Prologue I

31 October 1981,

Godric's Hollow.

8 pm:

The motivations behind the heinous crimes of serial killers have long fascinated criminal psychologists, law enforcement agencies, and the general public. The incomprehensible nature of their actions sets them apart from "normal" individuals. One question that has garnered particular interest is whether their behavior stems from a severe mental illness that renders them out of touch with reality.

Despite instances where some serial killers have been known to suffer from psychotic episodes that triggered their crimes, they are rarely classified as legally insane. Instead, the most consistent psychological trait observed in serial killers is extreme antisocial behavior. They display a lack of empathy, remorse, and respect for societal norms and laws. Often motivated by a desire to seek vengeance against individuals or society as a whole, they commit violent and terrifying crimes. However, this generalization cannot be applied to the mysterious man who appeared a few seconds ago in Godric's Hollow, as his actions remain unknown.

Godric's Hollow was a sleepy hamlet, its quaint cottages lining the residential streets that led to the village square. The square itself boasted only a few establishments, including a church, post office, and pub, as well as some retail shops. The hooded figure walking on the paved path leading to the church had no interest in confession or atonement for the terrible deeds he had committed for decades. Instead, he walked with purpose, hungering for the feeling of power and accuracy that had always accompanied him on such occasions. As he walked, he noticed the muggle decorations in the shop windows and felt a sense of disdain for the world in which they lived. He was almost at his destination, his cloak slipping on the wet pavement, when he was interrupted by a child's voice. "Nice costume, mister!" The man lowered his head and saw the fear in the child's painted face as he approached. He could easily use his wand to silence the child forever, but there was no need. Tomorrow, he would be in a position to eradicate them all without issue, except for one man: Dumbledore.

However, what could an old man do against an immortal? The Dark Lord felt no anger, as anger was for the weak. He simply continued on his path, knowing that his moment of triumph was near.
He pressed forward along the dimly lit street, his destination finally in sight as the Fidelius Charm had predictably broken. As he drew closer, he made less noise than the dead leaves slithering along the pavement. Peering over the darkened edge, he saw them in their little sitting room, the tall black-haired man with his glasses, amusing the small black-haired boy in his blue pajamas with puffs of colored smoke from his wand. The child laughed, trying to catch the smoke in his tiny fist.

A door opened, and the mother with long, dark-red hair entered, speaking words that he couldn't hear. The father put down his wand and stretched, yawning, as he scooped up the child and handed him to the mother. The gate creaked as he pushed it open, but James Potter didn't hear. In one swift motion, the hooded figure threw down his wand, drew out his wand from beneath his cloak, and burst open the door.

He was over the threshold just as James came sprinting into the hall. It was too easy, he had not even needed to pick up his wand. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" James yelled, his pale hand reaching for his wand. But, how could he hold off the Dark Lord without a wand? The hooded figure laughed before casting the curse. "Avada Kedavra!"
The cramped hallway was suffused with a sickly green light, casting an eerie glow on the pram nestled against the wall and turning the banisters into gleaming lightning rods. James Potter stumbled and fell to the ground like a marionette whose strings had been cruelly cut. From the upper floor, he could hear his wife's screams of terror as she frantically tried to barricade herself in. He listened with cold amusement, knowing that as long as she remained sensible, she had nothing to fear. With a wave of his wand, he easily pushed aside the hastily piled chairs and boxes blocking the door. Lily Potter stood before him, clutching their child tightly in her arms. As soon as she saw him, she dropped the toddler into the crib and threw herself in front of him, arms spread wide in a futile attempt to shield him.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" she begged, tears streaming down her face.
"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside now!" he sneered.
Desperate to protect her child, Lily cried out, "Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!"
"This is my last warning," he growled.
But she still pleaded with him, "Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please! I'll do anything!"
"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!" he snarled his wand at the ready.
He had a choice: force the woman away from the crib or eliminate them all. Opting for the latter, he cast the deadly spell and the green light illuminated the room, causing the woman to drop to the ground just like her husband. Meanwhile, the baby remained silent, watching with curiosity as if expecting his father to emerge from under the cloak and create more pretty lights while his mother laughed. The intruder aimed the wand at the child's face, wanting to witness the destruction of this inexplicable threat. Suddenly, the child cried out upon realizing that the man was not James. The sound irritated him as he recalled the orphanage's incessant whining of the small ones.
Without hesitation, he spoke the killing curse, "Avada Kedavra!" As the child screamed in agony, the intruder broke down into nothingness, consumed by pain and fear. He knew he had to flee and hide himself from the greatest mistake of his life - a mistake that would unleash consequences beyond human understanding.

