A butterfly flaps its wings...
8:12PM, October 31st, 1981.
Potter House, Godric’s Hollow, The Confederation of British Sorcerers
Lord Thomas Gaunt, Head of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Gaunt, Instigator and Mastermind of the War for the Reclamation of Magic, was quite ready to be done with this night. He had never been a fan of Samhain, even when it was known to him best as All-Hallow’s-Eve, back at Wool’s – and that was before getting into the mess that Rudolphus and Bella had caused, right in his sitting room.
No matter what they said, the muggle did not need to be alive when they were removing its lungs.
(He had to track down a new white oak table now - they never quite right when they were transfigured.)
Nevertheless, he had known what he was getting into bringing a Black into his cause, and she was a delight when she wasn’t ravenously murderous, so Thomas supposed that he had to take some losses from time to time.
He stepped past a small group of muggle children, dressed as various mythical (or so they believed, anyway) creatures – a zombie, a skeleton, a witch – and took a moment to decline politely when they offered him sweets.
Murder was one thing, but rudeness? Never without cause.
(Thomas quite ignored that most people found being murdered to be rather rude).
He crossed through the street, avoiding a puddle from an earlier spot of rain. He did realize he could have apparated, however he had needed to stretch his legs after all the paperwork of the afternoon.
(If he had known that being an insurrectionist would require so much writing, he might have picked a different career path.)
The houses, now on his left, seemed to watch him, although that was quite impossible – he couldn’t even feel any wards from any of them, let alone a magical pseudo-intelligence. Maybe this damned prophecy was getting to him more than he thought.
The one with the power to face the dark lord approaches…
He supposed it wasn’t impossible that the girl might one day grow up to oppose him – having Lilian as a mother all but guaranteed that the child would be strong – however he had never been one for taking chances. He would mourn the potential, mourn the Potters for that matter – he quite liked them – for a multitude of reasons, but he wouldn’t risk any threats.
As Thomas reached the field at the end of the road, he looked upon the white-painted two-story house before him. Using a quick occlumency trick that he had learned from Albus Dumbledore (when they had actually been able to speak face-to-face without going for their wands), he mentally reviewed the Secret that young Peter Pettigrew had spoken to him earlier:
“The Potter family live in the house at the northern end of the longest street in Godric’s Hollow.”
Good, he had the right place, it wouldn’t do to walk in on some random family – he’d rather not kill non-combatants and Obliviation had never been his forte (a consequence of so vehemently despising the magic required, Thomas suspected).
Walking up the grey stone path, he took a moment to admire the garden. He was quite sure that James had been the one responsible for planting all the lillies; from memory, Lilian had told him that she was inexplicably terrible at Herbology, possessing the opposite of a green thumb, whatsoever that may be called. It was a family trait they shared.
Drawing his Yew Wand into his right hand, he lifted his left and flicked his wrist, straightening out his fingers and blasting the front door off of its hinges, sharpening his occlumency – no more time for meandering thoughts. At the same time, he raised his wand and drew it into a series of sharp gestures – an upside-down crescent, a slash across the chest, a jagged flick up while turning his wrist in place – he locked down all methods of escape that he knew of. The nature of the Fidelius should have prevented any travelling by magical means anyway, however, he had never been one to take risks.
From a room to the right, he heard a curse - “Lils, it’s him. Take Alya and get out, the window in the nursery – go, please” – as James Potter, Junior Auror, Lord of House Potter stepped into the entry way and raised his wand, a wary yet determined look in his eyes.
Thomas heard footsteps move from the next room over, a baby being hushed (or maybe Silenced?), but didn’t have time to focus on that as he spoke – “I do apologise for this, Lord Potter”.
James’ face rapidly shifted to furious as he launched a purple blur at Thomas’ throat – a bone breaker from the feel of it, Thomas respected the viciousness – followed by transfiguring the doorframe behind Thomas (what remained of it, anyway) into a swarm of hornets. He followed that with multiple curses, each compounding on the others, while Thomas looked on curiously. He had deflected the curses as they came, the hornets were now a bunch of nails, floating behind him.
He flicked his wrist, launching a Dark cutting curse he learned in Aquitaine, followed by a heart crushing curse he had learnt from Bella, each going in a ‘V’ shape away from him, forcing James to choose one to shield, in order to dodge the other – he didn’t have the power to block both, not when Thomas was casting.
Naturally, he chose the cutting curse to shield, rather than the unfamiliar spell, and in doing so, fell into Thomas’ trap. The cutting curse flew through the Aegis shield that James had raised as if it weren’t even there and sliced into James’ throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling, his wand rolling away as his eyes widened in shock.
Not one for needless suffering, Tom followed it with a silent Killing Curse, and James’ eyes went from horrified and scared to glassy.
What a waste of life, he really hated Samhain.
Turning to the next room over, he could see where the family had been before his arrival. Two mugs, one overturned, sat on the coffee table (white oak, ironically) next to a children’s book – Lily’s wand sat on the table.
He quickly walked up the stairs, reaching out with his magic to find where they were, reaching for the cold flame that was Lilian’s magic - a reminder that even wandless, she was still dangerous. He cast a disintegration curse at the door that led into the nursery and watched as – as nothing happened?
Had Lilian managed a wandless anti-magic hex?
What a waste of life this would be.
He sharpened his magic into a knife’s edge, lancing out at the meta-physical gaps in the lattice that was the hex – it only blocked magic cast against it, rather too simple to block anything from inside itself and it crumpled as the paradoxical nature of an anti-magic hex holding active magic within itself sought to resolve.
