Tales of the Past Re-Master

Year One

Prologue

Halloween

It was Halloween Night. The year, 1981 in the little village of Godric's Hollow. A time when little muggle boys and girls would dress up as their favourite scary monsters and go out to trick and treat their way into childhood obesity. Each of the little ones would be accompanied by an adult, which was a rather smart thing indeed because tonight, a real monster had come to Godric's Hollow.

There wasn't a single ability that a muggle possessed which could have alerted them to the danger they were now in. To those who would notice such a creature, they only saw a man. He was dressed in a thin, flowing, black robe. His face was snake-like, having only slits for nostrils and a set of menacing red eyes. Given the time of year, anyone with a lick of common sense might have thought this was a well thought out costume. Sadly, anyone with a lick of sense might have ran in the opposite direction, had they known who this man was.

It was this sort of thinking that didn't prevent 11 year old Alfred Groit – who was dressed as the mummy from his favourite horror movie – fearlessly approach this stranger. "Nice costume, Mister!" Little Alfred said, looking up into the dark hood with his most winning smile. He wasn't afraid of the snake-like slits or menacing red eyes. He thought it was a mask and contact lenses.

"Where did you get it?" He pressed on. Alfred was not swayed by the idea of dark beings, dangerous monsters or the idea that someone could be here for any other reason than for the same reason he, the children and the other parents were. He was sadly not the right child to notice that at this very moment, he was in great danger simply for existing. For he was in the presence of, Lord Voldemort.

If the Dark Lord had not been in a great hurry, This might well have been Alfred's last night on Earth. "I mustn't waste my time on the weak. No matter how repulsive this child is." The Dark Lord thought to himself. He was already risking far too much being here by himself. He knew what this mission might cost him. Who might already be aware that he was on his way here and now. The risk was too great and yet, this task could only be completed by himself. Voldemort couldn't trust his followers to see this done. Nor could he afford his own failure for that matter.

It took a great deal of effort for Voldemort to smile, and to do so in a manner that would not frighten the boy. It was commented once that the Dark Lord's smile was far too menacing to be believed, that it would often make someone fear death. Granted, Voldemort had killed the person who told him this just five seconds after the words were spoken. So, that person did have a point. To smile at this child was a vile act in his mind. Luckily, it worked and young Alfred was pleased with the response. "Happy Halloween, Mister!" Alfred bellowed. When Voldemort flinched in disgust. The boy giggled, clearly savouring the victory of thinking he was successful in scaring a passer-by and ran off to his mother, who had been waiting nearby. The impulse to blow the child to pieces mid-run was too great. It took all of Voldemort's energy to turn swiftly and head down the middle of the street as quickly as his bare feet would carry him.

The cottage was located on the far edges of the village, just a few yards from the local church. This information he was given by the traitor. So far the information appeared to be useful, and the cottage was indeed in sight. This was good for the backstabber because there would be no word in the English language that would describe the pain Voldemort would cause them, should any of this information turn out to be false. To be a traitor was one thing, to be a lying traitor would call for a darker punishment than even Voldemort could dream up.

Moving with all the haste of the wind that blowed around him, Voldemort stopped to idle in front of a small wooden gate. He had learned of the enchantment which kept the house safe. For the moment, Voldemort could only see a ruined old cottage that had been abandoned for decades. Given the means to pass by the spell, he reached for the gate almost hesitantly and pushed it open. Nervous for a moment only, Voldemort relaxed when he took one tentative step forward and watched as the true cottage revealed itself.

A cobbled path formed to lead right up to the two steps which sat neatly beneath a red front door. A garden of many different, rare and valuable plants that were no doubt for potion ingredients sprung into view. The Cottage itself was small and each window had a light on, giving away that someone was home. It was cosy, warm and not at all defended by anything else other than the spell that had just been broken. Voldemort smiled in delight. Even more so when he saw the shapes moving in the windows.

He was practically salivating with pleasure when he saw the familiar features of James Potter. A tall, skinny man with messy black hair and round glasses had his wand in hand. He was shooting puffs of smoke into the air. Two sets of little hands were reaching high to try and catch the smoke. It was the child. This unremarkable looking boy who wasn't even one years old yet, was giggling happily, enjoying the game his father was playing with him. Voldemort felt the rage inside him. It was an insult to think he was here risking everything for this chubby faced little boy. The desire to kill was growing stronger with each passing second.

