The Heir

October 31
James Potter closed the door as Sirius and Remus left, smiling over at his wife who was holding their two children, Harry and Willow Rose. Born at the same time, they looked almost exactly the same, alabaster skin, silky raven hair, and green eyes. Harry's eyes were a bit duller than Willow's but still just as beautiful and Willow had so much magic running through her that her skin took on a bluish undertone. That's where their similarities ended. Their personalities were both very different. Harry, born first, was loud and curious. He absolutely loved being the center of attention. Remus, the sweet old werewolf, and Sirius seemed to live to spoil him. Willow, however, was practically Harry's opposite. Never one for attention, she would often refuse to be picked up or even coddled. She was surprisingly independent for a one-year-old child. She never really cried and was concise about what she wanted or needed.

James smiled fondly at his daughter, recalling an instance when Willow had grabbed one of her favorite books, handed it to Remus, and then just sat there. She wanted him to read it to her and it took him a moment or two to realize that. In fact, James remembered, she took the book, opened it, and handed it back to Remus as if showing him exactly what she wanted. She was nothing if not tenacious.

When Lily stood up to take the children to bed, one in each arm, James took a moment to admire his wife. Her red hair was up in a messy bun and, even though her green eyes betrayed how tired she was, they looked at him with love. They smiled at each other for a brief moment before she tiptoed up their wooden stairs to prevent their children from waking. James slumped into their worn gray couch, basking in the quiet and serenity. It was days like these that he wished that they weren’t in hiding, both parents missed their support system they had. James Potter was finally relaxing, waiting for his wife to come back down when the door blasted open, starling him off the couch. He watched as the door, flying off its hinges, made way for a cloaked man.

Voldemort.

Panicked, James yelled to alert his wife. Ducking an initial beam of an all too familiar green spell, he lunged towards the other end of the couch where his wand lay in an attempt to grab it but it was too late. A second jet of poison green light had hit him and James was dead before he even touched his wand. Voldemort stepped over the man in disgust. A great wizard James Potter was not. He was a fool. A fool that was lulled into a false sense of security by Dumbledore.

Anyone who put any faith in that manipulative old man was a fool, Voldemort thought to himself. His black cloak swirled around him like smoke as he walked up their stairs. A feeling of triumph coursed through him at the thought of being so close to getting rid of the one thing that could possibly stand in his way. As the children were defenseless, the only thing to truly deal with was Lily Potter.

He secretly hoped that she was smarter than James, at least for Severus's sake. He had promised Severus that he would try to spare her, and he would do his best, especially for loyal followers like him. He reached the nursery door only to find it barricaded.
Feelings of incredulousness swam through him and he felt mildly insulted as he blew through this door as well.

As if a barricaded door could stop a Dark Lord.

Wood shards went everywhere and the furniture that held the door was as good as gone. He looked over at Lily. There she was, in front of the children’s cribs, green eyes wide with terror, and looking as if she'd charge him at any moment.

He scoffed. She didn't have her wand either it seems, Voldemort thought, To go anywhere without the core of their power was ridiculous, he rolled his eyes. He didn't have time for this.

"Stand aside girl, you'll be spared as long as you hand over the children." His voice seemed to echo in the room, thin and with an audible sneer. Lily shook her head violently, red hair moving rapidly, defiant, even as green eyes filled with tears.

"Please! Not them, not Harry or Willow. Kill me instead." Voldemort raised his wand in response, only waiting a beat before speaking.

"I'm only going to ask once more, stand aside. If you do, I'll be merciful and let you live." That was a good deal, he was showing mercy. This was something of which he was not known for.

"No, I won't," tears streamed down her face, not unlike a dam that had finally broken, "There must be another way. Not Harry, not Willow, Ple-"

The green light hit her before she finished begging.

It was really too bad, Voldemort supposed. She was good with magic, better than some of his pureblooded followers, but apparently a fool, just like her husband. He stepped over Lily Potter’s body, kicking limbs that were in the way and looked into the crib. He shuddered in disgust as the little boy, Harry, was screaming. It grated on his ear drums and his nerves. He hated children, and it was laughable that one of them could cause his demise. It'd be so easy to kill him right now, to permanently cease the infernal screaming.

