Chapter One - In The End

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

All I know
Time is a valuable thing
Watch it fly by as the pendulum swings
Watch it count down to the end of the day
The clock ticks life away

It's so unreal
Didn't look out below
Watch the time go right out the window
Trying to hold on, but you didn't even know
Wasted it all just to watch you go
I kept everything inside
And even though I tried, it all fell apart
What it meant to me
Will eventually be a memory of a time when

I tried so hard
And got so far
But in the end
It doesn't even matter
I had to fall
To lose it all
But in the end
It doesn't even matter

In The End - Linkin Park

I never really liked Uncle Peter.

At the time, I didn't even know why; all I knew was that from the first time I heard the name "Wormtail" I felt an instinctual, subconscious loathing. I had no conscious memory of the Harry Potter storyline at the time; but deep in my subconscious I was aware that he should not, could not be trusted.

If I hadn't remembered the original story later on, I might have blamed myself for his betrayal – but I doubt the original Harry Potter would have had any reason to despise him as I did. It was a small, cold comfort to know that while my complete refusal to interact with him might have made serving me up to Voldemort on a silver platter less difficult for him, he still would have done it even if I had loved and accepted him the way my parents did.

From the first time the prospect of changing the Secret Keeper for the Fidelius Charm was discussed, I became distraught in a way that I hadn't been since the beginning of my new life.

It baffled my parents, since the reason they broached the topic was not that Papá doubted his ability to remain loyal to us, but that Mamaí and Tadi wanted to keep him close. While he would still keep up an external residence for appearance's sake – especially if he intended to play decoy for our new Secret Keeper – he could not truly live with us even part time while also filling that role.

They wanted to be together more often than the mere visits that they had so far; the separation was trying on all of us, and as long as he gave the appearance of living elsewhere, having a new Secret Keeper would mean that his absences would be far less frequent or drawn out.

To them, it must have seemed like my unhappiness started at the prospect of Papá living with us. They were all confused, and Papá was hurt. As a result, I tried to focus on the fact that I would have more time with him, but my misgivings refused to go away.

I was incredibly, deeply upset by the fact that my parents were considering trusting Peter to be their Secret Keeper – while I had no idea why, the fact was that the mere mention of it terrified me.

There are no words to explain how deeply I wish that my parents had put my reactions to him ahead of their trust in their friend. No words could ever encompass how completely I regret that they had no way of realising that there was more behind it than an irrational, childish dislike. After all; I adored my Uncle Remus on the few occasions where I had met him.

Why, why, why couldn't they have just considered my reactions to people as a sign?

Why couldn't they just accept my opinion of their friends as another aspect of my unusual development?

Why, when it came to that one thing, did they assume I was simply prone to infantile dislike of someone for no reason?

Why did they regard my opinion of our Moony to be a sign that I was a poor judge of character, rather than the other way round?

I can admit that the fact that my dislike also extended to Albus Dumbledore probably had a lot to do with it.

I might not like it, but I can acknowledge that showing my uneasiness with him so obviously probably made them doubt my ability to determine trustworthiness.

I was simply too young and unaware to have understood or remembered that discretion is the better part of valour. And it would be years yet before I learned about Lords of Magic; there was simply no possibility whatsoever for me to know or understand that I was taking issue with the Chosen Lord of Light.

My unease with him was prompted by my subconscious opinions of a fictional character and a number of his portrayals in fanfiction.

Real people are far more complicated than that; their motivations come in so many different layers and shades of grey that it's patently ridiculous to attempt to categorise them as simply as "good" or "evil".

Regardless of the reasons, James, Lily, and Sirius Potter-Black trusted Peter Pettigrew to be their Secret Keeper. And, just like in canon, that trust was their downfall.

Due to the memory seal I had created, my earliest memories of infancy were clearer in all my subsequent reincarnations than the ones from the first.

However, much like my first introduction to Itachi in that life has always remained one of my most poignant and significant memories, there are certain memories in each of my lives that stand out; events which left a profound, indelible impact on my very being.

