|And Still Can't Stop Hoping
Author: Samantha Aswad PM
AU: Neville was named the Boywholived. Harry’s mother died giving birth to him and his father blames him for her death. And if you already have an heir in your family who really needs someone like Lucas Harry Potter?Rated: Fiction T - English - Drama/Tragedy - Harry P. & Severus S. - Chapters: 24 - Words: 72,656 - Reviews: 2,765 - Favs: 2,089 - Follows: 2,887 - Updated: 01-09-09 - Published: 05-30-06 - id: 2964792
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
And still can't stop hoping
Disclamer: Nothing but the idea, some new characters which you don't know from the books 1-6 are mine. Anything else like the character belong to J.K.Rowling, I'm only using them ;)
Warnings: There will be child abuse, violence, bad, bad words ;) and Harry won't have a happy life…poor guy. Later (much later) there will be also Slash.
And: My first language isn't English! But I have one of the best Betareaders you could ask for, so don't worry too much about that warning ;)
So I'd like to thank searinox a lot! Thanks for all your time!
So…and now let's get started and please let me know how you like the story!
At first glance, it seemed to be a night like any other. A Halloween like every other year. Some families were visiting relatives and having a quiet dinner; others were just enjoying the company of their significant other. Most children had come back with more sweets they could eat hours ago. And some, like James Potter, were sitting in a pub and trying to find answers in a glass of alcohol.
Most people would think that James Potter, one of the best aurors of the ministry, would stay at home and have a nice evening with his two kids. Most would also think that over three months after the death of his wife he would be able to at least look after his kids. But most people were wrong. Very wrong.
James was still trying to come to terms with the fact that his lovely, beautiful, intelligent wife was no longer with him. And he was still trying to find someone to blame. He remembered her so clearly- her red hair, her emerald green eyes, her smile. He took another sip from the whiskey he was drinking, continuing his thoughts about his lost wife.
He remembered how happy Lily had been after the doctors had told her that she would have another baby. Another boy. Just a half year after giving birth to their firstborn son, Jonathan David Potter, Lily had been happily pregnant again.
James wondered while asking for another drink if she would have been so eager to give birth to another "little wonder", as she called Jonathan, if she had known that Lucas would be the death of her.
The doctors just weren't able to stop the blood, and just a few minutes after Lucas had been born and placed into her arms as a last wish, she had died. With a smile on her lips. "Take care of my little survivor," she'd told him. Why couldn't she be the survivor?
James sighed while looking into his half-empty glass. He remembered the talk they'd had about the names so clearly in his head. How much Lily wanted to name their second son indirectly after her. Lucas, because Lily also started with L; like how Jonathan had named after James. And his second name was to be Harry, after his Grandfather on James' side of the family; like how Jonathan had his middle name from Lily's father, David. Such a small thing to make Lily happy.
He never called him Lucas these days. He just couldn't bring himself to be reminded of Lily so much. But it seemed that Lu…Harry was trying to do everything he could to torture his father.
His eyes were nearly the same shade of green Lily's had been. It hurt just to look into the eyes of his youngest son. And he still wasn't sure if he could stop blaming this small, 3-month-old baby for its mother's death.
In the rational part of his mind, he knew that the child was innocent and would never want to kill his mother. But James just couldn't stop what he was feeling. He sighed and sent a silent prayer to anyone who would listen that there would be a sign to show him who was guilty of Lily's death.
- Another place, the same night-
Voldemort had the perfect plan for this night. No one knew how many spies he really had within the ranks of the Light Side and he was very proud of that. It was so easy to find traitors there to help him. So very easy.
Voldemort knew about a prophecy made about himself and a little brat born at the end of July and there were only two boys that fit that description – Lucas Potter and Neville Longbottom. And tonight, both of them would die.
Voldemort knew where both the Longbottoms and the Potters were hiding; he would send his most trusted Death Eaters to kill one family and he would go with three other Death Eaters and kill the other one. He knew where the Potters' house was because of Peter, and one of his spies had gotten the address of the Longbottoms.
The Longbottoms, who suspected nothing, would have nothing more than the customary wards around their house- those would be easy to break. The Potters, who knew that Voldemort was after them, had erected special wards that required either for the intruder to be keyed into them or for someone within the house to unlock them. And Peter was waiting within. There wouldn't even be James Potter to worry about- he was out getting himself drunk, Peter had told them. And he wouldn't have to worry about the Longbottoms either. One of his Death Eaters had managed to slip a potion into their drinks at a local pub earlier that night- they would be too weak to put up much of a fight. It was just too easy.
As Voldemort made his way to his victim's house, he thought about how easy it would be to enter the homes. One house would be opened from the inside and the other family didn't even know that they were on his dead list and were already weak. There would be no problems for either him or his Death Eater. He smirked at his servants and they nodded respectful back. Yes, too easy.
Finally Voldemort stood in front of the cradle that held the brat that could make his life a living hell. He looked into the baby face and only sneered. He would never understand why something so little, so obviously weak, could become one day a strong wizard. Babies always looked so helpless and innocent.
One of his trusted Death Eaters also looked at the small kid. "His birthday fits exactly with the prophecy. His name is-"
"I'm not interested in his name. Just in killing him," Voldemort interrupted his servant, stepping up to the slumbering child. No one else in the room was important at the moment, and Voldemort ignored them. No one made a sound, no one moved- they all knew better than to anger Voldemort at this moment...
He looked down on the small child, just three months old. He was too young for any likeness to his parents to have appeared; not that it mattered. The Dark Lord smirked, thinking that it wouldn't live long enough for anyone to find out which parent it would grow to look most like.
No longer wanting to waste his time, he said the words of the killing curse while watching his victim. "Avada Kadavra," he said, and as if in slow motion he saw the killing curse leaving his wand and flying towards the small child.
He never had the chance to duck as the curse came flying back at him. The last thing he heard before everything went black was the crying of a child and his servants' frightened screams.
- Back at the pub -
James was still sitting at the same spot he had been in for hours. He sighed and looked again at his watch. It was time to go home. He knew that he had made Peter wait long enough already.
He just hoped that there hadn't been any problems. The truth was, neither of the kids really liked Peter. They adored Sirius and Remus, but neither had been able to stay with Jonathan and Luc… Harry that night, and Peter had been more than willing. He just hoped the house was still standing- Jonathan and Harry had been known to give out bursts of magic when particularly upset.
And with a strange calmness, he was also sure that if it was Luc…Harry's fault that his mother had died, there would be a sign. A sign that James wouldn't be able to miss.
With that in mind he drank the last of his Firewhiskey, slapped some sickles on the counter, and left the pub without looking back.
He didn't yet know that his children hadn't been sleeping peacefully all night.
He didn't yet know that they haven't been alone with Peter the whole time.
And he wouldn't ask himself for a long time what really happened the night that Lucas Harry Potter got a scar in the form of a lightning bolt on his forehead.
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