The cool night air breezed through the open window next to Lily
Potter's head. She shivered, making a mental note to close it before going
to bed. She turned from the kitchen sink, trying to ignore the sinking
feeling in the pit of her stomach. She had always loved Halloween but this
year something seemed unsettling. Maybe it was the way the wind rustled
through the trees outside their home, forewarning anyone that would listen
about the uncertainty inside the small cottage. Or maybe it was the way
that the tension inside the Potter house was thick enough to cut with a
knife. Whatever the reason, Lily Potter hated it.
Upstairs, Lily's husband James Potter was having very many of the same doubts. He was finishing up a report for the top-secret Order of the Phoenix: an elite group made up of only the best witches and wizards who chose to fight against the powers of the rising Dark Lord. He, too, had a nagging feeling of doubt. He listened quietly for any cries from his young son, Harry Potter, who was sleeping in the room next to him. Sighing at the silence, James wished something would break it. Silence frustrated him in times like this. Giving up on the report, he pushed back his desk chair and threw down his quill. (Although he had been out of wizarding school for several years, he couldn't pass up the old habits.) Walking down the staircase quietly, so not to make any noise to wake his infant son, he joined his nervous wife in the kitchen.
"He's here," she whispered when he arrived at her side. She had moved from the window to the kitchen table and was sitting anxiously, biting her fingernails. "He's here, James, I can feel it. And he's furious."
James put a calming hand on his wife's shoulder, not feeling any more reassured himself. "He can't be here, Lily," he said softly. "Dumbledore wouldn't allow it. That's why everyone in the Order watches each other's backs."
"What about the Fellowships?" Lily cried, her voice rising. "Was anyone in the Order watching their backs when He killed everyone in their household?"
"We won't let that happen to us," James said firmly, motioning for Lily to lower her voice. "Now, quiet, or you'll wake Harry."
"Harry." Lily's voice drifted off after saying her child's name. She smiled softly at the memory of her son's happy face, which she saw only hours ago. "I'm going to go check on him." She stood up and headed for the creaky staircase.
James knew there was no point in trying to stop his wife. She had been so nervous about the Dark Lord lately and James honestly couldn't blame her. After all, they were members of the group rallying against him. And after what had happened to the Fellowships and the Vices recently, James had to admit that even he felt a little nervous. Sitting down in Lily's deserted chair, he put his head on the table and sighed. All this work for the Order was more than enough to give anyone a headache, but it was definitely necessary. James was more than prepared to do anything to stop the Dark Lord, but it was going to take more he was bargained for.
A sharp bang at the front door made James jump and his heart race. He stood up quickly, knocking over his chair. Advancing on the door, he held his wand out in front of him. You could never be too careful with a menacing Dark Lord on the loose. When he entered the foyer, he gasped, his voice stuck in his throat.
"Hello, Potter," a deep voice growled. James couldn't see the speaker's face, due to the massive hood from his cloak, but he knew that voice.
"Voldemort," he hissed, holding his wand in front of him. His heart was pounding and his breathing was raspy. "What do you want with us?"
"Where's your wife?"
"What do you want with us?"
"Where's this son of yours?"
"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH US?" James roared, feeling the fury blind him temporarily. "We're not your kind! Leave us be!"
"You've been working against me, Potter," the voice snarled. From under his dark cloak, a hand protruded, holding on tightly to a long wand. "You can't fool me, Potter," he continued as James shook his head in disbelief. "I see everything. Now, you will pay the price for working against Lord Voldemort." He raised his wand even higher.
"Lily! Run!" James shouted towards the stairs. "Take Harry and go! Get out while you still can!" He made a move to run for the stairs, but a flash of green light stopped him. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor in a heap. James Potter was dead.
Upstairs, Lily was gently rubbing her son's back. He stirred slightly and began to sniffle. Picking him up tenderly, she began pacing the room with him in her arms. Humming softly, she managed to forget all about the Order and the Dark Lord and the hell he had created; she had little Harry in her arms and nothing else mattered.
Downstairs she heard a bang and it startled her. Upon hearing no more noise, she continued to pace the floor, but the sinking feeling in her stomach returned more fiercely than ever. Just as she went to the doorway to yell down to James, she heard his voice. "Lily! Run! Take Harry and go! Get out while you still can!"
