October 31, 1981

Godric's Hollow

11:53 PM

Fleamont and Euphemia Potter sat in amicable quietness around the living room. The enchanted hearth ushering a dancing glow into the heart of the home.

Settled deeply into his leather upholstered club chair, Fleamont thoughtfully contemplated the new Perfect Recollection Draught in his Potions Today magazine. It was an interesting breakthrough as only a master Occlumens had perfect recollection.

An accomplished potioneer himself. Fleamont recognised the drought as a variation of Baruffio's Brain Elixir. Whilst Baruffio's Elixir allowed for an increase in brainpower. Fleamont could gather how the addition of Newt Spleens and Gorgon Blood would allow for perfect recollection. Gorgon's Blood had many restorative properties on par with Unicorn Blood and Phoenix Tears. In so, he continued. The dynamism of Newt Spleens, Runespoor Eggs, powered Dragon Claw, Frog Brains along with the Gorgon's Blood would certainly allow for a stabilized potion that heightened cognitive abilities, however, Fleamont thought the creative alteration was an albeit obtuse solution.

Gorgon's Blood was restricted on the ICW watchlist. While Gorgon's Blood taken from the right side was revered by healers for its curative abilities. Gorgon's blood taken from the left side was a prominent poison used by pureblood circles and underworld figures. Gorgon's blood was only eclipsed by Angel's Trumpet and Basilisk Venom in terms of lethal potency.

Fleamont surmised that with a longer brewing cycle, both the Newt spleens and Gorgon's blood could be substituted for Armadillo Bile and Ginger Root as the Ginger Root would be perfect to negate the corrosiveness of the Armadillo Bile and still allow for heightened mental cognition.

The Sleekeazy's developer, satisfied with his reasoning, turned his gaze towards his wife Euphemia Potter Née Ross. Her legs outstretched on the neighbouring chaise lounge, black robes trying in vain to hide her figure. Fleamont's eyes trickled down past her wispy raven hair towards the Herbology handbook held in her dainty hands.

Herbology had always been a passion for Euphemia, her tending Potter Manor's greenhouses had always been a nostalgic memory for him. Tentacula leaves in her dishevelled hair, fingers caked in soil, smile larger than life, Fleamont could only groan in exasperation as it looked like she went toe to toe with a Whomping Willow.

Soft brown eyes gazing back at him, Fleamont took in her heart-shaped face adorned with brush-stroked scars. It was a sobering reminder, he had the same irregular scars too. Both had been seized by the 1978-1979 Dragon Pox outbreak. It was a testament to their strength in overcoming the dreaded pox. Others such as Abraxas Malfoy hadn't been so lucky. Maybe if Abraxas survived he would've kept that little shit Lucius in line. Euphemia still returned his glance, both only having a few seconds to take in each other's features.

The wards gave a tremble. A creaking murmur, a pleading wail then silence. Both Euphemia and Fleamont turned their gaze towards the hallway. An earth-quaking gong rang out, the reverberating roar erupting a firestorm of blazing orange. The Fidelius Charm had fallen.

"Pettigrew." Fleamont snarled. Wand clasped in his hand, whitened from the palpable blood loss in his anger." Flicking his wand to do a sensory scan. Fleamont paled. The Floo was disabled, anti-apparition and portkey were up. In short, no help was coming for them." Fleamont groaned, turning his face towards Euphemia. "We only have a few minutes before they carve through the internal wards," Fleamont continued. "Protego Maxima. Protego Horribilis. Fianto Duri. Repello Inimicum. Cave inimicum. All that's left between us and them."

Deatheaters... Both knew what was coming but it went unspoken.

It was not fear that gripped them at that moment. Only anticipation. An eagerness that swelled in their veins, a primal calling of patrilineal and matrilineal love. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death," Euphemia murmured. Fleamont nodded, looking resolute. "When they come." Fleamont responded, "We hold, let them come. We wait for Cave inimicum. Conserve your magical energy, my dear, we give them nothing but death and blood." Came Fleamont's steadfast voice again, never breaking his gaze from the door across the length of the doorway.

"Vienna," Euphemia said. "The battle before Dumbledore's final charge, do you remember? " Euphemia asked. "How could I forget?" said Fleamont solemnly. "We slew Kalchik, his body was nothing but a river of blood," Fleamont whispered.

Krackov Kalchik, Grindelwald's 3rd command of the alliance. Famously coined the Black Butcher when he transmogrified Cygnus Black the 1st on the battlefield into a living blood eagle. Dorea, Fleamont's sister-in-law had bade for blood after the death of her father.

Fleamont, Dorea, along with his elder brother Charlus and Euphemia had hunted Kalchik for two years across the battlefield, tallying up countless bodies like chalk on a board in their thirst for revenge. Kalchik finally met his end in the penultimate battle for Vienna. Corned and on his last legs. Charlus, Dorea, Euphemia, and Fleamont had batted down his shield charms with unholy destruction before launching twin Blood Boiling and Skin Shredding curses. Needless to say, Kalchik died a gruesome death.

An audible crack echoed across Godric's Hollow. The wards of Potter Cottage groaning under the onslaught. "The Protego Maxima, Protego Horribilis Have collapsed." Fleamont muttered. It was too quick even for Deatheaters. "Fianto Duri is dissipating," Fleamont continued.

Euphemia nodded, releasing a heavy breath, turned, and pulled Fleamont into one last fervid kiss. Breaking apart she clutched his hand and looked up with a listless smile."To the bitter end," she uttered with frightening conviction. "To the bitter end," Fleamont agreed before pointing his wand and tapping Euphemia's head. "Homenum revelio" he spoke before returning and tapping his own. Instantly thirteen blue-hued bodies appeared in his line of sight. Fleamont cursed, it wasn't promising odds.

Through the cracking and splintering of the wards. Clang!The metallic sound reverberated throughout the hallway. Clang!It came again. Fleamont grimaced. "Repello Inimicum is about to fall, when it does we press the advantage. Cave inimicum will keep us hidden from view, be prepared to throw your nastiest spells through the final ward. They'll have a fun time trying to break down the concealment ward in the face of death."

Fleamont gave a predatory smile at this, their numbers would mean nothing when blindly facing down a gauntlet of lethal spells. Clang!The metallic sound came a third time, the second to last ward groaning with desperation. It wouldn't survive another barrage. Euphemia's arm coiled and arched over her head like a scorpion waiting to strike, lightning-fast curses at the ready allowing for her to twist and strike again. Fleamont noted Euphemia's bloodthirsty duelling stance, 'she's out for blood' he mused before his thoughts continued, and 'so am I.'

Fleamont's outstretched arm pointed towards the ground allowing him easy access to power heavy spells. Clang!The wards gave one final shudder and Repello Inimicum fell.

