" Lily, take Harry and run! He is it! Hurry! I'll stop him -"
Today was the day.
Albus Dumbledore sat silently at his desk, looking into nothing.
He felt old.
It had been years ago since he had participated in a war and this time around, everything seemed to drag out. He couldn't remember fighting this long in the last war.
He sighed.
"Albus?"
"I'm fine, Alastor," he said. "Just tired. This war… all those deaths… they seem so useless right now."
Albus shook his head.
Maybe, he was delusional with age, but sometime wondered if he had gone and done something wrong when it came to handling Tom Riddle's education.
The boy back then, had been a bright boy, Albus remembered, a bright yet already badly influenced boy.
Even before lying his eyes on the boy, Albus had already known that. The boy's caretaker had ensured that he knew what the boy was capable of before he even entered the room or met the boy himself…
" He scares the other children." She had told him.
" You mean he is a bully?"
" I think he must be. But it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents… nasty things… Billy Stubbs's rabbit… well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"
Then there had been the story of the two children in the cave. They had never been quite right afterwards.
It was a sad story. A child, bright, intelligent - and yet already cruel with a penchant for secrecy and domination.
" I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to. I knew I was different. I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."
The boy had been a bit more open back then - and yet, Albus had come too late to safe him… but he had tried, even though the boy had already shown that he wanted independence - that he wanted to be different.
" I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips - they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"
" It is unusual," Albus had answered, after a moments hesitation. "but not unheard of."
He had tried to play it casual, not hiding his curiosity… But in the end, the interest he had shown to the child hadn't been enough.
Being prefect and having perfect marks hadn't been enough.
Being head boy hadn't been enough.
And Albus had been forced to sit by and watch the child grow into a cruel man - a man who had been capable of murder at the tender age of fifteen, even if Albus had never been able to prove it.
"You look distracted, today, Albus," Alastor said in that moment, pulling Albus out of his memories. "I somehow get the feeling that it doesn't do you any good."
Albus sighed.
"It's getting worse," he finally said, giving his friend something, even if it wasn't the answer the other man wanted to hear. "Voldemort is on the rise, and no matter what we do, we're incapable of stopping him. Instead, the fight seem to drag out longer and longer."
Alastor sighed.
"There are people who are following him - and they drag more and more people with them into the abyss," he agreed. "You're right, it's getting worse - but we're not alone. The Ministry is doing what it can and there is this other group Black is crushing on… we have help, even if it's not enough."
Albus frowned.
"The other group… they're ruthless. They don't help with the death count at all, Alastor," he pointed out with another sigh and closed his eyes.
"They're efficient," Alastor countered and Albus felt something twist inside his stomach.
Death.
He simply couldn't condone death.
Especially not when it came to killing others just because they were of a different belief than your own side.
"Alastor," Albus said with a frown. "Killing them isn't the answer. They're misguided. If we can show them that they're wrong, they will change."
Albus was a firm believer that people could change if you just gave them the chance and means to do so. If you killed them then that potential was lost and Albus didn't want that.
The magical world needed them just like it needed the muggleborns…
Even Tom was just misguided once - and Albus had tried to correct his behaviour…
" The time is long gone when I could frighten you with a burning wardrobe and force you to make repayment for your crimes."
It hurt that later on, he had been forced to admit that he hadn't managed to change the path Tom had stepped on before he even turned eleven years of age…
"People can change, Alastor," he added, pointing out that fact to his friend. "We just need to ensure that they do. They need lenience to do so. Voldemort… he-"
"He has charisma," Alastor agreed, stopping Albus mid-sentence. "He can talk… but if his people really wanted to change, they had already done so years ago because no matter how much you talk - your actions speak more."
Albus just shook his head with a sigh, disagreeing wordlessly with Alastor.
The other man was an Auror and maybe therefore didn't understand it.
They could be saved, Albus was sure - after all, even Gellert was starting to change now, after he had been imprisoned in Nurmengard.
Albus knew that the Death Eaters would be able to do the same if you just gave them the time to do so.
No person was quintessentially evil, after all. Even Tom had started out as a young and misguided child…
But he also knew that this was a point he and Alastor would always disagree on. The other man was far more inclined to see people as through and through evil than as someone who still had the potential for goodness.
That didn't stop Alastor from bringing up the argument time after time.
"We shouldn't try to spare them," Alastor said and leaned forward. "If we do, we will continue to lose."
Albus sighed, but before he could say anything else, the door opened and James Potter stepped inside with a frown on his face.
"You wanted to speak with me, Headmaster?" he asked.
Albus send his former student a slight smile and then gestured for the chair next to Alastor.
"I did," he agreed. "It pertains to the message I delivered to you a few months ago and they safety measures we have taken to assure your family's protection."
James frowned.
"We talked about my family's safety last week," he pointed out to Albus. "I don't understand what else there is to say about it."
"It pertains to the healer Salazar that Sirius is so fond of," Albus explained and while James frowned, Albus still thought that the other man would listen to reason, in the end. After all, in times like that, trusting strangers was the worst thing you could do if you were hunted by the opposition…
"My Lord."
