The Road to Godric's Hollow

31 July 1980

1145 GMT

Nestled in the midst of bustling London was a flat that one would not be able to find, even if one knew its precise location. It was situated between a park that is often full of playing youngsters and an old house whose only inhabitants were an elderly couple and their six cats, yet none who passed by the flat's iron gates seemed to be aware of its presence.

The French windows were open, letting in the warm rays of the sun. Inside an elderly man gently cradled a baby boy with a tuft of brown hair, while a tall man loomed over his shoulder.

"You have a fine son here, Frank. A bit on the large side, but no less fine," Albus Dumbledore remarked.

Frank Longbottom's chest swelled with obvious pride. "Yes, he's our little cherub. Not to mention he looks just like me."

A laugh came from the corner of the room, where Alice Longbottom was currently laid down on the bed. "All babies look like their fathers initially. This is what may be called nature's very own paternity test."

Albus gave a small smile. "He is undoubtedly yours, Frank," he said softly.

The Headmaster gazed down the sleeping infant. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... The prophecy echoed unbidden in his mind, as it has ever since he learned of the birth of Neville Longbottom. Is this really he, the child foretold by prophecy, the one who holds enough power to bring down the greatest Dark Lord of this century? Could he be literally holding the future of the wizarding, nay, the whole world in his hands? How could so much power be contained in such a little person?

He handed the still sleeping infant back to his mother. "Neville is certainly the little angel."

Alice snorted. "He was far from an angel four days ago. That child absolutely refused to get out of my womb! I was in labour for fifteen hours, and not a single second of those were easy."

"You should have heard her, Albus," Frank muttered. "She could have put a banshee into shame with all her wailing and screaming."

"I heard that, Frank Longbottom!" Alice cried.

"Hush, you'll wake the baby," Frank said in order to placate his wife.

Albus smiled, his eyes twinkling merrily. "Perhaps we should now take leave of you, Alice, and let both the baby and you rest."

"Now that's a good idea," Frank whispered.

The pair left the bedroom, and proceeded down the hall towards the living room at the northern section of the flat. Frank gestured for Albus to take a seat on the couch, while he sat down on the leather-backed chair facing it.

"What brings you here, Albus? I know that you rarely make social calls," Frank inquired.

"I merely wanted to check on you and your family, and make sure that nothing was amiss," and to make sure that the boy was safe, he thought.

"What of the other night's meeting?" the other man asked.

"Minerva has brought bleak news from America. It appears that they see no profit in aiding us against Voldemort," the wizened man answered.

Frank gave a soft sigh. "I thought as much. What of the mole? Any new leads?"

"None whatsoever. I'm beginning to doubt if there really is a spy in our ranks, though all the evidence point to that conclusion." Albus paused for a while, wondering how to tactfully broach the next subject.

"Frank, I've been meaning to talk to you regarding your son."

The other man was obviously startled by this. "Neville? What about him?"

"You are aware of the prophecy, my friend, and so is Voldemort. We will need to prepare for the upcoming battle and to train your son."

Frank stared at Albus for a few seconds, his face inscrutable. "What do you propose then? That we give our son to you for safe-keeping?"

Albus was startled by this response. "No, Frank, I meant no such thing. I was thinking that we might relocate your family to a safer place, perhaps overseas. And we could inform the Minister of the prophecy in a few years time, so that proper arrangements may be made and Neville could be sufficiently trained."

"Forgive me if I seem a bit slow on the uptake, but are you saying that my son will be trained to kill at an early age?" the other man asked him, his voice dangerously soft.

Albus steeled himself, and his eyes suddenly lost their customary glow. "I am only saying what should be done, Frank, not what I want to be done. We are in a war, and each and every one of us has our own parts to play. Your son has his own part." The elder wizard paused, and he suddenly seemed much older. "I like it not, but he, we, have to be prepared for anything. You must understand that, Frank."

The Auror appeared ready to argue, and Albus prepared himself for a verbal attack. After a few tense seconds, the younger man inhaled deeply, slowly exhaled and gave the Headmaster a weak smile.

"I can't say that I approve, Albus, but I do understand."

***

1655 GMT

Remus Lupin was fighting a losing battle. No matter what he did, he could neither lighten the dark hollows beneath his eyes nor conceal all the scars that resulted from the last full moon. Resigned to his fate of looking worse than he actually felt, he decided to tackle the decidedly easier task of fixing his hair.

The Marauders, upon graduating from Hogwarts, had set the last night of each month as their own night, a "boy's night out" of sorts. They spent the evening eating, occasionally drinking, and generally just having good-natured fun. If the night fell on a full moon, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs would spend the evening "Marauding" with Moony. Tonight they planned on just having a nice, hopefully uneventful, dinner in a Muggle restaurant in London as the other three Marauders had work the next day.

Remus had just put on his shoes when he heard someone knocking on his door.

"Coming!" he called out. He rushed through the solitary hallway linking the four rooms of his bungalow towards the front door, and opened it to reveal the beaming countenance of Peter Pettigrew.

"Hello Remus. I finished earlier at work, and I thought that we could go together. Are you ready to go?" the smaller man said upon entering the house.

"Just about. Make yourself comfortable, and I'll be ready to go in a few," Remus answered.

He took his wand and a pouch of Muggle money from his room, and made sure that all the windows in the house were securely closed.

"Ready now," he called to Peter. "Where are we meeting tonight?"