Instantly, Euphemia and Fleamont unleashed a volley of Blood Boiling curses before twisting and flicking their wands to follow up quickly with wide-area Ethiopian Withering Curses sailing through the concealment. A trio of screams echoed in the darkness.

Fleamont smirked as he saw the startled Deatheaters turning to the outcry. The cannon fodder was being removed from the fight. Through the Homenum revelio, Fleamont could see the black aura of the Ethiopian Withering Curse slowly expanding across the blue sheen of the two downed targets, the third clenched into a ball just beyond the doorstep. The Blood Boiling Curse was doing its work. Fleamont grinned before shaking his head. 'Best keep them busy.'

In an eerie tandem both Fleamont and Euphemia simultaneously conjured granite walls as two sickly green Killing Curses came hurtling in. Seeing the green curses splatter helplessly. Fleamont surmised; 'Standard DeathEater tactics. Cast killing curses ask questions later.' Grunting both Euphemia and Fleamont vanished the conjured granite before they continued their onslaught. Catching Euphemia's snigger they dished out the next delicious treat.

'Eviscero,' They shouted. Twin Entrail-Expelling Curses erupted before Gemino spells were banished towards the Deatheater party. It had the desired effect. The frontline hastily erected Duelling and Protego Shields, the Entrail-Expelling Curses clashing harmlessly against the shields.

'Rookies.' Fleamont scoffed as the Entrail-expelling spells began to multiply. Unadulterated horror exploded in the Deatheater ranks. Sickly yellow spells began to compound due to the addition of the Gemino spell, screams of agony sounding out into the night. Already two more had fallen to the yellow storm of spells.

'And then there were eight' before Fleamont continued. 'Let's separate the men from the boys.' Returning to their duelling positions, both Fleamont and Euphemia settled into their signature spell chains. Standard Auror Shield Breakers, Eye Gougers, Irish Brain-Swelling, Babylonian Lung-crushers, Cremation, and Guillotine curses were launched into the fray.

The Deatheaters were driven into a state of panic, the Cave inimicum ward had yet to fall and already three more of their number were left grounded in the third barrage. Lord Voldemort hissed in absolute fury, only four of his Deatheaters had the necessary transfiguration skills to block, counter and shield from the volley of lethal curses and the multiplying yellow curses. It was infuriating! The Potters were making them look like fools but Lord Voldemort would turn the tables!

Pulling his wand back, Voldemort struck out with a vicious Incan Ward-splitter he'd discovered during his travels. It was a nifty spell. Well above the ability of the average witch or wizard to cast, as the power demanded for the spell was relative to casting the Fidelius or Fiendfyre. Voldemort gave a wild laugh as the white beam careened towards the front of Potter Cottage and struck with a satisfying thwack!

The backlash was incredible as Potter Cottage shook and trembled at the sheer magnitude of the attack. Fleamont could only gasp as the final ward gave a silent groan before it flickered and dispersed. 'Seems the men have finally decided to join the fight ' he thought with a painful grimace. "Siege curses at the ready Euphemia," Fleamont called. "Let's see if we can sweep through the final bastards and even the odds."

Battering, Bombardment, and Blasting curses quickly followed as the remaining Deatheaters charged attempting to push forward.

Gerold Parkinson's eyes widened at the fourth barrage, quickly finishing the wand movement for an Aegis Shield. The 3rd son from the second Parkinson line gritted his teeth and prepared for the hail of oncoming thuds. Truly he was cursing Pettigrew. The snivelling rat was hiding behind the helm of his master's skirts. Thirteen had descended Godric's hollow to stamp out one of the final vestiges of hope the light had. Now only 5 remained. Gerold gnashed his teeth, a simple home invasion with the death of the Potters was shaping up to be a pyrrhic victory.

With the concealment ward finally out of the way, Gerold stared down the stocky form of Fleamont Potter. Parkinson had to give credit to the old man. He and his wife were truly fearsome fighters. Only Thomas and Robert McGonagall or Edgar Bones could attest to such sheer destruction before they met their ends. "Hastam mortale," Gerold bellowed, launching an Iapetus Spear towards the Potter Cottage. A single touch to the skin spelled death to any mortal. Gerold prayed for a hit only to see that bint Euphemia raise a Helian shield and the spear glance away. Gerold cursed, having no time to hide his surprise at a Ross of all things knowing the Helian arts. A volley of piercing curses headed his way. Gerold laughed at the irony, Dionysius's Ballista, an arcane if not obscure spell. Certainly as deadly as Iapetus's spear. Whilst similar in its magical form to Iapetus's spear, Dionysius's Ballista varied in purpose. The Ballista was designed with the sole purpose of penetrating any magical shield. While contact with the body would not necessarily kill unless vital points were struck, the pain would certainly be remembered for weeks if not years. It was one of the few largely unheard of spells that could pass through any magical shield like the Unforgivables. That the Potters knew such archaic spells made them all the more deadly. Grunting from exhaustion, Gerold conjured a stone dome around himself. No other defensive spell could withstand Dionysius's Ballista. Another cry rang out in the night. Five become four as a Deatheater desperately casted a magical shield to deal with the Ballista.

Gerold was cursing his lord. Surely the Almighty Dark lord should be at the front line dealing with the Potters? Instead, vanishing the stone dome. Gerold stared down the intimidating forms of the Potters. Nine had fallen, only himself and Blake Bletchley remained holding the front. Pettigrew didn't count. Urging himself forward, Gerold returned with some of the nastiest spells he knew. The Avada Kedavra, Perforo, and Depletura curse all spewed from his wand towards the Potters. Gerold could only blink as another Granite wall rose to intercept his spells. Just how powerful were the Potters? The Killing Curse, Perforation Curse, and Bloodletting Curse were not spells to be trifled with. Gerold could only stare dumbfounded as Alexander's Fotiá was returned with lethal intent. Blazes of fire barrelled from the Potter Cottage towards the now party of four. Gerold had only mere moments to stutter an Elilian counter-curse before it overwhelmed him. Bletchley wasn't so lucky. Whilst the Sumerian Wind protected him from the deadly flames, Bletchley was on his knees screaming as the fire threatened to consume him.

'Aguamenti' Pettigrew squeaked, pointing his wand at the screaming form of Bletchley, the torrent of water meeting the deadly fire. 'No you fool', Voldemort snarled. Alexander's Fotiá was no common fire charm. It was Greek Fire that threatened to consume anything that tried to expel it. The high-pitched screams of Bletchley started to muffle as fuel was added to the fire. In seconds he was dead.

"Parkinson." Voldemort's shrill voice ringing across the battle, "deal with the Potters." Before he turned and kicked the whimpering form of Pettigrew. "Useless" Voldemort growled before casting several crucios on Pettigrew's pathetic form. Taking a deep breath to prepare himself, Lord Voldemort turned and evaluated the battlefield. Ten bodies still and motionless. Ten useful servants killed! Because those blighted Potters refused to die! Eyes returning to the cause of his troubles, Voldemort stared down the struggling form of Parkinson as he tried batting away the onslaught of the Potters. "Exoculo." Came the stoic voice of Fleamont Potter accompanied by Euphemia's defiant shout "obice confractus."

