DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, James Potter, Voldemort… OK, I hope you get the idea now, cuz if you don't, I will personally seek you out harass you until you say I don't own it (though I really wish I did then I'd be rich).
(This thing has kinda been in my head for a long time. I just need to get it out, for it is taking up extremely valuable space in my brain. (Not that my mind isn't all cobwebs and dust anyway.) I'm sorry if it's been done before, it's just that they got it down first. Only a month ago I actually found out existed! Yeah… so, I hope y'all enjoy it. PLEASE R&R AFTER YOU READ!)
.:What if Voldemort made a mistake in the incantation used to kill James Potter? Is he… alive? Meanwhile, Harry is getting ready for his 6th year and You-Know-Who has a sinister plot in store…:.
An undisclosed location in Scotland
Bellatrix Lestrange prostrated herself before a cloaked figure in front of a fireplace. The tall, ominous form, paced around in front of the fire, shape made mysterious by the glow of the fire. The person's face was shielded by the hood of his cloak, black enveloping his body. The woman at his feet was shaking, small whimpers coming from her.
"M-My Lord," she stuttered, "I just wanted to know how-,"
"Without properly studying the reverse curse, Bella?" hissed the figure in front of her, now halted and staring down to the frightened Lestrange at his feet.
"I thought it would be effective, seeing as how you want to use it on-," she continued.
"It was my plan for me to use it on the boy, not you!" he thundered, but tone was still a quiet, snake-like hiss.
"But I-,"
"Do you know what happens to subordinates who think they are above everyone else?" he questioned menacingly, throwing back his hood and bringing forth a long wand in one fluid motion. "I know you know what happens when someone disobeys Lord Voldemort."
Bellatrix trembled and bowed even lower, kissing the hem of Voldemort's robes. He raised a foot and kicked her away, red eyes glaring at her, cat-like slits for pupils in the center. She flinched and rose her face up a little to look at him, trying not to make eye contact. She knew he hated people looking him straight in the eye. Her lower lip trembled as she thought of an excuse for him.
"Forgive me, My Lord, but I was thinking it could be useful in other situations for interragation…"
Voldemort tightened his grip around his wand and looked as if he were going to place a curse upon her, but then relaxed, nodding as he processed her hurried reply.
"Perhaps, but you'll still need the reverse part of the curse to do a proper torture," he said, raising his wand once again. Bellatrix jumped and he gave a cruel cackle, "Not intended for you, I'm just demonstrating, though your punishment will come…"
He swirled the wand through the air in a complex motion, taking a deep breath to pronounce the counter-curse.
"Unconsium, reverlerse!"Suddenly, a white stream burst out the tip of his wand, so hard that it threw him back a few paces. A look of fury was upon features as Voldemort watched the stream of light whip through the window, cracking it as it traveled along into the night. Then, there was silence in the room for more than a minute. He turned to Lestrange, who was still staring at the window that the light traveled though, open-mouthed. He let out a great roar of fury, striding forward and pointing his wand at Bellatrix. She scuttled away until her back bumped into the wall, hugging her knees to her chest as she shivered at those twin pity-less pits of hell, staring holes through her.
"YOU TOLD ME YOU HAD NOT PREFORMED THE CURSE, BELLA!" he screamed at her, fury etched upon that merciless visage.
"I-I d-didn't!"
"CRUCIO!" he bellowed, a jet of red hitting Bellatrix Lestrange squarely in the chest. Her yells of pain faded into the darkness.
Meanwhile, the jet of white light had traveled at lightning speed across the British countryside. It came to a small cemetary, striking a tombstone and shattering it into a million pieces. Before it hit, the gravestone had read:
Here Lies JAMES ERICSON POTTER Devoted husband
Loving father
Loyal friend
The lightning white beam hit the ground and traveled deep into the earth, disappearing from view. Inside, James Potter, the father of Harry Potter, opened his eyes for the first time in fifteen years.
James Potter slowly cracked open his eyes, taking in a gasp of air. This was the first time he had seen anything since going into a comatose state fifteen years ago. He yawned and stretched his achy joints, but was not able to extend for more than a few feet in any direction. He felt around, and realized, to his horror, that he was inside a place where nothing should be. A coffin. His breath immediately became short from the stale air around. A large inhale was taken and he held his breath, wanting to save any spare oxygen.
