The quiet village of Godric's Hollow lay in stillness under the cloak of night. The houses, nestled closely together, seemed frozen, their windows dark save for a few flickers of candlelight here and there. A soft autumn breeze stirred the trees, their leaves whispering secrets from days long past. The street lamps cast small pools of light across cobblestone paths, illuminating an otherwise tranquil scene. Yet, within this calm, danger lingered in the shadows—unseen and deadly.
On the edge of the village, one house stood apart, illuminated by the faint glow of a fire inside. The Potter residence was alive with warmth and the promise of safety—yet it was a fragile safety, built on the illusions of trust and the strength of a charm. Inside, Lily Potter cradled her infant son, Harry, against her chest, her gaze flickering to the window with worry. She could feel the tension in the air, a mounting unease that told her something was coming—something she could not prevent.
In the living room, James Potter paced, his wand twirling in his fingers, the nervous energy radiating from him almost palpable. He stopped and looked at Lily, his eyes betraying his concern.
"We're safe, Lily. The Fidelius Charm will hold. Peter won't betray us." His words were meant to be comforting, but they sounded hollow, even to him. James had known Peter Pettigrew for years and had trusted him with the most important secret of their lives. And yet, a nagging doubt tugged at the back of his mind—a doubt that Peter's timidity, his cowardice, might crumble under the weight of Voldemort's terror.
Lily smiled, but her heart wasn't in it. "I know, James. I trust him too. We have to."
She looked down at Harry, who was now asleep in her arms, oblivious to the storm that was brewing outside their home. His tiny fingers curled around her robe, a small gesture that filled her with an overwhelming sense of protectiveness. She brushed his dark hair, so much like James's, and wondered how they had ended up here—fugitives, hiding from a world that should have been their sanctuary.
The clock on the wall ticked loudly, each second bringing with it a sense of impending doom that neither of them wanted to acknowledge. Outside, the wind picked up, rustling the leaves more aggressively now. And then, without warning, the night erupted in chaos.
A loud crack echoed through the air—a sound that could only mean one thing. Apparition.
James's heart leapt into his throat as he grabbed his wand. "Lily, take Harry. Go!" he shouted, his voice breaking with urgency. There was no time to question what had gone wrong, no time to wonder how Voldemort had found them. The only thing that mattered now was protecting their son.
Lily's face went pale, her eyes wide with terror, but she did not hesitate. Clutching Harry to her chest, she sprinted up the stairs as James turned toward the door. His heart pounded in his chest as he positioned himself between the entrance and the stairs, his mind racing through every spell, every defense he had ever learned.
The front door exploded inward, wood splintering in all directions as the Dark Lord himself stepped through the wreckage. Voldemort's serpentine features were cast in the pale glow of the moonlight, his red eyes gleaming with cold malice. He moved with an eerie calm, his wand raised, as though the outcome of this confrontation was already assured.
James raised his wand, his voice firm as he whispered, "Bombarda Triplex Maxima"
But the spell barely had a chance to leave his lips before Voldemort's curse cut through the air. A flash of green light and James Potter fell, his body crumpling to the floor as his wand clattered beside him, lifeless. The wall behind Voldemort exploded into a shower of debris as he stepped over James, his eyes fixed on the stairs where Lily had disappeared moments before.
Upstairs, Lily heard the sound of James's body hitting the floor, her heart-shattering in that instant. She had no time to cry out, no time to grieve. She bolted toward Harry's crib, placing him gently inside and standing over him, her wand forgotten in her panic. The door creaked open, and Voldemort's silhouette filled the room, his cold eyes locking onto hers.
"Stand aside," he said, his voice a deadly whisper. "Stand aside, girl."
Lily's arms trembled, but she did not move. She knew there was no escape for her, no bargaining that could be done. But she would not, could not, let him take her son.
"Please, not Harry. Take me instead," she pleaded, her voice raw with desperation. "Please, not my baby."
Voldemort's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Stand aside, foolish girl… or you will die."