Voldemort grimaced as Euphemia's Shield Breaker splattered against Parkinson's Aegis shield, Fleamont's Blindness curse following. Parkinson screamed but it was no use. The Exoculo Curse was a dark curse that caused permanent blindness. Parkinson had outrun his usefulness. "Avada Kedavra," came the practiced movement. Parkinson slumped dead on the ground.

Strolling forward, Voldemort moved to meet the Potters, Pettigrew still twitching from the Cruciatus Curse. Batting away the Potter's oncoming curses with a steady hand, Lord Voldemort took in the defiant postures. 'Yes,' Lord Voldemort intoned, 'they would indeed be a worthy challenge.' After all, eleven lay dead at their very hands. Parkinson would've died either way.

Dropping his hood as he batted away yet another annoying curse, Voldemort called. 'Fleamont and Euphemia Potter, you have fought bravely. Step away and I shall allow you mercy.'

Fleamont paused his onslaught, taking in the ghostly pale face, Euphemia's wand arched in a defensive stance waiting to retaliate.

"Tom." Came the snarled reply. "I didn't expect to see you here."

"Why Fleamont?" Voldemort called out in amusement, "surprised I made the effort?" His mouth uplifting into a maddening grin.

"To be honest I am." Fleamont commented, 'usually you use your minions to do your twisted bidding.'

Voldemort just gave a mirthless smile but frowned all the same. It grated when people called him weak. Vengeance would be his.

"We'll just have to change that dear friend" Voldemort drolled on, "After all it would be inappropriate for me to be considered a bad guest."

Fleamont took in the malice and rage in the Dark Lords gleaming red eyes, his sick macabre smile utterly inhuman. Fleamont knew his final moments were upon him. The unhinged Dark Lord would give no quarter, but maybe just maybe his family could live to fight another day. All they needed was time.

"Euphemia." Came Fleamont's steadfast voice, "it's him!" The monster didn't deserve a name. "Go! Run! Take the boys and go! I'll hold him off!"

Taking one last desperate look at her stoic husband Euphemia met his hardened gaze staring down Lord Voldemort as his wand rose to meet him in battle. Euphemia knew he would die fighting. A True Potter to the end.

Spinning on her heels Euphemia scampered up the hallway not daring to look back. The last image of her husband as the bold lion she knew him to be. Defiant to the last, the Potters did not bend.

Fleamont Potter stared down his fated foe. The Dark Lord's head tilted as if examining him with idle curiosity. Fleamont wasn't afraid to admit he was unnerved as his eyes bored into Voldemort's reptilian slits. He was wholly inhuman. The word anathema came to mind. With that Fleamont struck out. "Fulmencio," Fleamont shouted, the lightning spell crackling from his wand. Grunting from the strain on his magical core, Fleamont immediately swung his wand upwards utilising a transmogrification spell with the intent of shaping Lord Voldemort into a vase. Bellowing "Katares." Fleamont prayed the Ancient Greek binding spell would be able to seal the life force of the Dark Lord away within the vase. Fate deemed it not to be. Voldemort drove his wand up as a dark cloak of miasma rushed out to greet Fleamont. Not recognising the malevolent spell, Fleamont could only pale further as its insidious gaping maw blanketed his three spells into oblivion.

Lord Voldemort smirked as he read Fleamont's frustration. The Nihilistic Shield was a fond toy of his, albeit rarely used. It was another mystery of the occult he'd discovered in his travels through Libya. Able to perform both offensive and defensive attacks. It consumed all in its chasm of nothingness. Flicking his wand downwards in a pointed jab, Voldemort dwelled his hate and malice through the very fibre of his being. "Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra, Avada Kedavra," Voldemort shrilled in triumph, the potent anger spewing forth a trio of Killing Curses. Fleamont promptly paled further before grimacing as he conjured a marble slab to narrowly avoid the sickly curses. Once again a macabre smile appeared on Lord Voldemort's inhuman face. Conjured granite could only withstand a single Killing Curse, conjured marble was much more magically intensive and only used for multiple Killing Curses or arcane blasting spells due to its density.

Fleamont was on his backfoot. It was evident he'd been fighting too long. His marble wall was being pummelled by Voldemort's Killing Curses, it only deteriorated further when the Dark Lord started casting an incessant train of Rupturing Curses. The marble wall began to crack. Gasping Fleamont knew this was a battle of attrition. Even after the Dark Lord had carved through the Cottage's wards he was still as fresh as a daisy. It was utterly inhuman.

Fleamont snarled in pain as his radius cracked, the muscles in his non-dominant arm bursting open due to a Rupturing Curse piercing a pocket in the marble wall. A silent Confringo was all it took for the marble wall to crumble. Flung back from the sheer force of the Blasting Curse, Fleamont was desperately backpedalling as his eyes watered with tears. Hurriedly he cast Vulnera Sanentur towards his mangled arm hoping to seal away with bleeding. Having no time to dwell on his injury with Voldemort oncoming Fleamont shouted "Ossio Dispersimus", hoping by some act of god the Deboning Curse would vanish the Dark Lord's ribcage or skull upon impact. Instead, Voldemort swatted the curse away like an annoying insect and continued his predatory walk. Fleamont in an act of pure hopelessness finished what would be his final spell. "Sanctus aqua" Fleamont vocalized with an inverted horizontal twist. A single tear splashing against his Beech wand.

Vocalized through his pained conviction yet acceptance a torrent of animated foaming water surged forth. Kelpies, Naiads, Krakens, and Sea Serpents coalesced in a towering waterspout rising high above the Dark Lord.

Voldemort blinked as Whytewater barrelled towards him. Whytewater, the antithesis of Fiendfyre. All that was good and holy. Unlike Fiendfyre where anger and a drop of blood were needed to cast the cursed flames. Whytewater required a single tear and a state of tranquillity.

Snarling. Voldemort quickly cast an underpowered Diffindo. Blood splattered in his non-dominant hand before he smeared blood down the grooves of his yew wand and shrieked "Ignis Diabolica." The cursed flames coiled upwards in a nightmarish roar. Basilisks, Chimeras, and Dragons constantly mutating into powerful, formless flames. The two sentient spells clashed head-on. Voldemort grunted as a battle of wills took place.

Fleamont was feeling light-headed. His magical reserves were drastically depleting. Teeth gritted, left leg buckled on the ground all Fleamont could do was grimace and channel his will into the spell.

