He Who Must Not Be Named
Saturday, 31st of October, 1981.
Dining Room, the Doghouse.
"Mmm, it's really,really good, Lils," James lied expertly, grinning as widely and as charmingly as he could manage, as he continued carving up the slightly overcooked roast pork. It crackled uncertainly under the jerked sawing motions of his knife, and he hastened to shove the small bit that crumbled off into his mouth. The bitter tang of charcoal did its best to twist his face into a grimace, but he charged through the taste with a loyal affection for his wife - who truly did her best to fit the criteria of a good mother; cooking when she had no talent in the kitchen. "Absolutely delicious, babe! You make your mother's food taste like ash in comparison!" he praised, tipping his head in an exaggerated nod that he hoped wasn't his downfall.
Lily sighed wearily, plonking down into her seat in between the high-chairs that housed her boys. They were lucky their dinner was still mushy peas and carrots, for if they had tasted the burnt meat and slightly under-cooked corn and beans, their honesty would kick in - and their dishes would be across the room in seconds.
"You hate it," she said.
"It's a little on the, er, crispy side of things," James conceded hesitantly, and then winced when Lily shot him a poisonous glare as she helped little Harry and Alaric grip their spoons and guide it to their mouths. "But I do like it, Lily! I swear, it isn't nearly as bad as you think! It's only 'cause you haven't tried it yet that you're judging it - aren't you the one that always tells me not to judge a book by its cover?" He implored, trying hard to think of a way to get himself away from the trap that was trying appease his wife, and being honest.
Lily gave him a flat look. "You can cook next time Mipsy's sick, then, if you think my cooking's a little on the crispy side of things," she said through gritted teeth, huffing with annoyance at him as she forced herself to split her attention between her giggling sons, one of which was poking his tongue out at her cheekily - mushed peas somehow already spread all over his chubby cheeks.
"Your cooking may be a bit more chewy than it should be, but at least it's edible," James grumbled, spearing a piece of pork on his fork and carefully chewing the sharp bits of crackling. "Mine's like eating sludge, and not the okay kind from made from edible food that's been pureed. It's like acid. Remember that spaghetti I tried to make, back when we took care of your parents' house when they went away?"
"Where you burnt the pasta to a paste at the bottom of the pot and then tried to banish it, only to banish the entire bottom, and then set fire to the sauce and almost the entire kitchen?" She asked, arching an eyebrow as she dabbed at Alaric's messy face with her napkin. "Yeah, you could say I remember it. It was my father's favorite pot to use for soup, and I didn't hear the end of it for years, even after he got that new pot he loves."
"So, see, your cooking's so much better than mine!" James said, nodding his head enthusiastically as Lily glanced at him shrewdly. He held up a large piece of pork on his fork, and made a show of eating it whole for her, enjoying the way those pretty emerald eyes sparkled with amusement as the incredibly noisy crunching of his teeth against glass-like crackling, sounded in the dining room. His aching gums were worth the smile that glittered in those eyes. "So mu'h be'er!" he enthused, though his voice was incredibly muffled and shaky with pain.
It's worth it for her,he thought firmly, and then had to forcefully ignore the prickling of tears in his eyes, as a shard of crackling dug very painfully into the sensitive gum just behind his front tooth.
Lily burst out laughing, throwing her head back mirthfully as James tried hard to conceal his wincing. And, after a moment of watching their mother laugh without pause, both Alaric and Harry let out beautiful melodious giggles and squeals, clapping their gooey pea and carrot covered hands excitedly as they did so. Green and orange globs of food splattered the floor and table, but Lily was laughing too much to even notice. Not that James didn't, but he made as much mess as his two sons did, so he could get away with overlooking the mess.