Voldemort looked up from the table he had been working on. On the surface were maps and parchments full of names.
"Any reason why you're interrupting me, Lucius?" he asked casually.
Lucius bowed.
"Yes, my Lord," he agreed and Voldemort couldn't help but look the other man over. Lucius Malfoy was as immaculate clothed as ever. He looked like those lords of old, Voldemort had only read about in school - and acted like them as well. "There are news from the Potters. There's rumours that they're going into hiding through the means of a spell nearly lost in time."
"A spell lost?" Voldemort asked while his mind dwelt on the fact that after years of work he was finally able to actually command his troupes without fearing objections.
He remembered that at the beginning, it had been harder.
" Shouldn't we ensure that our world is safe from the muggles?" he had told his peers back in Hogwarts. "Just look at them right now: they kill each other indiscriminately, not even bothered by the fact that they don't just kill themselves but us as well! We're not involved in their pitiful grievances - we have our own battles to fight - and yet, if they come across us, they kill us all the same!"
It had taken some time - nearly all of his years in Hogwarts since third year - to find a support base. The time before… Voldemort didn't like to think about it. When he had come to Hogwarts, he had expected peers, but as a muggleborn in Slytherin, it hadn't been easy. He had been forced to learn what others had grown up with as fast as possible. Under the watchful eyes of Dumbledore and the man's negative words in the previous Headmaster's ears, the boy Voldemort had been back then, had nearly drowned in his first years of Hogwarts.
" Do you think it's wise to try and impress your peers reading these books and trying the spells contained in them, Tom? Books like that… they talk about things that shouldn't be read by young, impressionable children."
Of course, it didn't help that the man showed open distrust towards Voldemort wherever they met.
" Tom. I can't remember you owning this book," there had been a cool and reprimanding look from the teacher who wasn't caring that they were in the Great Hall and all of Tom's peers were listening in. "How about you give it back to the person it belongs to? Or do you want to spend your time cleaning the trophy room?"
Voldemort had hated it, had resented the other man more and more over time - especially with his hands-of approach when it came to anything else, but the things he personally witnessed.
" But, Professor! Umbridge tried to rip up my homework! I was just-"
" I understand, Mr. Riddle. Nevertheless, I doubt that Mr. Umbridge would have destroyed another person's work like that," the Professor had looked at the Gryffindor student until the boy shook his head.
" I wouldn't," he said.
" There you go, Tom. Spells like the one you tried to use aren't necessary. Twenty points from Slytherin."
Voldemort had hated that man and he had been happy when he had finally found proof of an inheritance that Dumbledore could have told him about years earlier - an inheritance that finally gave Voldemort the edge he needed to establish himself in Slytherin and start his path upwards in the magical world.
Of course, finding the right initiative hadn't hurt as well.
"We're held back just so that the mudbloods are able to catch up! This is our education, we're talking about! Shouldn't we try to get the best there is - and not being held back by those who aren't even inclined to learn about our world!"
Over time, it had been Dumbledore's agenda that had further helped his own - especially after Dumbledore had made headmaster.
"They actually went and changed Samhain into Hallowe'en! Yule into Christmas! Our traditions are lost to accommodate the Mudbloods! Lost for a world that shouldn't even be considered when it comes to our own - nevertheless dominated!"
It had taken time and some insurances, but in the end, Voldemort had gotten where he needed to be to ensure his visions came true.
Of course, then, when he was finally about to reach his goal, another obstacle ended up in his way.
A prophecy - and two little boys that could be his downfall.
And while Voldemort expected the Longbottoms - a long line of purebloods - to finally see reason and change sides, the Potters - Charlus, Fleamont, James - were known for their stubbornness, their utter belief in what they thought right.
Voldemort had never met a Potter, except on the battlefield, but he knew the tales.
Henry, against the dark wizard Morgan.
Fleamont, the Unspeakable.
Charlus, the tactician against Grindelwald.
And James, a man he had crossed wands with and who had actually managed to hold his own for a while.
Dangerous.
Destructive.
Unwilling to bend.
Only one other person had ever showed the same traits had been a healer, Voldemort had once met on the battlefield.
He was ripped from that thought by Lucius.
"We haven't found out what kind of spell they're planning to use, yet, my Lord," Lucius said. "But, some of us who know a bit about obscure magic fear it might be the Fidelius."
"The Fidelius?" asked Voldemort, his mind turning to his knowledge of obscure spells as well.
"It might be more than a bit of a problem if they do," Lucius agreed. "To get the secret-"
"Will be nearly impossible," Voldemort concluded. For a moment, he looked down towards the maps and lists in front of him. Then he turned back around and looked at his servant.
"Do everything possible to find them and stop them from hiding," he instructed. "Find the others of their little resistance. Back them into a corner. We will step up our plans. Let's draw them out!"
"What about the other… resistance?" Lucius asked. "What about the Nightwitches?"