The night of October 31st, 1981 is one such memory.

By the time evening arrived, James and Lily were tired and rather frustrated. I had been difficult the entire day; from the moment I had heard mention of it being Halloween that morning, I had been inexplicably distraught. No matter how they tried to soothe or distract me, I was desperately clingy and inconsolable.

For all my advanced intelligence, retention, and comprehension; I was still only 15 months old. I could neither understand nor explain the overwhelming emotions that flooded me; but that did not stop me from experiencing them. All I knew was that I was deeply, horribly afraid.

This fear manifested in my manic determination to keep track of James and Lily at all times. Every time either of my two present parents left the room, I would scream and cry inconsolably until they returned. I panicked whenever I couldn't see or feel them nearby.

Clutching hysterically at whichever one of them had disappeared, however briefly, I sobbed and begged them not to leave me.

I sought constant reassurance that they would not abandon me; offering tearful promises of good behaviour, requests for kisses and cuddles, and giving them desperately repeated, multilingual declarations of love.

They were understandably alarmed by my sudden, uncharacteristic bout of insecurity; especially since they had no idea where it was coming from.

I wish that I could have made our last day together a happier one, but as a baby I had little control over my reaction to the terror I felt. Each time I lost sight of them, I was simply consumed by an unshakeable dread that I would never see them again.

So our last day together was a trying one for them; and while I regret it for the strain and stress it placed on them, I am grateful that at least I made my affection and devotion to them very clear.

While my somewhat frantic love confessions were largely motivated by my desire to remind them that I wanted and needed them and had no desire to be left alone, I am grateful that I at least had the opportunity to tell them how much I loved them. I take comfort in the knowledge that, when the end arrived, some of the last words I had spoken to them were to express how much they meant to me – at least, inasmuch as a baby could manage.

It was just after nightfall when everything came to a head.

The three of us were curled up on the sofa together; Tadi singing Welsh folk songs while Mamaí and I tried to sing along. I say tried, because some of the songs he was singing were new to us; but he was happy to teach us, and we joined in on the ones we knew with great enthusiasm.

We finished giggling together as we all sang Sospan Fach (The Little Saucepan); a silly folk song Tadi had chosen to make me laugh. He had just started teaching us Taleisin's Prophecy when the door was blasted in.

Tadi and Mamaí stared at each other for a brief second, faces drained of colour.

Then they moved.

Tadi leapt up, rushing towards the entrance, shouting, "Lily! Take Harry and go! It's him! I'll hold him off!"

Mamaí snatched me up, dashing through the house and running up the stairs.

Later, I would remember the ritual she and Papá had created, and the runes she'd painted on our whole family as we all performed it together.

In the aftermath, I would recall the way that they had prepared for the possibility that one or more often members of our family would be lost; crafting an ancient protection drawn from the willing sacrifice of each of my three parents to bind itself to me in the event of their deaths. A protection flowing through the very blood in my veins; powered by the lifeblood, love, and magic of each parent who gave their lives for my sake.

It had merely been a precautionary measure; a way to ensure that, if anything were to happen to one of them, their sacrifice would serve a greater purpose.

Though no one said so at the time, in retrospect the way they clung to Papá afterwards tells me that it was his death they were worried about. His death they feared and tried to prepare for; not Mamaí and Tadi, who they all thought would be safe behind the Fidelius.

After all; they trusted Peter, and it was Papá who seemed most at risk.

But understanding came later; when I had little to do but dwell on my memories and my losses.

At the time, I was frozen in horror; for all my previous fussing throughout the day, when the moment I subconsciously dreaded arrived, I didn't make a sound. I couldn't.

I stared blankly after Tadi as he disappeared through the doorway; going mute and unresponsive in shock. It was like a fog descended on me, and everything took on a dreamlike quality.

It was a nightmare – where everything was terrible, but none of it was real.

It couldn't be.

My mind refused to comprehend it.

