Chapter Text
October 31, 1981
Dimly, the moon shone down upon the quaint village of Godric's Hollow, its light feeble and blurred in comparison to the stark black of the night sky, an endless sea of shadows smattered by billions of stars, not a single cloud obstructing its view.
The fall wind held a teeth-chattering chill, its fierce howling the only noise interrupting the dead quiet of the night, the sound almost like a forewarning of the unfortunate events to come.
Snot-nosed children roamed the streets, swinging jack-o-lantern shaped buckets crammed full of the sweets they went door to door and begged for, choosing Muggle tradition to betray sacred tradition. The buckets swung back and forth, threatening to topple over as the children skipped across the cobblestone streets, where more traitorous smiling old women greeted them with a handful of candies.
They were all naïve of the tragedy about to take place, ignorant of the family that would soon be ripped apart and the prophecy that would be broken before it could so much as begin to come to fruition.
Obscured by the thick shadows cast by the quivering willow trees planted in the generous expanse of yard owned by the Potter family, was a sneering cloaked man, who's burning crimson eyes and cold, handsome features were obscured by his dark hood. Not even the many lanterns lit with dancing flames lining the roads could reveal his features, as all that was visible of him in the stark night was a menacing smirk that flashed with sharp pearly teeth.
The man's eyes were focused intently on the modest cottage in front of him, his being practically oozing with malicious intent. The fidelius charm had been long broken, although the foolish Potter family didn't know it yet.
How completely ignorant they were to trust and place their safety in the hands of sniveling little Peter Pettigrew, who was more of a spineless groveling rat than he was a man.
He could feel, almost taste the putrid magic staining the very air of the family home, generations of magic weakened by ignored traditions and values and, perhaps worst of all, breeding between lesser witches and wizards- Half-Bloods and Muggle-borns staining the once prestigious Potter lineage, and it was only making the serpentine man more and more eager to finish the task at hand.
It took time, much more than it should have taken him, but, now, he finally had the means of eliminating the prophesied child sleeping in the very nursery visible from his spot in the yard, on Samhain, when he was at the height of his power, no less. After he was finished, it would be known to all that there was no one capable of defeating him and his power would never be questioned again.
He couldn't wait to see the look on the doddering old fool's face when he saw his savior's corpse. The old coot would soon learn how utterly idiotic he was to believe a mere bratty child to be capable of defeating someone as powerful and inevitable as him.
The Dark Lord Voldemort spared his unsavory surroundings one last disgusted sneer, surging forward much like a predator after its prey, steps powerful and full of righteous purpose.
~-----------------------------------------~
In the comfort and warmth of her home, Lily Potter stood, watching her baby girl crawling around in her cot, cooing happily as her beloved stuffed Ukrainian Ironbelly hung loosely from her lips, its tail thoroughly chewed. Lily lovingly ran her hands through the silky black hair adorning her little girl's head, curl's as black as the night she peered out at from her window, watching the stars glittering across the night sky as she pondered pensively.
This child had been the cause of all of her happiness this past year, and, despite the stress of the prophecy and war weighing inevitably down on their family, her daughter was a beacon of light, a constant in the changing times and a force that brought her and her husband together through the rough start of their marriage and to the semblance of peace they held now.
Their bright little girl had single-handedly gifted her and James hope during the aftermath of the shameful time the couple had spent away from each other, endless streams of days and nights when James would binge drink away all of their problems and drown himself in his Auror duties and Lily would spend unfaithful nights in the company of questionable men whom she barely knew, walking dimly lit roads in hope of distraction that would soon lead to self-loathing.
She deeply regretted all of that now, how she had slept around, trying to somehow receive the attention and love her husband hadn't given her for countless long, dark days, and the hopelessness she had felt, then. James and his dear friends had been all she had, as her younger sister Petunia refused to answer a single one of her letters, Severus was prancing around as a Death Eater and her parents had long since passed, having already been abnormally old when they had her, much like James' own.
She was alone, but for her husband.
At the time of her unfaithfulness, she had truly believed that their marriage was destined to fail and often had thoughts of filing for divorce papers, only to be met with the the realization that she had no one else, but the shadows that clung under James eyes and the weak smiles he had given her, so different from the confident grin that had won her over, and she had put it off, pretending everything would be alright.
Lily's pregnancy had been the glue that kept their marriage together and brought them the hope and the resolve needed to fix their problems so that they could be good parents for their daughter, the only thing Lily had ever wanted.
And what a beautiful, precious little daughter she was! With her pretty little features and sparkling green eyes, a mirror of Lily's own.
It was a miracle...their daughter was a miracle.