But Lily did not move. She stood her ground, a mother's love radiating from her in waves, stronger than any magic she could ever hope to wield. She would protect Harry, even at the cost of her life. And in that moment, a deep, ancient magic began to stir—magic born not from spells or incantations, but from sacrifice, from the purest form of love.
Voldemort's expression twisted with frustration. With a flick of his wand, he cast the curse that had ended so many lives before, the words falling from his lips like venom.
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light engulfed the room, and Lily Potter collapsed beside her son, her eyes wide and empty, her final breath leaving her in a soft sigh. Harry, still lying in his crib, let out a small, confused whimper, the world around him changing in ways he could not yet understand.
Voldemort turned his gaze to the child, his wand still raised. The prophecy had foretold this moment—the child who would grow up to be his undoing. This was the only way to ensure his victory. With cold detachment, he pointed his wand at the infant.
"Avada Kedavra."
The killing curse flew from his wand, the green light speeding toward the helpless child. But something happened that Voldemort had not anticipated. As the curse struck Harry, it rebounded, the force of the ancient magic Lily had invoked reflecting the deadly spell toward its caster.
Voldemort screamed as his body was torn apart, his very soul ripped from its vessel. In an instant, the Dark Lord was no more, his body and soul obliterated so completely that not even DEATH would have its claim, leaving only the faintest trace of his presence—a fragment of his soul fractured by his last act of existence taking a mother from her son, it clinging on so desperately trying to live, unknowingly latching onto the only vessel available: the infant Harry Potter.
As the room fell silent, the house stood still once more, but the air was thick with the remnants of the dark magic that had been unleashed. Harry lay in his crib, unharmed save for a thin, lightning-shaped scar on his forehead—a mark that would follow him for the rest of his life, a symbol of the night that had changed everything.
###
The quiet of the house was eerie, a stark contrast to the chaos that had just unfolded. Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it an almost mournful air. The wards surrounding the house shattered like glass, and the magical protections Lily and James Potter had carefully woven now hung in tatters, fading into the ether. Yet amidst the stillness, a subtle hum of ancient magic lingered, a powerful resonance left behind by a tragic sacrifice.
In the distance, a faint crack broke the silence—a sound imperceptible to most but unmistakable to those accustomed to magic. Moments later, Albus Dumbledore appeared at the threshold of the ruined house, his long robes swishing as he moved with surprising urgency. He paused for a moment, his keen eyes taking in the devastation before him: the scorched walls, the shattered remnants of furniture, and the oppressive, unnatural stillness that hung in the air.
The house felt wrong. Not simply broken, but hollowed. Dumbledore's hand tightened on his wand as he stepped inside, the elder wood thrumming faintly in his grasp, as though even it sensed the disturbance. He moved carefully through the wreckage, his steps silent yet purposeful, and stopped just short of the nursery.
The air inside the room was thick, laden with the remnants of unimaginable power. Dumbledore's blue eyes, usually twinkling with warmth and mirth, were grave as they fell upon the crib. There, amidst the ruin, lay Harry Potter, his small form impossibly untouched by the destruction around him. The child's breathing was soft and peaceful, only for his forehead which had a thin, lightning-shaped scar that glowed faintly with residual magic.
Dumbledore inhaled sharply, his long fingers brushing over the edge of the crib. His years of experience told him this was no ordinary magic. He closed his eyes, allowing his senses to stretch outward, searching for answers within the ambient mana. And then he felt it: an absence, like a missing piece of a puzzle. It was as though a part of life itself had been ripped away, leaving behind an unnatural void.
"Tom..." he murmured, the name heavy on his tongue. He could no longer sense Voldemort's presence—not his body, not his magic. It was as though the Dark Lord had been erased, obliterated so thoroughly that even his essence could no longer touch the world. But then there was something. A faint, flickering trace of Voldemort's magic, barely perceptible, clinging to Harry like a shadow.
