Prologue: All Hollows Eve

A cool mist clung to the ground as the sun set on October 31. No sound or trace of movement belied the presence of a man approaching the gate of a cottage in the old village known as Godric's Hollow. Had it not been for a slight miscalculation on the man's part, he would have gone completely unnoticed, invisible under the strongest of magics. However, in his arrogance, he underestimated the cleverness of a woman he deemed his inferior in every way. As such, he was unaware that his presence had triggered a ward and he was now known to the small family he currently hunted.

Inside, a young man glanced meaningfully at his wife, who had suddenly stopped her pacing with a gasp. "He's here, isn't he?" A nod was the woman's only response before she ran to him and hugged him forcefully, tears already forming in her emerald green eyes. Without a word, she separated from him and dashed up the stairs to the nursery where their son, now fifteen months old, stared back at her, almost as if he understood that something was amiss. In the room below, James Potter prepared to greet their most unwelcome guest.

An explosion ripped the front door from its hinges, and Lord Voldemort stepped across the threshold. His voice was smooth and strong as he taunted the man he found waiting for him. "Well, Prongs, we meet again. It does not do to put so much trust in friends, it would seem."

James remained impassive. Inwardly, however, he was heartbroken by the betrayal he knew Voldemort was referencing. Never taking his eyes off of Voldemort, he prepared to defend his family. It was why he had remained downstairs. He had no notions of survival, he only hoped to buy his wife and son a little time.

When he sensed no response was forthcoming, Lord Voldemort attacked. "Crucio!" he shouted, sending a pale red curse speeding toward James. James quickly dodged, a spell already forming on his lips as the curse exploded behind him. "Reducto, Incarcerous, Protego Maxima!" he roared. Voldemort's high, cruel laugh was the only response as a shield flared wordlessly into existence and deflected the two spells, forcing James to take cover behind his own shield charm as the living room was destroyed around him. Blood red eyes narrowed in disappointment as the opening spell fire closed. Respectable auror though he was, James Potter had never been faced with an opponent who could sneer at the power of his casting. Still, it was an opening volley hardly expected to take down any hardened criminal, let alone any competent dark wizard. Voldemort was several times more powerful than even his most dangerous followers, however, and was hardly threatened by such spells.

James had not been called a transfiguration prodigy for nothing, and now the rubble around him would serve in his next attack. A few slashes of his wand as he rolled away from a sickly yellow curse turned broken furniture into a pack of wolves. Voldemort pierced each of their skulls in quick succession, still mocking his opponent all the while. A sick sort of humour occurred to James as he transfigured hundreds of rats and sent them all to a death by fire from the Dark Lord's wand. In response, Voldemort transfigured the ropes James had conjured earlier into snakes that finished off the last of the rats before turning on James. Hastily transfigured stones crushed several serpent skulls, but one slipped past the attack and sank its fangs into his leg. A grunt of pain escaped James and he stumbled, now knowing his death would come from venom if not spell fire. He twisted and cast a silent blasting curse that missed his opponent, though barely, and called forth another shield as a wand was trained on him once more.

"Avada Kedavra," Voldemort hissed, his voice dripping with malice. A blinding green light hit James squarely in the chest, and he knew no more.

Lily waited for Voldemort to appear, having heard the soft thump of James' body hitting the floor. She stood firm, shielding her son as her most hated enemy glided up the stairs. Red eyes met green and there was a flicker of hesitation before the monster in front of her spoke. "Step aside, foolish girl. There is no reason for you to die like your husband." For her part, Lily did nothing but continue to stare into the now seething red eyes before her. "Your life has been spoken for, mudblood, step aside!" Voldemort raised his wand in warning. He was not going to repeat himself again. With a single tear making its way down her face, Lily whispered "Not Harry. Please not Harry. Just kill me, not Harry. I love him." The last three words were spoken resolutely, as if they would matter to the man about to kill them both. Voldemort was frustrated by her refusal, and though he could have forced her aside, the Dark Lord was incensed. Another burst of green light, and Lily Potter joined her husband in death. She had not even drawn her wand.

Green eyes much like the ones he had met a moment ago stared up at Voldemort curiously. So, this is the child who would have grown to rival my power, Voldemort mused as he looked down at the last Potter. A pity he'll never get the chance. A soft green light formed at the end of Voldemort's wand, in tune with his intentions as ever.

"Avada Kedavra"

A strangled shout was ripped from Voldemort's lips as the spell tore across the child's forehead like lightning and raced back to strike Voldemort's chest. A pain like no other prevented Voldemort from making any further sounds as his body and soul were rent apart. In the following silence, the child looked to his mother, waiting in vain for her to comfort him.

