The days passed in quiet peace. Aster smiled, laughed, and even played with Harry. At first, Harry flinched at the sight of Aster's unnaturally sharp teeth, but in time, they became good friends. Aster seemed to be opening up, just not the way he had with Lily.
October 24th, 1981, Early Morning
The morning light filtered softly through the misty windows, casting long golden beams across the worn wooden floorboards. A fire crackled lazily in the hearth, just enough to keep the chill at bay. Outside, the fog clung to the hedges like cobwebs, and the grass sparkled with dew. It was just past six.
In the kitchen, the scent of tea and toast drifted through the air. Lily was at the counter, her red hair damp and tucked into a braid over her shoulder, quietly humming as she stirred sugar into her tea. James was in the sitting room, balancing baby Harry on his hip while Aster sat near the window, knees to chest, chin resting on them, watching the fog roll over the neighbourhood.
"He's quiet again," Lily said softly, watching Aster out of the corner of her eye.
James nodded, bouncing Harry lightly.
"Quiet's not bad. Just means he's learning." He said after glancing at Aster for a bit and returning his attention to Harry.
"He's always quiet," she said with a hint of sadness. "Too much for a child."
Aster looked at her. The locket whispered, dark, demanding, but he didn't care. Aster just felt annoyed by it. She was all he could see.
Kreacher hadn't known what it was. Or what darkness lay within the locket.
To Kreacher, it was just Regulus's memento.
Knock knock.
A visit they were expecting.
James let Harry close to Aster and walked to the door, wand in his hand.
*Creak*
The door creaked open with a faint groan, letting in the early autumn breeze. On the threshold stood Sirius, dressed in worn leathers and soot-smudged boots, his black hair wind-tossed from the morning ride. He offered a crooked smile, but it didn't quite reach his eyes.
Behind him stood Peter Pettigrew, shivering slightly despite his heavy cloak. His eyes darted nervously, his hands wringing at his sides.
Sirius smiled, "Hope you've got tea brewing. We brought the fog with us." He seemed happy to see his friends after a month.
Lily stepped back to let them in, her smile guarded but kind.
"Always."
James gave Sirius a brief hug. He offered Peter a nod.[1]
James smiled at Peter, "Wormtail. You seem exhausted."
"Didn't sleep much." His voice was thin, as if the walls themselves might be listening.
Sirius gestured back to the porch with his thumb."We should talk. Now, before anyone else wakes up."
From the hallway, Aster stood in his pajamas, bare feet silent on the wooden floor. He stared at Sirius and Peter.
Sirius felt weird with Aster, still, he got him into his arms, and Aster didn't reject.
He then looked at James and Lily, who stood behind him.
"He seems well fed, he even gained some weight."
Sirius knew they would treat him like their son. Sirius felt happy.
Lily smiled softly. "He never cries."
James chuckled, nudging her gently. "Good thing we have Harry to cause all the trouble, then."
Sirius offered a tight smile. "Doesn't surprise me. He was born in secret."
James got closer to Sirius and whispered. "What's this about, Pads? You don't just drop in at dawn for tea."
Sirius looked at the four of them and said. "We're doing the Fidelius Charm. Dumbledore says it's time. No more waiting."
Lily knew that once they did it, no one would be able to find them. Staying here for over a month had already been a miracle. Protection spells could only hold for so long..
Thinking of Harry's safety was important, even more so with a new child with them.
She opened her eyes and said. "Yes. We're ready."
James looked at Sirius, his eyes showing his trust in his friend. "You'll be the Secret-Keeper then."
Sirius knew James trusted him more than anyone; he felt happy. "We already talked about it, I won't."
Then he pulled Peter with his arms. Peter was way smaller than all of them, except for the kids.
Peter said timidly, his voice shaking. "Y-Yes!"
Aster stared at Peter.
Peter glanced at Aster, unease prickling at the edges of his mind. There was something strange about this kid... something that felt just a little too much like the Dark Lord.
James didn't feel safe with Peter; he trusted his friends, but something felt off with Peter.
Sirius, noticing James's suspicion, put his hand on James's shoulder. "I'll swear on my life, Prongs. I trust Peter. Do you trust me?"
James didn't hesitate. "With everything."
Lily still felt off but said calmly. "Then we'll do it. But Sirius..." She looked toward Aster. "If something feels off again, promise me you'll act."
Sirius knew what she meant; more than one life was at stake, he said. "I swear."
They made the Fidelius Charm with Peter as the Secret Keeper.
The days passed calmly, too calmly.
Aster sat at the window, staring silently at the street, his hands folded neatly in his lap.
The cottage was quiet, almost too quiet. No owls came. No visitors dropped by. No paper on the porch. Cut off from the world, they were hidden under the Fidelius Charm, only Peter Pettigrew knew where they were.
And Sirius hadn't come back, not since that early morning.
Still, every day without fail, he sent a message.
Just a few lines. "I'm safe. Are you all right?" It wasn't much. But it was enough to know he hadn't given up.
Lily had started knitting again, out of habit more than hope. She would hum, her fingers twitching nervously as if trying to distract herself from what she felt more than what she knew.