For all that everything else around me took on an indistinct quality that night, my parents stood out in stark relief – a blatant contrast to the rest. The only part of that blurry, unfocused world that held sharpness and colour; they were like beacons to my sight.

In my last glimpse of Tadi, his face was firmly set. He gave us one last look, even as he left and called out instructions to Mamaí; conveying all the love and devotion that he could without words. There were traces of fear in his eyes as he glanced back at us, but as he faced the entrance it vanished under resolute, steely-eyed determination. His features were fierce and brave; unafraid as he raced towards death.

He knew that this would be his end; so long as he bought time to protect his family he would count it as a victory.

I was unresisting as Mamaí carried me away and into the nursery. There was a distant, detached quality to my awareness; I had unconsciously dissociated. Only being seated in my crib broke through my stupor; I grasped ineffectually at her arms as Mamaí lowered me, letting out a soft whimper.

"Hush, baby; it's alright," she whispered, he voice choked with tears. "You'll be okay."

"No," I cried weakly. "No, Mamaí; no, please!" My fingers clenched convulsively at her, and I struggled to force my way through the molasses in my mind enough to communicate.

"No leaving me!" I begged.

Her breath caught; I saw understanding and heartbreak dawning in her eyes as she realised that this was what I had been so afraid of all day. Realising that I had somehow known; she offered me the only comfort she could, sorrow and regret thickening her voice.

"Deonaigh Danu trócaire," she breathed, almost too softly for me to hear. "I'm sorry, baby; Mamaí is so sorry."

Her eyes shone with the tears she refused to let fall, clinging like tiny diamonds to the edges of her lashes. They only increased her beauty – set against her vibrant green eyes and lashes that matched her rich hair of flaming silk; together with her porcelain skin and red lips, she shone bright and regal through her despair. In that moment, she appeared as a queen; bejeweled by her own beauty, and radiant as any deity.

"Mamaí loves you, sweetheart; Tadi loves you; remember we love you, baby!"

Her face, eyes, and voice were filled with such grief and love. She pressed a kiss to my forehead, then turned away.

I whined, staring after her as she stood and straightened, resolute and tall in front of me. Facing the doorway, she held her head high as she waited for death.

I do not know if it was prompted by her hushed prayer begging mercy from Danu, the Irish Mother of the Gods; but as I stared at her she seemed to transform before me – becoming the very personification of an ancient goddess. Beautiful and tragic, terrible and otherworldly; wreathed in glory as she defended her child.

Throughout every life I have lived since then, I have regarded that final sight of Lily Evans-Potter-Black as the epitome of any avatar of a Mother Goddess.

The door blew in, and I could only watch, utterly numb as Voldemort approached and Mamaí begged for my life. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks as I watched her refuse to step aside; as she offered her life for mine, and the monster cut her down in a flash of green. My eyes caught on the way her red curls billowed about her head as she fell; there was a macabre loveliness in the way she crumpled to the ground before me.

I stared at him as he turned his wand on me, not really registering anything other than my hyperawareness of the body on the floor. For all that he appeared to be a horrifying amalgamation of monster and man, I was beyond caring or reacting to anything then.

"Avada Kedavra!" he hissed, and I stared down the sickly glow of the killing curse as it raced towards me.

I felt no fear; for nothing could be worse than what I had just witnessed. There could be no suffering greater than the wound struck through my very being as Mamaí fell.

Then my world turned green, and deep inside me, something snapped.

My head burst into agony; flooded with so many sounds and images in an instant that all I knew was pain. Pain like nothing I had ever dreamt or imagined – no, you've felt this once before – so overwhelming it consumed my very existence.

I screamed.

Distantly, I heard another voice screaming with me, along with a terrible roar and the sound of an explosion. I was unaware of it at the time, as I lost consciousness and everything abruptly faded to black.

A/N: I had a near-death experience recently, thanks to randomly developing a severe allergy to my migraine medication and almost not making it until the ambulance could get to me after I went into anaphylactic shock. So I've been a bit... off balance since then.