The atmospheric pressure intensified as flame and water converged into steam and vapour. Fleamont could feel the sweat trickle down his cheek as the battle of entities swelled to its zenith. "I will not bend." Fleamont intoned, "I will not break, The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death." Wand wobbling in an outstretched Jab, Fleamont stared down the Dark Lord. Orange and blue, blazed and swirled in a hotchpotch of colour, each trying to advance in an insurmountable stalemate. Fleamont could only gape as both spells simultaneously gave way, the magical backlash of the dissipating spells blasting him backward into the shuddering walls of the cottage.

Fleamont groaned as he slumped against the wall. Blood trailed down his forehead, left arm mangled. Peering down the hall Voldemort too had been blasted back from the detonation.

A sour look was on his inhuman face as he climbed back through the open-faced cottage doorway. Fleamont tried to raise his wand but the attempt was in vain. A silent Expelliarmus from the Dark Lord and his wand flew away.

Fleamont sighed "Goodbye old friend" the Beech wand out of reach. Coughing and spluttering Fleamont took in Lord Voldemort as he strolled towards him. His normally straight aristocratic posture was slightly hunched over. Fleamont was comforted that at least he'd done some damage.

Fleamont didn't cower away as his eyes drifted up to meet Voldemort's towering form. He remained steadfast, it wouldn't do to dignify the Dark Lord with weakness.

"Any last words?" Voldemort spat, spittle flying from his mouth.

"Euphemia." Fleamont reminisced, Thoughts drifting in remembrance. Tentacula leaves in her dishevelled hair, fingers caked in soil, smiles larger than life.

The Dark Lord raised his wand. "Percutio," Voldemort intoned as the Piercing Curse struck his heart. "Euphemia," He said once more. Straight-backed and proud Fleamont Potter breathed his last breath.

Desperation was etched in every step of Euphemia's movement, her feet barely touching the floorboards as she assailed the staircase towards the nursery. Tears streamed down her cheeks as the sacrifice of her husband was still fresh in her mind. Euphemia vowed to make the monster pay.

Hurtling into the nursery, Euphemia appraised the four singular cots. The staircase was a one-way entry. Only the master bedroom sat opposite the nursery. Euphemia grimaced escape wasn't an option.

Hearing the clash of spellfire drawing closer, Euphemia breathed heavy breaths as she pondered her options. It was suicide to descend downstairs. Fleamont was strong but he was a Potioneer at heart, he couldn't hope to defend himself and them. Euphemia knew he couldn't hope to win the duel, but he could buy them time. Time, Euphemia desperately needed.

Euphemia gave a sullen smirk as she prepared to barricade herself in. Whilst far from a Parselmouth as she didn't have the magical ability to hiss in High Sibilance. Euphemia had taken great lengths to learn one of the few Parsel-Magic spells accessible. Pointing her wand at the doorway, Euphemia hissed "Hishe-riʃan-Vasl" the chartreuse coloured spell collided with the doorframe. Boa vines started stretching out, their growth growing at a startling rate as the vines started elongating, twisting, and turning upon themselves to form a blockade of forest green, blocking the corridor from sight.

The Herbologist smiled before grinning "good luck Tom."

She wasn't done yet. Ignoring the reverberating battle. She set herself to the task. Pointing her wand upon the wooden floorboards Euphemia focused her intent upon a singular plate of copper. Satisfied with her conjuration. Euphemia again focused her intent upon a silver dagger. Feeling the comforting weight of the conjured dagger in her hand she began carving out deep indents upon the plate.

Eihwaz, Euphemia nodded. It was perhaps the most crucial rune in the configuration she'd decided. Balance, enlightenment, death. Perfect for sacrifice, she thought with a sombre expression.

Continuing her rune matrix. Algiz was the next rune she needed. The key traits that allowed for protection, defense, and instinct would only empower the rune sequence.

Sowilo came next. Victory, wholeness, cleansing. These would be the runes that would vanquish the Dark Lord.

Tiwaz, Euphemia carved. Justice, logic, and battle. Not the most crucial of runes she supposed but the value of battle would appeal to the Mórrígan.

She could've added Gebo instead to cement the sacrifice but she already had ALGIZ which encompassed balance like Gebo. Best to play it safe, she decided having two conflicting runes would only serve to endanger the ritual.

Hagalaz was the last rune in the set of five she wanted. Its values of Nature and wrath made it the most obscure rune as it represented forces out of her control. Nevertheless sacrificial magic was a finicky thing. Blacklisted on the ICW magical practitioner's watchlist she'd be in trouble if they found out.

As much as she disliked the idea of sacrifice, Euphemia knew it was unpreventable.

With the runes carved in five different corners, Euphemia drew the dagger across her palm. Blood magic was a powerful but restricted art. Not quite as illegal as sacrificial magic but frowned on all the same. Whilst considered a dark practice, blood was a powerful medium. Euphemia decided it was a good thing that both blood magic and sacrificial magic complemented each other. Dipping her index finger across her freshly bleeding palm. Euphemia began connecting the rune chains via blood into a pentagram.

All she needed now was a symbolic object to boost the ritual. Reflecting quickly she gave a swish of her wand and a simple black feather appeared. Euphemia knew a raven's feather was the symbol of the Mórrígan. With the rune Tiwaz representing battle and Hagalaz factoring in the forces out of her control. Euphemia hoped that with the addition of the raven's feather the Mórrígan would bless her ritual.

Casting a Tempus Charm 12:11appeared in front of her. "Samhain," Euphemia whispered. It was a time where the gods were the most hostile and dangerous. If she succeeded it would be a powerful ritual indeed.

Euphemia continued onto the most crucial stage of the ritual. Spell-Binding was the art of tying runes and spells together into a singular form. It was an esoteric technique. Most witches and wizards allowed spells and runes to co-exist. The amalgam through blood was the best bet solution in binding the two but other methods could be achieved. Beginning to chant in Gaelic she forced her intent and will to bind the runes as she spoke. "Is e dìreach bàs as urrainn pàigheadh airson beatha. Deònaich dhomh mo mhiann Mórrígan." Gasping from the magical surge, Euphemia looked downwards towards the plate. It practically hummed with magic. 'Success' the thought echoing in her head. The Mórrígan gave her blessing.

Giving a grim smile Euphemia knew she didn't have long now. Hearing the roar of battle still ongoing beneath her, she realised it was reaching towards its final crescendo. Sighing all Euphemia could do was wait. She'd taken the measures needed to ensure her grandson's had a chance of survival. The curse of the Mórrígan was an ancient ritual, one once widely known by the twenty four Celtic Clans.