Before the attack had even ended, a young man in London began racing to Godric's Hollow. A Marauder's bond, formed between childhood friends, had been severed, and Sirius Black feared the worst had befallen his brother in all but blood. His mood worsened when he finally arrived at the cottage, his enchanted motorcycle tossed aside immediately. The signs of forced entry were apparent, as the wards had collapsed, and the doorway looked like an open wound on the house, ragged and burnt at the edges. The far corner of the cottage was in ruins, blown apart by whatever dark magic had been used to end the lives of the family that was meant to be safest here.

Sirius knew that James was dead even before he saw the body. The severing of the bond they shared was proof enough of that. It was obvious that a killing curse had finished him, but small cuts covered James' body, likely from the debris that the explosive spells had created. Voldemort would have considered it a waste to spill noble blood, Sirius thought ruefully as he kneeled beside his oldest friend. He wept with inconsolable grief, knowing that his only true family was now dead because he had convinced them to trust another. It should have been me. I would have died to protect them. A soft sound alerted Sirius to another's presence in the house and quicker than a thought he was standing with his wand at the ready. If Voldemort was still there, Sirius was going to have his vengeance.

Following the sound, Sirius sneaked up the stairs, unsure what he would find in the rooms above. Peering around the corner, he saw the destruction he had noticed before from outside. The master bedroom was mostly intact, though there was a large hole blasted through the wall that separated it from the nursery. The nursery itself was all but gone, the roof and far wall having collapsed from the damage sustained. In the center of the room lay another of his friends, even more peaceful in death than her husband. Whether by accident or design, Lily's body rested in the one spot that Sirius could see was untouched by the explosion.

As he rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, the sound became clearer, and far less threatening. A soft cry nearly froze Sirius is shock before he abandoned all caution and ran to find its source. There, sitting in his crib, was Sirius' godson, Hadrian James Potter.

The area around the boy was unscathed, just as Lily's body appeared to be. Sirius reached to pick up his godson with reverence, as though afraid he might find himself in a dream. Crying tears of joy now, he cradled the boy to his chest, noting with astonishment the lightning scar that seemed to carry a faint green glow.

A soft pop alerted Sirius to a new presence on the property, though he recognized the man at once from his vantage point. Only one person he knew was quite so large, after all. He looked down at Harry, who was now sleeping in his arms, and made his way to meet the new arrival.

"Hello Hagrid."

Immediately the huge man raised a pink umbrella in Sirius' direction. The half-giant's stance was clearly defensive, and he looked as threatening as possible, despite his choice of weapon. When Sirius made no move to attack, he lowered the umbrella.

"Thought ya' migh' 'ta been You-Know-Who," Hagrid said, upon recognizing Sirius for who he was.

"Given the circumstances, I can't fault your reaction, Hagrid, but tell me, how did you know to come?"

"Dumbledore said something about the wards fallin', and told me to check in." Hagrid looked pointedly at Sirius, as though to ask the same question in return. Sirius merely repositioned Hadrian in his arms to reveal a tattoo and said, "Marauders' bond." Hagrid seemed to understand, having known Sirius in his time as a student. The movement brought the child to Hagrid's attention and the man's eyes went wide as he looked from the bundle in Sirius' arms to Sirius and back again.

"Harry?" he finally managed to choke out. "You can't mean to take him, Sirius. Dumbledore should be lookin' after him now that Lily and James are…." His voice grew heavy and he reached into his coat and pulled out a quilt to blow his nose.

"I intended to bring him to Dumbledore myself, actually. There is something I must take care of." Sirius' tone became more menacing as he finished. He shook his head and continued. "Now that you're here, I suppose it would be best to let you take him, though I do intend for Harry to live with me once I get settled. I am his godfather, after all." Hagrid nodded in agreement and held out his arms to take Harry with him. Sirius offered Hagrid his motorcycle, once he had charmed it to match the man's size. After he watched Hagrid depart with his godson, Sirius apparated away to confront a traitorous friend.

Chapter 1: A Fateful Letter

A tabby cat leapt onto the garden wall at number four, Privet Drive. The residents of number four had never owned such a creature, as they considered pets an unnecessary responsibility. Vernon Dursley was perhaps the most vocal on the matter, but this was well within character. A rather seriously overweight man, he was loud about most everything, and his stature made him hard to ignore in any case. He was especially loud about things he disliked, with one distinct exception.

