by Ms-Author01
Harry died.
He died with determination in his eyes and a smile on his lips. He was drunk on power and freedom and love. So much love. Hogwarts cried at the sight.
Harry died.
And he died laughing because before he died, He hadn't even lived.
But after he died, well, he lived once more.
Harry Potter was born on July 31st,1980 to James and Lily Potter. If asked, the nurses would say that he was one of the most attentive and quiet babies they had ever seen, the head doctor would exclaim over the bright green eyes, unlike the blue that babies were normally born with.
His godfather, Sirius Black would grin and claim that he was the baby's favorite, why wouldn't he be, after all the baby had smiled for the first time in his arms. He would also swear that it was because Harry was looking at him through Lily would be quick to remind him that babies don't have a focused vision until they were at least 8 weeks old.
So, it can be said that Harry Potter was a peculiar child but it didn't make those around him love him any less, rather it just made him even more endearing to them.
Harry developed far too quickly than other infants, after all, they had Neville Longbottom who was just one day older for comparison. In the darkest of nights, Lily would whisper into the quiet fears about this being a proof of the dreaded prophesy and James would try to comfort her, all the while wishing that it wasn't true.
Despite all his peculiarities, Harry loved to be cuddled like any other child. Even more so, to be honest. He'd rarely fuss once someone held him in their arms, and putting him down led to sad eyes that were almost unbearable so it wasn't uncommon to see him in someone's arms most of the time. Lilly would reluctantly say they were spoiling him but end up being the first one to pick him up whenever they decided to cut down on the holding.
Sirius was the first to notice that for some inexplicable reason, his godson really really hated Wormtail. Little Harry Potter would allow everyone to hold him except Wormtail. Any attempt would lead to crying like it was no one's business, it was one of the only things Harry fussed over. Wormtail was not allowed near him.
The one and only time Wormtail had held him in his arms was when Harry was three days old and even then the newborn had vomited all over the nervous man. Sirius had made a joke about Harry smelling his fear and even Peter had let out a small laugh.
James kept saying it was a phase and that sooner or later Harry would become okay with him. They all felt bad about him being left out from Harry-cuddling time, even though Peter didn't seem too heartbroken over it.
The day they were waiting for came when Harry was nine months old. James had picked the little kid up from where he was laying belly down on the carpet gurgling at Padfoot who was running circles around him. Harry cupped his dad's face in his hands as he had learned to do recently and very seriously said, "Pada, uh-oh" making James grin. Remus waved at Harry from behind James making the kid giggle.
And when Peter reached out, Harry, for the first time, allowed it. It was quite the historic moment for more reasons than one because as soon as Peters's arms wrapped around him, Harry looked at him right in the eyes and screamed.
Peters hold slipped on Harry as he panicked. Instinctively James lunged forward to catch Harry, thankfully being able to grab him before he could hit the floor. Harry cried with heaving breaths, his screams getting louder. Lilly came running through the kitchen door when in a blast of accidental magic, all of Peters' clothes were ripped away.
Peter stood shocked in his boxers as everyone burst into roaring laughter.
The laughter quickly bled away to a deadly silence.
It would have been a funny moment to recount in years to come, a tale to be shared on family dinners if Peter's outstretched arm didn't clearly show the mark of his damnation.
The only sound was that of Harry's sniffing.
Everything was frozen. Peter had his eyes trained on his friends, he knew he should run but it was like his feet couldn't move.
Lily was unsurprisingly the first one to break out of shock and in a quick undetected movement, she stunned the man her husband was considering making their secret keeper not two nights ago.
That night Lily held her son on her arms as her husband took his once best friend into custody. If she looked down, she would have seen a small content smile on the baby's face.
Life went on. Sirius Black stayed the secret keeper of the Potter Family that chose to move away from Britain for the time being, after all, they had a lovely vacation home in France that saw little use.
The war continued on but in a less drastic manner. Days bled into months that turned into years. Before long Harry was five years old. A smart five-year-old but a five-year-old nonetheless. He talked smarter, he laughed softer and he loved deeper than any other five-year-old.
Lilly often caught him caressing Remus's newest scar, comforting him even though he surely didn't know what those scars meant. 'I love you' was his favorite sentence. He constantly pulled his parents out of guilt for seemingly abandoning the war. Peter's betrayal had shaken something in them, something that was enough for them to clutch what they had as close as possible and try to save it.
Try to be good parents instead of good soldiers.
When Harry turned six, he asked to see Diagon Alley as his birthday gift. James and Lilly exchanged a worried glance but after consulting with Sirius, Remus and their close friends the Longbottoms, they decided to go. They decided to stay with Alice and Frank in case someone was monitoring their own house.
They reached the Longbottom mansion on the morning of Neville's Birthday. It was the morning of Harry's birthday when the mansion was attacked.
There weren't screams or cries, no shouted spells or shrieks of pain. Just a hauntingly silent house, they didn't remember what happened. Stunning spells taking all of them out as the silent but ruthless dark lord made its way into their safe haven. All eyes were closed except emerald green looking too knowingly at the man who had come to kill the chosen, and soft blue scared ones as they hid behind their best friend.
And as Voldemort cast the dreaded curse, the boys didn't move. Harry stood in front of Neville as a silent guardian and for the first time in that morning, the silence broke. Haunting screams echoing in the mansion as Voldemort was ripped away from his body.
So, when the adults woke it was to dark robes spread across the ground as Harry cuddled his best friend close.
Voldemort died. Taking with him the fear that had plagued the country for a decade. Lily and James protected their boy, even against Dumbledoor when he wanted to release the name of the 'Boy-who-lived', James pulled every string he knew to keep his child's name out of the public because they knew how ruthless they could be.
When their six-year-old had nightmares about the dark lord, about horrors he had created. About soul anchors and caves of Inferi, the Potters didn't hesitate to act upon the information given. A house-elf was questioned, a shack invaded by curse breakers, a room searched by a team, a warrant issued for a manor search and a deal struck with Goblins.
Before Harry arrived at Hogwarts, Voldemort was just another dark lord in the history of those who tried to destroy the wizarding world and failed. The Potter Family was hailed as the saviors of the wizarding world.
Then began the best years of Harry's life, he collected good memories like he used to collect pebbles from a pond near their home. The teachers would speak of his absent-minded excellence in years to come. 'Mischievous but smart' they would say, and 'kind' oh so very kind.
And he drew, he drew of magic mirrors and snakes, of werewolves and dragons, of toads in pink and potions in gold, he drew of death, of acceptance, of a battle. He drew phoenixes and rebirth.
So, when he decided to write his own illustrated books, straight outta Hogwarts no one was surprised.
He wrote about a boy and a prophecy, he wrote about sacrifice and a happy ending. People were intrigued, claimed he was a seer, he knew what could have been but wasn't. It made people admire the Potters even more.
But throughout it all, the thing that didn't change was Harry's love. Love for his closest friends, understanding in a way that made Hermione blush and Neville grin.
('It's almost like you already knew us before you came to Hogwarts," Ron absently commented once while reading over the character that was based on him and like always Harry would give a secretive smile and change the subject.)
And Love for his family that withstood anything the world threw at him. A love that made him stand in front of the wizarding world and declare that he was ashamed of their treatment of magical creatures. A love that made him accept his position in the wizengamot to better the laws against muggle-borns. A love that made sure he came home for dinner, every night no matter what. And a love that made life a bit more easier.
So, when he died at the age of 304 surrounded by his children, grandchildren, and godchildren. There was one thing that Harry James Potter could say with absolute certainty.
He had lived.