Yet only five clans of the original twenty four remained. Cattermole, Weasley, Fenwick, McGonagall, Ross. The Ross name died with her. The Camelot Purebloods had been the cause of the extinction of the twenty four Clans in the 12th century. Whilst the exodus of the Camelot Purebloods to Britain had seen to the assimilation of the Old Rites, the creation of the Wizards' Council by the Camelot PureBloods had seen to the persecution of the of the original twenty four. Many clan members of the twenty four had refused to follow the newly devised government structure instead of adhering to Clan Law. The twenty four Clans, forbidden from seats on the Wizards Council by the Camelot Purebloods had tried to protest at the injustice of the laws they now faced stating Clan Law was sacred. The protest had fallen on deaf ears as the Camelot Purebloods clamped down on their power labelling the protesters as Blood-Traitors and slowly seeing to the extinction of the Clans through the centuries.

Euphemia smirked as the original definition of Blood-Traitor had dwindled with time. With the Clans being only remnants they once were, the Camelot Purebloods began thinking that the association of Newbloods or Muggle-borns being the modern term today was forbidden. The startling truth was that the Clans had been accepting Newbloods into their ranks for millennia and as a consequence, any Newblood found not following the Wizard's Council was deemed a Blood-Traitor as well.

Euphemia reflected on the Curse of the Morrígan. Familial love protecting the innocent from harm. Euphemia winced. She'd meant to teach Lily this ritual from the Ross grimoire as an emergency if she was ever cornered by Voldemort. But Euphemia couldn't help find it a fitting ritual that awaited Voldemort. All she had to do was wait.

Listening to the tumult below of crashing waves and bellowing fire she took in the forms of her four grandsons. Claymore, Antonius, Hadrian, and Eric Potter were all still blissfully unaware of the happenings around them. She'd been shocked when Lily gave birth to quadruplets. Euphemia gasped as a gale of wind rocked the house. A melancholy smile sunk into her lips, Fleamont gave it his best she thought feeling their marriage bond sever.

Voldemort was coming. It was in fate's hands now. The creaking of the stairs became louder. More daunting with every step, Euphemia felt her heartbeat rise with every footfall as her anxiety built up. "Fear is healthy," Euphemia told herself it's a part of being human she realised, and yet it was unwise to let the fear control you. 'Steady breaths' she thought as she waited for what was to come.

Lord Voldemort was livid, anger palpable for all to see. Never did he consider a simple Herbologist and Potioneer would put up a fight of such monumental proportions. As the Dark lord's steady strides reached the top of the stairs, he took in the encircling vines guarding the doorway. Thinking nothing of them, Voldemort cast a silent Blasting Curse only to be mildly shocked when the vines hissed. "Vasl" the Dark Lord heard, quickly translating the Parseltongue to "Wall." How curious Voldemort mused before hissing "Abna." The Dark Lord's eyes widened again as instead of the vines opening as he commanded, the vines instead started constricting and widening. Snarling furiously as a plant denied the will of Lord Voldemort! He tried again "Abna, " Before the vines grew and tightened even further. Boa Vines the Dark Lord realised he'd been played for a fool! Growling at the brilliance, as it was a little-known fact that Boa Vines relied on Parselmouth to grow. Shaking his head, he smirked. Euphemia was too smart for her own good. Boa Vines had a strength comparable to goblin forged metals. However, any Herbologist worth her salt knew Boa vines were closely related to Devil's Snare and Flitterbloom. All it took was an overpowered Lumosand the vines starting slithering away desperate to escape.

Euphemia's heart dropped. She'd hoped the Boa Vines hissing in Parseltongue would prompt the Dark Lord to unknowingly strengthen the vines to the point of no entry but the blinding light searing her eyes meant he'd figured out her puzzle.

Taking in his red eyes, Euphemia screamed. "Not my grandsons, not my grandsons, please not grandsons."

"Stand aside you silly girl, stand aside now." Came Voldemort's shrill voice, he was impatient and the pleading voice of Euphemia sickened him.

Desperation seared in Euphemia's heart. She wasn't certain the ritual would work but her despair made her continue to beg. "Not my grandsons, please no, take me, kill me instead. "Not them!" Euphemia was pleading. "Please, anything but them. Have mercy, please have mercy."

Voldemort laughed, the incessant whining was too much. 'No mercy' he thought as he gave a malicious grin. "Avada Kedavra" the Dark Lord snarled, Euphemia's kneeling form slumping towards the floor. Little did he know that he unknowingly fuelled the runic matrix.

Voldemort turning towards the cots, the dark lord examined the four bundles before him. Claymore, Antonius, Hadrian, and Eric Potter all stared back at him. Awakened by the spellfire and their grandmother's screaming. 'Born as the seventh month dies' Voldemort recalled. An imperiused nurse at St. Mungos had managed to retrieve a copy of every child born towards the end of July. Only three children were born on the 31st, Neville Longbottom at 15:27, Antonius Potter at 23:34, and Hadrian Potter at 23:59. "Yes," Voldemort murmured Hadrian did indeed fit the child of the prophecy. Both Claymore and Eric were born on August 1st.

The Dark Lord had already completed his Horcrux ritual a month prior. All Voldemort needed now was the murder of an innocent and he could make his 7th Horcrux. A twisting smile etched upon his face. Voldemort nodded, Nagini would make the perfect vessel. Again unknown to Voldemort. Magic accepted his intent on marking Hadrian as his equal. The Child of the Prophecy was born.

The Dark Lord raised his wand, summoning upon his rage and hate but just as he was about to cast the Killing curse, Voldemort snarled. The Anti-Apparition flared up. Quickly turning to cast the Killing Curse, Eric Potter's brown eyes caught his eyes. Voldemort grimaced, he could see James Potter and Fleamont eyes within the child. Both insufferable bastards that gave him no end of trouble. 'Best snuff him out and then deal with the prophesied child.' The Dark Lord thought.

"Avada Kedavra." Voldemort spat out the Killing Curse as it raced towards Eric Potter's forehead. At the same time, a massive explosion rippled throughout the nursery as the Killing Curse collided, the copper rune plate flaring a brilliant silver before it shattered.

Voldemort's Killing Curse intensified into a sickly green light filling the room before its target flung the curse backward towards the Dark Lord. Agony seared in Voldemort's heart as his very soul fractured and slithered out unknowingly. The newly made Horcrux sliding into the Sowilo blazing on Hadrian Potter's forehead.

Voldemort screamed out as his body began erupting into unspeakable pain before fading into nothingness. Only the yew wand and robes of the Dark Lord remained.

Peter Pettigrew was terrified as he'd seen the sickly green light flaring out the upstairs cottage window. The rat animagus instinctively knew something was wrong and scurried up the stairs. The Dark Lord's wand and robes were lying on the floor. Euphemia was dead as well but James' sons remained unharmed. Trembling Pettigrew raised his wand to finish the job just as the Anti-Apparition wards came crashing down. Pocketing Voldemort's wand Pettigrew squeaked, reverted into animagus form, and scampered back downstairs towards the apparition line. Deciding he would lick his wounds and wait.