Petunia Dursley was another matter entirely. Thin and nearly as tall as her husband, she said very little in public, and spent most of her words praising her son, Dudley. To the Dursleys, there was no child worthier of spoiling than their son, and Dudley took after his father in both size and temper. In all other matters of conversation, Mrs. Dursley was tight lipped, as if afraid her tongue might slip. The Dursleys had a secret, and were terrified that it may one day be revealed.

Mrs. Dursley had a sister (of whom she rarely ever spoke) and a brother-in-law (whom she never spoke of at all). The Potters were entirely unlike the Dursleys, and as such, Petunia did her best to avoid them and their kind altogether. It was for this reason that she knew nothing of her nephew, whom she would have ignored anyway.

The tabby cat began to observe number four and its residents as the new day began. Insofar as cats could be disappointed, this one certainly was. Though the cat never moved from the wall, or even seemed to move at all, she was intensely aware of the happenings within the house. The male Dursleys did nothing to hide their habits, and they were both conspicuously vocal in their own way. The cat heard all sorts of information from the Dursleys as they went about their morning business, and none of it seemed to please her. The adults were unpleasant in the extreme, prone to anger at the slightest provocation, only to stop when their son seized their attention. For his part, Dudley seemed very skilled at this childish method of distraction. Dudley was nearly two years old, and it seemed his vocabulary was limited to simple demands and some concerning expletives. The cat curled her lip in disgust as she forced herself to stay put. She was sure there would be a good explanation for the Dursleys involvement, though she could not fathom what it might be.

It was at that moment that Mr. Dursley made his exit from the house, complaining loudly about the weather. He noticed the cat on his garden wall and immediately shouted "shoo!" expecting to scare it off. He took a step closer and tried again before he noticed the attention he was receiving from his neighbors. "Must be a stray," he said to no one in particular. Now complaining about cats, he made his way to his car and hurried off to work. Mr. Dursley was the director of a manufacturing plant, called Grunnings, and always arrived late. No one really seemed to mind his absence in the mornings.

A small owl landed on the wall beside the cat, as if lacking any basic survival instinct. Looking steadily at the cat, it dropped a note it had been carrying in its beak and took off again with a satisfied hoot. The cat herself, having seen this behavior countless times, merely paused her observations to read the note left in front of her. Reading, of course, was not a behavior found in normal cats, but this one seemed to manage quite well. In graceful calligraphy, the note read "Minerva, I arrive at midnight -A." Glancing at the sky, the cat, presumably named Minerva, as the note was addressed to her, guessed the time to be nearly noon. Surely, she could wait another twelve hours. She stretched and yawned, returning once more to purely feline behavior, and resumed her vigil.

Nothing of note happened during the following few hours except the passage of several more owls overhead. Though none bothered Minerva directly, she flicked her ears in annoyance as more residents of the neighborhood took notice.

When Mr. Dursley returned home later that evening he paid no attention to the rather odd cat at all. As he passed by her spot on the wall, he muttered frantically "… good for nothing… freaks in cloaks… the Potters… mustn't say a word to Petunia."

Minerva hissed as she heard the names mentioned. Of course, she knew the Potters. Everyone did. Though she had been sitting rigidly on the wall all day, even she had heard the rumors circulating about that family in particular. It was the reason she was at number four, as Hagrid had told her this house was somehow important. Such news went a long way toward explaining the constant stream of owls, but Petunia's name meant something else altogether. That name was known by only a few. Only those closest to her younger sister, Lily Potter. Immediately anxious, knowing now that she was in the presence of the few muggles she truly despised, the cat leapt from the wall to listen in more closely. However, true to his word, Mr. Dursley said nothing more on the subject. Now uneasy due to the shock of her discovery, Minerva paced along the wall, impatiently waiting for midnight. She had a feeling she knew what was happening and she didn't approve in the least.

At exactly midnight, a faint crack echoed down the street. From the shadows stepped a man unlike any other that had been seen on Privet Drive. Dressed in robes that trailed the ground, with a beard nearly as long, Albus Dumbledore made his way toward number four, eyes twinkling behind half-moon spectacles. As he passed each streetlamp, a tiny silver device in his hand clicked and drew the light into itself, leaving the street in total darkness. The cat was unbothered, as she could see just fine in the dark. She seemed to meet the man's gaze and he nodded in polite recognition.

"Good evening, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said pleasantly. He took a moment to put the silver device into a pocket in his robes. When he looked up again, a rather severe-looking woman had taken the cat's place. She wore robes much like Dumbledore's except that hers were emerald rather than red. She looked especially anxious now that she was no longer alone. A full day of waiting had made her understandably tense. Dumbledore continued speaking, knowing what information his old friend desired.