Since it was dark, James began to feel around, searching for some way to get himself out. His hand closed around a thin stick of wood. He grasped it, disbelieving.
"Lumos," he murmured, and the wand tip became alight, shining within the closed space. His hazel eyes gazed around, seeing stale, white padding inside the oak coffin. The alohamora charm was tempting to use, but that would mean the collapsing of tons of dirt right on top of his head. A sudden thought came to him. If he did the incantation and quickly changed into the stag, he might be able to pass his way through the dirt.
"Alohamora!"
Immediately, the coffin unlocked and dirt had already begun to spill in. James transformed into a stag, Prongs, and gathered his weight, pushing up, heaving forward with all his strength. He broke the surface of the loose soil easily, gasping for air as he rose the rest of the way out. He stood there for a minute at his grave, panting from the effort.
He began to try and transform back into a human, but the snap of a twig caused him to stop, whirring around, deer senses now alert. He squinted into the darkness, seeing three small shapes in the shadows. Head was lowered, antlers menacing for an attack of some beast. But three small, timid voices immediately threw him off.
"There's no supposed to be deer here," said one of the small forms.
"I thought I just saw it come out of a grave over there," replied a little girl's voice, "Whose is it?"
Yet another voice said, "Lillian Evans Potter."
"Why did you dare me to come here?" snapped the little girl, "It's freaking me out!"
When they first started their whispered discussion, James watched the children with amusement, but at one of the boy's voice, he felt his heart drop. He backed away towards a stone beside his, which had the name of his wife upon it. Still in his deer form, he stumbled away, turning to gallop away. Everything was blocked by vines except the spot by the children. James heaved into a run, leaping over the low fence and whisking by the frightened children. As he cleared the fencing, his depression became even larger as he saw one of the boys had black hair and bright green eyes. He reminded him very much of his own baby.
Harry…In his blind grief he had not even bothered to look for Harry's gravestone. It was best, because it would have made him even more depressed. They did not escape the attack. Even though James did not see Harry's, he knew that it was not possible. A baby could not survive that immense power.
James cantered down the road in his stag form, breath coming in short gasps. Finally he came to a halt near the beginning of a culdesac, changing back into his human form. He glanced around the street, shoulders slumped from grief and exhaustion. Running around after fifteen years in a grave is no walk in the park.
He slowly began to walk down the street, hazel eyes darting around the darkness. He wanted something familiar, something to at least be there as a shred of memory. He came to a halt at a blank lot at the end of the circle, a black hole in his emotions.
His house had disappeared. Not even a mound of rubble was there. Only overgrown foliage and vines covered the lot, with the scattered pieces of roofs strewn here and there. Disbelieving, James took a step to the remnants of his home.
Through the old pieces of rubble he walked and searched, overturning insulation and dusty boards. His arm brushed the branches of a new tree- well- the tree was older than a sapling, but it had not been in the middle of his living room before. A bowtruckle hissed at him. James drew forth his wand and sent out a shower of sparks threateningly. The tree-guardian hissed again and retreated further into the branches of its chosen tree, watching James rummage through the scattered remains of his house.
His hands rested on old fabric. He grasped the black cloak with crimson trim, hugging it to him. This was Lily's old cloak, but it would do. Instincts told him he needed a disguise. People must know he was- had been- dead or something like it, so he should not be walking around in broad daylight without covering his features in some way.
James stepped out of the lot, walking back down the sidewalk. He turned around one last time, gazing at his house. A sigh was let forth and he turned away, getting out his wand once again. He muttered the words required for Apparation and disappeared into the night.
He hurdled through space, journeying to a place he knew would have answers, somewhoere tha he could take refuge in.
James came to a hurtling stop, knees buckling as he hit a worn path. His gaze traveled up, a small smile coming to features for the first time. The spires of the castle of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry greeted James Potter for the first time in years.
Meanwhile, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, jumped awake, screaming
Harry had startled awake, hands pressed upon his forehead. He was panting hard, the ends of his fingers tingling unpleasantly. He fought to keep himself under control, nausea rising within him. He was still shaking and sweating, covers strapping to his sweaty body like a straightjacket. He could not help feel the sensation of Dejavoo all over again. This was coincidentally like that summer two years ago when he had awoken from that dream- or vision.
