All Hallow's Eve

The air was thick with potential magic, the moon high in the sky, so bright and full it might have rivalled the light of the sun. The skeletons of trees shivered and the last golden leaves swirled away from their branches and fell to the ground. A thick mist was rising from the stream to spread across the lawns at ankle height.

In one of the larger houses of Godric's Hollow singing could be heard. A woman, with a voice like sweet spring water, sang a child's song of ghosts and dragons. Occasionally a male voice, deep and beautiful as mahogany, broke in with a short, teasing accompaniment. And a baby's laugh trickled out now and then, delighting the singers.

A pumpkin light flickered in one of the windows, crooked grin watching over the house. A fake skeleton hung from the front porch and smiled toothily at the children rushing past in their Halloween costumes. Inside there is a small family; mother, father, baby. The mother is short, slim and beautiful with deep red hair that seems to catch fire when it catches the light. She has bright green eyes and a sweet, ready smile for any who need or want it. The father is tall, fit and as handsome as she. Messy black hair and hazel eyes the same colour as all the fallen leaves outside. He has circular wire glasses and an easy smile.

The baby, the third of their little trio, is a beautiful combination of them both. He has his father's messy black hair, his mother's emerald eyes and a smile that never seems to fade. He's little over a year old and his parents are painfully young - twenty one, two at the most - but they've created paradise for themselves in the middle of the peaceful little town that, somehow, has escaped the claws of war.

The father swoops his son up into the air, placing him on his shoulders and causing the child to shriek in excitement. The mother laughs and stands on tiptoes to tickle him. They are the picture of happiness. The mother leans forward and whispers something in her husband's ear. His glorious great smile is back and he kisses her over and over, their son protesting and kicking their shoulders, but giggling loudly all the while.

Such peace was never intended to last.

No one knows what happened that peaceful night on the last day of October. But the house was ruined, the fake skeleton lying crumpled in the corner of the front garden, his smile an ominous warning, now. The pumpkin with the crooked smile a pile of orange-yellow mush among the brick dust.

Of the family that lived there? Little was found. The husband and father was found in the shadow of the stairs, the only part of the house remotely recognisable, but of the mother and child there was nothing. Maybe they escaped. Maybe they died. Maybe they were stolen away to some unnameable fate. No one knew.

In the wizarding world all that could be determined was the fact that there had been a huge magical explosion in the area. Whether the mother and child - whether Lily and Harry Potter - were dead or alive they could not tell.

But James Potter was dead, as was Voldemort. And that, to the people, was all that mattered.

The mist of the river continued rising, blanketing the body and hiding the remains of the house from the eyes of casual passers by. The explosion and collapse was silent. No one would notice for half an hour. And in the silence of the suddenly melancholic evening hung the last words whispered to a dead man.

'James. I'm pregnant.'