Chapter 8: The Night of Ash and Stars
Godric's Hollow, 31 October 1981
The night began in warmth.
The Potter cottage was alive with laughter. The hearth crackled, casting golden light over the wooden floors. Candles floated lazily above the kitchen table, and the scent of cinnamon-roasted pumpkin and clove lingered in the air. A little record player played a soft lullaby, the vinyl spinning slowly, its tune crackling faintly in the quiet.
Lily hummed as she rocked Harry in her arms, gently bouncing him. Hardwin lay on a rug nearby, his tiny fists gripping a stuffed phoenix whose wings shimmered faintly with magic. James sat on the sofa, feet up on the armrest, reading aloud from a battered book.
"Once upon a time, in a land of dragons and broomsticks…" he intoned in a dramatic voice. Harry squealed with delight.
Hardwin smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.
Something was wrong.
The magic in the walls shivered.
A tremor, so subtle it might have been imagined. But he felt it. Like a change in pressure before a storm. The threads of enchantment around the cottage tugged slightly—as if warning.
He sat up.
James closed the book and stretched. "Alright, bedtime for both of you troublemakers."
Lily carried Harry upstairs, her robe swishing softly. The creak of the stair rail echoed in the cozy house. James followed, lifting Hardwin gently and whispering, "You're always the quiet one, eh? But something's going on behind those eyes, isn't there?"
Hardwin stared at his father, eyes wide. Then he pointed.
Toward the door.
He didn't have the words.
But something inside screamed: Danger.
Outside, the wind changed. What had been a cool October breeze grew colder, sharper. The leaves no longer rustled—they hissed.
Hardwin screamed.
A high, piercing wail that shook the crib bars.
James froze. Lily came running.
The wind howled louder. A sudden crack sounded outside, louder than thunder, sharp like a bone snapping.
James rushed to the window.
His heart stopped.
A figure was approaching through the mist.
Not walking. Gliding.
A cloak darker than night. A wand already raised.
"Lily! Take the boys! Now!"
James turned, wand already in hand.
Downstairs, the front door shivered. Dust from the frame fell like ash. The wards didn't scream; they had already been dismantled.
Lily clutched both babies, arms trembling.
Hardwin pulled at her robe.
"Bad! Bad! Bad!"
Lily's eyes welled with tears. She kissed both their foreheads and raced up to the nursery.
James stood alone.
The door exploded inward with a thunderclap.
The smell of scorched wood filled the air. Embers scattered across the rug. Wind poured in like a flood, and in its heart stood Voldemort.
His eyes burned crimson.
His lips curled into a smile devoid of warmth.
James raised his wand. "You'll have to go through me."
The silence that followed was long and heavy.
Then Voldemort whispered: "Avada Kedavra."
Green light surged.
James leapt sideways, shouting, "Protego!"
The spell cracked against the shield. But the force sent James flying into the bookshelf. Books tumbled around him. Blood dripped from his temple.
He pushed himself up, teeth clenched, and hurled a stunning hex.
Voldemort deflected it with a flick.
Another flash of green.
James Potter fell. His glasses cracked. His chest didn't rise.
Upstairs, Lily cried out. She heard it.
She kissed Hardwin, whispering, "Stay quiet. Hide. No matter what."
She laid him in the closet behind a charm-woven screen. He stared at her, heart pounding. She waved her wand, and soft golden light enveloped him.
He couldn't move. Couldn't scream. Couldn't help.
She turned to Harry.
His tiny hand reached for her.
Then the shadows arrived.
Voldemort stepped into the nursery.
The air grew so cold frost bloomed on the windowpanes. Toys floated, then dropped. The enchanted stars above the crib flickered out.
He raised his wand.
"Stand aside, girl."
"Not Harry. Please."
"Stand aside."
"No!"
She blocked the crib.
Her hair shone like flame in the moonlight.
"Not Harry!"
The wand shimmered.
"Avada Kedavra."
Green light filled the room.
Lily fell.
Her body crumpled beside the crib.
Harry screamed.
Voldemort stood over him, triumphant.
He pointed the wand again.
The air warped.
The house groaned.
"Avada Kedavra."
But this time—
The magic twisted.
The curse hit.
And rebounded.
Light exploded.
Screams tore through the walls.
A great wind roared, ripping the roof from its beams. Glass shattered. Fire sparked across the wood. The Dark Lord howled as his body shattered like smoke in a storm.
His soul screamed.
One fragment—small, splintered, wounded—latched onto the closest thing it could find.
Harry.
A scar blazed on the infant's forehead, searing red.
Then silence.
Ash drifted through the broken air.
---
Hardwin blinked in the golden glow of Lily's protective charm.
His ears rang.
He couldn't feel his limbs.
The closet door had blown open, revealing the ruin beyond.
Harry cried softly in the remains of his crib.
Hardwin couldn't cry. He had no tears left.
He stared at his mother's lifeless form.
His father's still hand on the stairs.
A baby in a destroyed nursery.
> I couldn't stop it, he thought. I failed.
A fragment of wall groaned, then collapsed.
The wind outside howled through broken windows. Distantly, a cat meowed. An owl hooted, circling above the shattered roof.
Hardwin lay still.
> But I will not forget. I will not waste this.
The night had taken everything.
But he had survived.
And so had Harry.
The stars looked down through smoke and ruin.
A new story had begun.