no
“Lily, take Ophelia and Harry! Get out of here, I'll hold him off!” James Potter snatched up his wand, gave his wife one last loving look, and bravely ran off to fight the darkest Lord of this age.
At least, that was what he thought was happening. James actually forgot his wand, looked at the spot his wife had already abandoned in favor of running upstairs, ran five feet, smacked into a wall, and fell to the floor.
James thought wrong on that one too. The ‘wall’ looked at him curiously before stepping on the young man’s fingers. He cried out.
“Silly mortal,” a voice hissed. “I would kill you, but I have better things to do. Respect my graciousness while it lasts.”
The voice -Lord Voldemort, James realized dimly- shot a red light from his wand, and everything went black.
Voldemort scoffed in disbelief. This job was way too easy.
He stepped over the prone form of what he thought was James Potter and continued up the stairs, idly twisting his beloved wand around in his fingers.
Finding the nursery was all too easy. The woman his greasy follower Severus Snape wanted alive was crying, and so were her two menaces prophesied to ‘kill’ him.
Honestly, how had she not thought of a silencing spell?
Idiots.
“Please, spare me! You can kill my children, just- just let me live! I’ll even tell you the full prophecy!”
Voldemort gave a deadpan stare down to the woman. “Stop. Just stop. Your voice is so annoying. I’ll let you live if you stop screaming in my ear.”
Sniffling, the woman- perhaps Lily Potter?- wiped her snotty nose on her Gryffindor red sweater and asked, “Re- really?”
“No.”
A flash of green light from his wand, and Pesky Potter II fell to the annoyingly bright carpet.
Merlin, everything in the house was annoying, from the floor to the people. It was grating on his nerves.
He was shaken from his thoughts by a sharp wail, coming from a toddler in a pink onesie.
Voldemort sighed and buried the hand not carrying his wand in his face. “Why is everything in this world so goddamn awful,” he whispered brokenly.
Stepping forwards, he confronted the two humans prophesied to end his rein, who were currently sitting in a white crib downed with clothes ugly enough to rival Dumbledore’s rainbow fart attire.
“Hello,” Voldemort said conversationally. “Get this- a prophecy said you two garbage gits would defeat me. Utter rubbish, if you ask me.”
The baby in a blue onesie giggled. It reached out to touch the Dark Lord’s Dangerous Driftwood, but said Dark Lord snatched it back just in time.
“No! Bad menace!” Voldemort scolded, to which the baby sniffed distastefully.
Sighing, he put his wand back in place. “Let’s play a game. Whoever makes a sound first dies.”
Mr. Blue Onesie blew a raspberry loudly. Voldemort fired the killing curse it him, but at the last second, Mr. Blue Onesie reached up and grabbed it out of the air.
He giggled when Voldemort openly gaped at him, flinging it back at the Dark Lord before he could say, “Wisifhwkkq kdfufusowdodjhd hqowosodk cncnavw heifofodosl.”
Instead, Voldemort said, “Oh fiddlesticks,” and then exploded.