A loud crack split the air, and James Potter stared at his house for a moment. It was shrouded in shadow, but the gaping hole shone clear as day, piercing his heart like a dagger. “Harry.... Lily!” he shouted, starting to run.
Only the second level was damaged, which was the floor where Harry’s bedroom had been. Panic laced through his mind as he raced through the ground floor to the stairs and up onto the first floor. Here, the damage started to show with paintings knocked off the walls and some pottery fallen and smashed on the floor beside the shelves. Just as if the hallway had been shaken like a snow globe. James stopped dead in an open doorway, looking into the nursery.
It seemed like a nightmare.
Part of the room was almost perfectly intact, with only small bits of wood or shingle lying on the floor, one of them balanced on a corner post of Harry’s cradle. But across from the cradle, a great hole had been blasted off, taking most of the roof over the room with it, and a cold wind flew in, cutting straight through his robes.
He took in the room in only one look, then his eyes settled on a figure lying crumpled on the floor not a foot from the cradle, her hair a bright splash like blood on the wooden floor, her face pale in the moonlight, slack, the locks of hair across her face glaring impossibly red. He wasn’t sure how he got there, but the next thing he knew, he was holding her.
Lily didn’t have a scratch on her, but he had no doubt she was dead. The Killing Curse left no mark. James found himself struck, staring at her, unable to cry. It seemed so unfair after everything they had been through, fighting through the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters for years, growing up with it, and now she died only after they went into hiding.
He gritted his teeth, cursing himself for leaving them alone. Only a few hours, spending some time with Sirius at Lily’s insistence. One night, she said, so he would calm down a little at being cooped up at home. Why hadn’t he just stayed?
A rustling started up in the cradle. James looked up, not daring to hope. A soft cry, slowly growing louder, the desperate, scared cry of a child. He gently lay Lily back on the ground and went to his son’s side, lifting him from the cradle with disbelief. “Harry.... But how...?” Though he asked the question aloud, he pulled his son in close, holding him as the tears of grief and rage finally filled his eyes. After he had reassured himself that Harry was indeed alive and breathing, he started looking him over to make sure he was all right, not at first noticing the mark on his forehead because it didn’t look like a wound. When Harry started crying and his face turned red with distress, the scar stood out white on his forehead. A little lightning bolt which had not been there earlier that evening but was already a scar.
At another sound underneath the crying, he looked up sharply, only to see an old man standing in the doorway, long silver beard down to his belt, his eyes looking gravely over half-moon spectacles. “Professor Dumbledore....” Albus Dumbledore did not seem to hear him. He was looking around the room, his eyes sparkling sadly, taking everything in, lingering on the still form of Lily, then settling finally on Harry. His eyebrows lifted in surprise up toward his pointed lavender hat.
“May I see him, James?” he asked, stepping forward and holding out his arms.
“He’s alive, Professor,” James said, walking to meet him with a crying Harry he now tried to soothe.
Dumbledore smiled slightly, though it somehow made him look more melancholy. “And how fortunate you are to still have each other.” His eyes were caught by the vivid mark on Harry’s head, and he leaned down to look, gently tracing it with a finger. “That must be where....” He nodded to himself. James rocked the boy a little to calm him down, and he turned to cling to James’s shoulder. Dumbledore straightened.
Lily had sacrificed herself.... But they had been protected. Dumbledore himself had suggested the Fidelius Charm. Which meant only one thing to James. Though he was sure Voldemort himself had killed Lily, he would not have been able to find her or Harry alone. Only the Secret Keeper and those he had told could see those protected by a Fidelius Charm, and only the Secret Keeper could reveal this location to a new person. His Secret Keeper had been a Death Eater.
A voice came from a long way off, and James blinked. “What?”
“I think we should go back to headquarters,” Dumbledore repeated softly. “You and Harry will be safe there, and we will find out what happened and where to go from here.”
“Right, sure,” he said, distracted. Peter had been the Secret Keeper. After this, he would not be at the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. His arms tightened around Harry. But he should get Harry someplace safe. His eyes strayed to the still form lying next to the cradle. And Lily.
A few moments later, all four of them were gone, abandoning the house to the unforgiving night. Morning would come with little event that most could see. Those who had worked so hard through the years of the war had more to do, but despite that the news leaked out through the night. By sunrise, owls flew all over the country with rumours that all contained at least a grain of truth.
The Boy Who Lived had brought about the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The eleven-year war had finally come to a close, though none of the gossip contained an explanation. Nevertheless, wizards gathered together in celebrations away from the Muggle eye (though some ignored this rule in honour of the occasion) to lift their glasses to Harry Potter, a name they would not soon forget.
Hogwarts Chronicles: the Philosopher's Stone by Faile, BrennaShade
Chapter Notes: Thanks a million to my amazing beta, LucillaJoanna, who made this chapter so much better.