James tried to stay upbeat. But there were moments, when Harry napped or Lily left the room, where James just stood still. Eyes on the floor. Breathing shallow. Listening for something.
On the last day of the month. The wards didn't scream. It was the most peaceful day of this month.
At night.
The front door shattered, a pulse of force rippling through the house like thunder without sound. Magic, a presence heavy and cold, swept through the air like a wave of death.
James knew.
One of his friends betrayed him.
He turned instantly, yelling, "Lily! Take them, go!" and bolted for the stairs.
She couldn't run. She couldn't hide.
They were too young, and fear flooded her mind, thick and paralyzing.Worse than fear for herself was the fear that she might fail, might somehow bring harm to the children.
The cloak was with Dumbledore. There was no way out.
So she did the only thing she could. She stepped in front of them. Placed her body between them and the danger.
But Voldemort was already inside.
There was no time to grab his wand. It lay on the table near the fireplace.
James stood at the base of the stairs as Voldemort entered the hallway.
But James didn't flinch. He didn't run.
He threw himself forward, trying to buy Lily a few seconds.
Just a few seconds more, before the inevitable.
No wand. No shield.
Just a man standing between evil and his family.
"Step aside," Voldemort said.
Voldemort believed anything was in fear of death, that's why he made the horcruxes after.
Nothing was worse than death.
He would still kill James, he just wanted to see him run.
James didn't move.
James was unarmed, but he would not beg. He would not give Voldemort the pleasure.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light.
James Potter fell, his body collapsing on the stairs he had just descended.
James Potter fell, his body collapsing on the stairs he had just descended, wandless, but defiant. A final act of love and desperation to buy mere seconds for the ones above.
Upstairs, Lily flinched at the sound, her heart splintering as the silence that followed became unbearable. She stood between the crib and the door, trembling. Her arms ached to protect her son, her son, and yet, behind her, Aster stood too. Quiet, still watching.
The door burst open. Everything Lily placed to block the door was easily pushed aside.
There he was, cloaked in shadows and hatred, the Dark Lord himself, wand raised and deadly calm.
Voldemort stepped into the room.
The crib was behind her. She stood between him and the child, arms out, eyes wide, trembling not with fear for herself, but with something he could never understand.
Love.
He paused, just for a moment, his red eyes meeting hers. It wasn't mercy. He didn't know the word. Only power, life, and death mattered to him.
But for Severus, his most devoted servant, who had begged for this girl's life, he allowed a rare indulgence.
Stand aside, girl," he said. "This is my last warning."
She didn't move.
"Please, take me, not them! I'll do anything—"
The Dark Lord's crimson eyes flicked once more toward Lily Potter's still form.
He felt... irritated. He had gone further than he normally would for a servant. Even one as gifted as Severus.But he had made an exception—not out of mercy, but out of strategy. For loyalty. For usefulness.
And this was the thanks he got.
'He begged for her,' Voldemort thought, 'as if she were something rare. Unique. But there are many more beautiful women. More obedient. More useful.'
Yes, she was young. Yes, she was beautiful in that mortal, fleeting way. But what was beauty to him?
A distraction. A weakness.
"Not them," she begged, the tears in her voice making her words shake. "Please... not them."
Another flash.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The spell struck her chest.
She fell on the ground, her body didn't move anymore.
She didn't die; the pain all over her body told her that.
The green light had not consumed her.
It had been stopped, twisted, devoured by something ancient and unknown.
Severus would understand, he'd have to. Loyalty did not hinge on sentiment. And if it did... then perhaps he was not as useful as Voldemort had believed.
'He'll mourn, then move on. He always does. Desire fades.' The Dark Lord believed this, the way one believes in gravity or death.
He had given Severus more than he deserved.
He had ended the girl.
It should have been done.
But something wasn't right.
He felt it again, that prickle of unease.
He turned.
There wasn't just one child.
There were two.
The second boy stood quietly, half-shadowed behind the crib.
'Twins? He thought. No matter.' The Dark Lord thought, wand twitching.
Voldemort stepped closer.
Two children.
He blinked.
'Twins...?' No. I was never told of twins.
The first boy, the one everyone spoke of, had his mother's eyes and his father's hair.
But the second...
The Dark Lord's gaze shifted to the second child.
Red dark hair, wild and unkempt, like the woman sprawled on the floor.
But his eyes…
They looked strange. Almost lifeless.
Empty. Still. Unyielding.
Something about him stirred a cold, uneasy knot in Voldemort's chest.This wasn't just another child.
He looks like her...
But those eyes... what are they hiding?
His thoughts flicked back to Peter.
'Why did he never mention this? What else is he hiding?'
Voldemort's wand twitched.
He had all the time in the world.
Even if someone came too late.
No one could protect those children now.
The room was silent but for the steady breath of the boy with lifeless eyes.
Voldemort's wand rose.
The final judgment was at hand.
Voldemort's attention snapped back to the boy in the crib—the one everyone whispered about.
The so-called "Boy of Prophecy."
He didn't fear the child himself. No, fear was beneath him.
His followers whispered of destiny. The wizarding world pinned their hope on this fragile, scarred boy.
