A/N: I've always wanted to do one of these stories, as I feel there is so much potential in this part of the fandom. The interactions with the family can be complex or simple. However, I don't believe that either Lily or James would outright abuse their child. I read those stories too, but I never felt them to be realistic. Fun to read, yes. Hopefully this will be a good story.

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Lord Voldemort was in a good mood tonight. This alone was cause for alarm in itself, given who he was. After all, who would be happy that a psychopathic murderer was in a good mood? Walking through the town of Godric's Hollow, named as such for the fact that the mother of Godric Gryffindor himself had lived here before meeting the Lord Gryffindor and falling in love.

A cruel smile played at the edge of the Dark Lord's lips, thinking on the irony that the last descendants of Gryffindor would die in the birthplace of their hero.

'How...fitting. Such irony of course, will go unnoticed by most of these pathetic sheep in the magical world. A pity.'

A young child ran up to him, cheeks flushed and rosy from running around in the cold October night.

"Cool costume, mister!"

The self-styled Dark Lord turned to look at the impudent brat that dared to insult him. As the poor child saw the face underneath the hood of the Dark Lord's cloak, his mouth opened in a soundless scream, before turning and running, no doubt fleeing back to it's filthy muggle mother.

Voldemort fingered the grip of his wand. 'It would be so easy,' he mused, 'two words, and the little beast would never reach it's mother.' But the 'Darkest wizard in an age' had a task to complete. Later, he assured himself. After his task here was complete, and his immortality assured, then he would wipe the town of Godric's Hollow off the map to celebrate.

Reaching his destination, he looked at the modest two-floor cottage in front of him. Some would call it cosy. Others, quaint. Voldemort cared little, since he would soon be burning the cottage to the ground anyway. Raising his wand, he unlocked the door without a sound and stepped over the threshold, causing a sudden Caterwauling Charm to go off.

"Lily! It's him! Take the twins and run! I'll hold him off! Go!"

Hold him off? He, the most powerful wizard in the world? Voldemort almost laughed. Walking into the living room, he batted away a Blood-Boiling Hex aimed at his head.

"And here I was, gong to offer you the chance to live. Every drop of pure blood spilt is a terrible waste after all. But now, you've sealed your fate, James Potter! Crucio!"

Potter dodged the curse and sent a string of Blasting Hexes at him. Sweeping them to the side - and really, why did the wizards of Britain consider wandless magic to be difficult? It was simplicity in itself, after all - he responded with a volley of Killing Curses. Incredibly, Potter dodged all of the deadly jets of green light, responding with a chain of increasingly dangerous curses. Voldemort dodged them all, except the last, a Cutting Curse which slashed a huge trail up his left arm.

Both wizards stood there for a moment, one frozen by disbelief, the other by fury. Finally, Voldemort moved, sending out a Nightmare Curse which would cause the person held under the curse to relive the worst moments of their life, similar to the effects of a Dementor. It was one of the Dark Lord's personal creations, and one he was rather proud of. Deciding that he would kill the fool later - 'Perhaps I'll show him the bodies of his children before he dies. Yes, that should be fitting punishment for daring to harm ME.' - Voldemort stepped over his opponent's twitching body, sweeping up the stairs to the nursery. Stepping in, he noticed that the Mudblood chit was busy trying to bring down his Anti-Apparition and Anti-Portkey wards. Hearing him approach, she turned, eyes widening as she realised her wand was in his possession.

"Step aside, girl, and I shall spare your life."

"No, please, not my children, please, please, anything but them, please..."

The little Mudblood's incessant whinging was beginning to grate on his eardrums. Throwing another Nightmare Curse at the bitch, he noted that she didn't even move out it's path. Looking at her as he walked towards the cribs, he bowed.

"I can respect bravery, girl. Your death shall be quick when it comes."

Turning to the two cribs in the room, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named - and really, who came up with that ridiculous appellation? - began to compare the two children before him. The elder of the two - Harry, he thought the child was called - was gazing at him, not in fear, but in curiosity, as though asking why he was there. Conversely, the younger child - Adrian, if Peter Pettigrew was correct, pathetic fool the man was - was currently bawling his eyes out in fear. (In actuality, the younger child's thumb had been caught in the gap between the side of his crib and the wall, and his tears were from pain, not fear, but the Dark Lord would not have believed this if he knew it, and would have insisted the child was simply terrified of him.) Turning back to the older child, Lord Voldemort made his choice.

"You remind me rather of myself, child. Truly, you are the only one who could be my equal. Fear not. Your death shall be quick. It may even be painless. I would not know. After all, I will never die."

Lifting his wand in a salute, the Dark Lord brought his wand sweeping down, uttering the words witches and wizards everywhere feared to hear. "Avada Kedavra!"

A jet of green light flew towards the child, a rushing sound filling the room. But just as the curse would have struck home, an ethereal green, semi-corporeal wall of light appeared before the child, the curse fighting to try and get past it. Looking on in shock, Lord Voldemort suddenly noticed the child was focusing on the shield, one slightly pudgy hand raised in front of him.