31 October 1981,

Hogwarts, Scotland

8 pm

The headmaster's office at Hogwarts was easily the most intriguing of all the teachers' offices. It boasted a large, circular room adorned with portraits of previous headmasters and headmistresses, who slumbered peacefully within their frames. A magnificent, claw-footed desk stood at the center, while on a shelf behind it sat two remarkable items. The first was a shabby, yet revered wizard's hat known as the Sorting Hat, which once belonged to one of the four founders of the school. The hat had the magical ability to determine which of the four houses a new student would belong to - Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, or Slytherin. The second item was a treasure made of pure silver, with a hilt set with egg-sized rubies symbolizing the House of Gryffindor. Engraved just beneath the hilt was the name "Godric Gryffindor," as it was the sword of this esteemed founder. Legend has it that a Gryffindor student in need could find the sword within the Sorting Hat. Some argue that only a brave Gryffindor could do so, while others maintain that any student, regardless of their house, could find it if they were worthy. The Sorting Hat had dutifully fulfilled its task for centuries and remained in the office until it was needed once again.

The headmaster's office at Hogwarts also served as the dwelling of a magnificent creature known as "Fawkes." This swan-sized phoenix possessed scarlet feathers, a long golden tail, and sharp talons, and beak. The phoenix was renowned for its incredible longevity, as it could be reborn from its own ashes after bursting into flames. Some believe that certain specimens of the bird are bound to specific families and appear in times of profound distress. Despite its fearsome appearance, the phoenix was a gentle creature that subsisted solely on herbs. It could vanish and reappear at will and possessed potent healing properties in its tears, qualities that were of immense help to the man holding two of the most respected positions in the British wizarding community. However, despite his refusal to add a third title to his list, the land was in the throes of a brutal war that had raged for over a decade. These were the darkest times in Britain's history, with each passing day bringing a new wave of casualties. Among the deceased were former students, old friends, and innocent civilians of all ages who were unaware of the existence of magic and were collateral damage to the conflict.

The headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, was widely regarded as the most famous wizard since the legendary Merlin. Having defeated the dark wizard Grindelwald, he was hailed as a hero by the European and North American communities, and his former students adored him. He was seen as the embodiment of hope - the brightest mind in the world, with the potential to end the war and bring light back to a country that had been overwhelmed by sadness and tragedy.

Dumbledore understood the deep-seated need for hope and the importance of keeping the flame of optimism alive. He knew that people wanted to believe that life wasn't over, and that they could fight on, even in the face of despair. Despite his own past mistakes and the harm, he had caused the world, he wore a mask every day to show the world what they needed to see. He was not just the brilliant Headmaster of Hogwarts, but also the chief warlock, the only wizard that Lord Voldemort and Gellert Grindelwald had ever feared - a symbol of strength and resilience in the face of darkness.

The headmaster's attention was fixed on a cloak that lay on his desk - an invisibility cloak borrowed from a young wizard who had no need for it at the moment. The cloak stirred memories of a time when he had everything, yet felt alone - a time when he made a grave mistake that would haunt him until his dying day. Shame and regret were the constant companions that tormented his heart, twins from whom he could never escape.

Invisibility cloaks were exceptionally rare and valuable in the wizarding world, with most woven from the hair of a Demiguise or enchanted with powerful spells. However, the cloak on his desk was no ordinary cloak. It was, without a doubt, the one made centuries ago by Ignotus Peverell, one of the three legendary brothers. This was the only known cloak that would not fade with age and provide lasting protection to the wearer - something that no other invisibility cloak could match. As the only Hallow known to have been successfully passed down from generation to generation since Ignotus' time, the cloak had found its way to James Potter, who had been hiding with his wife and son.