"James?" she called, her voice full of tension. "What's going on?"
She saw a flash of green light from downstairs and she screamed. Dropping to her knees with Harry still in her arms, she began to breathe heavily. What was going on? The feeling of apprehension rose from her stomach into her throat and obstructed her proper breathing. Why had James sounded so desperate? What had happened?
She looked up when a shadow appeared in the doorway. Fully expecting to see James, Lily stood gratefully. But when she looked up, another scream erupted from her throat. A hooded figure stood in the doorway, glaring down at her.
"James!" she screamed and holding Harry in one arm, she tried to slam the door shut with the other. When it clicked shut, she hurried to the other side of the room. Standing in front of the crib, she clutched Harry to her chest. Her mind reeled. Voldemort was in her house. What had he done to James? Although she knew the answer, she tried to fight the impending tears that soon burst forth from her eyes. There was no hope. When He was angry, there was no stopping him.
The door burst open and shards of wood flew in from every direction. Screaming, Lily kept her head down and baby Harry close to her chest. He had begun to wail and she hated not being able to comfort him. Instead, she set him on the floor by his crib and stood to face Voldemort. "Not Harry!" she screamed as he aimed the wand at the boy.
"Move out of the way!" the hooded form said sternly. "Not now, Potter, out of the way!" He shoved her away, but she kept throwing herself in front of him. She was sobbing now.
"Not Harry! Please, take me instead! Please!"
The figure rounded on her and before she could speak another word, a second flash of green light erupted from the outstretched wand and Lily's cries ceased. Her body tumbled to the floor, her wild hair surrounding her face. Lily Potter, too, was dead.
The hooded figure then advanced on the small boy sitting on the floor. He was crying, reaching out to his mother's body. His wails filled the small room and the wand was again raised, determined to end the incessant cries once and for all. But as the third flash of green light exploded from the end of his wand, something odd happened. Instead of the jet of light heading straight for the young boy, it rebounded, as if an invisible shield protected the boy. Another cry echoed through what remained of the house.
There was almost nothing left in the room, except for debris, scattered baby toys, a crib that was left standing on one leg. And in the middle of the damaged room sat a little boy, stained tears on his cheeks, bearing a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
Upstairs, Lily's husband James Potter was having very many of the same doubts. He was finishing up a report for the top-secret Order of the Phoenix: an elite group made up of only the best witches and wizards who chose to fight against the powers of the rising Dark Lord. He, too, had a nagging feeling of doubt. He listened quietly for any cries from his young son, Harry Potter, who was sleeping in the room next to him. Sighing at the silence, James wished something would break it. Silence frustrated him in times like this. Giving up on the report, he pushed back his desk chair and threw down his quill. (Although he had been out of wizarding school for several years, he couldn't pass up the old habits.) Walking down the staircase quietly, so not to make any noise to wake his infant son, he joined his nervous wife in the kitchen.
"He's here," she whispered when he arrived at her side. She had moved from the window to the kitchen table and was sitting anxiously, biting her fingernails. "He's here, James, I can feel it. And he's furious."
James put a calming hand on his wife's shoulder, not feeling any more reassured himself. "He can't be here, Lily," he said softly. "Dumbledore wouldn't allow it. That's why everyone in the Order watches each other's backs."
"What about the Fellowships?" Lily cried, her voice rising. "Was anyone in the Order watching their backs when He killed everyone in their household?"
"We won't let that happen to us," James said firmly, motioning for Lily to lower her voice. "Now, quiet, or you'll wake Harry."
"Harry." Lily's voice drifted off after saying her child's name. She smiled softly at the memory of her son's happy face, which she saw only hours ago. "I'm going to go check on him." She stood up and headed for the creaky staircase.
James knew there was no point in trying to stop his wife. She had been so nervous about the Dark Lord lately and James honestly couldn't blame her. After all, they were members of the group rallying against him. And after what had happened to the Fellowships and the Vices recently, James had to admit that even he felt a little nervous. Sitting down in Lily's deserted chair, he put his head on the table and sighed. All this work for the Order was more than enough to give anyone a headache, but it was definitely necessary. James was more than prepared to do anything to stop the Dark Lord, but it was going to take more he was bargained for.