Nausea welled in Sirius Black's stomach as he landed his motorbike beyond the apparition point of Godric's Hollow. Sirius had been searching. Pettigrew wasn't where he was supposed to be. There'd been no trace of him at the safe house where he was staying when Sirius had popped to check in on him. He'd come to warn Euphemia and Fleamont about Pettigrew's disappearance but instantly noticed muggles littering the pathways outside the Notice-Me-Not charms. Hurrying his pace he passed through the charm and he gaped at the level of destruction in front of him. Eleven bodies lay outside the cottage's doorstep. Seems like Fleamont and Euphemia gave them hell he thought before Sirius growled "Pettigrew." The rat's disappearance made sense, he'd betrayed them.

Passing into the now exposed cottage hallway. Instantly Sirius's eyes locked onto the fallen form of his surrogate father Fleamont. Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn't have time to stop, the boys and Euphemia were still somewhere within the cottage. As he passed Fleamont and headed up the stairs to check on the only place James's sons and Euphemia could be, Sirius decided. 'It was all his fault.' His thoughts echoing the same sentence as he raced up the stairs. He'd convinced Fleamont when they were about to cast the Fidelius Charm to switch to Pettigrew at the last minute. Not even Dumbledore, James, or Lily knew. It was supposed to be the final trick. The final move that Voldemort wouldn't see. James and Lily hiding as decoys with the Longbottoms, Dumbledore himself the secret keeper. Euphemia and Fleamont would safeguard the boys here in Godric's Hollow. While the ever sullen Charlus Potter, James' uncle would wait behind the wards at Potter Manor in case Voldemort decided to show his face. Sirius shivered, Charlus was a scary man to behold. After he'd found out that Voldemort had personally killed his wife and son during a Deatheater raid, Charlus had gone from scary to terrifying. Sirius would forever remember Charlus' reaction upon finding out. Sirius didn't even think accidental magic was possible at that age! Shuddering again Sirius climbed the stairs and headed into the nursery.

Encountering the tall bulky form of Rubeus Hagrid, Sirius recovered from his shock and exclaimed "Hagrid! What are you doing here?"

Hagrid blinked. "Dumbledore said somethin' was goin' on in Godric's Hollow, an' ask fer me to be here to check in on the Potters." Before continuing "Ruddy lot of good that did."

"Right, Right." Came Sirius' reply taking in Euphemia's still form. He gulped. Monty and Mia were dead because of him. Turning, Sirius realised that the quadruplets were still alive.

"They're alive." Sirius stuttered in amazement.

"Don't know how." Hagrid answered the same question Sirius was thinking before stating." S'pose you don't know either, bin tryin' to work out the same thing me self. Abou' to bring em to Dumbledore." Hagrid's firm voice continued. "He'll know what to do."

Sirius took in the four of James' sons and smiled before fumbling in his pockets for the keys to his motorbike. "Here," Sirius said. Outstretching his arm to present the keys. "Take them, I won't be needing them, it's just beyond the apparition point."

Hagrid peered at Sirius' hand and clasped the keys in his oversized fist. "Ya right," the half-giant said. "Will be easier to carry the four of 'em." He said in gratitude.

Ignoring Hagrid's thanks, Sirius didn't reply. Just taking one last look at Euphemia and his godson Harry he stared curiously at the oddly shaped lightning scar on his forehead before turning and heading through the door. He had a rat to hunt after all.

November 3rd, 1981

Hogwarts Castle

Mid-day

Albus Dumbledore took in the four figures striding across the bridge to meet him at Hogwarts oak front doors. He'd been notified of their arrival at the apparition line and had been presently waiting to greet them. "We're so sorry," came Lily's voice "It's been a nightmare." Dumbledore just waved the redhead off, she was still quite visibly shaken. Taking in the lean form of James Potter. Dumbledore nodded his welcome before turning to the last two members of the party. Alastor Moody and Charlus Potter were accompanying the two Potters. It was no surprise why Alastor was with them, the hardened Auror had been assigned guard duty after the capture and torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. One of Dumbledore's regrets was not venturing to Longbottom hall to reveal the news. Frank had left the sanctuary of the Fidelius to check the commotion shortly after Voldemort's descent on Godric's Hollow. Alice, quickly finding out about Frank's departure, had followed him. Both arriving in Diagon Alley had been targeted and kidnapped by Bellatrix and the Lestrange brothers. What followed was a manhunt led by James, Lily, and several Aurors to recover the Longbottoms. They'd been found a day later with their minds snapped, tortured for information about Voldemort's whereabouts. The public fearing the same thing could happen to the Potters had Minister Bagnold assign Alastor Moody as a bodyguard till the tumult settled down. What was interesting to Dumbledore was the fourth figure of the party. Charlus Potter a recognised war hero, who was known by many to despise his nephew's choice of partner. Dumbledore supposed the death of family members would bring them together.

"Come in, come in,'' Dumbledore called, motioning for them to follow.

"How are they?" Came Lilly's panicked voice

"Doing just fine," Dumbledore said. Hoping to ease her stress he continued " Poppy has just settled them in for a nap."

Lilly nodded, not completely satisfied with the answer but enough to keep silent as they walked towards the hospital.

Another voice butted in "How is he?" James' cautious voice questioning "We heard the news."

Dumbledore paused before answering. "Eric Potter doesn't show any harmful side effects. It's still widely unknown what exactly happened in Potter cottage. All we know currently is that eleven Death Eaters lay dead, your parents perishing to Voldemort." Both James and Lily winced, Charlus, though seemed palpable. Moody was indifferent as usual."

Dumbledore thought for a second before speaking. "Although what is most curious is Eric surviving the Killing Curse. I'm afraid to say that Hagrid released the information to the public. The media are calling him The-Boy-Who-lived." Dumbledore trailed off, "They're saying his T-shaped scar is for triumph."

"So he's gone then?" Moody's blunt reply cutting in.

Dumbledore looked at Alastor and hesitated. "I can't say for sure, whatever happened and I can only speculate, the reports say that Voldemort perished casting the Killing Curse." "However," Dumbledore said. "I do not think that's the case. The magic at play suggests something different but we'll have to wait."

The party nodded again. Taking Dumbledore's word.

"And Sirius?" James' grimacing about the subject that was still fresh in his mind.

"In Azkaban, by decree of Minister Bagnold, myself, and Barty Crouch Senior, the evidence pointed to him betraying your parents." Dumbledore replied before sighing " Peter Pettigrew was also killed by him along with 12 muggles. The Aurors arrived at the scene to find him laughing. He was quickly stunned and escorted to Azkaban. All they found of Pettigrew was his finger."

James' face darkened. He'd heard the reports from the Daily Profit but he'd been holding out refusing to believe them. Dumbledore confirming the worst made his heart sink.