Little Harry looked so much like his dear mother, his big emerald eyes glimmering with joy and his pouty lips stretched wide in a grin, that James couldn't help but feel a little tearful with pride. He still hadn't gotten over the fact that this was his family - his children and wife. It was getting harder and harder to imagine life before them, not that he imagined that much - but he just couldn't stop remembering the fun times he'd had with Sirius, Remus and Peter, and then comparing them to watching his two sons grow and learn new things - that they both loved him cuddling them before bed, and that Harry loved Lily's kisses and hugs more than his. That Harry loves animals and drawing and helping his mum in the kitchen, and that Alaric loves building things with his little building blocks and knocking them down almost immediately after.
His Alaric was more like him in ways Lily complained about - the matching messy black hair atop both babies heads not withstanding. It was like complimenting himself when he praised his eldest son. Alaric had his hazel eyes, his short fingers, his nose, chin and even the little double-jointed elbow that Lily sometimes found freaky. It was an oddly prideful moment that James only dared to share with Remus and Sirius, a father's pride of having his son turn out like him.
Lily, James knew, was very happy to have at least one of her children take after her, as well. Even if she had two sons, and not the daughter she'd always dreamed of having with him. Harry had her beautiful emerald eyes, high and pretty cheek bones and pale skin, and even her pouty lips. He was also very small for a boy - very delicate in the bones department. He looked almost dainty in comparison to Alaric, it was in his height when he toddled beside his brother, and especially when they were both on their practice brooms.
Harry was a natural speed demon, while Alaric was more of a Keeper, or maybe a Beater, hovering in one spot and keeping track of what was going on around him. James couldn't really draw any matches for Quidditch yet, Lily was extremely wary of letting her sons on brooms for too long, but he was slowly wearing out Lily's resolve with little quips about Quidditch here and there. He, as a Chaser for Gryffindor, couldn't wait for his sons to play their matches at Hogwarts - he already had flags and banners up in the attic waiting to be used.
Lily found it adorable, but of course she didn't say that to his face - delicate manliness and all that.
Finally able to swallow the lump of shards that was roast pork, James rasped, "It's not that funny," before grabbing his drink and swinging back the water in one continuous gulp. It soothed the tender aches and hurts in his mouth, but it wasn't enough to get all the tiny, crunched up shards in his mouth. No, those were stuck in his teeth and gums, weren't they. Hazardous to his health, they were.
"Oh, but it is!" Lily disagreed with a chipper grin, looking just that little bit happier after having an unintentional bout of revenge. "You seem to think that I can't tell when you're lying to me, but what you don't realize is that every wife knows everything about her husband. I especially know when you lie. It's really quite obvious when you do, actually. And honestly, I'm a bit disappointed in Sirius and Remus for not picking up on it earlier, even after your friendship for however many years."
"Oh?" James muttered, resolutely dropping his knife and fork onto the table and refilling his glass, not deigning his mangled dinner another look. He'd just get Albus to send him a House-elf bearing supper later - when Lily went off to bed.
"You exaggerate everything you do," Lily told him, still grinning that evil little grin at him. He wanted to kiss it off of her. "Especially when you want to convince someone of something suspicious, like my horrible cooking. I'm quite surprised how well you can keep a lie with Sirius, much less Remus! It must take extra work for you to do so!"
"You have no idea how hard it is to lie to someone that can hear your heartbeat if they listened hard enough," James mumbled, rolling his eyes at her as he sipped at his drink, absently trying to get the shards out of his gums with his tongue. "But you forget, I don't really lie all that often."
Lily raised an eyebrow, an insufferably knowing smirk stretching her pouty red lips. "How about the night the twins were born, hmm? You lied about going to the bathroom to sneak out and Fire-call your friends," she said, absent-mindedly cleaning Harry's little, long-fingered hands with a clean napkin. "And what about last week, hmm? You told me you were going to visit Albus, but instead you went to Diagon Alley to order the new broom they have, and the newest training brooms for toddlers, as well. Then you lied to Frank, to Sirius, and yet again me when you said you were going to have a lie in, which must mean in your words that you want to have a drink or two. Shall I continue, or have you gotten the idea?"