"Bring them down, if you can," Voldemort answered and turned back to the maps. "If you can't, try to distract them. Until we kill the Potters and either kill the Longbottoms or they're changing sides, they are of lesser importance."
"Yes, my Lord," with that, Lucius left him to his plans.
" Don't forget, mummy loves you, daddy loves you!"
The door was blasted open.
"You don't understand, James! It's dangerous! Do you really want to endanger your child that way?!"
Sal felt frustrated.
He knew what would happen.
He knew that Tom Riddle was obsessed with the Potters.
But he had no proof.
And without proof, there was nothing he could offer to explain his anxiety.
"I'm aware that it's dangerous," James replied with an eye roll. "The Dork Lord is after us. We've been in conflict with him at least three times - and now he's definitely trying to kill us-"
Sal threw James a frustrated look with his vagueness.
"I can't help you if you-"
"We've got it handled," James replied and waved it off. "Don't worry about us."
But Sal worried.
Sal had worried for months, since Harryjames had been born.
And while his worry had been dismissed by Lily and James as too much, at least Sirius had gotten a bit more paranoid.
Sal wondered if he was the reason why they'd change the Secret Keeper to Pettigrew in the end - a man, Sal had never met and therefore couldn't judge.
Sal balled his hands.
"Alright," he said, closing his eyes. "Alright. But, James… be careful, will you?"
"We will," James agreed, now sounding a lot softer than before. "I understand that you're stressed. We all are. There've been attacks everywhere. We're barely able to counter them anymore - even with your group and ours working on it."
They weren't coordinating, because that would have meant to work with Dumbledore, but they definitely worked on it.
Sal rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"Let's go with this," he agreed, not willing or able to try and tell them the real reason.
James reached out and squeezed his shoulder.
"We've something planned. Lily found the spell," he tried to reassure Sal. "We're going into hiding under it in a few days' time."
Sal didn't even need his foreknowledge to know which spell they were talking about.
"You plan to use the Fidelius," he gathered.
For a moment, James looked a bit taken aback, that Sal had combined that conclusion out of his words, then he appraised Sal a second time.
"I'm surprised you came to that conclusion," he said and Sal sighed.
"Lily was researching spells for hiding. No matter what, if you don't try to build layers of wards over wards within days - something that's impossible - the only way to hide something fast and securely is the Fidelius," he pointed out. "It's also obscure enough, that the opposition might not know it."
It wouldn't matter.
They would be found anyway.
"Sirius will be our secret keeper," James said and Sal looked at him sharply.
"I wouldn't go around and announce that in public," he reprimanded the other man. "You'll never know who will overhear."
James pressed his lips together and then looked pointedly around the empty field they had met in. It had been suggested by James to meet here and Sal was keenly aware that he hadn't been invited to James' and Lily's home like normally.
"We're also going to move," James added and didn't look at Sal. "Sirius and Lily are currently doing it."
Sal closed his eyes at that admission.
"You're not going to tell me your new address," he concluded.
James grimaced.
"Sirius is against it," he said. "He trusts you. But… I know… no, I think I know that you're not a bad kind… but I can't risk it. I'm sorry."
Sal couldn't help but stare at James as if he was mad.
Then he tipped his chest, displaying his healer's oath.
"I think," he said dryly. "That this should definitely tell you the answer."
James just looked at the oath for a second, before he looked up into Sal's eyes again.
"Lily told me there are differences in your oath compared to others. She noticed it," he commented calmly.
Sal closed his eyes.
Of all the times…
Of course, Sirius had known that as well… but he also knew that the other man had kept it for himself, and Sal had never expected Lily to see it…
"Yes," he agreed because he couldn't deny the truth. "But not one of those differences would give me the right to hurt you - or kill or betray you."
"We can't risk it," James said calmly, apologetically. "Not with Harryjames. I'm sorry."
Sal closed his eyes.
His hands balled to fists.
Of course.
When James turned around, Sal couldn't help but speak up again.
His heart arched.
"Tell me," he said tiredly. "Is this you, speaking - or are those the words of somebody else?"
For a moment, James hesitated.
In the end he sighed.
"Dumbledore doesn't know of the difference in your oath," he said and apparated away.
Nevertheless, those words had answered Sal's question.
Dumbledore might not have known of the difference - but it was his mistrust speaking, nevertheless.
Sal curled into himself.
It hurt.
He had known that he wouldn't be able to change it, but he hadn't known that he would be thrown out of James' and Lily's life like that. Never like that.
He understood their fear.
He understood their caution.
And it hurt to know that their actions had been logical - they couldn't know the differences and what they changed with Sal's oath - and yet, so utterly unnecessary.
Sal didn't know how long he sat there after he had curled into himself and lost his footing, but in the end, it was Ana who found him.
"Pater?" he asked and Sal shook his head.
"I'm alright, Ana."
The vampire sighed and sat down next to Sal.
"Somehow," he said dryly. "I have the feeling that you're anything but alright. You're grieving."
Sal took a deep breath and wanted to deny it - just to stop and understand that that was what he did.
He was grieving.
He was grieving for the loss of three of his friends.