Harry groaned when he heard the furious, heavy footsteps of his uncle. Uncle Vernon slammed into the door, wrenching it open. His purple face stared back at him, eyes bulging in fury. His hand reached down and grabbed Harry painfully around the neck.
"You dare to yell like some maniac in my house, boy!" he yelled. Suddenly he yelped and drew away, shaking his hand. A small welt was on the palm of his hand. The blister was only small though, not a bad as Quirrel when he attacked Harry before. But that was Voldemort, so maybe wounds were not as bad for someone else..
Harry was disturbed by this. Only when someone had the intention to kill or physically harm him by their own hands did they get blistered. Did Vernon want him dead? Ever since he had returned back to the Dursleys, Uncle Vernon had been more violent than usual despite the threats of Moody. But it had only been two weeks since the return Harry made to the Dursleys, so he did not have time to reply to Lupin, Moody, the Weaslys, or anyone else for that matter. Maybe he was taking out all the build up of anger he had on Harry that had gathered over the years upon him this summer.
Vernon continued to glare at Harry.
"Dark weirdoes coming after family and now this," he muttered, examining his hand. The blister was not that bad, but it was right in the middle of the creases of the palm. He cast a dark look at Harry one more time and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Harry sat back upon the bed, breathing deeply and massaging his neck. The encounter with his uncle faded away quickly as he tried to remember his dream- more or less a vision. He knew it was not a dream because his scar still stung painfully. He rubbed a hand on his forehead, wishing that he did not have the scar. He closed his eyes and lied back, trying to remember it.
He had been Voldemort… Bellatrix Lestrange had been cowering before him.
At the thought of Bellatrix, Harry felt immense grief and rage rise up within him. It had only been a couple of months since the death of Sirius, but the wound of sorrow felt new. It broke open and bled internally every day, guilt sometimes flooding along with that flow of emotion. He wanted to hurt her-no- kill her as much as he loathed Voldemort. The last parental figure had been torn away soon after coming to him. Why did things like this have to happen? Harry felt it was not fair. What had he done to be in this fateful position? He did nothing wrong…
He went back to trying to remember the dream, which had become foggier by the second.
He- Voldemort- had been scolding Lestrange about something… What were the exact words? A "comatose-like state"… Who was in that and why did Bellatrix want to learn the curse? When Voldemort taught her the counter curse, he had been thrown back, and that was when the cascade of fury merged over the bond of the Curse That Failed to Harry's emotions and perception… And there was a picture of someone, the anger rising in a tumult when Voldemort pictured this person… the picture was hazy, but Harry thought he could figure out who it was.
Harry suddenly relaxed, not knowing exactly what he was doing. His breathing became deep and steady, as if he were sleeping, yet his senses were at full alert. Harry felt his mind start to wander- wander across a bridge of some sort. He relaxed further, his mind journeying across this bridge. He came to a figurative door, and tentatively and mentally pushed it open. There were storage things here… memories. Harry was in someone else's mind, and he had a sneaking suspicion whom. With astonishment, it dawned upon Harry that this time, their positions had been reversed. Right now he was performing a certain kind of Legimancy(sp?) upon the Dark Lord's mind. And for now, Voldemort had no idea he was there.
There was hate here, a being consumed by hatred and far from the realm of being saved. There were memories here too. To his horror, Harry "bumped" into a thought Voldemort was thinking right now. There were swirling shapes- unintelligible things- Harry found that Voldemort rested on one thought. In fact, it was a sort of picture. Voldemort was picturing someone in his head. There was no mistaking it, the Dark Lord was thinking about Harry right now, with intense rage.
Suddenly, Harry felt the vision shift to another part of Voldemort's mind, a memory.
There was a door in front of him- well, Voldemort- and muffled shouts could be heard inside. A man's panicked voice. Then, the man's voice said a charm, Collapatorus! The locking charm. Voldemort laughed and undid the charm with a simple counter-curse, and burst open the door. He looked around the room, eyes scanning every part of a living room. The place was somewhat familiar to Harry… in a way he could not explain.
Harry saw the Dark Lord's gaze shift to the left side of the room. Another maniac laugh came. Harry tensed when he saw who Voldemort was looking at.
"Surprise, James." came the evil hissing voice.
James.
James Potter…
Harry's father…
It dawned upon Harry. Voldemort was reliving the night he killed Harry's parents.