"James' house. They're stuck in an Auror meeting, but James told me to wait for them there," Peter replied.

The pair walked out into the backyard, where they could Apparate far from the prying and curious eyes of Muggles. After looking around to check that no one was around, the pair disappeared after a short pop and found themselves in a familiar suburban side street. Together they walked in a comfortable silence towards the Potter residence.

"Remus?" Peter spoke up after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you sometimes feel scared, with the war and all?" his friend asked.

Remus paused to look at his friend. For the first time, he noticed that Peter appeared more tired than usual. He seemed to have developed a few wrinkles on his forehead, and it could just be his imagination but his friend also appeared to be losing his hair.

"Sometimes? More like all the time," Remus answered.

"Do you sometimes wish that maybe..." the smaller man stopped and hesitated to continue. He was obviously uncomfortable with whatever it was he wished to ask.

"Maybe what?" Remus gently prodded.

"Never mind," Peter answered.

***

1820 GMT

"What could be taking them so long?" Lily Potter muttered from her seat in the living room, which was beside Peter Pettigrew and across from Remus Lupin.

Remus smiled. "I hope we're not bothering you too much, Lily."

Lily gave a small smile. "Oh no, you're no bother. I'm just... worried, that's all. Are all the Aurors are in that meeting?" she asked Peter.

"Yes, I think," the smaller man answered.

Lily sighed. This meeting did not bode well with her. In fact, nothing did. She's been feeling particularly anxious these past few days. At first, she thought that it was nothing but her pre-maternity jitters. Now, she's not too sure. A nagging voice at the back of her head seems to be warning her, telling her to thread lightly and carefully. Perhaps a brief walk would do her good.

"Anything I could get you boys from the kitchen?" she asked, getting ready to stand up.

Peter helped her to her feet while Remus shook his head. "Nope, we're good," Peter told her.

She gingerly made her way to the kitchen. Something really feels off, she thought to herself. I'm starting to feel a bit dizzy, and my stomach feels about to burst...

"Remus! Peter!" Lily yelled out.

The two men ran into the kitchen and saw Lily keeling over a table, both hands clutching at her stomach. A puddle of water lay at her feet.

"I need to get to the hospital, and someone will need to call James," she told them weakly.

Peter stood near the door, gaping at Lily. His face was turning into an alarming shade of puce, and his mouth was hanging open. Remus rushed towards Lily, and made to support her into a chair.

"Peter will bring you to that Muggle hospital, since I don't know how to drive a car. I'll go for James," Remus told her.

This pronouncement made Peter snap out of his stupor. "Where are the keys?"

***

1900 GMT

The Auror meeting had just broken up for the night, and James Potter was famished. His last decent meal had been almost seven hours ago, and that had been just a single ham sandwich. Sirius Black was languidly stretching and yawning at the same time next to him.

"That meeting was viciously long. I'm starving," Sirius told him.

James laughed. "I'm looking forward to a nice tenderloin steak, with mounding heaps of potatoes on the side...

"James!" Remus Lupin's voice called out.

James turned towards the door, and saw his harried friend running towards him.

"Remus! Didn't Peter tell you? We're meeting at..." James began to tell him, but his friend cut him off.

"It's Lily, Peter's brought her to the hospital, she's about to give birth."

"What? But, the baby's not due 'til next month!"

***

2245 GMT

Four men were anxiously waiting at the hospital's lounge that night. Two of them, one wearing a thick pair of glasses while the other distractedly playing with a set of keys, sat side by side at the corner bench. One was seated across the pair, trying to read that day's newspaper.

Peter Pettigrew paced up and down the corridor, the prophecy unceasingly playing in his mind. The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... James and Lily have defied the Dark Lord three times. Today is the last day of the seventh month.

"No," he told himself. "It's not him, it's that Longbottom kid. Not James' kid. Besides, this is probably a false alarm. The baby's not due 'til next month."

He continued his agitated pacing, and the others seemed completely oblivious to him. James appeared to be in a daze, while Sirius just looked hungry and sleepy. It was hard to tell with Remus, for the paper hid his face.

The minutes continued to drag on. 11:00 became 11:15, which after an eternity became 11:45. "There's still time," Peter thought. "Just a few more minutes, Lily, just a few more..."

11:46.

11:47.

11:48.

11:49.

The door of the delivery room suddenly burst open, and exhausted middle-aged woman stepped out. Peter suddenly felt cold, and could feel the blood rushing to his ears.

"Mr. Potter?" Dr. Rosenbaum said, heading towards James.

Remus hurriedly put down his paper, while Sirius gently nudged James.

"Doctor? Is she...?" James prompted.

The woman smiled. "Congratulations, Mr. Potter. You have a healthy baby boy."

***

2305 GMT

Hogwarts during the holidays was a quiet and sombre place. Hardly a sound could be heard at night, which was a welcome change to Albus Dumbledore. He loved the sound of the children's boisterous laughter, but he truly thrived in the quiet of the night. It was during nights such as these that he was able to truly think and work on his various projects.

He has just finished studying a particularly difficult scroll of ancient runes when he noticed that a certain book at the corner of the room began to glow. Its cover was magically lifted, as if by a strong wind, and an invisible hand began flipping through the thick parchment pages. Albus recognized it to be the book that recorded the birth of every magical child.

As he moved closer, he saw the quill that accompanied the register to begin to move, as if held by the same invisible hand. Right below Neville Longbottom, the quill began to write a name.

Harry James Potter.

End of Part I.