The Road to Godric's Hollow

4August 1980

0900 GMT

"He has our eyes," Anne Evans murmured.

Lily Potter smiled. "Yes, but it doesn't hide the fact that he's the spitting image of James."

She adjusted her hold on the trembling infant while the older woman filled a small plastic tub with lukewarm water. The two were in the brightly lit kitchen, the morning sun's gentle rays warming them up. Lily gazed down at the baby, her baby. He was a bit too small, having been born a month early. Tufts of long, black hair covered his strangely clumpy head. James' hair, she thought. His eyes, though, were a brilliant shade of emerald, just like her and her mother's eyes. His tiny hands were tightly clenched near his face.

"The water's ready now, luv," Anne called out.

"What do I do now?" Lily asked, a bit nervously.

Her mother gave her a patient smile. "Don't be scared darling. Just ease him in gently, one hand under his head, the other under his legs. That's it, just sit him there for a while, and now lean him slowly. Careful now, keep an arm behind his neck and grip his arm under the armpit."

Lily tried to follow the directions calmly, but she couldn't keep her hands from trembling slightly. "Mum? Is this right?"

"Of course darling."

With her mother gently coaching her, Lily proceeded to bathe her son. This really is easy, once you get the hang of it, she told herself. Nothing to it.

Once Harry has been dried, clothed, and returned to his cot for a nap, the two women returned to the kitchen to clean up. For a few minutes, the two worked in silence. Anne Evans was the first to break the stillness.

"You seem tired, dear. Have you been sleeping well?" she inquired.

Lily gave a small sigh. "Just your usual post-pregnancy weariness, Mum, nothing to worry about."

"Are you sure?" asked the older woman.

"Yes. I can handle it," I think, she added mentally.

Her mother looked far from convinced, though thankfully she moved on to another topic. "So, are you and James going to have Harry christened?"

"Oh, yes we are. I almost forgot about that! Thanks for reminding me, Mum. I still need to make the arrangements."

Her mother gave her a surprised look. "James agreed? How?"

Lily nodded. "He knows how important it is for me. And," she said with a mischievous grin. "You know how annoyingly persistent I could be. I badgered him for two days until he said yes."

Her mother laughed. "Will you be inviting your sister?"

Lily gave a soft snort. "No. What's the point? I doubt they'll come."

Anne smiled. "Well, they probably wouldn't. But if you still invite them, then they couldn't accuse you of having no manners and being uncivilized."

Lily laughed. "Mum! Shame on you! Bad-mouthing your own daughter. Though you do make a good point."

"When will it be?" Anne inquired.

Lily paused for a while. "I don't know, probably by the end of the month. You and daddy will come, right?"

"Of course, luv. We wouldn't miss it for the world."

***

1200 GMT

"I'm so hungry. I could probably eat a hippogriff, or two," moaned Sirius Black as he and James Potter moved with the throng towards the elevator.

James gave a short laugh. "This is what you get when you go out drinking with Hagrid on a Sunday, sleep in and end up skipping breakfast."

Sirius groaned. "You are not helping at all."

The two joined the crowd that entered the cramped elevator. "So, where are we having lunch today?" inquired Sirius.

James shrugged. "You decide," he said.

"Level Three, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes," announced the disembodied voice.

The doors opened to enter another batch of people, including Peter Pettigrew, who was accompanied by a portly man wearing a pinstriped robe and a lime green bowler hat.

"Oh, good. I was afraid I would miss you guys," Peter told the other two.

"Hello James, Sirius," Cornelius Fudge said, in an overly joyful and somewhat grating voice.

"Hello Cornelius," replied James while Sirius merely nodded.

James fought off a yawn as they waited for the elevator to reach the Atrium. I need to sleep, he thought. What I wouldn't give for one night of uninterrupted, refreshing sleep.

"Level eight, the Atrium," stated the magical voice. The doors opened, releasing the men into a hall swarming with people.

"I'll see you later then, Peter. Nice seeing you again," Cornelius told the men, before going his own way.

"Well, where to now?" asked Sirius.

"Let's try that new place down at Diagon Alley, the one that has Mediterranean dishes," Peter suggested.

"Fine by me," James said.

The three flooed towards the commercial district, with James fighting to stay awake. It wasn't until they were settled and munching on kebabs that his fatigue was brought up.

"You okay, James? You seem awfully tired," Peter asked.

"I'm fine, if not a bit tired. The baby kept us awake last night," James answered.

Sirius scrutinized his face. "Are you sure?"

James tried to don a reassuring façade. "Yes, just suffering from a little first-baby overexcitement," and the effects of the chosen son prophecy, he mentally added.

"You're starting to look a lot like Remus, you know. Haggard, with dark circles under your eyes, and sunken cheeks..." Sirius teased.

"By the way, what's up with Remus?" Peter asked.

James shrugged. "Remus? I don't know. Why do you ask?"

Peter hesitated for a while. "I can't really put my finger on it, but he's acting a bit funny. And he seems... I don't know. Distracted? And a bit temperamental."

"I durdn't noturshed," Sirius piped up, his mouth full of lamb gyro.

"That is utterly disgusting, Sirius," James said. Turning to Peter, he said, "That might have just been the full moon."

Peter shrugged. "Maybe. But it could be something else."