Dumbledore took in James' slumped expression. Sirius was a good Auror and a vital part of the order until the betrayal. Dumbledore only wished he'd realised Sirius was the traitor sooner. It was saddening to see the marauders broken up. When he told Remus the news he'd fled to the continent. Not wanting to deal with a broken James and the betrayal and death of his friends. Dumbledore tried to add some comforting words. "Sirius has been assigned in a maximum-security cell, he's been denied visitation rights for the foreseeable decade. After then special visitation rights will need to be attained by the Minister or the Head of the DMLE. Crouch pushed for the kiss, but I spared him that fate. Sirius will face his punishment. All I can say is do not mourn for the friend you have lost. Remember him for the friend that he once was."

James merely nodded. He would need time to get over Sirius's betrayal. The idea that he would betray his parents to Voldemort, the ones who had raised and taken him in. It was heartbreaking. Anger swelled in James and he sneered what did you expect from a Black? James finally realised they were all the same. Bellatrix had taken Frank. Sirius had taken Peter. Shaking his head, James decided he would avoid the darkly inclined families in the foreseeable future. He knew with absolute certainty nothing good came from them.

Dumbledore gave an amused face at Lily's dramatic entrance into the hospital wing. "My babies" the mother gave a dramatic flourish of her hands as she hurried over to the cots in the far corner.

Hearing Lily's exclamation, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her quarters.

"Ah, good you're here." The friendly matron called before adding on "we have much to discuss."

James gulped. Before bravely voicing "It's not serious is it."

"No, no." The matron waved him off. However, she did sigh and say, "I do have my concerns though. Young Eric, Antonius, and Claymore all appear to be fine and adjusting well." But Pomfrey emphasised. "I do have my concerns with little Hadrian, I almost placed him under a stasis spell due to my fear."

Lily's chin gave a warble, her voice evident with concern before Dumbledore butted in. "It's nothing major, from what we can see. It's just his magical core isn't responding to the magical flux of energy as it should be."

Charlus finally spoke up. "You mean it's dwindling?" It was a rare occurrence, Charlus reflected. Although documented in pureblood households that every now and then a child's magical core wouldn't be able to process ambient magic. Dumbledore was right. It wasn't exactly major but the core had to undergo a magical leeching. It was a defensive mechanism where the core would slowly release magical energy to stabilize and settle. The problem was there wasn't a cure either, but the worst-case scenario was that the child's magical core would be a little weaker going through its magical maturity. The child wouldn't squib In short, but his or her magical potential wouldn't be reached. The best solution found so far was to take the child to more mundane surroundings where the core could adjust and stabilize away from magical places that contained highly ambient magic.

Lily gasped but Dumbledore put his fears to rest. "No, not at all. But that's the problem. The symptoms seem to indicate the opposite. Hadrian's core seems to be absorbing the ambient magic but that's the problem. Prolonged exposure to ambient magic could cause his core to fracture. Its growth is already well past any child his age should be. Poppy fears the saturation might very well implode. We think that the same approach should be taken when a child undergoes a magical leeching. It would be best to remove Hadrian from magical places so his core can settle in more mundane surroundings.

James gave a nod adhering to Dumbledore's advice. A fractured core was a death sentence.

James then asked. "Do we know how this happened? Harry never showed any aversion to ambient magic in the past.

Dumbledore gave James a shrug. "Alas," he said "That's the great mystery, I can only suspect that the magical backlash of the killing curse prompted young Harry's core to release a defensive mechanism to protect itself. But whatever happened it was jumbled and acted in reverse. I suppose that's all the more interesting. Neither Claymore nor Antonius had the same instinctual reaction and yet from what evidence suggests It was Eric who was struck by the Killing curse. The curse's magical aura was centred around Eric when I inspected him. At this point, I can only hazard a guess at what happened."

James listened, clearly contemplating. Before replying "And your advice, Albus?"

Dumbledore hummed, interlocking his hands. "It would be beneficial that Harry is removed from magical contact. His core should stabilise at the earliest around his sixth birthday or at the very latest around his tenth, but continued long-term exposure to ambient magic will have severe consequences for him." Letting the parents absorb the information Dumbledore pushed to the real crux of the matter. "I'd further like to press on, that I truly believe that Voldemort isn't gone and I would highly advise that it's paramount to work out what exactly occurred. Seeing some magical specialists would help work out what exactly happened at Godric's hollow is something I can't recommend enough." Dumbledore paused before continuing. "I have many contacts that I can point you towards, I'd also further recommend Eric undergoing some advanced magical tutoring. I just plead you'd consider this as I can't see a better option."

James took Dumbledore at his word. It made sense and if Voldemort wasn't gone well, Eric would need all the help.

Lily piped up. "I think you're right about Hadrian. I read something similar about magical leeching. It'll be painful but I think you're right Dumbledore. It would be best till his magical core settles down." Lily thought for a second before she slowly grimaced. "I have a sister, Petunia. She isn't exactly the nicest to all things magic." Lilly trailed off before she added "and I doubt she would listen to me but maybe if you came, she did write a letter to you after all. She just might listen and if she agrees we can collect Hadrian again as soon as he starts Hogwarts. His magical core should have stabilized by then."

James' mouth gave a twitch. He didn't exactly like Lily's horse-faced sister and her Walrus of a husband but he didn't see a better option. He frowned before saying. "What about Claymore and Antonius. It pains me to say this but managing Eric would be difficult enough if we're travelling. Along with visiting magical specialists and training, we might not be able to spend much time in Magical Britain. Taking the three boys along will be a nightmare."

Dumbledore raised a hand to his chin; he hadn't thought through this problem yet. He was just glad Lily and James were taking him at his word. That's why Dumbledore was most surprised when Charlus spoke up.

"I'm willing to take a boy, But only one," Charlus responded in his usual gruff. Before mentioning, "I'm still Lord Potter, I have a duty towards my heir. I lost my son Richmond and wife Dorea in the attack on Diagon Alley, I haven't got much family left or reason to continue on, Fleamont and Euphemia sacrificed themselves to make sure your boys lived." Charlus stopped pointing his finger towards Lily and said. "I might not like you much, don't know what James saw in you. But I guess that's just me hoping he'd have a pureblood match. I'll let it slide, the war has made me realise that I'm too old for grudges. You're all the family I have, you two and the boys. Let me raise the oldest, Antonius. I'll name him as my heir and turn him into a proper Potter, but I can't manage more than one on my own, even with house-elves. I'm sorry, you'll have to find a home for the other."

James and Lily were aghast. It was a generous offer and Charlus wasn't the type to be sentimental to anyone but his deceased son and wife.