And that belief, that fear, gnawed at Voldemort's cold certainty.
'It isn't him who worries me,' he thought.
"Avada Kedavra."
A flash of green light burst forth.
But instead of the expected death, Voldemort's body began to crumble, turning to dust before his eyes.
Panic flickered for the briefest moment in his mind, but it was too late to flee.
His physical form was gone.
Only his fragmented soul remained, tethered to the world by his Horcruxes.
Unbeknownst to him, a new fragment had split from his shattered essence, one he did not anticipate.
This shard instinctively reached out, seeking connection.
First, it drifted toward Lily.
Confused and aimless, it turned.
Its attention fell on the other boy, the one with the red hair and lifeless eyes.
Yet, inexplicably, it halted.
Something pulled it away from that boy, forcing its focus elsewhere.
The shard's gaze settled on the only likely living presence in the room.
The "Boy of Prophecy."
Silence fell.
The Dark Lord was gone. Nothing remained but ash in the air and a faint hum of magic scorched into the floor.
Aster stood still for a long time. Not in fear. Not in shock. Just... stillness.
Then, he moved.
Tiny steps carried him to the woman lying motionless on the floor.
He knelt beside her, expression unreadable. His hand reached out and brushed her face, gently, as if trying to remember it.
Then, without hesitation, he bit into his own palm.
Blood welled up, bright and red, alive.
He leaned forward and let it drip onto her lips.
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then, a breath. Shallow, shivering. Her chest lifted.
Lily gasped.
She was back in control of her body.
Air rushed into her lungs like fire and frost. Her body convulsed, then stilled.
She opened her eyes.
The world was blurred, the edges too bright, until she saw him.
A small figure, kneeling beside her.
Aster.
His eyes locked with hers. They were glowing.
Not silvery, not black, a strange, deep violet. They shimmered with something not entirely human. Something mystical.
She stared into his glowing, violet eyes, still and shimmering like candlelight on dark water.
Then they flickered.
The glow dimmed.
Blood still dripped from his hand. His breathing was shallow now, ragged, strained.
Lily reached out weakly, but too late.
Aster swayed on his knees, as if the very weight of the world had landed on his back.
Then, quietly, he collapsed.
His eyes closed as he hit the floor beside her.
Lily, barely conscious, reached out, fingers brushing his hair.
Tears welled in her eyes. "What... did you do...?" But there was no answer.
With a trembling gasp, she reached out. Her fingers found Aster's small frame, still warm but unmoving beside her. Then Harry, still curled in the crib, whimpering softly.
She pulled them close, her arms barely strong enough.
But she held them.
She held them both.
And as her body gave in, shaking with exhaustion, she collapsed again—this time with Aster in one arm, Harry cradled in the other.
...
Outside, the night held its breath.
The wind had stilled. Ash and magic hung thick in the air like smoke that had forgotten how to rise.
Then, a shadow passed over the rooftop.
It glided silently, shapeless at first… until it took form: a bat-like silhouette, wings stretched wide, drifting toward the house like a silent omen.
Moments later, footsteps.
Soft. Measured. Careful.
A figure emerged at the edge of the doorway, cloak billowing behind him, wand in hand.
The bat-like shadow crossed the threshold.
Boots touched the scorched floor.
"Please be alive." The thought echoed like a whisper trapped behind his clenched teeth.
As Severus stepped into the ruined home, his gaze was drawn first to the still form by the stairs.
James Potter.
Lying face-up in the corridor, wand just out of reach. Lifeless.
For a moment, Snape stood frozen, staring.
Then, his jaw clenched.
A flicker of emotion crossed his face. Not sorrow. Something colder. More complicated.
Pity and hate.
So this is how the great James Potter dies, he thought.Not in glory… but flat on the floor, like the arrogant fool he always was.
His lips tightened into a bitter line.
I would've done it myself, he admitted, if he'd let me.
But no triumph stirred in him. No satisfaction.
Only a hollow ache in the chest and the sharp sting of a truth he'd always known: Lily had loved him. Not Severus. James.
Severus stepped past James's lifeless body without pause.
There was no room for that now. He moved toward the stairs, each step a quiet thud echoing through the devastated house.
His heartbeat slower with each step, as though his body tried to delay what waited above.
Severus stopped in the doorway. Words caught in his throat.
His eyes locked on the scene before him: Lily, barely conscious, blood on her lips, cradling not one, but two children.
Severus's gaze flicked between the two children again, disbelief tightening his chest.
'Dumbledore told me she had one.' He thought, not believing his eyes.
One child. The Boy of Prophecy. Harry.
Red hair just like hers.
Lily's eyes fluttered open, heavy with pain and confusion. Her breath caught as she sensed a presence nearby, close, cautious.
Her heart leapt with a sudden, primal fear.
Is it him? Voldemort? Has he returned to finish what he started?
But then her gaze settled.
A familiar face. A man standing silently in the doorway. His cloak hung heavy, his expression unreadable.
Severus's breath caught as Lily's tired eyes met his.
"Sev?" A voice that to Snape looked remorseful, sad, and even angry.
[1] "Why did Peter betray the Potters"