He was Voldemort again.
"Are you Potter?" she whispered.
"Yes. I am."
She nodded slowly, solemnly. Harry felt his heartbeat quicken, an uneasy, restless thudding in his chest.
"Do you have something for me?" he asked.
But she seemed distracted, her clouded eyes fixed on the light at the tip of his wand.
"Do you have something for me?" he repeated.
She closed her eyes, and several things happened at once. Harry's scar seared like a hot brand; the foul, stinking room vanished for an instant, and with a rush of terrible exhilaration he heard a cold, high voice say:
Watch him.
Harry staggered. The dark, fetid room swam back into focus. He didn't understand what had just happened.
"Do you have something for me?" he asked a third time, louder now.
"There," she whispered, pointing toward a shadowed corner. Harry raised his wand and saw a cluttered dressing table beneath the curtained window.
This time she didn't lead him. Keeping his wand aloft, Harry edged sideways between her and the unmade bed. He didn't want to take his eyes off her.
"What is it?" he asked, moving toward the dressing table piled high with what looked, and smelled, like dirty laundry.
"There," she murmured again, pointing at the heap.
But the moment Harry looked away, she moved, oddly, grotesquely. He saw it in the corner of his eye and turned just in time to feel terror turn his limbs to water.
The old body toppled forward, and from the gaping space where her neck had been, a vast serpent erupted.
He raised his wand, but the snake struck first. Its fangs sank deep into his forearm, and his wand spun up into the air, the light blindingly bouncing across the walls before it was snuffed out. The serpent's tail slammed into his stomach, knocking the breath from him. He fell backward into the reeking pile of clothes,
He rolled aside just in time; the heavy tail cracked down where his head had been a heartbeat earlier. Glass shattered around him. From downstairs came Hermione's voice:
"Harry?"
There was a crash above, splintering glass, a thud, and Ron leapt to his feet.
"Harry?" Hermione cried again.
They looked at each other, wands drawn, and bolted up the stairs.
Harry couldn't draw enough breath to answer. Something heavy and slick crashed down on top of him, pinning him to the floor. He could feel it sliding over him, immense, powerful,
"No!" he gasped, struggling.
"Yes," hissed the voice. "Yes… Watch you… Watch you…"
"Accio wand!" Harry croaked, but nothing happened.
He had to use both hands to shove the serpent away. It was crushing the air from his lungs. The edges of his vision whitened; thought dissolved; sound faded; he was drowning in his own silence,
And then, suddenly, he was awake again, choking on the sour air. Nagini had released him.
He scrambled upright. The serpent loomed in the dim light spilling from the staircase, striking again. Hermione screamed and dove aside; her spell missed, shattering the curtained window. Ron's wand blazed red, the curse striking the serpent's flank. It writhed but came on, jaws yawning wide.
Harry ducked through a rain of glass shards. His foot struck something thin and solid, his wand.
He snatched it up just as the snake filled the entire room, thrashing, coiling. He could no longer see Ron or Hermione. Then,
Bang!
Twin jets of scarlet light flared; the serpent was flung upward, its tail whipping across Harry's face. Heavy coils spiraled toward the ceiling. Harry raised his wand, but his scar flared white-hot, pain so fierce it nearly split his Skoll.
"He's coming! Hermione, Ron, he's coming!"
As Harry shouted, the serpent crashed back down, hissing furiously. Chaos erupted, the shelves toppled, shards of porcelain flying everywhere. Harry vaulted over the bed; Ron and Hermione stood in the doorway, wands raised,
"He's here! We have to go now!" Harry yelled.
The serpent reared again, but Harry knew something worse than the snake was already at the door. His scar blazed with unbearable agony.
The serpent struck. Ron had grabbed Hermione's hand, waiting only for Harry to grasp his own before Apparating away.
Harry's fingers brushed Ron's, just as the serpent lunged.
At the last instant Hermione screamed, "Confringo!"
