"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

In a frozen heartbeat of indecision, Lily considered it. Harry was cradled in her arms, clutching James's wand, green eyes sparkling as she tickled him. She considered fleeing up the stairs and to the crib, to the portkey they'd hidden in his blankets. It would carry them away in an instant. Harry would live. She would live. They'd survive…

But James…

Crack! The sound of wood splintering jarred her into action.

"Like hell am I leaving you," Lily screamed, racing down the stairs and tucking Harry into the cupboard beneath them. She snatched up James's wand—arrogant, so arrogant, to let Harry play with it while they were being hunted.

"Mummy loves you," she whispered, and shut the door, tracing the rune of protection she'd carved there. In the hallway, she could hear James's bellow, then injured cry.

"Foolish boy…" said a cruel, high-pitched voice. Lily swallowed, creeping closer, peering round the corner. James was framed by the light, clutching his arm, blood dripping between his fingers. Beyond, a dark figure graced the entrance to their house, pale wand raised high.

"Avada kedavra! "

"No!"

She tackled James as a flash of sickly green light flew over their heads.

James blinked up at her through cracked glasses. "Lils?" he whispered.

"Fumos," Lily spat, her wand spewing smoke that filled the room. She shoved James's wand into his hand. "I'm not leaving you!"

"You cannot hide from me forever," said Lord Voldemort, each word like a shard of ice to her heart. "Stand aside. Give me the child… then I shall permit you to live."

Behind her, there was a flash of silver-white light, the outline of a pair of antlers. James's patronus. Help was coming. If it arrived in time…

Lily charmed the floor slick with ice and dragged James with her into the living room, anything to get further from that unnatural figure.

"Never!" she cried, drawing the Dark Lord's attention away from the rooms beyond. In a whisper, she said, "James. We just have to hold him off. We've done it before."

A whip of flame cut through the space they'd just been standing. Fire caught on wooden floorboards, licking at the wallpaper, ice evaporating with a hiss.

"You should have fled," James hissed, scrambling to his feet. "It's him!"

"Obviously!" Lily said and cast a gossamer thread spell that would entangle her enemies, floating like spider silk in the air. James swore and sent another patronus.

"Coward!" Lily called, taunting. "What type of pathetic creature hunts down a baby?"

She rapidly cast two Bubblehead Charms on herself and James, clearing the smoke and ash from their lungs. She could see the fire spreading, a family portrait incinerated, the glass cracked and blackening. It popped and crackled, the heat causing sweat to bead at her temple.

The Dark Lord stepped into the room, a shadow she could barely see in the flickering light. Yet his eyes gleamed red, fixed upon her.

"Stand aside and you might yet live," he said, lips curling into a smile. "I have no wish to waste wizarding blood… unnecessarily."

As if murdering her son was a necessity… Lily shrieked, curses falling from her lips. Each was lazily flicked aside. The furniture sprouted legs and surged forward, James's contribution, both of them casting frantically.

Voldemort blasted their antique chaise to pieces. He brushed aside her gossamer thread, sparks lighting up the room. Another lick of flame burned the dining table-cum-lion as it leaped through the air. It was blasted to pieces and James was showered with shards of wood and debris. He tumbled to the floor. A chilling laugh echoed in its wake and Voldemort strode forward.

"Crucio."

Lily screamed as pain obliterated all thought, sending her to her knees. She had never suffered agony like it, consuming her from the inside out. She gasped shuddering breaths, even as her lungs shrivelled, and her skin peeled, and her bones cracked… until she was granted blissful relief.

"You don't have to suffer," Lord Voldemort crooned. "Just give me your son."

"Fuck you," Lily said, blinking away tears, bracing for the spell once more.

There was an almighty roar and sharp teeth savaged Voldemort's arm. A dragon, transfigured from glass and brick, towered over him. Claws made of iron and steel struck upon Voldemort's shield, forcing him to stagger back. Lily crawled to James's side, adding charms of resilience and strength. She could taste blood in her mouth. Every limb trembled.

A serpent of black flame curled itself around the dragon. Glass bubbled and melted as the creatures clashed. They knocked into the wall and the ceiling groaned, supports burning and breaking. The house was collapsing around them.

"Harry," Lily gasped. "He's under the stairs." She darted forward, drawing the Dark Lord's attention with a curse that ought to have slit him throat to belly. His robes split, revealing blood as red as any other mans, stark against his pale white skin. Even as he turned to her, the wounds began to heal, skin knitting before her eyes.

"Mudblood pest," Lord Voldemort spat, raising his wand. Behind him, the dragon screeched and collapsed, the serpent victorious. James conjured a wall of ice, agony in his eyes as he separated them, blocking further entrance to the house.

Lily stepped back, stumbling over the entry mat. Lord Voldemort's curse blasted through her shield and tossed her several metres through the air. She hit the dirt and rolled into the fence, certain that at least one leg was broken. She moaned as she pushed herself to sit up. She wasn't going to die on her back.

In measured, whisper-silent steps, he swept across the grass, drawing near, until he stood over her body. Her ears rang and her left eye was impossible to see through. She spat at him, only to cough blood, as her ribs burned, fractured, perhaps broken.

"What fire," Lord Voldemort said. "Pity."

"You will never win," Lily rasped.