James was standing in front of the stairs, wand out and the other arm outstretched. He was barring the stairway. His hazel eyes were livid with anger and a small amount of fear. Harry felt an ache in his heart at the familiar, yet so unfamiliar face of his parent. Voldemort advanced further. James raised his wand.
"Gardilum!" he yelled, a jet of orange light coming from the tip.
Voldemort deflected the curse and came forward. James stepped back, but then came forward again, sending another curse towards Voldemort, who once again avoided it.
"I thought you could do better than that James, after all, aren't you an Auror?" taunted Voldemort.
"Get out of my house, you piece of filth," hissed Harry's father, glaring at the leader of the Dark side.
Voldemort chuckled.
"I'm not here for you, Potter. And yes, I know your pathetic family is up stairs. It's a shame you can't protect them."
Voldemort sent the body-binding curse towards James, who's quick reflexes enabled him to dodge it just in time. Harry heard the creaking of a stair and Voldemort glanced up, seeing the pale face of a red haired woman. Voldemort started to move towards the stairs, which were now unblocked since James had dodged Voldemort's last attack. As he set one foot on the stairs, James rammed into his shoulder, causing him to stumble back.
James started to say a curse to the distracted sorcerer, who in a hurry cackled and said:
Avaida Kadavria!"The memory suddenly ended, but the words kept on repeating over and over again.
Avaida Kadaivia…Harry felt Vodemort feel a twinge of regret and rage, but did not know why. He had killed his dad, so why was he so angry. Suddenly, Harry felt the Dark Lord shift into the present. A pain, not on his scar, was inflicted upon his head.
His whole body was on fire- someone was pushing him mentally away- so powerful it was physically paining him. There was rage… Voldemort suddenly found out that he was not the only one examining his own memories. He realized that Harry was there.
Instantly Harry disconnected himself from that bridge of the Curse that Failed. He was sweating and shaking, feeling slight confusion. What was Voldemort so angry about that fateful night fifteen years ago?
Harry made up his mind and leapt off his bed, opening the wooden storage chest at the foot of it. He bent over, rummaging through the trunk until he found his eagle feather quill and a piece of parchment. He switched on the light at his small desk in the corner of the room. Even though dawn was coming, it was still very dark. Harry dipped his quill-tip in the ink and started to write.
Dear Professor Dumbledore,
This morning I woke up with my scar hurting from a vision I had earlier this morning. Voldemort was scolding Bellatrix Lestrange about something. Somehow I managed to get into his mind and he had a memory of the night when my parents died. He got really mad when he said the killing curse, which I didn't think sounded like "Avada Kedavra" but I don't really know. He found out I was in his mind and pushed me out before I could see anything else. I don't know how I got into his thoughts in the first place. I'm extremely confused and I wonder if you could somehow help.
-Harry
Harry gave a small, displeased chuckle at his letter. It sounded so stupid, but how else could he explain what happened?
He rose from his desk and walked over to the window, opening it into the night. Hedwig liked to hunt at night, then at dawn would rest at the tree beside Harry's window, then come in when Harry opened it.
Harry looked outside and saw his white owl in the tree, head tucked beneath her wing. She lifted her head and looked at him, lifting off the branch and flying in. She landed upon Harry's shoulder, giving him a loving nip to the ear. Harry walked over to the desk and took the letter, tying it to her leg. She begrudgingly stuck out her foot, hooting her displeasure.
"Sorry I have to keep you up, girl," said Harry, stroking her feathers. "But I need to get this to Dumbledore, and I know you can find him."
Hedwig hooted again and flew out the window, her white form quickly becoming a priprink of white in the distance.
Harry sighed and walked to his bed again, throwing himself down and crossing his arms. He wished Sirius were here. He would know what to do, even though Dumbledore was wise. What Harry really needed was someone who understood…
A father…
((A/N: Hey y'all, hope you enjoyed the story. Don't know where exactly I'm going, but I'm having some feelings. I promise to update soon, but right now I'm writing two stories at the same time. (If you wana read the other story, it's a Kim Possible fic titled "Could it Be?" by me, zebrafinch.
As for the meaning of my name, it's a secret. Nah, not really. It was just a burst of inspiration that I thought sounded cool. Zebrafinch is actually the kind of bird I have looks around sheepishly .
Okay, so, please READ and REVIEW!))