It is the night Voldemort died. A young woman sits in a dark green room. She rocks slowly in a rickety rocker, singing a haunting lullaby to a black blanketed baby in her lap. She smiles cruelly, thinking of something. Her hair is black and curly, in princess ringlets to her shoulders. Her eyes are wide and watery, a dark gray color. She is dressed in beautiful green robes and a shawl, looking warm and comfortable.
The baby was small and skinny. Her eyes were a bright, sparkling gray, and she had tickles of black curls on the top of her head. She seemed a happy baby, seemingly too bright and happy for the grim room. She was very squirmy in the women's arms, and she seemed mildly annoyed.
"We will know when he wins, love, my mark will—" suddenly the woman doubled over, nearly dropping the baby. Tears squeezed from her gray eyes as she wrenched up the sleeve on her right arm, exposing a dark tattoo on the underside of her wrist. It was the Dark Mark. The tattoo pulsed with white light, and it got brighter and more painful by the minute. The woman started whimpering, clutching her wrist. It brightened and brightened until the light faded, leaving only a scar the shape of the former tattoo. The woman stared in disbelief at her wrist, the baby cooing softly in her lap.
Did this really happen? She wonders, did he really loose?
It took her a few moments to compose herself, and when she did, she stood abruptly. She didn't move for several moments, as if she had forgotten what she had wanted to do. "They-they'll come here next," she whispered. Then she stared at the baby's face as if seeing it for the first time. "They don't know about you yet, we must keep it that way."
As Harry Potter and his surviving friends celebrated, the woman stole into the night, dropping the baby in what she suspected would be a safe place. "I will be back for you," she whispered to the baby their foreheads touching, "and the world better be afraid when I do." Then she rang the doorbell, and disappeared.
A young couple answered the door. The man was well-muscled, tall, blonde and blue eyed. The woman had curly brown hair and green eyes. They both seemed kind and caring, and the woman momentarily reconsidered her choice. She wanted the baby to be ready.
"Who left her here?" the woman asked, in a strained, worried voice. She stood over the man as he crouched next to the baby, her hand on his back. Her curly ebony wand held in front of her, scanning the neighborhood.
They argued for a few more minutes, and they had obviously not heard that Voldemort was dead. If they didn't know, would they still take her in?
"Indeed, but what will happen to the baby if we leave her out here?" The man asks.
A few seconds later, they pick up the baby, and bring her inside, half happy, half worried.
The young woman watched them from across the street, and smiled.