"No, I got it," James grumbled darkly, staring at the table with a tight-lipped scowl. "So, alright, I lie a couple times a week, but that's nothing compared to what you do. You're like the epitome of a sneaky little Slytherin!"
That apparently took Lily aback, as she was too surprised to continue cleaning Harry of the gooey food. She didn't notice as his tiny hands grabbed at the napkin and continued rubbing it between his palms, watching with slowly drooping eyes as the soft tissue cleaned his hands of the goop. "And what have I done to upset you, oh-so gallant and noble One?" she asked tersely.
"I tried to give you a surprise chocolate basket when you were on your monthly horror days, and you yelled at me for calling you fat!" James exclaimed exasperatedly, throwing his hands into the air incredulously. "I did no such thing, and I had to spend the next three nights suffering on the couch, tending to both Harry and Ric when they woke up in the middle of the night for it!"
"Those chocolates were nice," Lily mumbled, flushing a pretty red from her lightly freckled cheeks to the tips of her ears. After a long moment of having James glare at her, she finally sighed and reluctantly nodded. "Okay, I'm sorry for doing that, but it did seem pretty fishy to me when you gave me all those chocolates. You had that weird, guilty expression on your face that instantly set off my temper."
"That's because I'd broken one of your aunt's vases that day and I was anticipating you tearing my head off," James pointed out indelicately, getting up to clear off the table. "I'd wanted to avoid as much carnage as I could, and decided that since you like chocolate and were most likely in pain from cramps, that I'd get you an entire basket full of Honeydukes finest - those fudge chocolates you love so much. Cost a pretty Galleon, mind, but at least you ate it all."
"You'll have to get me another basket soon, because those were pretty good," she said cheekily, grinning at her mildly affronted husband as she stood up herself, and wiped off any crumbs she may have gotten on her shirt. Looking at her sleeping babies, who'd had such an exciting day playing around with their new brooms and their uncles, and were now all tuckered out from it, her grin softened into a heart-melting smile. She quickly cleaned them both off - taking the dirty napkin still in Harry's grasp, and moving Alaric's fingers from a glop of food, and began carefully unbuckling them from their high-chairs.
"They asleep?" James asked her quietly, scraping the food off of both his and Lily's plates with as little noise as he could make it.
Lily smiled over her shoulder at her husband, but turned back to untangling Harry's tiny feet from the chair sockets. She picked him up gently, supporting his lolling head in the crook of her neck as she tucked him to her body. She could just cry every time her little boy cuddled into her; his little arms tightening around her neck and his face pressing into her shoulder. He made a little sound then, and she pressed a loving kiss to his temple. "Hush, Harry, Mummy's got you," she whispered into his hair.
"Do you need a hand with him?" James asked quietly, sidling up to Alaric's high-chair to work him out like a human puzzle. At Lily's nod, he began untangling their eldest from his own restraints. He was definitely the messier of the two, that much could be said, as James lifted him up and revealed the mess of goopy food that was slopped all down his front and sides. James sighed and quietly muttered a cleaning charm, before tucking his now clean little boy to his chest and nuzzling into the soft fluffy hair atop his little noggin.
"Sirius and Remus are coming around tomorrow afternoon," Lily reminded James quietly, a soft grin on her face that spoke of untold horrors for the twosome the next day. James listened with amusement. "Something about celebrating a late Halloween with the twins before leaving to go off on one of their holidays again. I wanted to set up a little surprise for them -"
The sharp sound of wards screeching their protest cut through James's words, something in all their two years of living in Godric's Hollow, they hadn't ever done. James gasped in horror as he caught sight of the front door, at the opposite end of the hallway. It had begun to crackle and smoke around the blurred and reddened edges, shards and splinters of wood pinging out of the woodwork and hitting the floor like bullet-sized shrapnel. All signs of an explosive curse working its way through thankfully heavily warded wood. He froze in absolute shock, heart racing faster than a Nimbus and tattooing into the skin of his chest like a rogue Bludger.
