Prologue: All-Hallows-Eve
The rocker had been a gift from James's parent's; the chair had the familiar look of being old and well used, but lovingly cared for, its rich mahogany frame well varnished, the seat cushion soft and luxurious and the tracks well oiled so as not to squeak.
James had heard the story many times, usually from his father, of how that chair had rocked and rocked and rocked him as a baby, asleep in his mother's arms, calming him when nothing else could.
James hadn't truly understood the reverence and love in his father's eyes until now, when he saw his own wife, beautiful red hair spilled around her face, features lit with the warm glow of the fire, feet tucked up beneath her, cradling his baby son to her chest, rocking and rocking and rocking.
Both sets of gorgeous green eyes had closed several minutes ago, little Harry, unsettled due to teething discomfort, had finally succumbing to the steady motion and his mothers embrace, drifting into calm sleep, his mother, tired as only a mother can be, following him soon after.
James was content to watch, eyes drinking their fill, never having thought this much happiness possible. The chair slowed again, and Harry whimpered softly, James soothingly hummed, running a warm palm across his son's tiny face, as his foot set the rocker to moving again, Harry sighed, content once more.
And then the front door, peaceful atmosphere and one tiny innocent life were shattered in a moment's tragedy, set to last a life time.
The high pitched menacing cackle set James blood on fire, chills running over his neck and arms, drawing his wand he turned to the awake, alert and terrified Lily.
"It's him! Lily, take Harry and run!" huge green eyes, in which he had happily spent the last 3 years drowning, latched onto his with such angst and grief, all shadowed by a terrible fear, pushing her towards the stairs James shouted, "GO!"
And still she lingered, baby son clutched to her, another set of green eyes, and strangely solemn, stared up at him. Then one foot on the bottom step, then the other on the one above and suddenly she was half way up the flight. The kitchen door smashed open and James knew that Voldemort, and most likely his demise, were in the next room.
James clenched his wand, drew his Gryffindor courage tighter, and prepared to do what he could to save his wife and son, when a flash of red in the corner of his eye had him spinning back to the staircase, just in time to catch his Lily-Rose as she threw herself at him.
Lips met once, in a dizzying facade of a kiss, when in reality it was a good-bye, and both of them knew it. Arms held, for probably the last time, the entirety of each's world; the other, and the small boy caught between them.
The door to the den was blasted off its hinges, wood and shrapnel flying everywhere and releasing his desperate grasp, he pushed her back up the stairs, her hand followed his shoulder and his arm, fingertips grasping the others, eyes locked for an instant of forever, and then the moment was over, Lily was gone and James turned to face his destiny.
Lily flew up the stairs, slamming the door to the nursery behind her, casting a locking spell, but knowing the effort was futile, it would be no obstacle for Voldemort. Looking around, she knew she was trapped; the room had but one exit, and on the other side waited Voldemort and the death of her child. The mocking window showed a blue lit sky and rolling green meadows, and for the first time she hated it, for it was only an illusion, just magic.
She placed the infant in his cot, eyes so like her own stared back, the baby was silent, composed...trusting. It was all Lily could do to not break down in tears, and she knew that this night, her baby would die.
And she could do naught about it.
Sounds from below, spells and multicoloured lashes from below the door had her flinching and jumping, but she hoped they would not stop, for it meant her beloved James was still alive.
She looked at her baby, in his crib, silent and so, so brave.
A bright green glow lit the pale cream walls from beneath the door and her heart leapt into her mouth, not breathing she waited.
And waited.
A wispy breath escaped when a purple glow infused the room accompanied by the faint sound of her husband's voice.
Promise to be true to you... in good times and in bad
The vow she had taken sprang into her mind and she clenched her wand tightly against her side, looking at the helpless baby she was responsible for.
A thud from below and a pained shout had her stepping towards the door, desperate to be with the one she loved.
Only the tiny scrap of human life that she and James so cherished kept her still.
Till death do us part...
A sob broke free, wretched and pain filled. She crossed to the crib, leaned over and kissed her son's tiny pink lips, barely breathing her plea.
"Please forgive me."
The door closed again behind her, the child alone now, in a world of danger; a precursor of the future?
Lily raced back down the stairs, wand raised, and spell on her lips. The black cloaked figure seemed to fill the room, engulfing it with his presence. Terror inspiring, it had sent many a man cowering for mercy.
James, to his credit, was still on his feet, albeit shakily and seriously wounded in several places. The fact that he was still fighting after two minutes against Voldemort said much for his power and skill.
Or his will.
Each man, if Voldemort could be called that, was waiting for an opening, a lapse in the others guard, and Voldemort received his first.
Distracted with horror by the arrival of his wife, James lunged toward her, sidestepping a vicious whip of savage black smoke that shot across the room.
…He didn't see the smouldering hook that swung back toward him, until it impaled him from behind, jutting from his chest vulgarly.
Lily watched James fall; "Nigrumcormeum" still echoing in the air around her, and the scream of denial that was wrenched from her lips drew the Dark Lord's attention.
Lily, blinded by grief and anger attacked him wand outstretched, unknown spell on her lips.
The Aveda Kedavra caught her midsection, and her eyes went wide with knowledge and then dropped to her still husband's form, before going empty, glazing with the hollowness of death.
Her lifeless form fell with an eerie grace, wand falling from the lax grip, pale, flawless fingers coming to a lax stop, less than a centimetre from James still reaching hand.
A twitch, a touch...and then stillness and silence.
The bottom steps darkened beneath Voldemort's cloak as he ascended the stairs.
The door easily gave under Voldemort's power, and the cloaked man stalked into the room, fierce red eyes seeking his goal, and finding it in the form of the small baby, standing in the crib, holding the bars, eyes greener than green, peering through the bars at him.
With curiosity.
This boy was not afraid of him!
Drawing closer, Voldemort was half tempted to take the child as his own, only a fool would miss the power growing in that tiny body, but eventually caution won him over.
'The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches'
"An intriguing Riddle you would grow to be, young Harry Potter." Voldemort almost grinned, aware of the double meaning of his words, "But alas. None shall ever truly know."
Wand raised, Voldemort hissed, "Aveda Kedavra!" sending the third death curse of the night.
Fine silvery-grey ash floated about the nursery, carried upon an unnatural stillness, dusting over brightly coloured toys, soft animal toys and baby furniture. It blanketed thick over the toppled cot, half concealing the snarled mess of wooden slats and shredded feather down mattress.
The smell of burning flesh permeated the air.
Only the dark mark, leery in the night sky, lit by stars and full moon, bespoke the horrors that had occurred in the rubble below.
Many miles away, in the office of Albus Dumbledore, a breeze stirred, and pages of an ancient book, open in one of the many display cabinets, began to flip of their own accord.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry bloodline registry, into which proud magical parents enter their children's name at birth, denoting a place at Hogwarts for the magical legacies of past students.
That fateful all hallows eve night, a golden flare hissed across the books open page; as a name was erased, indicating that the prospective pupil was either enrolled elsewhere...or dead.