Morsmordre

Crashes and screaming came from outside. Voices yelled "Morsmordre!" and green light filled the sky over Godric's Hollow on that fateful Halloween night.

Paralyzed with fear, Lily clutched Harry to her shoulder and stared out the window. Masked, cloaked wizards were running from house to house, and for once, Lily and James knew exactly what - that is, who - they were looking for. James pulled the curtains together and bolted the door, as though that would be any help when Voldemort found the house. "Lily," he said, turning to look at her. She still sat, frozen on the sofa. James leaned over and shook her by the shoulders. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!"

Lily was on her feet now. She shook her head no, still looking shocked. "But you can't-"

"Go!" James yelled.

Terrified out of her mind with tears starting to fall down her face, she stumbled toward the back of the house, vaguely planning to leave through the nursery door. Cloaked figures swarmed around the house like bees around a hive; Lily knew there was no escape. She burst into the nursery, locked the entrance door behind her, and looked for a way to hide Harry. There was the closet, the dresser, the crib - The linen chest! It would be soft, and besides, who would look for a baby in a linen chest? She opened it up and placed the little bundle inside, where he blended in perfectly with the sheets and blankets.

She had just started to close the chest when a rattling sound from the doorknob made her twist her attention fearfully to the back door, the one that led outside. Someone was obviously trying to force an entry. Lily's shaking hands dropped the lid to the chest and fumbled madly with the lock. She couldn't get it done! Voldemort would kill Harry, and it would be all her stupid fault for not locking the chest properly!

The door burst open. Lily jumped at least a foot backwards, finding herself directly between Voldemort...and the crib.

"Out of my way," he said icily, "And you may be spared."

Immediately, Lily realized something that worked to her advantage. Voldemort thought Harry was in the crib, that she was purposefully blocking it. Equally as quickly, she knew that her time was extremely limited. She had to somehow get the chest locked without him knowing...horrifying though it was, she moved closer to Voldemort. "Not Harry!" she screamed, a little louder than was warranted. Their odds would be so much better if James heard her and came back to the nursery. "Not Harry, please not Harry!"

"Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now..."

Why wasn't he killing her? Why did he try to spare her life, but was so vehement about killing Harry? She wouldn't let it happen! "Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!" She was rambling and she knew it, but it was only because every sensible area of her brain was occupied with locking that trunk, but still making Voldemort believe that she was guarding the crib.

Voldemort grabbed her roughly by the arm and threw her to the side. Even through the twisting pain in her shoulder, Lily couldn't have been happier about being thrown like this - she landed right on top of the chest. She had to work quickly; it wouldn't take long for Voldemort to realize that the crib was empty except for a few stuffed animals. She whipped out her wand and whispered the Object-Bind charm, which effectively glued her to the top of the chest, then performed a triple-lock spell on the lock. She was about to reinforce both enchantments when the sound of frustration and rage from over Harry's crib ripped through the room, as Voldemort wheeled around, red eyes gleaming like freshly shed blood.

Lily was suddenly, yet dimly aware of the fact that Harry was crying inside the chest. It must have been Voldemort's yell that scared him. She ached to be able to hold her baby, comfort him. Later, she told herself. After Voldemort's gone.

The maddened expression on his livid, pale face receded slowly into a calm, mocking look. Voldemort's laugh froze the blood in Lily's veins. "You honestly believed you'd fooled me. You thought you had me beaten." He was whispering now, and Lily couldn't tell whether it was better or worse than when he'd been yelling. "Lord Voldemort is never beaten."

All she could think to do was scream again. "Not Harry! Not Harry! Please - I'll do anything!"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

Oh, thank God! He hadn't realized that she had Bound herself to the chest! Harry was safe! Lily no longer felt any doubt that Voldemort would kill her. Kill her - but not Harry! "Not Harry! Please...have mercy...have mercy..." she screamed at the absolute top of her lungs, desperately trying to get James's attention. Object-Binds and triple-locks could be broken.

Once again, he tried to physically shove her aside. The Object-Bind held fast, though, and it was like trying to pull that legendary sword out of the stone - it simply couldn't be done. Lily couldn't help but smile in triumph. She had fooled Lord Voldemort.

And yet, if there was one man in all the world who should not have been fooled...

Two words was all it took.

Lily's last scream had achieved its goal; James dashed through the house, just barely hearing the spell and seeing the green light flash from under the door. A blind rage overwhelmed him. He forced the door open just as Voldemort was casting Lily's body aside, having broken the Object-Bind.

In the split second between his entry into the nursery and the time Voldemort looked up and saw him, James's mind went through a slew of adrenaline-rushed calculations. Lily was dead. If Voldemort was still standing over the chest, then there must be something in there that he wanted. Lily had been sitting on the chest. Whatever was in the chest, Lily had been protecting it from Voldemort. The only thought that followed was that the thing Voldemort wanted...was Harry.