The headmaster knew the gravity of what lay before him - a powerful artifact that had already caused great harm in the past. And yet, he could not deny the allure of the cloak and the memories it evoked. As he gazed upon it, he couldn't help but wonder if he could use it to undo the mistakes of the past - to set things right and make amends. But he knew that such a temptation was dangerous and could lead him down a path of darkness. So, he pushed the cloak away and resolved to leave it untouched, a reminder of his past mistakes and the ever-present danger that lurked in the wizarding world.

Albus rubbed his tired face and let out a yawn before rising to his feet. He made his way over to the small balcony that provided a beautiful view of the lake. Despite the snow and cold weather, some seventh-year students were outside the castle, celebrating and enjoying the view. Albus smiled at their enthusiasm, even in the midst of the ongoing war outside the school grounds.
As he watched, more students poured out of the castle gates, uncaring of curfew restrictions. Suddenly, he noticed Professor Flitwick, the head of Ravenclaw house, hurrying towards him. Albus assumed he was going to put a stop to the unauthorized festivities, but then he saw a much larger and more prominent professor join him. The two of them uncorked a bottle and started casting fireworks over the lake. Albus was about to intervene when his office door burst open and his deputy, Minerva McGonagall, rushed in, her voice trembling with urgency.
"Professor Dumbledore, I ran from the Great Hall…Is it true?... the students are saying...The Potters."

31 October 1981,

Chesterfield,

England.

Steven Blakeley, a familiar face from various television programs and theatre plays, had recently returned to his hometown of Chesterfield, a charming market town nestled in Derbyshire, England. He was in town to attend a football match as a guest of honour but found himself running late despite usually being punctual. As he hurried towards the match, he couldn't help but be amused by the town's strong pride in their local football team, especially after being accustomed to the high expectations of Premier League teams.
The team had a mixed performance during the first part of the season, but were now at the top of the national league and set to face Grimsby at their home stadium. Steven was well aware of the tense rivalry between the two sides, which had only grown stronger due to numerous heated encounters over the years. The match had a hostile atmosphere, with both sets of fans known for causing disturbances.

All eyes that night were now fixed on Whittington Moor's Proact Stadium as the local club looked to maintain their position at the top of the table. As he walked alone towards the stadium, Steven took a moment to admire the town's pride - the historic old church of St. Mary and All Saints, with its unique twisted spire towering over the town center.
St. Mary's and All Saints is the largest parish church in the Diocese of Derby and is renowned locally and internationally for its twisted spire, which attracts visitors from around the world. However, what many of these visitors don't know is that the tower was once the secret headquarters of a group of teenagers many years ago. Climbing the tower and breaking the lock was an appealing pastime for them, but now as an adult, the memories of his teenage years only caused him to turn his back on the building and head towards the car park where he had parked his car earlier in the evening.

As he walked towards his car, he noticed a white 1959 Triumph 650 T 120 Bonneville. He approached the motorbike and inspected it briefly, admiring its classic design. Suddenly, the sound of footsteps behind him made him turn around. In the darkness, he could barely make out the silhouette of a tiny man with untidy brown hair and a bald spot. Something in the man's eyes frightened Steven, and before he could react, a bright green light jolted and hit Steven in the chest. The tiny man stood over him for a moment, his expression unreadable, before turning and disappearing into the night.

A large, sleek black German Shepherd suddenly appeared on Beetwell Street, its powerful legs propelling it down the road like wildfire. The dog came to a halt at the front door of a small, abandoned house that had been uninhabited for years. Emitting two sharp barks, the dog paused for a moment before rising up on its hind legs and transforming into a strikingly handsome man with an air of casual elegance, sporting glossy black hair, piercing grey eyes, and fair skin. These were all traits inherited from his aristocratic family.

Sirius Black couldn't help but feel intrigued by Peter's failure to follow their pre-planned code. Every week, Sirius would transform into Padfoot and wait for Peter to let him in, but this time there was no answer. Ignoring discretion, Sirius forced open the front door with his pocketknife and entered the abandoned house. He called out for Peter, using both his name and nickname, but received no answer. Frustrated and worried, he resorted to using his wand to cast a revealing spell, but it didn't yield any results. Disappointed and at a loss, Sirius reached into his black leather jacket, frantically searching for his two-way mirror, which he finally found in his back pocket. After taking a deep breath, he stared at his own reflection and called out to his best friend James with a mix of frustration and desperation.