After months of them trying for children with no such luck and having had many Mediwizards pronounce James as infertile, they both had bitterly given up on their dreams of ever having children.
The Potter Lord beat himself up about it for months and months on end, falling into a pit of depression, and sullenly declaring himself unfit to be called a man, before, suddenly, Lily found out she was pregnant after a simple monthly check-up with her healer when she'd been having terrible morning sickness and fatigue.
It was a miracle. They were so incredibly happy that all of their former struggles had paled in comparison to the shining beacon of light that was their only child.
And even when Dumbledore gravely told them about the prophecy that proclaimed their daughter as the chosen one who would one day defeat Lord Voldemort, and they had to go into hiding to protect her, they stuck through it all with determination that even Godric Gryffindor himself would have struggled to rival. They were willing to do whatever it took to keep their little girl safe and happy.
They would readily risk their lives for her because she gave them their happiness and hope back.
Unknown to Lily, that happiness that she had been given was ill-fated, destined to be taken by the selfish hands of a murderous Dark Lord and the remorseless wheels of fate.
As if on cue, the distant sound of shouting and cold laughter followed by the dull, hollow thump of something heavy hitting the polished wooden floor shattered the silence of her home.
Lily's emerald green eyes widened in fear and trepidation as she quickly sped down the stairs, where she could see from the kitchen doorway a figure lying still on the ground, forgetting to even bring her wand in her haste.
A gasp of horror left Lily's taunt, whitening lips as she reached the bottom of the steps, peering ahead where she was met with the gut-wrenching, earth-shattering scene of James' limp, lifeless corpse and the hooded horrifyingly crimson stare of Voldemort, who stood carelessly over his body, his robes sprawled out and his features shadowed ominously by the hood of his cloak.
The witch's body moved on pure maternal instinct to protect her daughter, her mind racing and a torrent of tears falling from her eyes and she kept re-living the scene in her head, the knowledge that James was well and truly dead enough to send her into a state of shock.
She pushed on with the strength that only a mother could possess, racing up the steps before she soon reached the nursery, her legs trembling and heart thumping against the confines of her ribcage as she attempted to barricade her and her baby in by piling chairs and boxes in front of the door.
Lily Potter had no time to think, let alone mourn the loss of her husband, for the sound of Voldemort's cruel laugh could be heard from behind the door, and she was left feeling utterly hopeless and full of despair as the boxes and furniture pushed away from the door by the invisible force of magic, falling with a hushed clatter.
So Lily did the only thing she could and threw herself in front of her child, who had been standing up in her crib silently waiting for Lily to return, and cried out when the nursery door was blasted open, wood shards flying through the air as Voldemort came walking through.
His horrible red eyes glinted cruelly and in his grasp was a long, pale wand which he pointed at her with a poised hand, his expression nothing but pure monstrous evil, emphasized by the coal black hair that peeked from beneath his dark hood, framing his inhumanly pale face and the potent dark magic swirling around his unnaturally tall form and filling Lily with despair.
Lily shakily threw her arms wide, shielding her daughter with tears running down her face, trembles and sobs wracking her body, "Not my baby!", she screamed, her voice breaking from the heavy spiral of emotions she was feeling, unable to think clearly beyond saving her child, regardless of what became of her.
"Stand aside, you silly girl!", The Dark Lord hissed menacingly at the idiotic women Severus pleaded for him to spare- why, he couldn't begin to understand.
Lily didn't move an inch, shielding her little girl from the wand jabbed roughly at her, determined to keep her baby safe, "Kill me! Not her! Not my baby...please kill me instead! Spare her! I beg of you!"
The Dark Lord's eyes narrowed into a livid red glare, like scorching pieces of coal heated to a glow, "Have it your way then", he murmured, feeling nothing but detest for the utterly weak nature of the red-haired women, who was so intent on wasting her life for her useless child when she could simply have another.
A bright flash of green light lit up the nursery, Lily Potter's body dropping lifelessly onto the floor like a marionette cut from its strings. Unbeknownst to the Dark Lord who stood before her, the transaction of her sacrifice had bought one thing; a life for a life.
Too bad, it looked like Snape wouldn't get the Mudblood whore, after all.
Voldemort chuckled darkly down at the dead woman, vaguely recalling her face from one of the many women Dolohov picked up for him to enjoy after a particularly successful raid-an act that he, just once, indulged in, as he'd been called into action by the beauty of the woman.
He cackled, recalling the way the harlot had so eagerly spread her legs for him, how she hadn't even needed the same...persuasion that he witnessed the others enacting. She just let him bury himself in her and hadn't even looked at him, her eyes closed as if in denial of the very act.
