Halloween, 1980.
An emergency meeting was called for the members of the Order. Although Dumbledore did not require the Potters or the Longbottoms to attend, the parents of three chose to take part regardless, determined to contribute despite the precariousness of their situation
Dumbledore has revealed to both couples the unsettling possibility that one of their sons could be the prophesied child—the one fated to defeat the Dark Lord. Fearing for their children's safety, the two families took drastic measures, vanishing into secrecy under the protection of the Fidelius Charm—a formidable spell that conceals their whereabouts within the depths of a single soul. None within the Order are privy to their hiding place, save for Dumbledore, the Potters, the Longbottoms, and their trusted Secret Keepers.
James and Lily Potter are blessed with triplets—three identical boys, all born at the end of July. Each of them has unmistakably inherited their father's features, from his untamed, perpetually messy hair to his striking resemblance. At first, Lily playfully lamented that none of her sons bear her looks, but her pride in them is unwavering, especially since they've inherited her brilliant emerald-green eyes—a gift that ties them to her in a way that no resemblance ever could.
The eldest of the triplets is Charlus—affectionately called Charles—followed by Harry, then Nathaniel, who goes by Nathan. Despite their identical appearances, Lily always knows which twin is which, unlike James, who frequently mixes up their names. Each boy has developed his own distinct personality: Charles is lively and mischievous, Harry is quiet and serious, while Nathan is fond of sleeping and dislikes being disturbed. As for their godfathers, Remus Lupin was chosen for Charles—represented by Albus Dumbledore due to his werewolf status—Sirius Black was entrusted with Harry, and Peter Pettigrew was named as Nathan's guardian.
Since James and Lily were going to the Order meeting, Dorea Potter, James' mother, agreed to be their babysitter for the night. But things did not go well that Halloween. The Potters were betrayed. Betrayed by no other than, their own secret keeper and long-time friend, Peter Pettigrew.
"You are not coming near my grandchildren!" growled Dorea Potter as the dark lord marched toward Godric Hallow. She may not have the strength of Dumbledore himself, but she is a formidable woman from the house of Black!
"Step aside, woman!" Voldemort commanded, his voice cold and imperious. But Dorea stood her ground, defiant and unyielding. In an instant, she unleashed a powerful Stunning Hex aimed at the Dark Lord—only for it to strike Peter Pettigrew instead. The force of the spell sent him hurtling backward, crashing into the framed pictures that lined the wall, shattering glass and splintering wood as he collapsed in a heap.
Fool," Voldemort thought, his irritation simmering as he watched his incompetent servant sent flying through the walls. He could at least acknowledge that Dorea Potter, née Black, was no ordinary witch—she was a Black, after all, and that bloodline carried an undeniable mastery of the Dark Arts. Unlike the naïve light wizards who restrained themselves with their misguided morals, Dorea would likely have no qualms about wielding dark magic against him. A pity, really, that she had shackled herself to a light wizard—a waste of potential in his eyes.
Dorea unleashed spell after spell at the Dark Lord, each strike precise and calculated. The battle threw the house into chaos, the violent bursts of magic surely alerting the neighbors to the fight. Yet, Voldemort—master duelist and wielder of the darkest magic—deflected each attack with unnerving ease. She may be a Black, but he was still the Dark Lord.
With a flick of his wand, he cast a bone-breaking curse straight into her chest. The force of the spell sent Dorea staggering backward, agony wracking her body as her ribs shattered, crushing her lungs. Blood bubbled at her lips as she fought to breathe.
'Such a shame,' Voldemort muttered with cold disdain as he stepped over her trembling form. She convulsed, gasping, yet still defiant.
'N-no,' she rasped, her fingers latching onto the hem of his cloak.
His crimson eyes flickered with irritation. 'You annoy me.'
With a swift motion, he uttered the Killing Curse
Voldemort stepped into the nursery, his eyes sweeping over the crib where the Potter triplets lay. Three pairs of striking green eyes stared up at him, unblinking, and innocent. His lip curled in disdain. He refused to believe that one of these boys could ever be his downfall, but he would take no chances.
He raised his wand.
'AVADA KEDAVRA!'
A blinding explosion tore through Godric's Hollow. The anguished cries of magic and fate echoed in the night—until, at last, the Dark Lord was no more.