Over the past year, James has been confined to his home in Godrics' Hollow, which has taken a toll on him as a man of action. Nevertheless, his unwavering love for his wife and son has given him the fortitude to endure any hardship, no matter how severe, as long as it means keeping Lily and Harry safe. Despite being cooped up within four walls, he remained engaged and informed, always staying within reach of his mirror. Sirius regularly sought James' input, even when it wasn't necessary, before taking any action as part of the order's mission, often reaching out to him before Dumbledore. Every night, Sirius made it his obligation to speak to his nephew before Lily put him to bed, and James never failed to answer, no matter what.
As Sirius Black gazed into the mirror, he felt a chill run through his veins as he realized that James Potter's face was nowhere to be seen. His grey eyes scanned the empty living room, trying to make sense of the situation. Suddenly, a mechanism clicked in his brain, and a flood of memories rushed in. In that moment, he felt a sudden and unprecedented clarity - the rat had played them all.

Sirius burst out of the house, stumbling on the entrance mat and falling onto the porch stairs, resulting in some bruises. Despite this, he quickly got back up on his feet and bolted away from the house so swiftly that his feet barely touched the asphalt or sidewalk. Once he was a safe distance away from the house and its protective wards, assuming they still functioned, he disapparated to the supermarket parking lot where he had parked his motorbike earlier.

Ignoring the drunkard who had passed out in a puddle of his own urine near his bike, Sirius jumped onto the saddle, ignited the engine, and swiftly took off into the night. At that moment, he could not have cared less about the crowd returning from the stadium, chanting the town's teams' hymn, celebrating their victory over their rival, nor about the brawl that had broken out between two hooligan groups. All that mattered to him at that instant was reaching Godric's Hollow as quickly as possible before it was too late.

Sirius couldn't begin to estimate how long it took him to reach his destination, but he vividly remembered the biting wind on his face and the pounding of his heart. His mind replayed the argument he had had with one of his closest friends, which ended their once inseparable bond. For over seven years, they had stood together, shared secrets, and defied societal expectations by building a chosen family of their own. Sirius knew that his chosen family was under close scrutiny, just like everyone else in the Order. Dumbledore had warned them that a traitor was lurking among them, but Sirius had stubbornly refused to believe it. However, when solid evidence emerged that someone close to them was informing Voldemort about their every move, Sirius was forced to face the harsh truth. In the last two years, they had almost died three times and were forced to relocate three times.

Sirius wished that the old man had been wrong and that Voldemort had other ways of tracking them down. He argued as much during the orders meetings, but Dumbledore remained steadfast in his belief that the spy had his trust and Voldemort's ear. The same spy had warned them about the danger facing the Potters and had urged them to go underground. He had also provided sensitive information that only a select few knew. Both Dumbledore and Mad-eye confirmed that the spy was responsible for the murder of Edgar Bones and his family, as well as for leading the Prewett brothers to their tragic end. As he flew high above the clouds on his motorbike, with only the roar of the engine and the sound of the exhaust pipe to keep him company, Sirius realized with horror that the traitor who had caused the deaths of his loved ones was none other than the man he had once called his brother.

From his earliest memories, Sirius proudly declared himself the "white" sheep of the Black family, an ancient and noble pure-blooded family in the British wizarding world. However, he always rejected his family's elitist and discriminatory beliefs, openly challenging them and incurring the wrath of his mother. Despite the punishments he received, Sirius enjoyed rebelling against his family's values. When the Sorting Hat placed him in Gryffindor, he became even more defiant, openly expressing his contempt for pure-blooded ideals and causing further strain in his relationships with his relatives. At the age of sixteen, Sirius left his family home and never looked back, finding refuge with his best friend's family. He laughed at the shock and anger his departure caused among the pure-blooded families, relishing in his rebellion. He refused to attend his brother's funeral and eventually found himself adopted into the Potter family, further infuriating his blood relatives.

As he rode his motorbike through the night towards his destination, Sirius began to realize that he was not so different from the family he had spent his life rebelling against. He had only rebelled in words, failing to live up to his own ideals. The reality of his own arrogance and cowardice hit him hard when he arrived at the ruins of the place where those who had trusted him with their lives had been destroyed. He was forced to confront the truth that he alone was to blame for the tragedy.