"Thank you," James spoke, still shocked at Charlus' rare show of emotion. He was truly grateful that he'd have a family member looking after his son. Even if he wouldn't take more than one. Charlus was old, only ten years younger than Dumbledore. He knew the hardships of raising a son. Raising a child as an heir to an Ancient and Most Noble House was an undertaking. He knew that his uncle would never get along with Lily and whilst James wasn't thrilled that the Potter Lordship would be passed over him in favour of his eldest. He knew his oldest son would eventually assume the mantle. Hence he didn't protest and neither did Lily.

Charlus just gave a firm nod. Having no more to say on the matter.

"We still have Claymore to look after," Lilly commented and affirmed "If we're truly travelling and seeking out specialists and magical training for Eric. James is right. It'll be a nightmare. We'll burn ourselves out looking after two children, not to mention it won't be healthy for Claymore to be ignored in favour of Eric for most of his life. I won't have that, my parents did the same with me due to discovering I'm a witch. Petunia got left out and she became bitter because of it." Lily continued with conviction. "Both James and Dumbledore are right. The best solution is for all four boys to go their separate ways. It'll be painful not to see Harry's childhood due to his condition and only briefly see Antonius and Claymore but I truly think this is for the best." Lily then despaired. "I still don't know what to do about Claymore."

James tried to give her a comforting hand on the back and pulled her in for a hug. But she shrugged him off. Still worried.

All four turned to see Moody's manic grin, his magical eye whizzing around.

Lily paled even further as she heard Alastor's next words. "I can raise the brat, you did name me his godfather after all…"

"Alastor," James tried upon seeing Moody's delighted smirk. "You're an Auror, you don't have time to raise a child."

Moody just shrugged and spoke. "I was due to retire after the war, Bagnold still wants me to train the recruits at the academy but my days in the field are numbered. I still might see some action." Moody gave a rough smirk at this "But I can raise the little fellow, worse comes to worst he'll still have people to look after in the Auror corps while I'm out."

James went to reply but Dumbledore butted in. "I think the idea has merit, whilst the environment isn't the most conducive to a child's upbringing. I have complete faith that Alastor won't see him come to harm."

Lily wondered if Dumbledore finally went round the bend. Mad-Eye Moody, Infamous Dark Wizard Hunter, and the most paranoid man alive raising her son. It seemed like a bad joke, giving the son they'd named after a weapon to Moody. Still sighing and before Lily could firmly say no. James broke in.

"It's the best idea we've got and at least he'll come out with a survival instant a mile wide."

Moody barked at that before trying to reassure the concerned parents. "Don't you worry, I'll have the little tyke shouting Constant Vigilance! in no time."

Even Dumbledore was second-guessing himself after that comment.

Yes, her idiot husband thought it was a good idea to let her son become a mini Moody shouting Constant Vigilance! Lily wanted to vehemently shake her head. But both James and Dumbledore thought it seemed a good idea. She desperately turned to plead with Charlus but the sullen man just seemed amused at the idea. Sighing, Lily gave up. Her voice strained before she uttered a "fine" and left it at that.

"So it's settled then?" Dumbledore's voice trod carefully.

Moody's rogue smile was plain for all to see.

"Right." Dumbledore carried on. "I still think it's the best course of action. Eric and Claymore can stick together till Alastor's guard duty finishes up. James can start planning out where to travel and which specialists to visit." Dumbledore paused and turned to Charlus. "And I'm sure Charlus will want to see that Antonius is settled in." Charlus gave a grunt and Dumbledore continued. "So that only leaves me and Lily to visit Petunia and try and convince her to take in Hadrian and hopefully after that, we can return and assist James."

With that. Charlus strode to pick up Antonius, Moody, and James following to grab Claymore and Eric.

Once all three of them had left the hospital wing and Pompfrey having returned to her quarters, Dumbledore turned to Lily in the empty wing and said "I never asked, where does Petunia live?"

Lily thought for a second before she remembered. "Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Surrey.

Dumbledore gave a nod of the head.

Little did Hadrian know it would be a long time before he saw his family again.

November 4th, 1981

Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. Surrey.

Early Morning.

"I don't like it, we shouldn't have accepted him." Petunia said. She was standing at the window staring out into the suburban neighbourhood.

"I told you we shouldn't have accepted him, Petunia." Vernon Dursley announced, sitting at the kitchen table newspaper in hand. The big, beefy man was quite disgruntled upon finding out Petunia had accepted her nephew. Grumbling Vernon continued "nothing good can come from it."

Petunia considered Vernon's words before her shrewd eyes blinked in amazement. "Vernon, Darling. You're right! I just didn't realise."

Vernon, beady eyes still flicking through the paper, paused. His large moustache twitched as he was quite pleased with Petunia's praise.

"Course I am dear." The overly large responded indignantly as if that settled the matter.

"I don't know why I didn't think of it." Petunia continued, her wiry frame turning towards Vernon. "The answer is so obvious" she exclaimed!

Vernon perked up. Not quite catching on. "What's so obvious?" he asked suspiciously. He was still quite distrustful of magic.

Petunia snapped quickly. "The reason they left us with him. It's so simple, he's too freaky, even for them."

For the two muggles, it was a concrete explanation.

Vernon finally caught on to Petunia's reasoning. Before mentioning, "Didn't you say something about how he wasn't allowed around magic, that it wasn't safe for him to be around magic?"

"Yes, yes." Came Petunia's snobbish reply "Lily explicitly told me that magic was hazardous to him at his young age, that it was best to stay with us till the problem was resolved and they came to pick him up for Hogwarts."

"I won't have it, I don't care how much they're paying us!." Vernon's meaty hand slamming down on the table. "They're trying to pull the wool over our eyes. He's dangerous. I don't want Dudley mixing with a child like that! Came Vernon's shout.

"He has to go" Petunia's voice coming off frightened. 'Dangerous and Dudley' in the same sentence seemed to be the two magic words.

"We'll have to keep this on the down-low" Vernon cautioned "No telling what they'll do if they find out he's not here anymore." Fear suddenly gripped him.

Petunia nodded and spoke. "An orphanage will have to do. If they ever come knocking we'll say he got too difficult." Petunia was liking the idea more and more before she continued. "They can't fault us for that. We'll just have to say we couldn't find a way to contact them, that it was for the best."

Vernon's head gave a rotund nod, before vocalising. "We'll have to let the payments keep coming in. it would look suspicious otherwise." The Grunnings director, was ever the shrewd businessman.

"Good idea Vernon." Petunia shrilled and panicked. She was uncomfortable now upon realising how 'dangerous' her nephew was. "He has to go today, '' Petunia declared. "I don't want him causing trouble."

Vernon thought for a moment before slowly voicing. "I had an old business friend who grew up in an orphanage. Wool's the place was called, said it was an alright place. Located in the Lambeth area, near London along the Thames. I'm sure we could find it."

London was quite the distance from Surrey, Petunia realised. Better he was out of her hair though…

"Alright." Petunia nodded in confirmation.

Minutes later the Dursley family were out the door.