"I am afraid the rumors are true, Minerva. All of them, as far as I can tell." He spoke solemnly, his voice betraying his emotions. "Lily and James are dead. Voldemort found them, meaning we can assume the Fidelius failed. Hadrian was found alive in what was left of the cottage. Hagrid will be bringing him here shortly."

That seemed to startle Minerva and she shifted into an even more attentive position. "You think it wise to trust Hagrid with such a task?" she asked fearfully.

Dumbledore answered her with a touch of anger. "I would trust Hagrid with my life." His tone gave Minerva pause, and she dipped her head in acknowledgement. While she did not trust the half-giant absolutely, she did trust Dumbledore, and that was enough for her.

As if on cue, a loud rumbling interrupted the two professors. As the sound grew louder, a single headlight appeared in the sky and flooded the street with new light, momentarily blinding Minerva, who had not looked away in time. The sound ceased as an enormous motorcycle, ridden by an equally enormous man, pulled into the driveway of number four.

"Hello Professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall."

"Hello Hagrid," Dumbledore replied. "I trust that all is well?"

"Yes, Professor. Little Harry here fell asleep just as we was flyin' over Bristol." He received a nod in response.

"Excellent work Hagrid. Was there anything else?"

"Yes, sir. Harry's been cursed, but I dunno how. Sirius Black was bringin' him out when I got there. He's got a nasty cut on his head, but he wasn't bleeding or nothin'."

"Show me. I will do what I can for him, though if he truly did survive the killing curse as we suspect, I doubt even I will be able to help fully."

Dumbledore drew his wand as he spoke, and he became more serious as Hagrid removed the child from his bundle of blankets. The wound Hagrid had mentioned was the first thing Dumbledore saw as he inspected the boy. As Hagrid had said, the cut itself was clean. Dumbledore immediately began waving his wand over the area, casting diagnostic charms even as he attempted to close the jagged gash. After several minutes, the mark had faded to a gleaming white scar, but would heal no further.

Dumbledore slumped against the garden wall, surprised by the amount of energy he had used, and concerned by the traces of magic he detected around the new scar. That would require some investigation when he returned to Hogwarts. Knowing Voldemort as he did, Dumbledore was prepared for the worst.

Professor McGonagall broke the ensuing silence, grimly looking at the house they stood just outside of. She felt her suspicions about their location were confirmed, given Harry's arrival. She addressed Dumbledore directly. "Would you care to explain why we are at the home of Lily's sister, Albus? You know as well as I that the two did not get along after Lily joined our world."

Dumbledore was solemn as he answered, "the boy will require protection from those who would wish him harm. There are many of Voldemort's followers who would not hesitate to take revenge for their fallen master." If Dumbledore noticed the look of panic on Hagrid's face as he named the dark wizard, he did not mention it. Minerva fared slightly better, though she too visibly shuddered at the name. Albus continued as if unaware of their reactions. "The relationship between Lily Potter and Petunia Dursley will provide significant defense to Harry, as they share blood. The wards I can set here would protect him from almost all danger. Living here will also prevent him from being influenced by the fame that will surely be thrust upon him, until he is ready."

With his explanation given, Dumbledore drew a vial from his robes and pricked Harry's finger to draw blood. He healed the boy, who had woken at the slight pain, and used several drops from the vial to coat a stone with runes carved into it. He used magic to activate the blood wards anchored by the stone and buried it. He layered additional protections around the property until he seemed satisfied with his work.

Dumbledore returned to his companions and gingerly removed Harry from Hagrid's arms. He felt a surprising rush of magic as Harry latched onto his finger. Dumbledore's concern returned, knowing that such strong magic was likely to draw unwanted attention as the boy grew. With a quickly muttered spell and a discreet wave of his wand, Dumbledore felt the energy decrease significantly. Satisfied, he set the child on the front step, bundled in blankets and once again fast asleep.

Professor McGonagall and Hagrid had stood back, and when Dumbledore returned to them, they both turned to leave. Hagrid climbed onto the motorcycle. The redness around his eyes and slight shaking of his shoulders suggested he had been crying as he watched the scene unfold. Professor McGonagall simply left the newly warded property, turned on the spot, and disappeared. She had forgotten her reasons for objecting to Dumbledore's plan, and decided that it was likely for the best.

Having dismissed his colleagues, Dumbledore returned to where Harry was settled and pulled a bit of parchment from his robes. He left the note addressed to Petunia in the folds of Harry's blankets, sure it would be found with him in the morning. Though he agreed with Minerva's assessment of the Dursleys, he believed the arrangement was necessary. Dumbledore intended to return when the boy was ready to attend Hogwarts. He believed Harry would find a home here, given time. How very wrong he was.