This time, the door disintegrated.
“Hello Cousin” he said, looking curiously at the array of blood runes Lilian had been marking on the ground, “you’re out of time – I’m sorry”.
“Tom” she replied tremulously, her cheeks an odd mix of red from adrenaline and anger and white from blood loss, “James is gone then?”
“A quick death for a good man – please… stand aside Lily” – family need not kill family, after all.
“I won’t do that, Tom, you know that – don’t go through with this” Lily said drawing herself up straightening one arm out at an angle away from her body, oddly flexed. “You’ll regret this one day, you know how these things go”.
Resigned to the next events, he replied, “I already do”, and quickly fired a killing curse straight into her chest, dropping her instantly.
As he walked forward, stepping around her body, he flicked his wand – closing her eyes, the least she deserved.
If he had looked back, he would have seen the array that had completed itself on the wall behind him, disillusioned as it was by Lily’s outstretched arm when he entered the room.
He stepped over to young Alya’s crib and looked down at the poor girl, he honestly regretted what he was about to do, but he wasn’t one to take risks, and he could feel the risk that she would be just standing next to her.
She truly was her mother’s daughter.
What a waste of life!
Raising his wand to finish this nightmare of a night, he frowned, composed himself and then…
P A I N
8:14PM, 31st October 1981
Headmaster’s Office, Hogwarts, The Confederation of British Sorcerers
Albus Dumbledore was the first to know. His connection to the Fidelius Ward as its caster told him what had happened instantly. The ‘Potter Family’ cannot hide under a Fidelius if there is no Potter Family to speak of, he knew this fact as he knew his own name, felt it in his own magic as one would feel the loss of a finger, or a toe, impossible to truly know until you’ve experienced it.
Summoning up what little fortitude he had - now wasn’t the time for tears - he called out to Fawkes.
His companion and oldest friend (in both senses of the word) flew over and perched on his shoulder as he spoke to him somberly, “The Potter’s House, if you please, Fawkes”, and flames overcame his perception.
Reappearing in the entryway of the house, he couldn’t hold in his flinch at the tangible magic in the air, nor could he contain his cry of despair at the sight of poor, young James – brutalised as he was.
He flicked the Elder Wand to seal the wound on James’ neck, and vanish the blood – he deserved that much, at the very least.
Albus couldn’t help but feel guilt as he stepped hurriedly towards the site of the greatest magic, would any of this have happened had he not requested the Potter’s Invisibility Cloak just the other day? If it was what he suspected, it very well could have saved this family.
Stepping over the doorway into the nursery, he felt more than heard young Sirius Black arrive outside, and couldn’t withhold a grimace at the site of carnage – the furthest wall was blown completely out, wooden frames and nails sitting at odd angles, paint peeling from the walls. The furniture in the room was all tipped over or split into pieces, with the sole exception of the crib, right at the centre of it all. As he turned his head, he saw Lily’s body blasted into the corner, half a chaise on top of her.
Flicking his wand, he removed the debris from her body and straightened it out on the floor when he saw one of the most uplifting sights of his life emerging from the crib – green and red sparks.
Young Alya was still alive!
And she was holding the Dark Lord’s wand, somehow.
What in Merlin’s name had happened here?
Springing into action, he cast two Patroni – twin phoenixes circling around him as he sent one with a message to Sirius downstairs and another to Severus Prince, Potions Master and Healer for the Order of the Phoenix – both with messages identical – “Alya yet lives, I need your help”.
---
10:03PM, 31st October 1981
The Hospital Wing, Hogwarts, The Confederation of British Sorcerers
Sirius Black and Severus Prince would never be best friends, this was a fact of life as undeniable as the fact that the sun rises every morning. Yet, let it not be said that they failed to put their shared distrust aside in place of a greater obstacle. Shared grief pushed aside by a common skill at Occlumency, the two had set into action alongside Headmaster Dumbledore to contain the Miasma on the scene on the attack and begin the process of assessing Alya’s condition.
Sirius couldn’t help but shake his head in despair – the tears could wait – as he looked upon the scene in front of him, James’ body had been brought up and sat next to Lily’s.
(His brother and sister were dead.)
He went through the wand motions to put them into stasis until such a time as a funeral could be performed, or maybe a cremation? He didn’t know how the Potter’s dealt with their dead – he had been told, he was sure, but it’s not the sort of thing you think you need to remember! He’d need to look at the charter, Charles had given him access two years ago, before he passed.
(“You’re a Potter in all but name Sirius” He had said, recognising Sirius tears at the time for what they were, “you’refamily”.)
He turned back as the headmaster said his name gently, Snivel- Severus standing beside him with a twisted, half-constipated expression on his face.
“Young Alya is in perfect health, my boy” Dumbledore continued to speak “I believe you are her designated guardian?”
He nodded that he was, he and Alice Longbottom were her Godparents, but he took primacy due to not having kids of his own, and her being his heir.
“Yeah”, he croaked out, “the plan was that Remus, Peter and Myse-“, he cut off.
Peter.
Peter.
PETER!
“I am indeed supposed to raise her Headmaster, but if I might make a request, could you look after her for a few hours?” Sirius asked in a tone that he felt betrayed none of his thoughts.
(Peter had killed James, that wasn’t going to slide.)
“What on earth for, Black?” Sniv-Snape(!) glared from Dumbledore’s side, as a haze settled over Sirius mind.
“Settling some debts, you could say – Peter has to pay,” Sirius barked out, as he turned and walked towards the exit of the room.
“I can’t allow that, my boy,” was all he heard before he whirled around to see red light flying towards his face.