Chapter 7: The Silent Watcher
Godric's Hollow, 10 October 1981
The days shortened and autumn thickened. Trees around the cottage blazed with color—crimson, amber, and gold. Fallen leaves danced in the chilly wind that swept the village lanes, crunching underfoot like brittle parchment. The scent of firewood drifted through the evening air, mingling with the richer tones of cinnamon and clove from Lily's kitchen.
Inside the Potter home, the warmth stood in stark contrast to the outside chill. The hearth crackled with a steady fire, and the wooden floor glowed with candlelight. Enchanted mobiles spun slowly above the twin cribs in the nursery, casting soft, twinkling shadows across the walls.
Hardwin Potter lay awake.
He didn't fuss. He didn't cry. Instead, his large eyes watched the ceiling, the spinning stars, and the shifting light. Something moved beneath his infant body—a soul centuries old, filled with echoes of another world. He had been twenty-five when lightning had pulled him from his rooftop and into this new life. It had felt like a joke at first. Then a miracle.
Now it felt like a trap.
> I know what's coming, he thought, not with words but with the clarity of memory and fear. I know how this ends.
Lily passed by the nursery door, humming softly. The scent of rosemary clung to her, comforting and familiar. Her voice, low and clear, reached his ears like balm. A lullaby from her childhood—simple, rhythmic. He closed his eyes and listened.
A floorboard creaked. James's footsteps. Confident, slightly hurried. The sound of him tossing logs into the fireplace, then the distinct squeak of his armchair as he sat down. The flick of a page.
> He's reading The Adventures of Martin Miggs again, Hardwin noted.
Even as a baby, his mind remained precise. He counted steps, clocked time, and tracked voices. But it wasn't enough. For all his knowledge, he was powerless. Trapped in a fragile form, unable to scream warnings in words they would understand.
He'd tried.
He'd thrown blocks when Peter visited. He'd cried when Sirius stood too close to the window. Once, he had even managed to whisper: "Peter... bad."
Lily had blinked, startled. "What did you say, sweetheart?"
He had repeated it, but his baby tongue failed him.
She had smiled. Kissed his forehead. Tucked him in.
He lay in silence then, staring at the stars above.
---
That morning, he made progress.
Lily lifted him from the crib, and as her face filled his vision, he said it: "Mom."
Her breath caught. Her eyes filled with sudden tears.
"Did you say... oh, baby, you said 'Mom'. James! He said it!"
James appeared in the doorway, Harry slung over his shoulder. "What? Our boy's talking already? That's my genius."
Lily kissed Hardwin over and over. He didn't smile. He couldn't. Not for real.
> I didn't say it to make her happy. I said it because I need her to listen.
But she didn't hear the plea in it.
---
That afternoon, Sirius arrived.
The crack of Apparition made the floor tremble faintly. The scent of wet leather and woodsmoke followed him through the door. He carried a toy broomstick and two chocolate frogs.
"Oi, Prongs! Got these straight from Diagon Alley—limited edition," he announced. "Harry, come here, you little troublemaker."
Harry squealed in delight as Sirius swung him in circles.
Hardwin watched. Sirius's laughter filled the room like sunlight, but something inside Hardwin ached.
> You die for them, he thought. You die because they trust the wrong person.
He tried again.
As Sirius ruffled his hair, Hardwin turned his face and pushed him away.
Sirius laughed. "What's this, eh? No love for your godfather today?"
> Don't go, Hardwin thought. Don't leave. Don't trust Peter.
That night, the dreams returned.
The nursery faded to black.
Then came the cold.
The flash of green light. Screams. A high voice, laughing. The air smelled of ash and copper. Shadows twisted in corners like living things.
Hardwin woke with a gasp.
His tiny body trembled.
The stars on the mobile above had stopped spinning.
Lily entered seconds later, cradling Harry.
"Shh, sweetheart, it was just a dream. You're safe."
He tried again.
"Peter," he whispered. "Peter... bad."
Lily froze.
Then she smiled softly. "You're just dreaming, my love. Peter's our friend."
She pressed him close. Rocked him gently.
> No. He's not. Please believe me.
---
A week passed.
James met Sirius in the garden. Their voices were hushed but urgent.
"...too obvious. He'll come for you first."
"So what? I can handle it."
"We need a decoy. A switch. Just for the charm."
Hardwin listened from the nursery window, his ear pressed to the glass.
> They're changing it. They're making the mistake.
The house felt colder that night. The fire burned lower. Even the walls seemed quieter, like the house itself was holding its breath.
---
October 24th.
The switch was made.
Peter Pettigrew became the Secret-Keeper.
There was no ceremony. No fanfare.
Just a whispered incantation. A golden thread passed from Sirius to Peter, unseen by all except those who felt the shift in the air.
Hardwin felt it.
It was like a string had snapped.
He cried that night. Not loudly, but long and low. Lily held him against her chest, rocking him beside the window.
"You're safe, sweetheart. I promise. We're protected."
She whispered spells into the night. Old magic. Charms layered like silk across the nursery walls.
But Hardwin knew.
The safety was illusion.
---
October 30th.
Wind tore through the garden. Rain lashed the windows.
Inside, the boys sat on a rug, surrounded by toys. Harry giggled as he chased a small enchanted dragon across the floor. Hardwin sat quietly, a plush phoenix in his lap.
Lily baked in the kitchen. The air smelled of cinnamon, honey, and flour. James worked in the study, quill scratching on parchment.
Hardwin turned his eyes toward the door.
> It's coming.
He crawled toward Harry. Grabbed his brother's hand.
Harry blinked at him.
Hardwin said, clearly, "Hide."
Harry laughed.
The word vanished into the warmth of the house.
---
That night, Hardwin looked at the stars above his crib.
> If I survive, I will remember everything. I will not let this happen again. I will not waste this second chance.
The wind moaned.
Somewhere, very far away, a wand was raised.
And a Dark Lord began to walk.