Harry and Lilith Potter and The Philosopher's Stone
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Lilith Eva Potter was born in July 31, 1980, to her parents James and Lily Potter. Sounds familiar to a certain Boy-Who-Lived's story...
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England, Godric's Hollow, October 31, 1981
The cry of a baby was heard.
It was filled with fear and pain. He didn't know what had happened right in front of his eyes, but he knew something was wrong. The lifeless body of Lily Potter laid on the floor next to his crib. He tried to get her attention and she'd usually turn around with that beautiful smile of hers and comfort them, but that didn't happen this time. Suddenly, the baby boy wailed in pain. On his forehead was a horribly-looking scar, that was shaped like a lightning bolt — a cursed scar. He cried for a little more until he felt too tired and fell asleep, still longing for his mother's soothing voice.
As the day continued its slumber, two silhouettes came out from the shadows. Minerva McGonagall let out a gasp, her hand instinctively grasping something— in this case, the fabric of her dark green robe— and her eyes wide. The sight in front of them took their breath away and, for a brief moment, all that was heard was silence.
James and Lily Potter were dead. Their house was partly destroyed and there were pieces of it scattered around the street— a haunting contrast to the once quiet and peaceful neighbourhood.
Minerva couldn't help but clasp her hand over her mouth in shock as they entered the once beautiful home. The slight, putrid scent of death hung in the air, making it incredibly unbearable for both professors to breath comfortably as they made their way up the upper story of the building. "How could this happen, Albus?" Minerva asked, her voice barely a whisper as they slowly walked through the corridor, chunks of it missing and other smaller parts on the floor.
At first, Dumbledore didn't answer, his eyes surveying the remains. Then, he glanced at her, his eyes distant and without their usual twinkle. "Voldemort is a terrible wizard... capable of doing terrible things..." Albus Dumbledore knew from the beginning of this war that these were dark times and that no one —absolutely no one —was safe from him. Not even children.
They walked inside the nursery, where the babies were supposed to be, and were stunned with the sight of Lily's lifeless body next to her children's crib. Both wizards noticed that the baby girl was no where in sight and only Harry laid there, seemingly unmoving —except for the slight rise and fall of his small chest. McGonagall seethed when she saw this. She turned around to face Albus, a tear rolling down her cheek. "How could he do this to two poor children who can't even protect themselves?!" she shouted angrily, her voice echoing through the room. Dumbledore stayed quiet, he didn't even flinch at her outburst. As Minerva took a few deep breaths to calm herself, the older wizard took a glance at the the baby, who was now awake, clearly startled by the loud noises. Narrowing his eyes, he stepped closer to the child before brushing away the few hairs that covered his forehead. There, he found the truth of that night's events.