A sharp bang at the front door made James jump and his heart race. He stood up quickly, knocking over his chair. Advancing on the door, he held his wand out in front of him. You could never be too careful with a menacing Dark Lord on the loose. When he entered the foyer, he gasped, his voice stuck in his throat.
"Hello, Potter," a deep voice growled. James couldn't see the speaker's face, due to the massive hood from his cloak, but he knew that voice.
"Voldemort," he hissed, holding his wand in front of him. His heart was pounding and his breathing was raspy. "What do you want with us?"
"Where's your wife?"
"What do you want with us?"
"Where's this son of yours?"
"WHAT DO YOU WANT WITH US?" James roared, feeling the fury blind him temporarily. "We're not your kind! Leave us be!"
"You've been working against me, Potter," the voice snarled. From under his dark cloak, a hand protruded, holding on tightly to a long wand. "You can't fool me, Potter," he continued as James shook his head in disbelief. "I see everything. Now, you will pay the price for working against Lord Voldemort." He raised his wand even higher.
"Lily! Run!" James shouted towards the stairs. "Take Harry and go! Get out while you still can!" He made a move to run for the stairs, but a flash of green light stopped him. His lifeless body crumpled to the floor in a heap. James Potter was dead.
Upstairs, Lily was gently rubbing her son's back. He stirred slightly and began to sniffle. Picking him up tenderly, she began pacing the room with him in her arms. Humming softly, she managed to forget all about the Order and the Dark Lord and the hell he had created; she had little Harry in her arms and nothing else mattered.
Downstairs she heard a bang and it startled her. Upon hearing no more noise, she continued to pace the floor, but the sinking feeling in her stomach returned more fiercely than ever. Just as she went to the doorway to yell down to James, she heard his voice. "Lily! Run! Take Harry and go! Get out while you still can!"
"James?" she called, her voice full of tension. "What's going on?"
She saw a flash of green light from downstairs and she screamed. Dropping to her knees with Harry still in her arms, she began to breathe heavily. What was going on? The feeling of apprehension rose from her stomach into her throat and obstructed her proper breathing. Why had James sounded so desperate? What had happened?
She looked up when a shadow appeared in the doorway. Fully expecting to see James, Lily stood gratefully. But when she looked up, another scream erupted from her throat. A hooded figure stood in the doorway, glaring down at her.
"James!" she screamed and holding Harry in one arm, she tried to slam the door shut with the other. When it clicked shut, she hurried to the other side of the room. Standing in front of the crib, she clutched Harry to her chest. Her mind reeled. Voldemort was in her house. What had he done to James? Although she knew the answer, she tried to fight the impending tears that soon burst forth from her eyes. There was no hope. When He was angry, there was no stopping him.
The door burst open and shards of wood flew in from every direction. Screaming, Lily kept her head down and baby Harry close to her chest. He had begun to wail and she hated not being able to comfort him. Instead, she set him on the floor by his crib and stood to face Voldemort. "Not Harry!" she screamed as he aimed the wand at the boy.
"Move out of the way!" the hooded form said sternly. "Not now, Potter, out of the way!" He shoved her away, but she kept throwing herself in front of him. She was sobbing now.
"Not Harry! Please, take me instead! Please!"
The figure rounded on her and before she could speak another word, a second flash of green light erupted from the outstretched wand and Lily's cries ceased. Her body tumbled to the floor, her wild hair surrounding her face. Lily Potter, too, was dead.
The hooded figure then advanced on the small boy sitting on the floor. He was crying, reaching out to his mother's body. His wails filled the small room and the wand was again raised, determined to end the incessant cries once and for all. But as the third flash of green light exploded from the end of his wand, something odd happened. Instead of the jet of light heading straight for the young boy, it rebounded, as if an invisible shield protected the boy. Another cry echoed through what remained of the house.
There was almost nothing left in the room, except for debris, scattered baby toys, a crib that was left standing on one leg. And in the middle of the damaged room sat a little boy, stained tears on his cheeks, bearing a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
