His Twenty-Eighth life

7. Love and Power

They held the first candlelit vigil in memory of Harry on the first Halloween after he disappeared.

Jonathan leaned his elbows on the windowsill and watched as his parents went back and forth, lighting candles that were scattered all over the field in front of their house. Their voices were soft, and now and then Jonathan could see his mum's hair turning red as a flame came up or Dad's weary eyes.

They were so tired all the time now. They didn't always have time to play, and Jonathan knew it was all because Harry had disappeared. Jonathan wished he could go and find his brother. He would bring him back home.

But Mum and Dad said, when Jonathan asked that, that he was only four years old and not to be silly.

I'll get bigger, though. They don't think about that.

Jonathan nodded. He knew they didn't think about that. They also thought he would forget Harry. He would talk about remembering him, and Mum would run her hand through his hair and exchange a sad smile with Dad and say it was okay, that they would get Harry back someday and make new memories with him then. They said it was okay to not remember his little brother.

"He's only four," Jonathan had heard Mum say to Mr. Dumbledore once. "He was only three when Harry was taken. How can he remember anything?"

But Jonathan remembered everything. The tight grip of the little finger around his hand, and the way he loved his brother, and the way Dad ran around with them both on his back when Dad turned into Prongs. His parents seemed sad about his brother all the time. Someone had to remember the way Harry had been when he was happy. When they were all happy.

Jonathan stood at the window and watched Mum light another candle and set it down in the middle of the dirt so that it would blaze on a rune she'd made out of stones. Jonathan knew the rune was to help Harry come back to them.

He's going to come back. And I'm not going to be sad. I'm going to find him and bring him back.

*

"I am showing you an amount of trust in this, Severus. Do not betray it."

Those were the only words the Dark Lord had spoken to him before stepping aside so that Severus could move inside the little cottage where he apparently spent most of his time with the captured Potter child. Severus moved warily, every sense on high alert. It was late December now, and the cold sparkling around him melted away, literally, in the cottage's back room. A bright fire shimmered on the hearth.

Severus blinked a little at it. Of course the Dark Lord would want to be comfortable tending the child, but he had left at least long enough to fetch Severus, Side-Along Apparate him here, and fill his ears with dire warnings. It was—amazing was not too small a word—unusual that he had left a fire burning to warm the child.

The next thing was the bed, and then the child sitting up on the bed.

Only Severus's first thought on meeting those green eyes was This is not a child.

Of course, that was ridiculous. What else could a toddler be? He might have his father's black hair—Severus clutched at his robe sleeve—and his eyes might look old, but of course he was a baby. Anyone taking Polyjuice to replace the Potter children would have run out of the potion long before now, and the Dark Lord's eyes could pierce any glamour.

Still, as stupid as that thought was, it remained to Severus. He came forwards step by step, and the child didn't start or stare at him the way most toddlers would greet a stranger. A faint smile lifted the corner of his mouth, in fact, and he nodded.