"James, the boys!" Lily cried frantically over the screeching wards and crying toddlers, tugging furiously on the sleeve of his arm desperately to get him to move. "We have to get them away from here! It's him! We need to get away! We need to use the Portkeys!" she yelled.
Disjointedly, James began to stumble forward. "Get upstairs!" he said, before hurriedly tugging Lily from the kitchen doorway and to the unfortunately placed landing before the front door, where the stairs connected the levels together.
It wouldn't take Voldemort long to work his way through the layers of wards, and he couldn't let Lily or the boys near him when he did. He hastily shoved a sniffling and crying Alaric into her arms, ignoring the way she jerked back in shock and terror, and pushed her up the first step. Harry's watery green eyes peered at him from the crook of her elbow with terrified wonderment, a direct juxtaposition of his mother's horrified realization and Alaric's all-encompassing terror.
"You need to get upstairs, use the Portkey as soon as you can - don't worry about me, Lily!" he yelled, shaking her by her trembling shoulders as she sobbed and tried to grab him with a scrabbling hand, her other arm fighting to keep a hold on her screaming child and squirming son. "He's here for the boys, we need to get them to safety. I'll hold him off as long as I can, but you need to go now!"
"James!" Lily sobbed wretchedly, trying desperately to get the love of her life to go with her - to keep him with her and their children. "Please, please come with me! Don't stay down here, he'll kill you! He won't let you live - please! Please, don't do this to me!"
"I know," James whispered tearfully, looking terribly crushed and resolved to his fate even as the door gave a threatening groan behind them. Desperately, he ducked his head down to press an urgent kiss to her trembling, moist lips, sweeping his tongue lovingly into her mouth just this one last time. He pulled back when he heard the door behind him give another terrible groan - louder than the last. They were running out of time. "Go," he urged, pushing her away.
"James-" Lily tried again, crying desperate, terrified tears.
"GO!" James roared, and finally, finally, Lily listened. She immediately turned and scrambled up the stairs, hands clutching her crying babies to her panting chest frantically as she made her way to safety. Her terrified emerald eyes stared down at her husband one last time as she reached the top, an overwhelming look of such love and fear in those emerald orbs that James almost bolted after her instead, before she was gone - running down the hallway and to a room at the furthest side of the house. It was the last sight he thought he would ever see, his beloved wife of four years running in horror with their two children, as the Dark Lord Voldemort came crashing down on their door to kill them.
It was one last sight he would gladly take to his grave, if he could only stop Voldemort from succeeding in killing his family.
He spun around, wand at the ready and aimed in Voldemort's general direction, as the front door gave one final groan, before the wood split directly in the center and was flung away in an explosive shower of splinters and chunks that sliced through the walls around him like hot knives through butter. James was already ready for that, spitting out a shield with Auror-sharpness before the wooden spikes could harm him, and he waited with the steady thrum of battle adrenaline in his blood as the misty fog of their failing wards and the residue of the spell began to clear away to see their attacker. To see him.
In the unnaturally dark shadows of their doorstep, raven haired head bowed low and two gleaming red eyes peering out menacingly, stood Lord Voldemort. Long, dark robes clung to his slender figure almost like a second skin, of which was made up of six feet, and blended all too well into the shadows edging the crumbling doorway. His skin was an alabaster pale, and his features were most handsome and charming, if it weren't for the twisted and dark light swirling in those scarlet eyes that glared up at him most malignantly.
James knew enough of Voldemort not to attack immediately. That plan of attack always failed magnificently, but that didn't stop him from casting another shielding charm and silently attempting to stick another protective ward on the stairs behind him. However, his memory of wards was thin, and the web that crawled from his wand was shredded the moment his memory failed him. He snarled, and raised his head proudly, in a move reminiscent of the Stag he in his heart.