'Impossible. Could this mere child be doing what no other wizard or witch ever has?'

Unfortunately for the Dark Lord, his moment of shock cost him dearly, as the shield finally reflected the curse back to it's caster, a wave of raw magic literally exploding outwards from Harry James Potter, blasting the room apart, and causing the body of the Dark Lord to disintegrate. The soul of Voldemort cursed, before fleeing the crumbling ruin of the house, vowing revenge on Harry Potter as it went. As it was leaving, a wooden beam fell over the crib that held Adrian Charlus Potter, a part of it snapping off and slicing two lines on his cheek, which vaguely resembled the mathematical sign for equals. (=) Adrian began crying from the pain again, while his brother, exhausted from the sheer effort that the shield he created required, collapsed, magically drained. The last action he took while conscious was to heal his brother's scar as best he could. Alas, since he was merely a child, he was not completely successful, and the remnant of the scar would always remain. As he slumbered, his magic healed the scar left by his own brush with death - literally. The lightning bolt faded until only someone who already knew it was there would be able to see it.

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Whilst the 'most feared Dark Lord' in modern times was attacking the home of the Potters, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks (a group similar to the Muggle United Nations), and all around 'good' guy, was holding a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix, a group known to very few, whose history expanded back centuries, and, some whispered, even millennia, and whose sworn duty was to stand vigilant against the evil that would always be present, lurking in the shadowed corners of the world.

Unfortunately, the current Order of the Phoenix left much to be desired. The last two wars against Dark Lords, one so soon after the other, had taken their toll, and the 'Light' side was outnumbered and outgunned - metaphorically, of course. Add to that the reluctance of their leader to use any spell that could hurt someone, preferring instead to try and redeem the irredeemable. This had been a point of contention for many years among this group.

"For the love of Hecate, Albus! Wars are not won with hugs and kisses! We have to fight back! Or are you content to sit back and watch as we are slaughtered, by people who barely deserve the title of 'human'?!" This, surprisingly, came from Pomona Sprout, a recent addition to their numbers, and Head of Hufflepuff at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. A woman well known for her patience and kindly, jovial attitude.

"Pomona, while I appreciate your fervour, and share your desire to end this war soon, we must rise above our enemies, lest we become the very thing we fight against."

"Albus, I do not wish to become as our foes have, but surely you can see that we are fighting a losing battle right now. Unless we begin fighting back, sooner or later - and most likely sooner - we will all go the way of poor Dorcas." The person referred to by Minerva McGonagall, Dorcas Meadows, had recently been found, savaged and mauled. The death had been attributed to Fenrir Greyback and his pack of near-rabid werewolves, who had been roaming the country, preying on the unwary for the majority of the war, and had recently declared an alliance with the Death Eaters.

Fortunately for Dumbledore, any further complaints were halted by a sudden explosion of noise from one of the trinkets on his shelf, before it began deathly silent once more. The wizened face paled, before he leapt into action, surprisingly spry for a man of his advanced years, some would say. Shouting orders left and right, he prepared everyone to head to the cottage in Godric's Hollow. Normally, the others in the room wouldn't have been able to know where said cottage was, or even that it existed. However, on this particular night, the house in question no longer existed. Or at least, enough damage had been done to it that it could no longer sustain the wards placed upon it, thus breaking the Fidelius Charm. For his former student's sake, Albus hoped that a charm had gone awry, but didn't hold out much hope, if any.

Apparating to the site, Albus was met by a towering inferno, blazing out of control, where the house once stood. Rushing towards the house, Albus attempted to enter, but was barred by the appearance of two adults from within the house, each with a baby in their arms, and exhaustion and pain lining their faces. But beyond that, and Dumbledore did see this, too, was hints of joy, and the beginnings of hope.

"Lily! James! You're both alive! What happened? Has Sirius...?"

It was James that answered, helping Lily to climb out of the ruins of what had once been their house. "Voldemort attacked. Put some kind of curse on me and Lily that affects people like a Dementor. Attacked the kids. Sirius is innocent. We switched, but didn't tell anyone. Peter is the one you want. Now if you'll excuse me, Albus, my wife and I are going to St Mungo's."

"Of course, m'boy. Here, allow me." Picking up a fragment of what might once have been part of a window-frame, Albus tapped it with his wand, muttering "Portus." as he did so. Handing it to the family, he returned to the rest of the Order, sending them to search for Peter Pettigrew, with orders to bring him in alive, and to ignore common belief that Sirius was Secret-Keeper for the Potters. With that task accomplished, he apparated to the reception of St Mungo's Hospital, and headed towards the room that contained not just an incredibly fortunate family, but possibly the miracle Albus had been praying for.

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A/N: Well, there you have it. Love it? Hate it? Not sure what to make of it, so want more before you make a desicion? Let me know! Reviewing is free, and brings good fortune to the reviewer! (Warning: The previous statement may not be factually correct. The author does not claim responsibility for any bad fortune visited upon reviewers after they have reviewed the story.)