A huge, doe-eyed stag quickly took James's place in the doorway and lunged at the Dark Lord, its antlers down so that when its prey was rammed into the wall, there would be no escape. Voldemort, taken completely by surprise, twisted round to push against the wall and create a space he could slip out of. With all the furious strength of a grief-stricken beast, the stag caught Voldemort's body diagonally between its antlers and threw him onto the floor, pummeling him with its huge, blunt hooves. Voldemort just barely had the chance to grab his wand and fire a quick spell into the stag's eyes. Blinded and surprised, James trotted backwards a few paces, brought back to rationality with the knowledge that, if he was hurt in Animagusform, he would involuntarily turn back into himself.

Voldemort waited silently, facedown on the floor for a moment. The back of his head and neck were bruised and sore already from the stag's fierce attack, but the pain only fed his anger. There would be no effort to spare this one. James Potter will die immediately, he decided.

"Come on," James said shortly, back in human form. He heard Harry's muffled but frenzied wailing from inside the chest, but didn't dare turn around for fear that the sight of Lily's dead body would cause him to break down into equally uncontrollable tears. Already, he felt the urge to simply throw his wand away and start sobbing.

Slowly but surely, Voldemort stood. James was standing, square-shouldered and straight-backed holding his wand out in front of him in dueling position. Voldemort laughed softly. "You want to duel with me? You have the gall to challenge the most powerful wizard that ever lived? I've already destroyed you, Potter. It doesn't matter how bravely you try to-"

"Save the rhetoric," He gritted out. "Are we going to fight like honorable wizards, or are you going to kill me like the snake you are?"

Voldemort laughed again. "Incredible. I've just threatened your life, killed the dearest - well, second dearest person to you, I'm about to kill the first dearest, and you can still make puns. Absolutely incredible. It's a shame you never joined me, Potter." He sighed as though this was a real loss to him. "Ah, well. It is, quite literally, your funeral. Avada Kedavra!"

There was no thought of compassion to the child he had just orphaned when he swept back to the chest, removed the triple-lock, and threw open the lid. It took a moment to distinguish the bawling lump from the rest of the blankets inside, but it wasn't long before Voldemort tore the sheet from Harry, revealing a chubby, whimpering baby whose watering green eyes were almost hidden beneath his tuft of unruly black hair. "And you're the one prophesized to defeat me," Voldemort murmured at the pathetic sight. "Hah. Avada Kedavra!"

Right away, he knew that something had gone wrong. Instead of the emerald-green light spreading in an instantaneous flash to all corners of the room, it shot out of his wand in a beam, which parted and entered the infant's eyes. For a few seconds, those eyes glowed brighter and brighter with a neon intensity, as though he was absorbing the very magic contained in the light. Then, the brightness stopped increasing. It looked like something had been found that the baby's soul was rejecting, or simply refusing. It was the Dark Lord's invitation to death, and now he was going to see what it was like to be invited to such a macabre party.

The light disappeared from Harry's eyes and gathered in his forehead, outlining a thin, brilliant lightning bolt shape. Like a mirror reflecting in slow motion, Voldemort watched his own curse flash from Harry's forehead, filling not only the nursery, but the entire house with that green light.

Voldemort suddenly felt pain like a thousand Cruciatus curses. The light was boring through him, evicting his soul from his body and then ripping his body apart. The house was falling, crumbling bit by bit around him, the chest was hurtling through the air, having snapped shut, and all of the Death Eaters were going about their business, assuming that Voldemort had triumphed. He tried to cry for help, but found he didn't have a throat to form the words, or a mouth to say them. Like a wisp of fog, the once-great Dark Lord inched painfully through the dewy grass, his aim uncertain and his spirit broken.

It was the dead of night by the time a fat black rat skittered out of the woods near Godric's Hollow. Peter Pettigrew had been planning to stay hidden until Voldemort called him, but he had heard what was, to him, a terrible rumor.

The rat squeaked frantically, ducking in and out of the ruins of the Potters' house. There was a smashed mirror, a few piano keys, some charred spellbooks, and a rather large chest with the lock tarnished and askew, but nothing else recognizable. Nothing, that is...except one rather familiar wand. In a panic, Peter rolled the wand into the woods with his front paws, then transformed back into a human. He removed his own wand from between his back teeth, where he always kept it when he transformed, pointed it at Voldemort's wand, and whispered, "Reducio!" He crammed both wands between his back teeth, shrank to his Animagusform, and sat in the tall grass until the roar of an enormous motorcycle scared him off into the night.