Prologue~
Welcome
Today is July 17, 1981
A baby started to cry.
"Lily, would you get that?" A man asked his wife. The man was standing by his front door, muttering unrecognizable incantations, and pointing his wand to the door. He was holding a piece of paper, and it looked as if he was reading the incantations off the paper.
The woman called Lily was sitting on a small loveseat in the living room of the house on Godric's Grove, and reading a newspaper called 'The Daily Prophet.' She put down the newspaper, and went into the next room. She turned on a light, and went over to the crib in the corner of the room. There, a baby sat with jet-black hair like his father's, and emerald eyes which were from his mother.
The mere sight of his mother made the child stop crying. Instead, he cooed for his mother to pick him up, which she did.
She took her baby boy, which she named Harry, and she sat down in a rocking chair in another corner of the room, and she rocked slowly, Harry cooing and moving his little hands, like he was trying to clap.
She started to sing, more to herself than to Harry. There was just so much right now, so much to fight, so much to protect, so much to worry about, and the only comfort she could really find was the love of her family, but even then, worries of death, worries of loss entered her mind. Singing seemed to help.
Harry stopped clapping after a while, and put his hands on his mother's necklace, and found enjoyment by playing with the necklace. It was a small, almost invisible necklace that held a small diamond shaped into a heart, dangling from a thin, silver chain. It was a present from James on their first anniversary.
Lily of course, didn't notice the small actions of her baby boy while she was singing. She barely knew she was there, and unaware that she was just rocking back and fourth, in a state of tranquility.
'If only all my thoughts could be as tranquil as this.'
She kept singing to herself, and rocking back and fourth, Harry still finding excitement with the necklace. But then Lily stopped singing, and Harry stopped playing.
"Lily, it's him!" James yelled. She knew perfectly well who him was. 'Him' was after Lily and James, for a reason unknown to most. "Take Harry and go! I'll hold him off-" and then all that was heard was laughter from a voice, a voice which sounded smooth and oily, a voice that you knew you could never trust. The laughter wasn't from a funny joke; it was an evil laugh, a laugh of victory. Lily was up, carrying Harry, and trying to find another way out of the house besides the front door, which was where the living room was, where the laughter came from.
In the midst of all the laughing, there was a sound, a sound that made Lily freeze. The sound of a corpse falling to the ground. The laughter increased.
The laughter stopped and all there was was silence. Lily kept frozen, hoping and praying that he wouldn't come for her and Harry. She had to stay alive, for Harry's sake. But then the silence was broken, by footsteps, coming her way. They were quiet, yet loud, Lily couldn't tell, her ears were playing tricks on her, they wouldn't function right. She ran to the crib, and put Harry inside softly, and put a blanket over him to keep him concealed. If she was going to die, Harry was going to live.
She turned around to hide herself, but it was too late.
Standing in the doorway of Harry's room was Lord Voldemort. He walked closer to Lily, saying and doing nothing. Lily couldn't do anything without the aide of her wand, which was in her own room. She then froze once again, afraid to make any sudden movements. She stared at him, and he stared back at her. But then he went to Harry's crib, where she thought was the last place he would go. Lily ran in front of the crib, and threw her arms up in defense.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" She begged, almost dropping to her already weak knees.
"Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside now!" Voldemort yelled to her. He didn't want to kill her; there was no purpose in it, and no real enjoyment. He just wanted to kill her family, and make her suffer. Suffering was worse than dying, and was much more enjoyable, much more easier.
"Not Harry, please no! Take me, kill me instead!" Lily yelled, her knees going weaker than ever.
"You will obey, and you will stand aside." Voldemort said calmly, though the tone of voice he used would be able to scare most.
"Not Harry! Please, have mercy, have mercy!" Lily yelled, breathless. This time, her knees did give out to her, and she was on the floor, pleading for Harry's life. 'Not Harry.' She thought to herself. 'Anything but Harry.'
By this time, Lord Voldemort was fed up with her pleas of mercy for this little boy's life. He raised his wand, and was about to mutter a curse when he thought better of it. 'Suffering is more painful, let her suffer, like I had to suffer.'
He put down his wand, and put the wand into his other hand, his left hand. He raised his right high above him, and with all his might, it came down, and hit Lily across the face, which sent her flying to the other side of the room. Her body hit the wall, and she fell to the floor, and all was black.
He looked over to her to make sure that she was out of consciousness. Her eyes were closed, and she was breathing slowly, which indicated to Voldemort that she was away from the rest of the world for now, leaving him free to do as he pleased.
He walked back to the crib, where little Harry Potter was in his crib, unaware of all that was going on. In fact, he was sound asleep again, breathing slowly without a care in the world, off to his little dreamland, unaware that he would never see his mother again.
"What is so special about this, this brat?" Voldemort asked himself. If there was one thing he could never understand, it was love, especially for children, who were worthless and selfish, and didn't have to worry about anything, they could just let the adults run the world while they played outside in the beautiful world. Deep down, he knew he didn't have children, but he was jealous of them, which he had mistaken for hate.
The boy awoke from Voldemort's raspy breathing. He stretched out a little on his bed, and looked at Lord Voldemort, but expecting to see the comforting face of his mother, or the smile that his father always wore, but instead, he was left to look at a man that he'd never seen. A man who looked evil from the very first glance, a man who was evil, even without his evil look. Harry looked around the room for his mother, but could not see the floor, where his mother laid, helpless.
"Why do these people love and cherish these brats so? I don't see what's so special about them. All they do is take up space for the productive people, people who have a purpose, and don't clutter up the earth." Voldemort said to Harry, half expecting him to answer. Harry, being raised by the parents that he had, did what he thought he should do.
He smiled.
"You are not afraid of me, are you? We'll see about that." Voldemort spat at Harry. Harry kept smiling at Voldemort, not knowing that his words, his actions, and his ways were all evil.
Voldemort raised his wand, feeling intimidated by a 1 year old infant. He found reason to make it a slow, painful death; the child could show no signs of pain except excessive wailing and crying, which do no good. He wanted to do it now, before the girl woke up.
And the 2 most feared words a wizard with a wand could ever say were said. More feared than Lord Voldemort, which came in a slow second compared to these 2 little words that did so much.
"Avada Kedavra."