He was grieving for the living - and that hurt the most.
Because in barely a week's time, he would be grieving for the dead instead.
"You didn't do it just because of whatever Dumbledore said, did you?"
James pressed his lips together.
"Sirius…"
"No," his brother in all but blood shook his head. "I want to hear it from your lips, Prongs. Tell me you had a reason and maybe I'll understand."
For a moment, James had the urge to look away, but then he squared his shoulders and returned the other man's gaze coolly.
"His healer's oath is different. Lily noticed and-"
"So?" James stopped dead at Sirius's reply.
"That… that's your answer to that?!" he stared at his best friend incredulously.
Sirius shrugged.
"I've always known that his healer's oath is different. But, as much as I hate my family, I was also taught that differences don't matter. It's the similarities that do."
James frowned.
"What are you talking about, Sirius?" he asked. "A difference like that could stop it from working-"
Sirius snorted.
"You and I both know that it wouldn't. It's an oath. No matter what, it's binding - even if it might contain a bit of a difference, it's clearly a healer's oath, which means that no matter what, he's sworn to save lives and not endanger them."
There was a sort of reprimand in his voice that actually stopped James and made him scrutinize his brother in all but blood closer.
Sirius returned the gaze seriously and calmly.
"An oath is an oath," he repeated. "You can't just go and put your distrust on that alone."
James frowned.
"You know something," he concluded. "You know something about him that makes you trust him - absolutely and without question."
Sirius sighed.
"I do," he agreed, not elaborating.
James frowned.
"Is there a reason why you never said anything?"
Sirius sighed.
"Because I forced him to speak about it when I panicked after you and Lily ended up buried in that cave," he confessed. "He… well, he calmed me and also distracted me with it."
James frowned, but he connected the dots immediately.
"Whatever it is, it ensures your trust in him," he concluded. "And it also ensured your loyalty in such a strong way that you keep his secrets even from us."
The 'you normally don't' was implied.
Sirius sighed.
"Does it matter?" he countered. "You already decided that he's not worthy of your trust."
James winced.
Even if Sirius hadn't said anything, the reprimand was clearly heard.
"We're not trusting Remus. We're not trusting anybody but you and Petey," he pointed out. "I think that trusting somebody we barely know… is risky at that."
"You're also trusting Dumbledore," Sirius countered. "He has a slip with the secret on it."
James sighed.
"He's the leader of the light," he countered. "And while Lily doesn't really like it, she agreed that it was best that somebody had a slip of the secret just in case."
Sirius looked a bit surprised at that.
"She doesn't like it?" he asked astonished.
James sighed.
"She's been a bit different when it comes to some things about the Order of a few months now," he said with a sigh. "I guess, it's influenced by Salvazsahar."
Sirius shrugged.
"It's Lily, I doubt she actually lets somebody influence her even a bit if she hadn't found reasons to see it their way," he countered.
James agreed with amusement in his eyes.
"You want me to change my decision, don't you?" James finally asked. "You want me to add Salvazsahar to the wards."
Sirius winced.
"I understand that you want to keep Harryjames safe, but… I know he's no danger for my godson, believe me, Prongs."
For a moment, James looked at him solemnly, then he closed his eyes and sighed again.
"Give us a few days. I will think about it and talk with Lily… not that I think that she won't agree. She's more on your side than on mine in this case even if she's cautious."
Sirius smiled.
"That's all I can ask."
James nodded, and decided to bring it up with Lily after Samhain.
It was only another day, after all…
"You tell me, you can lead me to them?"
"Yes, My Lord," the rat-like man whimpered, his head bowed low while he shook with fear. "I was made their secret keeper today."
Voldemort looked at the pathetic man in front of him.
The Secret Keeper.
They had done a Fidelius Charm.
For a moment, Voldemort was actually impressed by the ingenuity of his opponents, then he sneered at their deep-sitting trust in the people they called friends.
For a moment, he contemplated his fortune.
They had basically been served to him on a silver platter.
Samhain would be tomorrow - and killing the Potters and his prophesied defeater on such a day… making his final Horcrux on such a day… would be fortunate, indeed, for him.
For a second, that thought actually made him recoil when he had it.
He had thought that before, two years and one day ago - and had ended that Samhain night nearly defeated by a man he had never met before.
A stranger.
A healer.
Somebody who shouldn't have had the power to fight back at all.
Voldemort shuddered at that thought, his mind drifting back to that moment - that one moment when he had been so sure of his victory…
It had been a raid in a mixed - magical and muggle - village near the Forest of Dean that ended in a battle against Dumbledore's men in the middle of the woods. And while their precious leader had been occupied elsewhere, Voldemort and his troupes had triumphed on the battlefield.
There had been bleeding and dead order members all around.
There had been nobody up to a fight anymore.
Nobody who could have stopped Voldemort anymore.
At least, that was what he thought until he had seen a healer kneeling above some hurt order members - members who had battled Voldemort themselves that day and had only lost by chance.
They had given a good fight.
They had been strong.
