Disclaimer: I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER AND I NEVER WILL!

Growing up Marauder

Part one of a Trilogy

A/N The descriptions from the night Voldemort attacked 15 month old Harry were taken from Voldemort memory in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I just changed some of the wording, around, and what happened to James.

The Village of Godrics Hallow; a small but historical landmark of a once great sorcerer, was usually a quiet place, where few children roamed. The buildings spread out modestly along paved and winding streets, with a small, church and gated graveyard sat as a centre piece. Even with being the birth place of one Godric Gryffindor, "The Hallow" as most have come to call it, was nothing spectacular now a days. The men worked in the factories in the nearest Town, the woman as school ma'ams, housewives, and Sunday school teachers. While the few children that scattered along the pathways between buildings, and in the tiny park near the only store, played 'Wizards and War craft", or studied for tests. No one knew of the small two story house that sat just on the outskirts, down at the very end of Main Street, Where a family of three resided.

This is where our story starts.

It begins with a Family known as The Potter-Blacks. Now I have to tell you that, this wasn't just another ordinary family. For one, they were a family of Wizards. Both the fathers were highly qualified in many different kinds of magic. But the child was what made the family truly special. It was the child that had brought the family from there large manner in Wiltshire, to this little white cottage, protected only by what few know as the Fidelius Charm.

The tall black haired man in glasses, one of the two Adults of the home, stood at the large window, watching as the children dressed in various costumes, running from house to house, enjoying themselves and what the Muggles (non-magic-folk) called Halloween, a holiday, of trick or treating. While a small smile played upon his lips, he couldn't help but worry for his Husband, who has left early the previous morning, after receiving a distressed call from his cousin Andromeda, stating his Fathers ill health.

"James, come sit with us, I'm sure Sirius will be back soon" His friend Lily and Godmother to his son pleaded for what felt like the hundredth time, that evening.

Sighing, James gave one last sweep of the darkening streets outside before turning his back on them. With a smile on his face he crossed the room to the redhead, holding his son.

In the little sitting room, James sat making puffs of colored smoke erupting from his wand for the amusement of the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas. The child was laughing and trying to catch the smoke, to grab it in his small fist ...

A door opened behind them, and Lily entered from the kitchen, her long dark-red hair falling over her face. It was decided, that because, there were no clues as when the boys Dad would appear, it was time for the little one to be put to bed.

James scooped up his son and handed him to Lily. He threw his wand down upon the sofa and stretched, yawning...

Neither herd the gate creaked a little as it was pushed open outside. The white hand belonging to a tall man hidden beneath a hood pulled out the wand beneath his cloak and pointed it at the door, which burst open. He was over the threshold as James came sprinting into the hall. It was easy, too easy, he had not even picked up his wand ...

"Lily, take Hadrian and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" he yelled over his shoulder, protecting his friend, practically sister and his son the only thing on his mind.

"Potentia Exhauriunt"

The dark green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glow like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut ...

Screaming from the upper floor drew the outsider's attention, he had no intention of killing the girl, all she had to do was hand over the boy. The child was all he wanted, so as long as she was sensible, she, at least, had nothing to fear...

He climbed the steps, listening with faint amusement to her attempts to barricade herself in ... She had no wand upon her either ... How stupid they were, he thought. And how trusting, thinking that their safety lay in friends, that weapons could be discarded even for moments... He forced the door open, cast aside the chair and boxes hastily piled against it with one lazy wave of his wand ... and there she stood, the child in her arms. At the sight of him, she dropped her godson into the crib behind her and threw her arms wide, as if this would help, as if in shielding him from sight she hoped to be chosen instead ...

"Not Hadrian, not Hadrian, please not Hadrian!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now."

"Not Hadrian, please no, take me, kill me instead -"

"This is my last warning -"

"Not Hadrian! Please ... have mercy ... have mercy ... Not Hadrian! Not Hadrian! Please - I'll do anything ..."

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all. The green light flashed around the room and she dropped like the father. The child had not cried all this time. He could stand, clutching the bars of his crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was his father who hid beneath the cloak, making more pretty lights, and his godmother would pop up any moment, laughing -

The man pointed the wand very carefully into the boy's face: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger.

The child began to cry: It had seen that he was not James. This man did not like it crying, he had never been able to stomach the small ones whining in the orphanage -

"Avada Kedavra!"

And then he broke. He was nothing, nothing but pain and terror, and he needed to hide himself, not here in the rubble of the ruined house, where the child was trapped screaming, but far away ... far away ...

It all seemed to play like a scene from a movie. One moment, the father was worried, but happy. Worried for his husband who had yet to return, but happy playing with his fifteen month old son, while his sister in all but blood, cleaned the remainder of Hadrian's meal in the kitchen. Then the next moment as if in slow motion, the war had ended. The father lay motionless on the hallway floor, barely breathing. The woman, eyes blank, crumpled on the floor of the second story. And the black haired Toddler sat trapped and crying for his Daddy, under his crib in the ruins of his nursery after the blast from the rebounding curse. A curious scar in the shape of a bolt of lightning lay bleeding in the centre of his forehead.