In his haste to be done with this, Voldemort approached the house. His eyes were fixed on the front door. He retrieved his wand from the inside of his robe, took aim and fired. His spell struck the door and blew it clean off the hinges. There was a rush of movement and James charged into the little hall. His eyes widened in fear. Behind him another appeared. A woman, red-haired, young, pretty and to Voldemort, a stain on the name of wizard. The mudblood, Lily Potter gasped in horror. Like her husband she had her wand. "Lily, Take Harry and run!" James shouted. Lily, lovely and brave ran to claim her son.

Voldemort reached the threshold and James took a dive straight towards him. Voldemort witnessed Lily running passed James with the boy in her arms. She ran clear up the stairs just as James opened fire. The Dark Lord would not be thwarted so easily. James cast his spells as quickly as he could. He had always been talented, but his spells were mere bee stings to the Dark Lord. Voldemort blocked each attack. He didn't need to dodge, duck or employ any other tactics. This was too easy for him. And as brave as James Potter had been, Voldemort's defeat of him was lazy. The Dark Lord blocked one final spell then whipped his wand like a snake strike. The green flash consumed James and he fell to the floor.

"Pathetic!" Voldemort hissed, paying little mind as he stepped over James's corpse. "Dumbledore would be proud though." He taunted. Voldemort set his sights on Harry. He headed straight for the stairs without pause and scaled them swiftly. Time was running out. The Order would likely know by now. If not them then the Ministry would know that dark magic was being used. There was little need for a search when baby Harry's cries could be heard coming from down the hall. These cries leading death straight to him and he was none the wiser.

Voldemort flew towards the bedroom door and found it barred. A cheap shield spell had been cast in haste. It would not stop the Dark Lord. He raised his wand again, barely thought the counter-spell and he sent the door crashing open so hard that it slammed against the opposite wall. Harry was crying louder but there were no screams of declarations of sacrifice coming from the mother. When the smoke cleared from the blast, Voldemort advanced, only to be stopped in his tracks when he found a wand pointing directly at his face.

Confusion cut through Voldemort's rage like a knife through butter. Held in place by the sight of his most faithful follower standing between the Dark Lord and his target, wand at the read, aiming it directly with poise and determination. "Severus?" Voldemort whispered. He couldn't piece together what was happening. There was no logical reason in Voldemort's mind that would explain the potion master's appearance here tonight.

"You've gone too far." Severus told him, coldly.

"Out of my way!" Voldemort demanded. His rage was returning, and it was enough to make him lunge forward. He was ready to kill Severus if he had to. Unfortunately-

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green flash filled the room. Voldemort let out a deafening cry of pain. His body burned away to ash before it could hit the ground. A strange, unearthly wind erupted in the middle of the room. Severus stepped backwards, putting himself between Lily and her son, and the faint apparition that formed in front of them. It swirled in placed for a few seconds and then exploded through the bedroom window. Harry's distressed cries filled the room once more. Lily swooped down to take him from the crib while Severus ran to the window.

Severus stared yonder out the window, searching the street, the sky and anywhere else that might show some sign of where the apparition had gone. To his dismay, there was nothing. Soon, Harry's cries silenced, and the exhausted child fell into an unsettled sleep. Severus turned to see Lily on the floor, her arms tightly round Harry. She looked up to meet Severus's gaze and a quiet understanding came between them.

The silence continued until, "Lily! Harry!" Remus Lupin's voice had caused Severus to turn on the spot and disappear into thin air. The sounds of footsteps charging up the stairs did not break Lily out of her trance. The realisation that it was not James coming up the stairs confirmed that her husband was now dead. Remus appeared in the broken doorframe of Harry's bedroom. He was pale, scarred and dressed in shabby looking robes. His face was a mingle of pain and sorrow. He had been fearing the worst and so looked only slightly relieved when he saw that Lily and Harry were still alive.

"Oh, thank goodness!" A second voice said. Lily looked up and saw Peter Pettigrew peering from behind Remus's arm. Seeing them both there forced the breakdown. Lily started to shake, her eyes watered and for a second only, her grip on Harry wavered.

"Blast, we're too late!" A voice thundered from downstairs. Remus growled and looked down at Peter. "Stay with them, I'll make sure Hagrid and the others stay away." He then turned and quickly headed back towards the stairs. Lily sat, sobbing and sniffing. She knew that Remus would make sure James wasn't touched. She knew that he would be in just as much pain as the rest of them were now.

Strength can come from the strangest of places and for Lily, it was the simple act of Peter Pettigrew stepping forward, kneeling down and putting his arm around her that made some difference. It was enough for her to see the child in her arms. It was in looking at the sleeping face of this little boy that she found the strength to get through the night. She would find time to mourn her husband's death. For now, though, all her strength and love would be for one little boy.

Harry Potter.