We were going to die. Harry deserved to know. Bringing to the truth to my baby son was excruciating; after all; he was no more than 2 years old. Whatever I do, Harry must be safe. Sirius rang the other day, last week. Back then, watching Harry play with the toy broomstick and the cat meowing angrily was a delightful thing to watch. Now, the mere sight of the cat brought unexplained tears to my eyes, not to mention Harry. Now, as it was about to die, our whole family perish, everything was ten times more precious than usual.
Dumbledore couldn't protect us anymore; we were doomed. What made me more anxious was that today was Halloween. We'd gone trick-or-treating couple of hours earlier, and Harry was sitting on the couch, eating sweets happily. I went to the bathroom and started crying. I was a true Gryffindor, so I didn't need to cry. Oh yes, I did need to cry; it's unavoidable if your whole family is going to perish, yourself, your husband, your pet and worst of all-your son.
I couldn't help but wish that young Neville was targeted. It is terribly stupid of me to think that, as Alice had always been my good friend in my Hogwarts days, and their son Neville Longbottom was bound to meet up with Harry someday. But as Harry, me and James were about to die, that would never happen. Voldemort would never be destroyed; this reign of terror would never end.
The 31st October 1981.
Doomsday.