"James Potter, we meet again at last," said Voldemort in a slow, haunting voice, thin lips twisting into a cruel smirk that had James's innards twisting uncomfortably. But however much it felt like barbed wire in his belly, he stayed firm before the enemy. "You've done such a remarkable job at hiding from me, for being so foolhardy and dimwitted as they say. How long has it been... Almost three years since we last had a chat, was it? Why, I am as surprised as you are to finally be here before you. I am almost willing to bet that you didn't expect the ratin that pathetic Order of yours to have betrayed you to be so close to your heart. Enough to betray your location to your enemies."
"Well, guess who's off my Christmas card list," James growled through his teeth, hardly attempting a sharp smile - only to let it fall flat into a dark scowl. "I'll be putting rat traps everywhere after this."
"And that would be the twisted sense of humor making its appearance. Hmm, yes, Wormtail told me as much would happen as soon as you were brought to heel," said Voldemort, his smirk widening just a touch as James bristled in anger. "Am I too late for supper? Oh, dear, have the children already been put to bed?" he asked, feigning innocent curiosity. However, that was ruined by the dark shadow that haunted his red eyes. "How sweet. But I have yet to meet the young ones in all their time of living a hidden life. I believe I shall go and introduce myself -"
"Don't you dare try it," James growled, allowing more than a thread of magic to thrum to life in his wand. "I'll kill you where you stand."
Voldemort let out a high, crackling, ice cold laugh that churned the contents of James's stomach, although no humor but a dark spark of enjoyment flitted to life in his eyes. "You and your Order have tried that already, James. Many, manytimes," he said with dark amusement, and stepped forward. His robes crackled and clawed along the floor like blades over stone. "I am far mightier in power and possess a great deal more cunning than that old fool, Dumbledore, can ever hope to achieve, and I shall be your child's doom. However, which one, I am uncertain as to say. I suppose the both of them will have to do. Now step aside, or join those whom have already deemed themselves unworthy of living."
"I will not let you hurt them!" James snarled, and cast the first spell that came to mind as his heart jack-rabbited in his chest - which just so happened to be Stupefy.
Voldemort let out another harsh cackle, and with a deft flick of his wand, theStupefy sailed straight back at James's chest and threw him, tumbling painfully, to the landing beside the lovely looking honeysuckle wooden railing, wand slipping uselessly from slack fingers.
Voldemort immediately began to gracefully ascend the stairs, aiming a well targeted kick at the fallen James's ribs. The man seemed dead for all of the noise he made at the hit. "I told you to step aside, fool," he sneered at him as he swept by. "And now you will have to live a life of blame, heart and mind heavy with the burden of being a spectacular failure at protecting your belovedones. It is almost sweeter than having the honor to kill you, but, no matter."
Laughing coldly with satisfaction at that perceived justice, Voldemort arrogantly swept his sharp gaze along the rows of closed doors revealed to his eyes. It was almost too obvious which room he would have to invade, as almost as soon as he neared the last door in the hallway, he could hear two children crying inside and a young woman cursing vividly under her breath, repeating a phrase over and over. Most likely an activation code for a Portkey. It was almost too bad they didn't work, now wasn't it.
Wards were a wonderful thing when one paid attention.
Smirking, he swished his wand at the presumably locked and warded door, and watched in dark delight as it flew off its hinges without protest and slammed into something solid with an enormous tumbling, smashing sound. There in the Potter's nursery, Lily Potter screamed in fear as she and her children were revealed, and there, Voldemort stalked in with a deadly grace, wand held almost lazily in hand.