However...
Little Harry and his screams could wait, Voldemort decided. His attention was caught and he turned to look at the tiny girl, Willow, who was using the bars of the other crib to stand up. He narrowed his red eyes as she looked at him with interest in those bright green eyes. They seemingly glowed with power and the color swam in her irises like a spell. In fact, they were the exact color as the spell that he just used on her parents. He leaned closer, until he was face to face with the child. He refused to touch her however. No matter how intrigued he was, it did not warrant physical touch.

Willow, it seemed, had other ideas. Avada green eyes met his red ones and she reached out a chubby pale hand and touched Voldemort's face. Too startled to move, he stood still and was taken aback when she laughed and patted his cheek. Would she laugh if she realized that he had just killed her parents? Would she voluntarily touch him if she knew what he had just done? They stayed like that for another moment until Willow’s laughter had died down some. She was still smiling when she reached for the wand he was holding with a curiosity that could only be defined as innocent. Voldemort stepped back just before she could grab and refocused on the reason why he was here.

He wouldn't kill her, he decided.

Or at least, he wouldn't kill her today.

She was far too intriguing, in fact she fascinated him, even as a small, helpless child. Even if he set the strange fascination he had aside, killing her would be a mercy. He knew from experience that any orphanage would be terrible for a wixen, and Voldemort was not one for mercy.

Therefore, she would live.

I'll keep a close eye on you though, Willow, he promised both himself and the child.

The prophecy was still an issue that needed to be addressed though. Voldemort pulled away from Willow and turned to Harry. Out of the three possible prophecy children, he chose Harry for two very simple reasons. One, he was a halfblood much like himself, but little Harry Potter was also born right before the strike of midnight. Willow wasn’t born until 12:15 in the morning on August first.

Voldemort stared at the still screaming boy, unimpressed but contemplative. He quickly shook that off, he had been at Godric's Hollow for too long at this point, and pointed his hooked wand at the boy and cast the spell with the purpose of stopping that ridiculous prophecy in its tracks.

Two things happened simultaneously as the Avada Kedavra hit Harry. Voldemort collapsed, dying as the spell rebounded, and Willow Rose was hit with the remnants of what seemed to be Voldemort's soul, though no one knew that piece of information yet. Crying out as the soul shard hit her square in the chest, Willow watched accusingly as the nearly dead man disappeared, his wraith-like form fleeing the scene.

A couple of hours later found Dumbledore looking at the children incredulously, eyes wide as he viewed the wreckage around him. Though he would never admit it, it took him more than a minute to truly process the fact that neither child was dead. In fact, Harry was unharmed except for the lightning shaped scar on his forehead, which was the exact wand movements of the killing curse. Dumbledore paid no mind to the other child as he picked Harry up to ensure that the Boy-Who-Lived was alright, turning him this way and that to double check that nothing else was wrong. From the other crib, green eyes stared at him judgmentally, almost as if the owner couldn't believe that he was just ignoring her, the other orphaned child.

He continued to hold Harry as the rest of the more elite Order members showed up. In that time, the headmaster had decided that the best course of action was to send them both to Lily's sister, Petunia and her husband, Vernon. They would love Harry, every young boy needed a brother, and hopefully would be willing to take Willow as well. Minerva McGonagall showed up first, closely followed by Alastor Moody, and Rubeus Hagrid, the latter pulling up in a bike that had some room in a sidecar to put the two children. Dumbledore explained the plan with a cheer that felt out of place in the middle of this somber scene, and McGonagall became increasingly disgruntled, unsure if this ‘plan’ had any merit at all.

"What about Willow?" she asked, worry laced throughout her tone, the older witch picked up the girl and held her close, running a hand down the child’s hair as Willow drifted to sleep, her body exhausted at the amount of energy the extra bit of soul was using to try to find a place to fit.

"Will they accept her? I know the Dursleys like Harry, but they hate magic. I watched them. you know, and they truly are the worst sort of muggles. To have two magic children in their house…"

Everyone heard what she left unsaid.

Minerva watched as Dumbledore stroked his long white beard, seemingly in thought. To the astonishment of Minerva McGonagall and Alastor Moody however, Dumbledore waved her words away, telling her, and the rest of them, not to worry.

Everything would be fine, he had said with that blasted twinkle in his eye.

McGonagall narrowed her eyes but she trusted the Headmaster. She sighed, giving in and didn't press the issue again.

She would later regret that decision.