But then, they were the Black heir, the Potter heir and his mudblood lover…
Voldemort had expected them to be strong and he hadn't been disappointed at all.
He hadn't killed them, instead chosen to let them bleed to death while being forced to listen how the rest of their people died or fell around them. Now, barely twenty minutes later, not one of them were conscious anymore.
What a pity.
Nevertheless, when Voldemort had returned to them - intending to at least give the Black and Potter heirs another chance to join them - he hadn't expected to find a healer kneeling over them, assessing their injuries and stabilizing them.
He hadn't expected someone to ignore him and his men to heal people.
Voldemort inwardly scoffed at the less than careless way the healer was acting.
He was kneeling in front of the heirs, his back vulnerable and unprotected.
An easy target, with no shield to save him and nobody to watch his back.
Stupid .
Well, Voldemort wasn't about to disregard an easy win.
He pulled his wand and shot a simple cutting curse at the healer and his patients.
Oh, theoretically, Voldemort knew that healers were protected and shouldn't be harmed - but Voldemort never cared about useless traditions like that, so killing the healer wasn't something he felt sorry for.
The curse came hurling at the Black and Potter heirs and their healer, and Voldemort expected to be left with a few enemies less within the next two seconds.
A white flash.
The curse rebounded from a barrier that surely hadn't been there just seconds before.
The healer turned.
Their eyes met - and the world fell away.
The green eyes of the healer were the same shade as the killing curse.
A cruel smile played on the face of the healer.
The next second, a splitting headache nearly overwhelmed the Dark Lord.
Memories of dozens of raids, memories of a childhood in an orphanage, memories of hundreds of dark rituals flooded the Dark Lord's mind.
Voldemort cursed and fought against the mind attack the healer was conducting on him.
How had that man managed to breach his Occlumency shields?
Who was he that he was able to do what nobody had ever done before?
Until a second ago, Voldemort had been sure that the man had nothing on the Dark Lord. His magic was barely tangible and his spells had been anything but powerful.
But this attack - this battle - showed a different thing to Voldemort.
This healer…
He might not have the magic to defeat a powerful being like Lord Voldemort - but he definitely had the will and the skill to be a danger, nevertheless.
With that thought, Voldemort brought out his magical power to overwhelm what he couldn't defeat with just skill alone.
A malicious smile from the healer was the answer to his increasing magical power.
Then a burst of magic came from the being in front of Voldemort.
Flames erupted from the earth in between them, reaching for the Dark Lord.
Voldemort hissed a counter, but the flames just grew higher and wilder.
The Dark Lord's eyes widened.
Fiendfyre?
As if the healer knew what he had been thinking, he barred his teeth at him.
"Something worse, I assure you," he replied as if Voldemort had spoken his guess aloud.
The Dark Lord shivered.
"Leave my mind!" It was a demand, but his voice shook and for the first time since his descend to the top of the Wizarding World fear ruled the Dark Lord's thoughts.
The healer just bared his teeth further.
It was as if he was mocking Voldemort.
"I'm not in your mind, Tom Riddle," he countered.
Voldemort snarled.
"Don't you dare to mock me, Healer!" He replied, hurling another curse toward the healer in front of him.
The curse splashed against a shield Voldemort had never seen before.
Again, a white flash showed the moment the curse collided with the shield.
The healer laughed, his laugh harsh and without joy.
The fire surrounding Voldemort burned even higher, making him retreat another step.
"I'm not mocking you, Tom Riddle," the healer replied, his green eyes closing before opening to a poisonous green - a green that Voldemort had never seen before; a green worse than the killing curse could ever be.
Something reached for Voldemort's body, slowly but surely stiffening it, turning it into stone.
There was no counter, no way to stop that gaze.
Voldemort couldn't turn his eyes away.
He couldn't overwhelm that magic, couldn't counter it, couldn't defeat it.
For a bitter second or two, Voldemort tasted utter defeat at the hands of a man so much less powerful than he.
Then, with an act of utter, fear-induced strength, Voldemort managed to rip his gaze away from the being's in front of him.
The feeling of turning into stone vanished, but the terror stayed.
Voldemort had ripped his gaze away, but now he didn't dare to look into the eyes so much like a basilisk's anymore. Something deep inside him was sure that he was just still alive because the man in front of him was standing behind a barrier which filtered the deadly gaze of his…
Voldemort shuddered.
Fear was clutching his heart in a way he had never felt before.
This healer was a monster…
"I'm more than just a monster, Tom Riddle," the healer assured him, his voice showing a kind of strained amusement that Voldemort couldn't comprehend. His face was amused and Voldemort was sure he hadn't said any of his thoughts aloud.
"Stay out of my mind!" Voldemort screeched, the fear now so deeply integrated in him that his body had started to shake.
"I'm not in your mind," the healer repeated, bitterness in his voice and when Voldemort opened his mouth to protest what he knew was a lie, the healer continued with mock in his voice.
"No, I'm not," he repeated. "It's you, who is in my mind."
It was as if those words finally opened Voldemort's mind to comprehension.