Dumbledore's gaze hardened. The boy's survival was a miracle, but this trace of darkness… It was a question, a problem, and perhaps a danger. Whatever had occurred here tonight was beyond even his understanding. For Lily's magical sacrifice to repel such a curse was extraordinary, but this—the obliteration of Voldemort's body and soul—was something else entirely.
Abrupt, hurried footsteps on the stairs interrupted Dumbledore's thoughts. He turned just in time to see Sirius Black burst into the room, his eyes wild with fear and anguish.
"Dumbledore!" Sirius gasped, barely able to form words as he took in the scene. His gaze fell on James's lifeless body at the foot of the stairs, and for a moment, he seemed frozen in place, his chest rising and falling in rapid, shallow breaths. "James… Lily…"
His voice cracked with raw pain, and he stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside James. His hands trembled as they reached out, grief overwhelming him. For a long moment, Sirius could do nothing but stare at the fallen bodies of his best friends, the weight of their deaths crashing down upon him all at once.
"James," he whispered brokenly, "Lily…"
Dumbledore remained silent, allowing Sirius this moment of grief. But time was slipping away.
After what felt like an eternity, Sirius's tear-filled eyes drifted toward the crib where Harry lay. "Harry... Is he—?"
"He is alive," Dumbledore confirmed softly, though there was a tinge of uncertainty in his voice. "Harry survived, Sirius. He is unharmed, except for the scar Voldemort left behind."
Sirius staggered to his feet, his steps unsteady, and made his way to the crib. His hands gripped the edge of it as if to steady himself. His eyes softened as they fell upon the child, a glimmer of hope breaking through the devastation etched into his features.
"I'll take him," Sirius said suddenly, his voice firm. "I'm his godfather. I'll protect him."
Dumbledore's gaze darkened with caution. He was wary of Sirius, unsure of his role in this betrayal. "Sirius," he began slowly, "you were James's Secret Keeper... how could this have happened?"
"No!" Sirius's voice was desperate as he turned to face Dumbledore, shaking his head fiercely. "I wasn't the Secret Keeper. It wasn't me—it was Peter. We switched at the last moment to protect them. Peter was the one who betrayed them!"
Dumbledore's eyes narrowed, a flicker of doubt replaced by shock. But the cautious tension remained. "Peter Pettigrew? You expect me to believe that he was the one who kept their secret?"
Sirius's fists clenched as he fought to control the rage boiling within him. "You have to believe me, Dumbledore. I would have died before betraying James and Lily."
The intensity in Sirius's voice gave Dumbledore pause, but his expression remained unreadable. He studied Sirius carefully, still not fully convinced. "Even so," Dumbledore said, his tone still measured, "you are not in a position to take Harry. The Ministry will be hunting for someone to blame, and right now, they will think that is you."
Sirius opened his mouth to protest, but the truth of Dumbledore's words sank in. If he were caught, Harry would be left vulnerable, and Peter might escape. His shoulders sagged under the weight of his rage and grief, knowing that Dumbledore was right.
"Then where?" Sirius asked, his voice raw. "You can't leave him here."
Dumbledore nodded. "You're right. I won't. He needs to be with family—someone who can protect him, someone who will care for him."
Sirius's eyes lit up with sudden realization. "The Tonkses," he said quickly. "Andromeda's family. She's my cousin—Harry has Black blood in him, through his grandmother, Dorea. Andromeda and Ted are good people. They'll take care of him."
Dumbledore paused, considering the suggestion. Andromeda Tonks had been disowned by the Black family for marrying Ted, a Muggle-born, but she was a skilled witch and fiercely protective of those she loved. The connection to the Black family through family magic and blood connection should at least hold or even strengthen the sacrificial protection magic around Harry, and the Tonks's home was already isolated enough to be a safe refuge.
"The Tonks family," Dumbledore mused, nodding thoughtfully. "Yes. Andromeda is capable, and their home can be made secure. Harry would not only be protected but cared for. They also have a young daughter, Nymphadora. Harry would grow up in a family that understands both the magical and Muggle worlds."