"NO! NOT MY CHILDREN, PLEASE! NO, HAVE MERCY! HAVE MERCY!" Lily Potter screamed desperately, throwing herself before the two adjoined cots filled with quietly crying and sniffling children. She went to flick her wand at him, the tip already glowing blue with a spell, but with a smirk that spoke levels of his confidence, Voldemort merely swished his own wand and sent it flailing into the air, where with a well aimed curse, sent the Willow wood snapping in half to reveal the hidden core within and flying to join the rubble off to the side. Lily sobbed brokenly.
"Now why would I wish to allow the very child that is prophesied to defeat me, to live?" Voldemort questioned her, almost lackadaisically. "That would just defeat the purpose of my little visit here, now wouldn't it. Your dear husband has already paid the price of his stupidity, are you willing to do the same?"
"JAMES!" Lily screamed, trembling so violently her knees threatened to give way, that Voldemort almost laughed with delightful anticipation in watching proud Lily Potter fall to her knees before him. "No! He can't be dead,no...!" she sobbed, shaking her head violently. Her violent fiery hair was cast around her in tangled, distressed curtain that almost hid her wet face from his view.
"Oh, he most certainly is, my dear girl, he is," Voldemort crooned, smirking cruelly at her sniveling cries as she continued to refute him. "He was felled by his own curse, struck down right on the staircase before I could reach you. But you must certainly be proud of him. After all, to die for ones own family is the greatest honor a Gryffindor can ever achieve. Little Alice Longbottom is busy discovering this for herself elsewhere, under the care of Bellatrix and my loyal servants."
"You're a disgusting parasite, Tom, and I hope you die the most painful death in all the years of this world!" Lily spat hatefully, glaring furiously at him with those lovely emerald eyes, which looked even better with streaming tears than they were staring at him defiantly. They would make such a lovely trophy on his wall.
The smirk slowly faded from Voldemort's face at hearing that thrice blasted name, and he straightened to a stiff point, glowering down at her with fierce, scarlet eyes. "I grow weary of listening to you speak, Mudblood," he said darkly. "Remove yourself from the children's presence, and I may yet let you live -"
"STUPEFY!" snarled Lily, flinging a hand at him that glowed bright red from within with the same spell her husband had used. It was pure instinct that drove her magic to charge - a mother's instinct to protect her young.
Voldemort frowned and just as easily sent the spell rebounding back to her, watching motionlessly as she was thrown to the side and left to crumple uselessly into a pile of limbs by her defenseless children's cots. "Gryffindors. Such a predictable, useless lot they are," he sneered. "Although, wandless magic... Such a rare occurrence among our people, even amongst the purest of our bloods. To have been a Muggleborn and have access to that talent... She would have been an asset to my army, had she the brains to accept my offer. Nevertheless, this is not what I came here for," he muttered inanely to himself, advancing further into the room to peer disdainfully into the cots, now that their parents were unconscious and out of the way.
Two pairs of eyes stared back at him. One set, a teary and fearful pair of hazel, and the other, the beautiful emerald of Lily Potter, so deliciously glowing with fear and thrumming with life and power that it almost made him quiver in delight. It was that child - he could tell by how brave it was being despite being overwhelmed by fear itself. He could practically feel the potential power radiating from his tiny body at this distance alone - so delicate and small, yet so full of defiance and vibrance it was almost astounding. A perfect mixture of his mother and father, that it almost sickened him.
A deadly smirk stretched those thin lips upward. He would snuff out that defiant life, just like he did the Potters before them.
"I suppose you want me to leave you and your family be, child?" he sneered at it. The boy watched him with those unnerving eyes, almost too focused on him to be at all comfortable. "What could you do if I murdered your dear Mudblood Mummy in front of you, oh prophesied one? Or your pathetic little brother?"
The boy jerked in place as if it actually understood, green eyes swiveling to look at his brother and then back to him owlishly. Voldemort almost cackled when the boy shook his head furiously, those spitfire eyes stabbing anger up at him even as he willingly signed himself up for death. It seemed the boy knew what was expected of him, then.
