AUTHOR'S NOTE: ALL CHARACTERS, PLOT LINES, YADDA YADDA YADDA BELONG TO THE WONDERFUL J.K. ROWLING. I MADE UP THE FINAL BATTLE PART AND THE DEATHS THAT HAVE NOT OCCURRED IN HARRY POTTER BOOKS YET AND CHANCES ARE I'M SO FAR OFF THAT I'LL ABSOLUTELY BAWL WHEN I READ THE FINAL BOOK.
As I look back on the picture now, I find it hard to believe we were ever that happy. Our smiling faces stare at me from the black and white photograph, merrily waving with baby Harry in Lily's arms, grinning from ear to ear. It makes me sad every time I look at it. Little did we know at the time, that sixteen years down the road, only one of us would remain alive.
I remember the day clearly. It was Saturday in the end of July. I had received an owl a week before, asking for my attendance at little Harry Potter's first birthday party. I gladly accepted; Harry was, after all, the son of one of my dearest friends. I arrived on the Potters' doorstep that Saturday, laden with gifts and well wishes.
"Did you buy out the store?" James teased when he greeted me at the front door. I simply smiled; in truth, I had gone a little overboard but it was becoming increasingly obvious that I would never experience children of my own and a little boy only turns one once in his life.
The others followed shortly after my arrival: Peter Pettigrew, shrew as always, looking around as though someone were on his tail; Sirius Black, bearing a huge, wrapped box and a wide grin.
We began playing games, or as many games as possible with a one-year old boy and five adults. Lily looked so radiant, her pretty face flushed with excitement and joy. Her soft hair surrounded her heart-shaped face gently, as though it were caressing her very cheeks. James looked more alive than I had ever seen him before, a cruel irony considering in less than three months, he would be dead.
The cake was absolutely delicious. Harry dove into it with his full little fists, smiling for Lily's camera with chocolate icing smeared across his chubby little face. His cheeks were puffed out with uneaten cake and he looked positively delighted.
The three of us visited until the early hours of the morning. I was somewhat reluctant to leave but did so in a hurry for I had important business to attend to. The next time I heard of my dear friends, they had been killed.
October had been unusually chilly that year. I assume it had something to do with Voldemort's increasing power that would soon come to a climax and end in peril for him, joy for us. I received Albus Dumbledore's owl shortly after midnight on Halloween night. Well, technically it was November by that point but who was keeping track?
My dear Remus, it read. It has happened. Voldemort found the Potters. I'm afraid all that is left is the tattered rubble of their home in Godric's Hollow and a very special little boy. Details will follow in a later letter. Yours truly, Albus Dumbledore.
I was devastated. Two of my closest friends in the world, wiped from the earth as though they were nothing more than dead leaves on a dark, cold ground. Of course, I wondered and worried about dear little Harry. Dumbledore's letter hadn't mentioned him by name but I could safely assume that the 'special little boy' he spoke of was, indeed, Harry Potter.
It wasn't until the following evening that the details began to filter in. Apparently Voldemort had arrived at the Potters' home, demanding that he be given the space he needed. James was killed first as he fought with the Dark Lord, who then proceeded upstairs to where Lily was tending to Harry. She fought a decent battle and it wasn't until almost eleven years later that I learned Lily had been offered the chance to live, had she stepped aside and granted Voldemort access to her son. Lily, being the proud and noble mother that she was, refused, resulting in the loss of her life.
Voldemort then turned his wand on Harry but for reasons unknown at the time, the Killing Curse failed on the small boy and rebounded upon Voldemort. He was reduced to nothing less than a dead man, living out his soul in a variety of evil ways. Most wizards chose to believe he had died but those of us that knew him well knew that he was not gone for long.
My dear friend, Sirius Black, was found guilty of the murder of thirteen Muggles and Peter Pettigrew the same evening of the Potters' demise and it wasn't until Harry's third year at Hogwarts that the truth was discovered: Sirius had no fault. His only fault had been trusting a person he had deemed a friend his entire life. Peter Pettigrew was the true traitor, turning the Potters in to Voldemort and turning his back on the Marauders. No matter how long I fought the urge, I couldn't quite suppress the anger and resentment that I had built up towards Pettigrew over these tiny facts.
Dear Sirius lost his life in a battle in the Department of Mysteries in Harry's fifth year. Devastated, I tried to finish my work for the Order of the Phoenix without fail but often had a hard time doing so. I found it incredibly unfair that poor Sirius was dead somewhere in our world while Peter still roamed the earth, creating more havoc for our kind. Surely enough, I knew Peter was weak and had known all along. I knew he would never be able to resist the Dark Lord and sometimes felt pity for the fool. Despite that reason, I shed no tears when he was killed by one of his own, a Death Eater, during the final battle.
Unfortunately, Harry was also a casualty. The prophecy that stated, "Neither can live while the other survives" proved all too well and in his final moments before death, Harry faced his worst fears and killed Voldemort before collapsing himself, having been hit by a Killing Curse that Voldemort had called at the same moment that Harry finished Voldemort.
It's all so confusing when I look back, and so senseless, too. Harry could have been something great; there was no denying that. And when I look back on how little the amount of survivors there were, tears spring to my eyes. I cannot believe that after all our hard work in fighting evil, we finally got our wish but still lost so much in the process. And I'm forced to remember, every time I look at the picture of the six smiling faces, taken so many years ago, even though the memories are still fresh in my heart.