The Life-Shattering Halloween
The night of October 31, 1981, was cloaked in an unnatural stillness as Lord Voldemort approached Godric’s Hollow. His crimson eyes glinted with cold determination as he moved through the narrow, silent streets. His mind flickered with dark satisfaction at the thought of Peter Pettigrew’s betrayal. Wormtail, ever the coward, had proved useful after all, handing over his friends without so much as a whisper of remorse. It amused Voldemort to think of the pitiful rat’s fear when he discovered his treachery would ultimately lead to the Potters’ demise.
“Tonight, I will become inevitable,” he thought, his lips curling into a serpentine smile. The prophecy would be thwarted, and the world would fall at his feet without the “Chosen One” to stand in his path. The wind whispered as he neared the quaint cottage that housed James, Lily, and their children, with baby Sage’s cries faintly reaching his ears.
Inside, James Potter stood by the window, his heart thundering in his chest. He sensed the dark presence approaching, an icy grip of foreboding squeezing his insides. His wand was already in hand, ready for whatever would come.
“Lily! Take Sage and go! It’s him!” he shouted, urgency lacing his voice. Lily’s green eyes widened with a terror she hadn’t known before, but she didn’t hesitate. She scooped Sage into her arms, the baby’s soft whimpers drowned out by the chaos that would soon erupt.
The front door burst open with a blast that shook the entire house, splinters flying as Voldemort stepped into the room. James met him head-on, wand raised and eyes blazing with defiance.
“Stand aside, foolish boy,” Voldemort sneered, his tone almost bored.
“Not a chance,” James shot back, launching into a flurry of spells that lit up the room like fireworks. But Voldemort’s power was overwhelming, each hex deflected with lethal precision. In moments, James lay lifeless on the floor, his glasses askew and eyes staring blankly into the void.
Upstairs, Lily’s heart shattered as she heard the thud of her husband’s body. She clutched Sage tighter, tears streaming down her face as she backed against the crib. The nursery glowed softly in the moonlight, a stark contrast to the horror unfolding. Voldemort ascended the stairs, each step slow and deliberate.
“Please, not my baby,” Lily pleaded as he entered. Her voice, usually strong and melodic, quivered. Sage, sensing her mother’s distress, let out a high, frightened cry.
“Step aside, girl,” Voldemort commanded, irritation flickering across his features. But Lily did not move. Her last act of defiance was to shield her daughter, emerald eyes locked with the monster before her.
A flash of green light filled the room, and Lily crumpled to the floor, her lifeless hand still outstretched toward Sage.
Voldemort pointed his wand at the baby, whose cries now filled the air with a desperate, primal wail. “Avada Kedavra,” he hissed, the curse flying from his wand with lethal precision. But something unexpected happened. The spell rebounded, a blinding light engulfing the room as Voldemort’s body was torn apart. His physical form crumbled, leaving behind only a wisp of his soul that shrieked in fury as it was hurled out of the shattered window, splintering glass and wood in its wake.
Sage screamed as a jagged, lightning-shaped cut seared into the left side of her face, blood trickling down and painting her pale skin crimson. The room was a ruin—the ceiling cracked, the walls scorched—yet she was alive, alone and wailing.
Moments later, Sirius Black arrived at the scene, his breath ragged as he stumbled over the threshold. “James! Lily!” he shouted, his voice breaking as he took in the devastation. His gaze fell to Sage, bloodied and crying in her crib. He rushed to her side, cradling her trembling form and murmuring, “I’ve got you, little one. I’ve got you.”
With shaking hands, he cleaned her wound as best as he could and wrapped her in a warm blanket. The grief that clawed at his heart was almost unbearable, but he pushed it aside. He needed to get her to safety.
The roar of a motorcycle engine announced Hagrid’s arrival. The giant, with tears streaming down his bearded face, gently approached. “Dumbledore’s orders,” he choked out, extending his massive hands. “She needs to go, Sirius.”
Sirius’s jaw clenched as he fought the urge to argue, but he knew the battle was lost. With a shuddering breath, he handed Sage over. “Take care of her, Hagrid. Protect her.”
“I will,” Hagrid promised, tucking Sage close as he mounted the motorbike. Sirius watched them disappear into the sky, his grief finally overtaking him. His scream of anguish echoed into the cold night as he mounted his own bike, determined to find the traitor who had sold out his friends.
By the next day, Sirius was caught, accused, and taken to Azkaban, his world shattered.
And so, in the dead of a cold November night, Albus Dumbledore stood on the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive. He laid Sage, still wrapped in her blanket and marked by the lightning scar, before the Dursleys’ door. The wind whispered around him as he placed a note beside her, eyes somber with the weight of the future.
“Good luck, Sage Violet Potter,” he murmured, stepping back into the shadows.
The door clicked shut, leaving only the faint cries of the orphaned girl, destined for a life unknown.