Chapter 1- All Was Well
The scar had not pained Harry for nineteen years. All was well.
It was nearing midnight on December 31st and Harry Potter sat alone in his living room. Ginny had gone to bed hours ago, but Harry couldn't sleep. Something didn't feel right, but he just couldn't place it. His scar was fine, just as it had been since he defeated Voldemort that day nineteen years ago, but something was wrong…
Harry could hear the wind whistling through the bare tree branches outside, could distinguish every single creak made by his old house—his parent's old house. Living here was Harry's idea, and he easily convinced Ginny to live there after they got married. Being in the house where his parents raised him—and gave their lives to save his own—made Harry feel closer to them than anywhere else could. Ron, of course, couldn't believe that it wasn't terrifying to live there, fixating on the fact that Harry's parents had been killed inside, but Harry didn't mind. He knew Ron would get over it, and Ginny and Hermione both understood, so he was happy to be able to call this house home.
Harry hadn't seen much of Ron and Hermione lately. It was understandable, given the busy schedules kept between the four of them, but he still wished they could find at least a little time together. They had seen each other just a few weeks ago, when they had picked up their children at the train station for Christmas Break, but before that it had been at least a couple of months.
Harry sat silently, thinking about his friends. He really missed them, and, despite the obvious pain they had all experienced during their ordeals, wished he could be back with them, running from Lord Voldemort. They made such a team, and he couldn't imagine feeling closer to anyone else, save perhaps for Ginny. He felt a sad smile come over his face as he thought back to their school days. His life now was good, but growing up was never easy.
Suddenly, Harry heard a crash in the yard. He instinctively leapt from his chair and drew his wand. He waited, but heard nothing. Still, the feeling he had been trying to ignore all night was still there, and stronger than ever. I'm imagining things again thought Harry. There's nothing out there. It's okay. He's gone. We're safe now.
This wasn't the first time Harry had felt a little paranoid in the past 26 years. Ever since he learned that Voldemort had killed his parents and tried to kill him, he had been a bit on edge all the time. Things got better once Voldemort had been killed, but they never truly went away. Nothing ever truly went away.
Now, Harry was sure he could hear floorboards creaking upstairs, and what sounded like the creaky opening of a bedroom door. It's probably just Lily again, he thought. She's always getting up in the middle of the night, begging for a glass of water. He forced himself to chuckle a bit at this and filled a glass with water so that he could surprise his daughter with it before she even got the chance to ask.
As he quietly climbed the stairs so as not to wake everyone else, Harry tried again to calm his nerves. When he reached the landing, he stopped and looked around curiously. No doors were open, and no Lily Potter stood in the hallway. He was sure that he had heard somebody open a door and walk across the landing!
Suddenly, a violent green flash could be seen from under the door to Harry and Ginny's bedroom.
"NOOO!!!!" roared Harry. He knew what that flash was—he had seen it far too many times before. Instinctively, he grabbed for his wand, but he fingers closed around nothing but air. The door in front of him crashed open and he caught a quick glimpse of a cloaked and hooded figure, barely mouthing the words "avada kedavra."
Another green flash filled the room, and the man swirled silently away, the only sound coming from a tiny glass of water smashing to pieces on the floor.