When I was told to collect Harry Potter from The Godric's Hollow, I didn't expect him to be lying in a room with his parents dead.
The murderer was weird. James was seated on a chair. Lily had a whole coffin kind-of setup to herself.
The murderer was Voldemort.
That shocked me, but what shocked me even more was Professor Dumbledore telling me he was gone.
Just gone. Whooshh. Nothing remained of him. Nada. Zilch.
After an eternity of torture, this seems too fuckin' good to be true.
And after having said murderer be the reason behind your expulsion from school.
After crying for like a whole year, I muster up the courage to look at little Harry.
He sits in a small crib, no bigger than a toddler car. He is grinning up at me like, 'Suh, man? All good here. No dead parents.'
I take him in my arms, and the first thing that strikes me is the putrid smell.
My head shoots back in disgust and surprise and the tiny motherfucker laughs.
I grumble, ''Yeh. Ye gon keep laughin', or are we gon' go?"
He giggles again, and I place him in a tiny pink stroller I use for baby chickens. I hope he doesn't get feathers in his little mouth.
I'm trying to avoid looking at James and Lily as much as possible, but of course, my heart decides to betray me for the 78th time that day. The heart is such a reckless little bitch. It keeps getting hurt and never listens to the brain. I feel bad for the brain. It's like a parent trying to take care of their child, who is so drunken on their freedom that they forget what their purpose is and take risks so wild they're pretty much illegal.
Fuck the heart.
Lily's form makes my stomach swirl and my heart scream in agony and disbelief.
I don't need to believe this. I can damn well just go home and pretend like my Lily and my James are safe and sound, and this kid is just another wizard rescued from an abusive orphanage.
But can I?
I want to run away. Fuck honouring their brave sacrifice and memory. Fuck my reputation. I'm a coward. It had to come out someday anyway.
I don't care if he's gone; He took Lily, James and a billion others with him. Maybe he isn't even gone yet. Maybe he's just bidding his time.
I'm not ready yet. I'm not ready for anything.
But then I look at the kid. He reminds me so much of myself when my mother left me. I was just four. He's just one. How would either of us have realized that the buoy of our life just had walked away?
How should either of us have acted to prevent them from walking away?
Maybe his hadn't run away, but she's no longer there. Brave sacrifice or not, he'll grow mother-less.
I scoop him out of the stroller and cuddle him into my chest. I hope he doesn't have any allergic reactions to the wheat in my pockets.
"I've got you now, Harry.", I kiss his head and he laughs like it tickles.
I set him on the bed and bring out a diaper from the pack Dumbledore lent me.
Madam Pomfrey had taught me how to change diapers when I was 16. I'd say I'm a bit of an expert at that.
Once he's clean, I bunch him up in his cream-coloured blankets.
I carry him out the room, careful not to break anything.
A white vase hits my left ankle and turns over, thankfully not breaking. There was water in the vase. I wonder if the flowers at Lily's feet were once inside the vase.
I avoid looking at Lily and James' deceased faces. It's all I can do to keep myself from crying.
Just then, Harry looks at the kitchen and giggles out a "Bye, bye, papa!"
And I almost drop him due to my crying.
I set him on a blue pouffe on the wooden floor and wipe my face. I'm a fucking disgrace.
Harry looks at me curiously, his green, green eyes wide.
I try to smile reassuringly, and he grins back with a tiny thumbs-up.
I take him in my arms, once again, and walk out of the house that had once been his. Maybe it's property of the Wizarding World now. I wonder how Harry will feel about this when he grows up. I wonder if he'll be angry- this is the place his parents were killed, after all. Maybe he'll want privacy.
Together, we climb onto the motorbike that once belonged to Sirius Black and set off. We know where to go but we don't know what's coming. I wish we did. For Harry's sake.
By the time I reach Privet Drive, it is 1 in the morning. I see Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall.
I bow slightly at my waist when they see me. Dumbledore raises a hand, and McGonagall mutters a curt 'Hagrid' before turning away with a green paisley handkerchief.
"I've got Harry, sir.", I say, walking towards the duo.
Dumbledore takes him gently in his arms and sets him on the doorstep of the Dursleys. McGonagall is breathing hard and her fists are clenched, "Are you sure about this, Albus?"
Dumbledore smiles gently and nods.
He brushes aside Harry's hair from his forehead and says, "Take a look."
I lean closer and gasp.
A red scar, shaped like a lightening is etched onto his forehead.
Dumbledore's smile is now sad, like he's confronting a failing student.
McGonagall looks up at him, "Voldemort left a mark?"
Dumbledore's eyes crinkle at the corners but his smile does not get any wider, "Seems so."
They're pretending like this doesn't matter. Like Voldemort marking (Accident or not) a child isn't a disaster.
Maybe I'm the only one who's ever been under his control. Maybe no one else knows.
This is terrible.
Whoever Tom Riddle knows, he controls, and whom he controls, he destroys.
Tom Riddle, Lord Voldemort, left himself inside Harry James Potter. Tom Riddle will always be a part of Harry's life.
Voldemort, from today onwards, is both Tom Riddle and Harry Potter's past, present and future.
Harry is, by ancient magical rites, his. Harry belongs to Voldemort.