"Like what?"

Peter gave James a short look. "I don't know."

***

1230 GMT

It was a storybook scene, with gallant lords and beautiful ladies gathered for a cosy picnic and basking in the midday sun. The leaves were starting to turn, transforming the Wiltshire countryside into a palette of greens and browns.

Lucius Malfoy waited until his wife and their guests had finished eating before gesturing to the house elves to clear their plates. "Would you like some tea?" he politely inquired.

Bellatrix Lestrange gracefully inclined her head. "Yes, please."

Almost instantaneously, a house elf appeared bearing a tray filled with a pot and four delicate cups. Lucius motioned for the elf to pour each of them a cup, and waited until the servant has finished before speaking up again.

"Any news from London, Rodolphus?" he inquired of the man sitting to his left.

Rodolphus Lestrange shook his head. "Everything is in order for tonight."

"Good," Lucius replied. He roved his eyes over the fields surrounding the manor, across the village surrounding his majestic house. He turned to look at his sister-in-law. "How is your dear aunt taking the death of cousin?"

The woman sighed, her features composed to elicit remorse, though Lucius could see a satisfied gleam in her eyes. "Not too well, I'm afraid. Uncle Orion told me that she's taken to brooding in her room and occasional hysterical bouts." Bellatrix glanced at her sister. "He asked me if I was the one who did it."

His wife gracefully shook her head, her sharp features revealing nothing and her face a blank slate. "And what did you say?" Narcissa asked nonchalantly.

Bellatrix raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. "I said that I, we, had nothing to do with it. And that it was probably the work of those Muggle-loving fools, who tried to put the blame on us," she replied.

Lucius watched as Narcissa daintily placed her cup on the table, her eyes baring a hint of regret. "Poor Regulus."

"We are in the midst of a war, where death is commonplace," Lucius retorted. He spoke too harshly, and he could see that he offended the women's sensibilities. "During war, darkness reigns. No one is immune from this darkness, from which the only escape is death. And Death is blind; she is a fickle mistress. She chooses randomly," he continued.

War is the summit of the reign of darkness, that great equalizer which removes the players' identities, he thought. Purity of heart does not matter. Justness of cause, bravery, and strength of arms do not matter. Power is what ultimately matters, power strengthened by purity of blood. One's reasons for fighting do not enable the fighter to emerge from the darkness; rather they mesh him in the suffocating shadows even more. But power enables one to wield the darkness, playing it to gain the upper hand. For power is the darkness' mother, and darkness obeys her every command.

Lucius glanced at his wife. "In war, survival is key but not the goal. What matters is how you play the game, how you adapt to the darkness."

Rodolphus nodded. "Indeed."

***

1805 GMT

Night has fallen. The streets were dark, with only the occasional car passing by. Television sets were blaring inside the identical suburban houses. The wind was tonight was quite strong. It looks like it's going to rain, she thought. She quickened her pace, hurrying towards home.

Emily Toke did not want to go home yet. She wanted to stay there at the park, where her friends still were. Where David still was, she thought. But a curfew is a curfew, and despite her countless protests to her parents, she did understand the need for precautions. The world today was a dangerous place, what with Muggle terrorists and Who-Know-You and his Death Eaters, killing people who are guilty of nothing more than being alive. She knows that her family is in greater risk, with their history of helping and consorting with Muggles. She glanced down at her watch. 6:05. Oh no, daddy's going to kill me, she thought. She quickened her pace, determined to reach home in less than five minutes.

After what seemed like an eternity, she finally reached their block. That's weird, it seems awfully dark in here, she thought. The lampposts must be out of order.

She strode towards her home, her feet making low crunching sounds on the gravel. Why are all the lights turned on? she wondered. Are we having guests tonight?

Emily slowly walked towards the front door, her ears straining to catch any sound from inside. It seems a bit too quiet, though.

"Mum? Dad?" she called out as she entered the threshold. "I'm sorry I'm late. I lost track of the time, and..."

The sight before her struck her dumb. The house was in chaos with everything in disarray. The television set was broken, its screen shattered. The telephone was yanked off the wall and was ablaze in the fireplace. The couch was torn, repeatedly slashed until the foam was seeping out.

She felt a wave of nausea hit her, making her want to vomit.

Her father was there, spread-eagled on the floor. His glassy eyes were still open, gazing out in terror. Ugly bruises and hex marks marred his face, and his hair was singed. His shirt was drenched in blood, blood leaking from the gash across his chest.

She forced her body to turn away, her eyes to look elsewhere. She turned around, and saw the horror on the other side of the house.

She saw her mother, tied to a column supporting the house, her naked body saturated with blood. Like her father, her mother's eyes were still open, gazing out into her invisible captors with a mixture of fear and contempt.

"Hello there, Emily. I was wondering when you would show up," a man's voice said from behind, mocking her. Men's laughter suddenly filled the room, accompanied by dark forms that emerged seemingly out of thin air.

Strong and harsh hands grabbed her from behind, hurting her arms. "Kill me now, please," she whispered.

Teasing laughter, mocking and evil. "No, little girl," whispered the voice of death, his stale breath irritating her. "Why hurry? No one is going to hear you and no one is coming to your rescue. I think we'll be having some fun with you first."