his chin. "Your like reading a picture book. Charming, I will admit."

There were no words coming from Harry's mouth. He had no idea what to say or do. How should he behave when the most powerful man to walk the world was casually standing before him?

"So, you must be eleven?" The Dark Lord's hands returned to his side.

Harry choked but his mind forced his voice into conversation. "I just turned eleven. Today is my birthday."

There was a buzz in the Dark Lord's stare and a grin across his face. "Of course it is – born as the seven month dies. Have you taken the entrance exam, or is that for next year?"

Harry focused on his fingers fiddling and swallowed hard. "I've taken the exam. I don't know if I've made it, I think I messed up my History of Magic essay."

"Lessons are learnt with hindsight." The Dark Lord's eyes were drilling into Harry. His smile hadn't faltered, in fact, it had gotten wider.

Footsteps were coming towards them. The Dark Lord's attention snapped to the sound. "What is it Kirp?"

Harry looked behind him. Kirp looked as equally as shocked and embarrassed as himself.

The Dark Lord crossed his arms. "Well?"

Kirp stumbled on his tongue before getting his words out. "Ah, yes – the identity is confirmed as James Potter."

"Good." The Dark Lord turned back to Harry. He waited then his smiled dropped. "Kirp."

"I thought the boy would want to see…"

The Dark glared at Kirp. "He doesn't."

Harry didn't know if he did or not want to see his father. Nonetheless, having the choice decided by a stranger didn't feel right.

The Dark Lord put himself between Harry and Kirp. The footsteps down the corridor said that Kirp was retreating. Impulsively, Harry did want to see want to his father, but the decision was made. He needed to get over it, his dad hadn't done much good by him anyway. There were bigger problems now he was an orphan.

There were two eyes of red inside his thoughts. Harry jerked, sure enough, the Dark Lord was there, looking very amused. "I'll have to fish out your exams papers and mark them myself."

Harry hoped he was teasing. After all the effort he had made to make sure he was ready for the entrance exam, Harry didn't want to fall short and have the Dark Lord be the first to know.

The Dark Lord chuckled. "I'm fairer than some markers." He went quiet for a brief while like he was listening to a voice Harry couldn't hear. He returned his attention. "I'm must get going, sadly. Wonderful chat…"

The Dark Lord was already striding away. Harry's feet were stuck in place. He wanted to dig a grave and die in it.

Suddenly, the Dark Lord halted. "Harry?"

Reluctantly, Harry met his eyes again.

"Harry Birthday." On the spot, the Dark Lord dissolved into black smoke then faded completely.

Whatever he Had just experienced, Harry couldn't make any sense of it. He had a feeling it was an encounter he should never bring up again. Harry wished the Dark Lord had remained as a distant figurehead – the face on the galleon. It was like a kind of glass wall had shattered.