The knock came just after sunset — three deliberate raps that cut through the quiet of the cottage. James Potter's hand froze above the chessboard, the knight he'd been about to move hovering in mid‑air. Lily looked up from the armchair, Harry nestled against her shoulder, his tiny fist tangled in her hair.
"That's not Sirius," James murmured.
When he opened the door, Albus Dumbledore stood there, framed by the fading light. His half‑moon spectacles caught the glow from the hall lamp, but his expression was grave.
"May I come in?"
"Of course," James said, stepping aside. Lily rose, shifting Harry to her other arm as Dumbledore entered, the scent of rain clinging to his robes.
They moved into the sitting room together. James gestured toward the sofa. "Tea?"
"Not tonight," Dumbledore replied, lowering himself into the armchair opposite. "I'm afraid this is not a social call."
Lily sat beside James, her free hand resting on his knee. "What's happened?"
"There is a prophecy," Dumbledore said, his voice low. "It speaks of a child born as the seventh month dies, to parents who have defied Voldemort three times. That child will have the power to vanquish him."
The words seemed to thicken the air. Harry gurgled softly, oblivious.
"You think it's him," Lily said quietly.
"I do," Dumbledore said. "And Voldemort suspects. You must hide. The Fidelius Charm is the surest way. Choose a Secret‑Keeper you trust absolutely."
James's jaw tightened. "We'll think about who."
"Do not think too long," Dumbledore warned. "He will not wait."
When the door closed behind him, James locked it with a flick of his wand. The chessboard still sat abandoned, the pieces frozen mid‑game.
"You're not going to do it, are you?" he asked.
"Not as our only defense," Lily said. "The Fidelius hides us. It doesn't protect Harry if Voldemort finds him."
James studied her face. "You've been working on something else."
Her eyes flicked toward the nursery. "Something older. Stronger. It will only act if we're gone — and when it does, nothing will touch him."
---
Two nights later, the storm came in hard from the west, rattling the windows. Sirius Black leaned against the kitchen counter, dripping onto the floor. "Don't ask me why you need a Basilisk scale and a Roc feather in the same week," he said, tossing a bundle onto the table.
Remus Lupin followed, setting down a smaller parcel. "Or why you'd want Thunderbird essence and frost from a Qilin's breath."
Lily smiled faintly. "You've both saved us more times than I can count. This is just… another one of those times."
They didn't press. Sirius ruffled Harry's hair before heading back into the storm, Remus close behind.
---
The nursery smelled faintly of chalk and ozone. Lily knelt on the floor, drawing the last of the runes with a steady hand. Seventeen recesses were carved into the wood, each ready for a crystal phial. Hedwig perched on the crib's headboard, feathers sleek, golden eyes unblinking — brought here for this night, to be Harry's anchor.
James stood guard at the door, wand in hand.
Lily began placing the essences. Each phial hissed or sang as it met its rune, light spilling across the floor in shifting colours — emerald, gold, deep ocean blue, storm‑grey. The air grew heavy, charged, as if the walls themselves were holding their breath.
When the last essence settled, the runes flared white‑hot, then bled into black. The glow sank into the floor, leaving only the faint shimmer of dormant power.
"It's done," Lily whispered. "Now… we wait."
---
The waiting lasted less than a week.
The wards screamed, a sound like glass shattering inside their skulls. James's head snapped toward the stairs. "Go!" he barked, already moving for the door.
Lily clutched Harry to her chest as Hedwig's wings flared, frost and static crackling in the air. James reached the bottom of the stairs just as the front door exploded inward, shards of wood spinning through the air. Voldemort stepped through the smoke, eyes fixed on James.
"Step aside," he said, voice like silk over steel.
"Not a chance," James growled, raising his wand.
The green light burst from Voldemort's wand faster than breath. It struck James squarely, and he fell where he stood, his glasses skittering across the floorboards. Voldemort stepped over the body without pause, his robes whispering against the walls as he mounted the stairs.
Each step was deliberate, unhurried, the tip of his wand glowing faintly in the dim light. Lily stood in the nursery doorway, Harry clutched to her chest, her own wand raised though her hands trembled.
"Stand aside, girl," he said. "I will not harm you."
"You will have to kill me," she replied, her voice steady despite the pounding of her heart.
"As you wish."
The curse struck her before she could draw another breath. She crumpled in the doorway, her hair spilling across the threshold. Voldemort stepped over her body and into the nursery in the same motion, his gaze locking on the child in the crib.
Harry stared up at him, unafraid, tiny fingers curling in the blanket. The runes carved into the floor flared to life, light racing along the lines in a sudden, blinding surge. A barrier of shimmering gold and silver wrapped around the crib, humming with power.
Voldemort's curse left his wand in a flash of green — and met the barrier head‑on. The magic struck, twisted, and rebounded in an instant, slamming back into him with a force that rattled the walls. His body collapsed to the floor, lifeless, the air still vibrating from the impact.
The purity woven into the magic burned away the fragment of his soul before it could touch the child. Harry lay untouched, no scar marring his skin, the barrier's glow fading to nothing.
Hedwig launched from the headboard, wings beating once before she swept out the open window into the night, a pale shadow against the dark. She would watch from afar now, unseen but never absent.
The house was silent, save for the soft, steady breathing of the boy in the crib.