Sirius nodded, some of the tension leaving his face. "Dora's a few years older, but she'll be good with him. The Tonkses—they'll take care of him, Dumbledore. It's temporary, though, right? Once I clear my name, I'll take him myself."
Dumbledore regarded Sirius for a moment, his expression unreadable. "First, we must find Peter. Without him, clearing your name will be near impossible. Until then, Harry will need a home where he is safe from further harm. The Tonks family is the best option."
Sirius's jaw clenched, but he gave a sharp nod. "I'll find him," he promised, his voice steely. "I'll make this right."
Dumbledore placed a firm hand on Sirius's shoulder. "Do what you must, but be careful. Voldemort's reach may be gone, but Peter's betrayal is only part of this. There are others in his web."
Sirius's face darkened, but he said nothing as he turned and strode from the house, his determination plain. Left alone in the wreckage of the Potters' home, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the nursery. He approached the crib and carefully lifted Harry, the child stirring faintly but settling against him.
When Andromeda Tonks opened the door to her home, she was met with the solemn figure of Dumbledore, Harry cradled protectively in his arms. Her sharp features softened at the sight of the baby, and without hesitation, she extended her arms to take him. Behind her, Ted Tonks appeared, his gaze filled with quiet understanding.
"Sirius sent his Patronus," Andromeda said softly, her voice steady though her eyes betrayed her sorrow. "He told us… about Lily and James."
"Yes," Dumbledore replied gravely. "A great loss, but Harry has survived. For now, I need your help to keep him safe."
Andromeda nodded, her arms tightening around Harry instinctively. "Of course. We'll do whatever it takes."
Ted stepped forward. "What protections will be needed, Professor? We've made preparations, but I'm sure you'll want to reinforce them."
Dumbledore gave a small nod. "Indeed. Your home will need to be unplottable, with layers of wards to guard against hostile intent, magical tracking, and intrusion." He paused, his eyes sharp. "I must ask for some time to construct these protections. I will ensure the initial wards are sufficient, but the more intricate work may take a day or two."
"You'll handle it personally?" Andromeda asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
"Yes," Dumbledore said. "Harry's protection is of paramount importance, and time is of the essence. I will return tomorrow to complete the work. For tonight, the initial wards will suffice."
Andromeda looked down at Harry, her expression softening. "We'll protect him with everything we have."
Nymphadora, standing in the background with her hair an eager shade of pink, chimed in, "I'll help! I can babysit, keep him entertained—and teach him magic when he's old enough!"
A faint smile touched Andromeda's lips. "Perhaps not just yet, Dora."
Ted chuckled. "You'll be a great big sister, though."
Dumbledore's lips curved faintly before his expression grew sombre once more. "Thank you, both. Sirius intends to clear his name and take Harry into his care, but until that time, your home will be his refuge."
Andromeda met his gaze with quiet strength. "He's is family."
By dawn the next day, Dumbledore returned to the Tonks home, his wand already in hand. He spent the better part of the day layering the house with protections. With Andromeda and Ted assisting as much as they could, the home was soon cloaked in advanced charms: unplottability, anti-apparition wards, enchantments to repel hostile intent, and a Protego Totalum that would shield the household from both physical and magical intrusions.
"These spells will hold for now," Dumbledore said, lowering his wand and looking toward Andromeda and Ted. "I will return periodically to reinforce and adjust them. However, should anything feel amiss, contact me immediately."
Andromeda placed a hand on Harry's back, who was asleep in her arms. "We'll keep watch, Professor."
Peter Pettigrew skulked in a filthy alley, his watery eyes scanning the shadows for threats. The stench of refuse clung to the damp air, and every creak of the wind sent his heart racing. His wand trembled in his clammy hand, his mind replaying the same anxious mantra: Sirius is coming. He always comes.
A sharp, cold voice shattered the silence. "Hiding like the coward you are, Pettigrew?"