The curse hit the serpent; it froze for a fraction of a second, then ricocheted wildly around the room, shattering the wardrobe mirror, igniting a forgotten explosive charge on the floor. A roaring wave of fire and debris surged upward; Harry felt searing heat burn his arm and a storm of glass explode around him,
And then, spinning darkness,
Harry's scar split open. He was Voldemort, storming through the reeking hallway, just in time to see a bald man, a squat man, and a short woman vanish into thin air. His fury erupted into a scream that echoed through the dark garden, drowning out the tolling of the church bells marking midnight…
His scream was Harry's scream; his pain, Harry's pain.
It was happening again, here, in this place, where it had all happened before.
The place where he had first tasted death.
Death… the agony of being torn from one's body…
But if he had no body, why did his head hurt so?
If he was dead, why could he still feel pain?
Pain should have ended with death… shouldn't it?
The night was damp and blustery. Two children, dressed as pumpkins, tottered across the square. Paper spiders crawled across the shop windows, cheap Muggle decorations for a world they didn't believe in.
He drifted forward, filled with that familiar sense of purpose, power, and righteousness that always rose in him on such occasions.
Not anger, that was for weaker souls.
This was a triumph.
Yes… he had waited long enough for this moment.
"Nice costume, mister!"
A little boy peered under his hood, grinning, then faltered. The smile froze, and fear washed over his painted face. The child turned and ran.
Under his cloak, the pale hand tightened around his wand.
A single flick, and the boy would never reach his mother,
But there was no need. No need at all.
He moved into a darker street. His destination lay ahead.
The Fidelius Charm was broken, but they didn't know that yet.
Soundless as drifting leaves, he approached the hedge and peered through.
They hadn't drawn the curtains. He could see them clearly in the small sitting room:
The tall, bespectacled man with the untidy black hair was entertaining a black-haired toddler in blue pajamas, making colored smoke blossom from his wand.
The child laughed and reached for it, trying to catch the shimmering clouds in his fists.
A door opened. The mother entered, her long red hair falling across her face, speaking words he couldn't hear.
The father lifted the child, passed him to her, tossed his wand onto the sofa, stretched, yawned…
The front door clicked softly open. James Potter didn't hear.
The pale hand slid from the cloak, raised the wand, and the door burst wide.
He crossed the threshold just as James spun around.
Too easy. The fool didn't even reach for his wand,
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him, go! Run! I'll hold him off—"
Hold him off, without a wand! He laughed aloud, and cast,
"Avada Kedavra!"
Green light filled the narrow hallway, glinting off the pram by the wall, flashing on the banister like lightning. James Potter crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut.
He heard her scream upstairs. No escape.
But she need not die, if she had any sense, she had nothing to fear.
He climbed the stairs, amused by the sound of her trying to barricade herself in.
She didn't have her wand either.
How foolish they were, so trusting, so sure their safety could be left in the hands of friends.
He blasted the door aside, sweeping away the pile of chairs and boxes she'd shoved behind it.
She stood there, the child in her arms.
At the sight of him, she set the boy down in the crib and flung out her arms, as though she could shield him. As though that would make him spare the child.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please, not Harry!"
"Stand aside, you silly girl… stand aside."
"Not Harry, please, kill me instead, kill me!"
"This is my final warning—"
"Not Harry, please, have mercy, have mercy, please, not Harry!"
"Stand aside, stand aside, woman—"
He could have moved her aside.
But killing her seemed… safer.
The room blazed green.
She fell as her husband had fallen.
The child had not cried until now. He was standing, gripping the crib rail, gazing up with curious eyes at the intruder, as if expecting his father to pull off the cloak and make more pretty sparks, as if his mother would leap up laughing any second now.
He pointed his wand carefully at the boy's face.
He wanted to see it happen, to watch the destruction of this one inexplicable danger.
The child began to cry, realizing this was not his father.
He hated that sound, the wailing of orphans, he had heard too much of it once.
"Avada Kedavra!"
And then, he shattered.
He was nothing. Only pain and terror.
He had to hide, far away, couldn't stay among the ruins,
The child was still crying inside,
He had to flee.
Far… far away…
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