It was utterly amusing that she happened to be part of Dumbledore's pathetic little following, and probably had been pregnant with the Potter's spawn when he took her, not that she would remember such an event.
He was much more careful than that; After he finished and grew bored with her, her memory was obliviated and she was tossed back into the streets like the dirty filth she was.
Voldemort smirked smugly but quickly focused back on the task at hand. He stepped over the limp corpse with little care and circled closer to the cot, where a mobile of golden snitches and broomsticks orbited around each other. Sickened, Voldemort aimed his wand at the child, who was oddly calm, gazing up at him with some form of curiosity, eyes matching those of her dead mother.
There was no trace of fear in her eyes, not even as he leaned down over her, baring his teeth into a terrifying sneer that made grown men and women cower in fear and throw themselves at his feet.
But, the girl just watched him, serene, a high giggle bubbling out of her throat, as if he hadn't, in fact, just took her parents lives, damning her an orphan, though it hardly mattered, as her small corpse would join those of her parents.
Immensely curious of this child, Voldemort yanked his hood back and inspected the girl fully for a moment, his eyes latching onto hers, when he sensed an abnormally powerful magical core radiating from within her, like an earthquake rattling his senses, buzzing in his ears and blinding his eyes with the sheer force of it
His expression flashed, showing a sliver of shock and awe. He had believed that the magic belonged to the dead woman, but, as she was unquestionably dead, it could only be the girl's magic.
{How truly frightening} , he hissed in the language of the snakes, running a long, thin finger through the dark curls adorning her head, contemplating its soft texture. At least she wasn't an ugly thing, as children usually were.
She cocked her head to the side as if considering him, before smiling a toothless grin and reaching out her arms as if asking to be held.
The Dark Lord frowned at what a loss of talent killing this child would be if she was already beginning to show strong magic and intelligence, but he reigned the feeling in. The power she held meant that she was an even bigger threat than she was made out to be by the old coot's seer.
He quietly untangled his finger from the tuft of black hair and hushed the child, staring in her glittering orbs one last time.
"Avada Kedavra", he rasped out after a moment's pause, the room engulfed in the same wicked emerald green as the little girl's eyes.
And then he broke, and he was nothing but pain and terror, and the only coherent thought he had was to flee, to get away from the rubble of the house where the strange little girl was now crying, and to flee, far, far away.
~-----------------------------------------~
Standing on the street of the cookie-cutter Muggle neighborhood of Privet Drive was Albus Dumbledore, who's long flowing silver beard, flamboyant purple robes that caused pain to an unprotected gaze, and abnormal existence would be ostracized if the neighborhood's very normal inhabitants were awake.
Cradled in the headmaster's thin arms was a wicker basket, inside of which was a mound of blankets and a sleeping baby girl; Hadara Potter, or as she would be celebrated after this tragic night, the Girl-Who-Lived, the savior of the Light and the one who defeated the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Though, that was not so much the truth...He need not fear someone learning of the entire truth, however, as they would see it as he painted it for them.
Seeing the man appear suddenly, a tabby cat that had been resting against the brick wall of one of the houses, leaped towards the headmaster and transformed into a tall, severe-looking woman dressed in bottle green robes mid leap, a worried, solemn look making itself at home in her eyes.
"Minerva...lovely seeing you here", Dumbledore greeted her, masking his displeasure at being interrupted during what was supposed to be a swift drop off with a pleasant smile. Everything was going according to plan, and he did not need his hard work ruined by the clever transfiguration professor.
"Is it true?", Minerva pried, ignoring the headmaster's greeting, "Is You-Know-Who truly...gone?"
Dumbledore decided it best he not answer that question, at least not truthfully, and, instead offered the professor a lemon drop from the depths of his robe pockets, to which she declined with a cold stare as if telling him this was not the place nor time for muggle sweets. Dumbledore frowned and popped one into his mouth, blanching at the sour taste of it against his tongue.
"Are the other rumors true? Are James and Lily truly...dead?", she pressed on, voice wavering at the terrible prospect with sorrow in her tone.
Dumbledore nodded grimly, gently patting McGonagall's shoulder when she let out a shocked, horrified gasp in response, almost wavering as she stood.
The professor's voice trembled as she went on, "They're saying he tried to kill their daughter, Hadara, but he couldn't. Nobody knows why or how, but he was somehow vanquished and she lived...The-Girl-Who-Lived."
Dumbledore bowed his head, nodding once again, but not offering anything more.
"It is true!", McGonagall only then seemed to have noticed the basket and the baby in Dumbledore's arms, having been too focused on her grief and mountain of questions, uncharacteristic of the sharp, infuriatingly perceptive woman.