Peter spun around, his wand shaking as he pointed it at the source of the voice. From the shadows emerged Barty Crouch Jr., his gaunt face twisted into a gleeful sneer, his wild eyes gleaming with malice. The sight of him sent a chill racing down Peter's spine.
"B-Barty," Peter stammered, stumbling back a step. "What are you doing here?"
Barty tilted his head, the corner of his mouth curling into a mocking smile. "Checking on my dear comrade," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "It's not every day a loyal servant of the Dark Lord—one so trusted—ends up whimpering in the gutters."
Peter flushed, clutching his wand tightly. "You don't understand! Sirius—he's coming for me! I had no choice, Barty. The Dark Lord—something happened i don't know if I hadn't—"
"Spare me your excuses, Wormtail," Barty cut in, his voice sharp as a blade. He stepped closer, his wand loosely held at his side, though it radiated a faint, threatening energy. "You think grovelling justifies your betrayal of the Dark Lord? You handed over the Potters, didn't you? And now you can't even handle the consequences of your actions."
Peter's breathing grew erratic. "I did what I had to! I—I was never meant to fight! Voldemort knew that. He—he used me because I was disposable!"
"Disposable?" Barty's voice turned icy, his grin twisting into something darker. "You're more than disposable, Pettigrew. You'll be useful then used right. And you'll continue to be until I decide otherwise."
Peter flinched. "What do you mean?"
Barty raised an eyebrow, his tone laced with mockery. "Oh, Peter. Do you think I came here to save your miserable hide out of loyalty? You're a tool. A coward's desperation can be very... productive." His eyes gleamed dangerously. "You're going to help me lay the groundwork for our Lord's return."
Peter's jaw dropped. "Voldemort—he's gone! Dead! You can't bring him back!"
Barty laughed, the sound harsh and grating. "You think death is enough to destroy the Dark Lord? He'll rise again, Pettigrew, and I'll be there to serve him. The question is whether you'll serve willingly or be a corpse."
Peter took a shaky step back, his breath catching. "no, I—I need to get away. Sirius—"
Barty's grin widened. "Ah, yes. Your old friend, coming to avenge the Potters. I wonder how long you'll last against him."
The distant roar of Sirius's motorbike interrupted them, growing louder with each passing second. Peter froze, his face paling. "He's here," he whispered.
Barty smirked, raising his wand lazily. "Then you'd better run, Wormtail."
Peter didn't need to be told twice. His form began to blur, shifting into the wiry shape of a rat, but before he could fully transform, Barty flicked his wand. Peter froze mid-shift, writhing in half-human agony as Barty turned toward the approaching noise.
Sirius's motorbike skidded to a halt, the sound echoing through the alley. He leapt from the bike, wand drawn, his grey eyes blazing with fury. "Pettigrew!" he bellowed, his voice echoing like thunder. "Show yourself, you spineless worm!"
Barty stepped forward, blocking Sirius's view of Peter. "Always so dramatic, Black," he drawled. "Though I suppose it suits you."
Sirius's eyes narrowed, his wand snapping to point at Barty. "Crouch," he spat. "What are you doing with him? He betrayed James and Lily. He's mine."
"Oh, I know," Barty said with a grin. "But I'm afraid I can't let you have him just yet."
Sirius didn't wait for a reply. He fired a stunning spell, but Barty deflected it with ease, retaliating with a dark curse that Sirius barely dodged. The two wizards clashed in a flurry of spells, the alley lighting up with bursts of magic.
Peter, still partially frozen by Barty's earlier spell, managed to shift fully into his rat form. He darted toward the shadows, his tiny body slipping through a crack in the wall as Sirius's curses rang out behind him.
Sirius's focus shifted back to Barty, but another well-aimed hex from the Death Eater caught him off guard. He staggered, his wand slipping from his grasp as Barty advanced, his grin feral.
"You always were too reckless, Black," Barty sneered. With a flick of his wand, he sent Sirius crashing to the ground, his vision swimming. As the darkness closed in, the last thing Sirius saw was Barty's manic smile.