The healer was right.
He wasn't in the Dark Lord's mind.
No, it was Lord Voldemort who had somehow entered the healer's mind - a mind so different, so alien that the only thing Voldemort had been able to do to protect himself was to use his own memories to shield himself.
With a curse, Voldemort tried to withdraw from the vast darkness that was the healer's mind, but something stopped him, forced him to stay.
And now, that Voldemort knew what had actually happened, he was aware and at the mercy of the mind that surrounded him.
The stranger's mind clung to Voldemort's, holding onto it and poisoning it with a darkness that even one of the darkest Lords in history couldn't bear.
Voldemort's mind shuddered under the onslaught of power - a power made of sureness and the knowledge of the integrated abilities and danger.
The healer in front of him knew himself in a way that Voldemort had never managed to do - and was dangerous just because of it.
His mind was like a trap - a trap that Voldemort had slithered into and was now hard pressed to escape.
"I will kill you for this, Healer!" Voldemort threatened the man. The answer was another laugh without joy.
"Kill me?" The healer repeated but his mouth didn't utter a word. It seemed that the healer wasn't bothering to speak out loud anymore now that Voldemort knew what had happened and how he had been trapped. "Kill me? Try it! Find me and kill me if you can - you won't win anyway!"
Voldemort's eyes involuntarily returned to the green ones and again, his body stiffened, slowly but surely turning into stone.
He ripped his gaze away, loathing the fact that he couldn't look the man in the eyes and was instead forced to look to the floor like a servant.
There was no way to intimidate a being you couldn't look into the eye while threatening it. It was like a child, looking at the floor in front of their parents' feet threatening not to do whatever the parent said.
"I will kill you!" Voldemort repeated, his eyes locking on the healer's feet.
"Do it," the healer repeated. "But until then, understand that you aren't worth my aid any longer. You went against everything my oath stands for, you went against everything our powers stand for - and I won't recognise you any longer for it."
At that, a shiver ran down Voldemort's back.
His wand immediately snapped towards himself, his magic in search of the curse he could feel running through his body - and yet, there was nothing different.
Nothing had changed.
The healer sneered at him.
Then there was a mental shove and the next moment the part of Voldemort that had been trapped by the healer was finally free of a mind that had been about to swallow him whole.
A headache even stronger than before hit Voldemort and for a moment he saw a rune glowing in the darkness of his own mind, before the image faded, leaving the desperate feeling of flight behind.
"Leave, Dark Lord of this time," the healer said, his voice strong and old, so old. "I have no time to kill you right now. Leave - and I will let you stay alive for now."
And Voldemort knew that this was his only chance of survival.
He had no defence against the poison in the other man's eyes.
He had no defence against the wickedness of the other man's mind.
And he had no way to circumvent whatever witchcraft the other man had used to surround his patients and himself with.
"One day, I will kill you, Healer!" with that, Voldemort turned and apparated away, defeated for the moment.
"One day, you will try," was the last thing he heard before he left. "One day, Tom Riddle, you will indeed try - and that day isn't that far away anymore."
Voldemort ripped his thoughts away from the past.
It was over.
It had happened two years ago and he was even stronger now than he had been then.
"I will go there on Samhain," he told the winding, whimpering man on the ground in front of him. "Call Bellatrix and the others. I need them to create a distraction for Dumbledore and his cronies."
"Y-y-yes, M-m-my Lord," the worm of a man whimpered and then scurried away like the rat he was.
Voldemort leaned back on his throne and closed his eyes.
Green eyes met his own in his memories.
He had nearly been defeated back then - but he was stronger now.
He was stronger now, and this time around, he would win.
Harryjames Potter.
In Voldemort's mind, a rune glowed golden.
" Stand aside, girl! Stand aside and I won't kill you!"
Today was the day.
Sal was tired.
A few months ago, the attacks had suddenly started to pick up and from then on, they had barely gone a day without another raid or attack somewhere.
Sal and his people were exhausted.
But they weren't the only ones.
Even the Death Eaters looked exhausted - and normally, Sal didn't notice the state of the opposition if they worked against life.
Walking the battlefields, searching it for wounded, working on the dying, those were Sal's days in the last months.
But he wasn't the only one.
Spread over the battlefields, Sal met others like him - healers, helpers and potion's masters.
Most were people he didn't know or had expected to find when it came to walking the battlefields and healing the wounded.
" I'm not blind, Ana, I can see you from over here."
" I'm not fighting!"
" At least something. If you're already here, you can do the assessments. I know you know enough about healing to at least ensure that the dying are stabilized and treated first."
" On it, Pater!"
Some people he met were surprising.
" Healer!"
Sal looked up - just to see silver-blond and long hair. Malfoy hair.
" Tell me where to begin and I will at least be able to treat those with lesser wounds."
Sal's gaze ran over the dark robes that clearly showed him to be a Death Eater even though the mask was missing.
" I can't accept help if the help prioritizes their own fraction in the conflict."
For a moment, the Malfoy - Lucius, from the looks of it and the time line - hesitated, then he nodded curtly.