"And yet, today, I have," he replied. Lord Voldemort smirked at her, then his eyes widened, and a bolt of lightning took him through the chest.

Lily sagged back, tasting salt as she cried sweet tears of relief. Sirius, his trademark spell preceding him, charged forward with a cry of fury, meeting Lord Voldemort curse for curse. A terrific boom shook the ground. Thunder deafened her as the two clashed, Sirius powerful in his anger, with the advantage of surprise. Try as she might to watch, darkness was creeping up on her.

"Lily!" Marlene dropped to her knees before her and began casting healing spells. Lily closed her eyes. Help had arrived. She could rest.

Albus surveyed the chaos wrought by Tom Riddle and stepped over the blackened gate that led entry to the Potter cottage. His gaze was fixed upon the monstrosity bound in chains of black ichor and golden silk. Red eyes filled with hatred gazed back, fifty or so years of animosity in the making. He tried not to allow it to weigh him down, for every mistake that he had made, Tom had made thrice as many.

Standing over the bound form of Tom was Amelia Bones, an up and coming auror that Alastor spoke well of. Sirius Black was leaning on her shoulder, sneering down at their prisoner. Both their wands were extended, leashing Tom in place. They were both so young and yet their resolve could not be questioned; it was, in fact, to be admired. If only he had been so steadfast in his own morality at such an age.

With care, Albus took out the Elder Wand, and added a binding of his own, sparks of silver-white flame that would not burn, unless Tom tried to escape. He found, for once in his long life, that he had no words.

James stumbled out of the burning cottage, wand shielding him from the heat of the fire. Clutching in his arms was a small child: young Harry. Bar a few bruises and scrapes, both appeared to be unscathed.

"Lily?" James cried, gaze roving wildly, before settling on the collapsed form of his wife, another figure leaning over her. "Lily!"

"James! She's alive!" Marlene said. "But we need a healer."

At last, Albus found his voice. "Take her to Hogwarts," he commanded. "St Mungos will not be safe, not yet."

The flash of bitter fury in Tom's eyes confirmed that. No doubt many of his followers were also out, spreading misery and fear and death.

Harry began to cry. Albus welcomed it, for it meant survival in the face of what he had thought was certain death. The Prophecy… but there would be time to dwell on the Prophecy, and now was not it. As he stared back down at Tom, the Potters and Marlene Apparated to safety.

"What will we do with you?" Albus said, somewhat shocked to realise he'd spoken aloud. Yet this was obviously a night of many surprises.

"Azkaban won't hold him," Sirius said and his voice was strong, even if his arm was trembling. Stress, or tiredness, or perhaps side-effects of exposure to the Cruciatus.

"No," Albus agreed. "I fear there is only one place we can contain one such as him."

In thirty-six years, Albus had not stepped foot closer to Nuremgard than the German Ministry of Magic in Berlin. Yet, it seemed that time was intent on forcing him into smaller, circular paths, for he would return there once more, if only to safely see Tom to a cell that would contain him.

"Nuremgard, Albus? Really?"

Millicent Bagnold had arrived, beyond his notice, an auror contingent at her back. Albus glanced at her, saw she was dressed in robes hastily put together, and nodded.

"Yes," he added. "It is our only option."

"I'll arrange an auror escort," she declared. "Perkins—"

"Have Alastor do so, Minister," he interrupted. "I suspect you will have much to do in the coming days." Further, Alastor would ensure that none of the aurors were sympathisers to Tom's cause. As much as it pained him to admit, the Ministry had suffered much corruption in recent years.

"Perkins," Miillicent continued, as if he had not spoken. "Send for Moody, tell him to put together a unit of his most trusted. Then have an Unspeakable bring the Chains of Antimagus. This is… this is quite unprecedented."

"I'm going," Bones declared, as Perkins Disapparated. "Both Black and I will accompany the Headmaster. And Auror Moody."

"Ah, yes, Auror Bones. As a member of the DMLE, it is your right to do so," Millicent said, "but Black…"

Sirius looked up at his name and smiled, blood on his teeth, a crazed glint to his eye. One to watch, Albus noted. Bloodlust had ever been a Black trait. No action necessary and perhaps it never would be, but certainly worth watching for.

"The only reason he hasn't yet escaped is my spell," Sirius said, yanking on his wand to tighten the black ichor that weaved around Tom's throat. "Family secret, I'm afraid."

Dark magic, Sirius meant. And yet it was hard to condemn him, for he had done the unthinkable, both him and Amelia, and captured a wizard whom even Gellert would no doubt bitterly admire.

Albus met Millicent's gaze and saw a similar awareness there. Even if Sirius had not been instrumental in Tom's capture, it was neigh on impossible to deny a Black, even one disgraced and disinherited such as Sirius was.

"Very well," Millicent said tartly. She began to give further instructions to the aurors that accompanied her, but Albus turned away, his attention once more fixed upon Tom.

Tom still glared at him. Albus bowed his head in acknowledgement of the wrongs he had done the boy and then the man. If he had been nurtured, would he have done wonderful things with his skill, instead of terrible?

It was not to be considered, not now, not until he was safely imprisoned, and Albus was abed, dwelling upon his myriad past mistakes.

Although he could hear the whispers of those around him, filled with joy and disbelief, Albus mourned, instead, for the loss of potential, and met Tom's vitriol filled gaze with his own, filled with regret.