And it was right for it to do so. All things would bow and scrape to his every whim eventually. The tipping point to his scales would be the deaths of the powerful and influential Potter family - amongst others, he was sure.
"You will more than do to satisfy this Prophecy, child," he sneered, and leveled his wand right between its eyes. It stared up at the glowing tip of his wand as if confused, and the real enjoyment of the situation began to filter in as those eyes stared entranced into the glowing light of death. "And that is why you must die. Enjoy your death more than your life, little one, for surely it will last far longer than you have lived. Rest assured that your putrid little family will join you soon.AVADA KEDAVRA!" he roared, cackled gleefully even as he was pouring pure malignant power through his wand.
Voldemort allowed a grin of pure delight to shape his face as the sheer mightiness of his spell obliterated the child - or, that's what it should have done, had it not intercepted some foreign source of power equal in its strength and force in its path. "No! This cannot happen!" he snarled, daring to pour as much power as he could possibly spare into the force of the spell. "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Finally, his magic seemed to move through the alien shield, it finally began to move - but backward - it was moving back to him!
"NO!" he roared once more, real fear beginning to worm into his heart as that deadly green fountain slithered back towards him with dangerous accuracy, aided by the power backed behind it and the strange magic it had intercepted. His hand shook under the onslaught of such strength, and he watched in horror as his deadly wand began to creak and crack under his tense fingers. "THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE!" he shrieked - and his agonized scream rent the magically charged air as that deadly spell smothered him in a glowing green light, the sheer might of the spell tearing away the flesh of his body in tiny, minuscule increments and ripping away the shredded soul hiding within its depths.
The Dark Lord Voldemort allowed one last throat tearing scream, before he was no more than a robe and a crispy, smoking wand on the ground before Harry Potter's crib - a charcoal imprint on the floor that showed the true force of the impact. The remaining overwhelming power that had pushed the spell to kill its master rebounded once more off the burnt wand, and the ceiling above the cots burst open in an explosion of drywall, debris, many years worth of dust and tin. The children below screamed and wailed their pain as they were cut every which way and that, tin roofing slicing a jagged cut into palm of little Alaric Potter, and chunks of wall smacking little Harry Potter on his already tender, aching head.
The two children lay in their cots until help arrived, nearing two hours later in a brigade of seasoned Aurors. Both bloody, and exhausted into a restless sleep, they were found by a fearful Severus Snape, of whom immediately contacted Albus Dumbledore of the situation and tended to an injured and unconscious Lily Potter. They were further forgotten until Sirius and Remus arrived, frantic with worry and panicking at the sight of an unconscious James lying still on the stairs.
No one knew what happened that night, aside from what little James and Lily Potter could remember, as they cuddled and worried over the twins. But it was obvious by the jagged wound on the head of Harry Potter that positively reeked of insane amounts of Dark magic, and the shallow cut on the hand of little Alaric that whispered of loving magic, that whatever had become of Voldemort, no longer concerned the living.
At least not yet.
Dumbledore watched Harry with worry as the little one cuddled into his mother's grasp, weary emerald eyes already drifting shut despite the traumatic experience he had just lived through. He was exhausted, his magical core strained and wrung dry of almost any magic, and the poor boy was covered in cuts, dust and fine shards of tin and roofing material. Alaric, on the other hand, was held safely in Remus's arms, perfectly healthy aside from the unhealthy amount of stress from the events of the night - James being too injured to hold either one of his son's whilst a small team of Auror's accompanied him to St. Mungos.
Unfortunately, Dumbledore knew exactly what had to be done. They couldn't allow Harry to come into even more danger to their world - he had to be protected at all costs, and the Death Eaters were bound to be restless and driven by mad shock that their Master was gone. They'd attack anywhere and at will, and they'd try and attack Harry.
Dumbledore couldn't allow that to happen. Harry would be safe, by will or by magic, the boy would endure and regain his health and power. He would need it for the future, which as of that moment, remained to be seen as uncertain.