" Equal treatment," he agreed, just grimacing slightly.
It might have been the first time, Sal would work with Lucius Malfoy, but by far not the last - and he wasn't the only Death Eater who partnered with Sal over the last months to treat the wounded.
Of those few who actually decided to help the wounded, the most of them kept to themselves and Sal only saw them from afar. The most, also only treated their own colleagues.
Nevertheless, every little bit helped, so Sal let them be and turned towards the rest of the wounded to help them instead.
It were a busy kind of months, and it was only in the end that he was reminded of the date - by James, who told him that he wouldn't be allowed to see the new home.
The weeks after were even busier - and no matter where he was, he never saw James, Lily or Sirius.
"I knew that I couldn't do anything about it," he reasoned with himself tiredly. "No matter what, the past - even if it's a past only happening now - can't be changed."
"Are you alright, Pater?"
Those words actually made Sal look up.
He had been in their planning room, looking over the intelligence they had collected.
"I'm not sure," he answered and rubbed his eyes. "The nightmares haven't stopped and the whole last months haven't helped with my health at all."
He could see his son's concern when he said that.
"Pater…"
For a moment, the other man hesitated, then he stepped closer and went down on his knees in front of his father.
Ana's eyes searched Sal's, then the other man closed the distance and buried his head in Sal's stomach while hugging him.
"It's getting worse," Sal confessed. "There's no night I'm not having nightmares anymore… there's no day we're not fighting and walking the battlefields anymore… and there's no minute I'm not thinking about the fact that I'll be losing friends tomorrow."
His son drew him closer.
"I'm sorry, Pater," he whispered. "But you and I know, there's nothing we can do."
Sal returned the hug, curled over his son.
It was only a few minutes later that he became aware of the tears streaming down his face.
It hurt.
Losing them hurt.
There were nightmares.
There were raids and chaos and fight.
But, the worst thing was still losing them - even if he had never really seen them as his parents.
"I heard, there are some of you who went behind my back after the raids over the last months," Lord Voldemort said and looked across the room.
The Death Eaters surrounding him, exchanged concerned glances.
A few years ago, Voldemort would have ignored their doings. He would have turned a blind eye on their actions, condoning their neutral treatment of the wounded on the grounds that on the other side weren't just mudbloods, but also blood-traitors who were as pure-blooded as his own side.
But, over time, Voldemort had seen the light.
They couldn't be lenient.
They couldn't just ignore blood-traitors only for them to never learn and change.
Over time, Voldemort had seen the truth. Blood-traitors where blood-traitors - no matter the purity of their blood, they were different from them. There was no reason to try and keep them alive.
So, his Death Eaters actually helping them… was something that he had to correct.
"So," Voldemort continued. "Explain to me why some of you decided to go against everything we stand for and treated mudbloods and blood-traitors."
Some of his Death Eaters looked nervously at each other, some showed disgust and there were a few who just stared back at him, emotionless.
Snape was the most obvious.
Voldemort knew the other man had treated blood-traitors, yet, there was no remorse at all.
So Voldemort turned to him first.
"Snape," he hissed. "As far as I know, you are one of those who thought that treating blood-traitors is a good idea."
The younger man didn't flinch at that accusation, just returned Voldemort's gaze calmly.
"I'm a sworn potion's master," Snape said, not even flinching when Voldemort narrowed his eyes at him. "I'm not about to break my oaths - and they include everyone."
Admittedly, the other man had guts, nevertheless, Voldemort knew he couldn't tolerate it.
He raised his wand.
Snape just stared back, not moving, not saying anything.
It was Lucius who spoke up before Voldemort could do anything.
"He's right," he said, not looking at Snape. "As a sworn potions' master, it wouldn't be a good idea for him to break his oaths."
For a moment, Voldemort wanted to punish them both, then he reigned himself in. There were some things he couldn't do and going against the tradition of swearing potion's master in by magic was one of those things.
The oath would have to go. Sometime in the future, Voldemort would ensure that oaths like that would be changed… but that would take some time.
Nevertheless, Voldemort took it into his own hands to punish the rest of those he knew had done it as well, while Snape stood by, right next to Malfoy.
"Healer!"
Sal looked up from his patient to see Malfoy striding towards him.
"How far along are you here?"
When Sal raised an eyebrow, the other man elaborated.
"There's a man over there who's about to bleed out. A potion's master is trying to stabilize him, but…"
"A potion's master isn't a healer," Sal concluded and broke down his dome of wards he used for his work.
"Yes," the other man agreed while Sal stood up. "Follow me."
When they reached the patient, a dark haired man was kneeling next to him.
Sal guessed that it was the potion's master.
For a second, he wondered why the man looked so familiar, then he dismissed the thought and sat down on the opposite side of the bleeding Auror.
"Tell me what you know," he instructed and noticed the short spike in his oath that told him it had taken a hold of the potion's master's own oath.
The man straightened, clearly feeling the power resonating through his own oath that told him to listen to Sal's instruction.
