A man kissed his one-year-old son goodnight and went out and sat uneasily in the lounge room of his house with his wife, his son’s face still in his mind. His son had inherited his messy jet black hair, but had his mother’s almond shaped eyes.

The man looked at his wife. She was beautiful, with long think auburn hair framing her pale, frightened face. News had reached their ears that He was coming. The one who wanted to kill them, and their child, was near. Her bright green eyes were glazed over and out of focus.

Suddenly, there was a loud banging at their front door. His heart beating, the man jumped to his feet and stood by his wife.

The door was blasted off its hinges and fell inwards. A tall hooded Man stood in front of them, His livid red eyes glaring at them from under the hood, a thin wooden wand tightly gripped in His skeletal hand.

He was a creature much less than a man; a creature afraid of death; a creature of evil.

“Lily, get Harry and run. I’ll hold him off,” the man instructed to his wife. With a quick “I love you” in her ear, the woman ran off to protect her son; the one spoken about in the Prophesy.

There was a flash of green light from the hooded Man’s wand and the man fell to the floor.

James Potter was dead.

The hooded Man went after the woman and her child.

The woman was cradling the infant in her arms with her back to the door when He came in.

“No not Harry, please not Harry,” the woman begged.

The hooded Man raised his wand and hissed two words. “Avada Kedavra.”

The woman fell to the floor, and her child fell on top of her; waking up, but not crying.

Lily Potter was dead.

The hooded Man turned now to the child; the one-year-old boy.

With the same words that had killed the boy’s parents, the hooded Man prepared to kill the boy.

A green flash of light filled the room, just as it had both times before, but this time, the boy did not die. Instead, the spell rebounded and hit the Man.

The body of the murderer vanished and the robes fell to the floor in a heap.

Lord Voldemort was defeated.

The boy began to cry as pain shot across his forehead. A thin cut, in the shape of a lightning bolt appeared.

A one-year-old boy lay crying on the lifeless body of his mother, unaware of the pain and troubles that would occur in his life.

He would have to grow up fast, and be expected of a lot by many. He would have no room for child-like innocence, and if he did, it was all stolen from him the night Lord Voldemort killed his parents and changed his life forever.

Harry Potter would have no family to love and care for him; all because he was The Boy Who Lived.