"How did she survive the killing curse?", she asked, studying the child and the strange lightning bolt-shaped cut on her forehead that still oozed blood. She was fast asleep, but her tuft of curly black hair glittered under the glow of the starry night. "Poor child", she frowned sadly, running the back of her fingers against her cold cheek as she murmured unintelligible words of comfort.
"We may never know the circumstances of what occurred on this terrible night." Dumbledore was unwilling to divulge the truth about the matter. The only one who needed to know the truth was himself, and, eventually the child in his arms when the time was ready for her to do what she was now destined to- no one else could know.
"Now.." Minerva paused to dab at her teary eyes with a handkerchief before continuing in a serious tone "Why, exactly, are you here?"
Dumbledore frowned deeply at her accusatory look, the twinkle in his aged blue eyes dwindling, "I've come to bring Hadara to her aunt and uncle."
McGonagall cried out in shock and outrage, "You can't mean you're placing her with the Muggles here!? I've been observing them and I must say they're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable!"
"This will be the best place for her." Dumbledore replied and pinned McGonagall with a heavy look, "She will grow up with her family and out of the public eye. Surely you don't believe Hadara should grow up in the Wizarding world, scrutinized by everyone and targeted by dark wizards?"
McGonagall was about to argue but found that Dumbledore made a frustratingly solid point. It wouldn't do for the girl to be targeted by bitter dark wizards, ever loyal to their cause, and she would undoubtedly be safer in the Muggle world than in the Wizarding world where every breath she took would be under surveillance or fire.
However, she still disagreed with the Muggles that the girl would be placed with. They were simply not acceptable guardians. She had seen the little boy in the home and how he screamed and kicked at his mother during a temper tantrum. She paled just thinking about the poor girl having to live with them...Surely there were kinder Muggles around, ones who wanted to adopt a child and would genuinely care for her. Perhaps even an acceptable wizarding family that would teach her about their world. She was the sole Heiress of the Potter Family, after all.
"If you place her with those Muggles, then, do not expect my support. This is a rightly foolish decision Albus!", he huffed, her Scottish accent heavy in her ranting.
"There is not a person in our world who will not know her name...she is far better away from all of that."
Seeing the Albus was dead set on his decision and ignoring the valid statements she made about the girl's safety with those horrid Muggles, she glared angrily at him and apparated away without another word out of sheer spite and ire.
Dumbledore merely sighed, knowing that the Transfiguration professor was as stubborn as a bull and wouldn't listen to his reasoning, whether he was fully telling the truth or not, he knew he was right to do this. It needed to be done, for the Greater Good.
The Headmaster hobbled over to Number 4 and set the basket down on the front step, placing a letter sealed with his wax stamp with her. He apparated away after muttering a rushed farewell, merely wishing the child luck.
He knew in confidence that the Dursley's would mold the girl into someone who he would easily be able to influence and that she would be safe with her family's blood, and that was really all that mattered.
It was a shame that her godfather, an innocent man, had to be sacrificed but it was an easy choice. For The Greater Good.
When she came back to their world, eager for love and affection, he would easily gain her trust and mold her into the savior that she needed to become, and all would be as it should be.
~-----------------------------------------~
Hours later, when Petunia Dursley was awoken by wails that weren't recognizable as belonging to her darling, slumbering son, she stomped outside to find where the ruckus came from and found a freezing child with her eyes mirroring those of Petunia's sisters' and a lightning bolt cut on her head.
The wind howled and screeched, biting, and cold. An omen, perhaps.
At once, Petunia let out a horrified scream at the sight of her apparent niece, and, with little care, she threw the basket into the back of her car and ripped up the letter to shreds (as she had done with the numerous ones her sister sent over the years), as it no doubt entitled her to some sort of obligation toward the rotten child.
She would have absolutely none of that. No...if her freakish little sister had gotten herself killed in some unnatural way, she wanted nothing to do with it.
Scowling, she sped out of the driveway and far away from Privet Drive to find an orphanage with enough distance between them that the wretched girl wouldn't try to find Petunia and her family and where her freakishness could be kept away from them, separate from their normalcy so that her illnesses wouldn't affect them.
That night, the matron of Wool's Orphanage opened the door to find a child sat upon the steps with nothing but a blanket with strange golden balls with wings, a birthdate, and the name 'Hadara Potter' stitched into it.
As the child was reluctantly taken in by a wary matron, deep within the ministry of magic in the department of mysteries, a prophecy shattered into hundreds of pieces, fate itself irrevocably changed by the actions of an old man with delusions of grandeur.