"Most likely internal bleeding," he said. "He's paling rapidly and showing clear signs of blood-loss without an obvious reason. There are potions I could try, but it would be guesswork and might end up more dangerous for him than helpful."
Sal nodded and started to draw up his wards.
"I will take care of it," he promised.
"Tell me the potions you need," the potion's master agreed.
It took some time, with the potion's master treating other wounded all around them and Malfoy doing the same, but in the end, the Auror was stabilized and Sal could move on.
It was only when he nodded towards the potion's master just before leaving that he recognized him as the man who would end up teaching potions to his young self.
Severus Snape.
Well, Sal guessed that he shouldn't be too surprised that he actually met the man. Sal, after all, had already reached a time when the people he knew back then, already lived…
Albus Dumbledore was frowning.
He was sitting in his office and staring down at the grounds of Hogwarts.
Something was different tonight.
He couldn't say what, but something was different.
It felt, as if the world was holding its breath.
It didn't make sense.
Albus frowned.
Yes, it was Samhain.
Yes, a lot of the traditionalists believed that Samhain was one of the most important days in the year.
Nevertheless, it shouldn't feel like something important was happening tonight.
It shouldn't feel like something was amiss, like something was changing, warping the world into a way that Albus's mind couldn't follow.
Whatever was happening, whatever was changing, it was happening - and the dark grounds of Hogwarts couldn't tell him what was going on.
The air felt charged with magic all around him.
It felt as if the wards were pressing down on him - as if they were charged in ways that had never been before since Albus had started at the school as a young student.
He vaguely remembered headmaster Dippet telling him that there had been a case of charged wards when a student had stood up to the dark lord of that time.
The man had never told Albus what had happened back then - or why it had happened…
And tonight there was as much explanation as he had been given back then when Dippet had made that absent comment.
Albus sighed and shook his head.
Maybe, he was just overly tired.
Midnight had passed.
It was close to one o'clock in the morning and something had changed since midnight.
Something had happened.
Or maybe, that was his father's superstition Samhain that had influenced him.
Nevertheless, dread settled into his stomach, more and more since midnight.
Only when the clock finally stroked one, the tension was finally released from one second to the next.
The wards stopped humming.
The magic volatilized.
Whatever had charged the night, vanished.
And the world breathed again.
It was only a few minutes later when he was warned of the Fidelius collapsing on the Potter's home that he finally understood what happened.
Voldemort had attacked the Potters and started the prophecy - no wonder the world had held its breath that night…
"Salvazsahar," Sal turned. He had been in the middle of the battlefield, healing people left right and center.
He knew that voice.
It took him a moment to see Sirius, swaying on his feet.
The other man didn't look good.
His clothing was bloody and sooth spread over half of his body.
It looked like a blasting hex had hit him in the side and some cutting curses were evenly spread over his body.
He didn't look good.
Sal frowned and then turned back to his current patient.
The man was stabilized and would live, nevertheless, Sal wasn't done, yet.
There were potions…
He stopped his train of thought when he saw a black-clad potion master working on one of the wounded.
"Potion master!" Sal called, invoking his oath.
The man looked up immediately and Sal was surprised that he actually recognized him.
Severus Snape.
A man, Sal hadn't seen before and who he hadn't thought of for thousands of years.
"Healer," the man agreed, showing that he had taken his oaths. A potions master's oath always worked with a healer's oath, correlating with it for the best treatment of the patients.
"I need you to take a look at this man as soon as you're done with the one you're treating. I stabilized him, but he needs some potions to ensure his survival," Sal instructed. Normally, he used his own potions, but with a potion's master near and the way Sirius was staggering towards him, Sal guessed that it was better if he didn't, this time.
"Of course," Snape replied, before the sour man turned back towards his own patient.
Sal knew, that Snape was a Death Eater.
Sal also knew that the man he had been treating was an Auror.
But it didn't matter.
If Snape still reacted to his oaths, it meant that he hadn't broken them - which also meant that he had at least not poisoned others deliberately while they asked for his treatment. While the Auror in Sal's care hadn't asked for treatment, Sal had - and as a healer, his word would stand for his patients.
"Thank you," with those words, Sal checked his work on the Auror one last time and then stood up and walked towards Sirius.
He was barely in time to catch the man.
"What, by wind and fire, are you doing here?!" He asked the other man with a frown.
"'S my house tha's burnin' over there," Sirius slurred and then pointed at one of the burning buildings all around them. "I should be here at least an' watch it burnin', don" you think?"
Sal sighed.
" I think you have a concussion," he countered dryly. "Now, let me take a look."
Sirius grinned a bit loop-sidedly at him.
"You think?" he asked and Sal sighed.
"That just confirms it," he agreed. "Now sit down and let me take a look."
It would be a long night.
A very long night.
And that had nothing to do with the fact that it was Samhain - and there was nothing he could do but wait and grieve and treat the wounded.
No matter what he did, they were already gone.
Not yet, maybe, but gone nonetheless.
" Not Harry! Not Harry! Please! I'll do everything!"
Today was the day she would die.