A/N - first i'd like to point out that haven't written any fanfiction of any sort since i was 13, so i'm fairly sure this wont be a one-hit wonder success. secondly, it'll also be the first fanfic i've ever done that wasn't based on anime, much less with english type slang that i've been seeing on the Portkey. well, here goes...oh right, fyi this is AU. definitely definitely AU.
The Boys Who Lived
Prologue
The noise the picture frame made as it shattered was the first sign that something was wrong. For James, even an image of his wife falling off of the Ministry desk was enough to fill him with supernatural dread.
Funny that the word supernatural came into play. For indeed James and many of the people he called his friends were above the ordinary. They were wizards and witches, each powerful in their own right. Each with the strongest trust in each other.
And all of them had the strongest of enemies after their very lives.
With a sickening feeling deep in his gut James had shoved himself away from his desk. Away from fellow Aurors who tried to ask him what was the matter. Away from the Ministry of Magic itself as he charged towards the nearest apparation point.
James and Lily Potter had known for a few weeks now that Lord Voldemort would be hunting them specifically. Albus Dumbledore himself had warned them of the danger. Of the Prophecy that was made. He had it on very good authority that the Dark Lord had heard of the words spoken on that fateful night, and he urged the Potters to take precautions. The problem was that depending on the interpretation, the Prophecy might not have been about them at all. But Dumbledore had hypothesized, and everybody had agreed. James Potter was simply more talented, more of a threat than Frank Longbottom and his newborn son Neville.
In hindsight, it was almost laughable that Voldemort had disagreed.
As James apparated to the Longbottom's humble home, he sank to his knees as he surveyed the carnage before him. The house itself was in flames, the Dark Mark hovering like a bright, terrible beacon above it. There were screams, oh yes, there were screams. While James had been working tirelessly against the forces of Darkness, Lily would have spent the nights with her closest friends. Since Frank was taking a long deserved, yet short break from his duties, he and Alice had spent the last few nights entertaining her and her son.
Their bodies were unmarred, for the most terrible of the Unforgivable Curses left no mark on its victims. Even now James was lost in her beauty even as he cradled her lifeless body in his arms. It wasn't until he finally ran out of voice, out of strength, that he noticed that the cries weren't stopping.
Gingerly he carried his dead wife in his arms as he stepped over the wreckage. With a quick spell he tossed a piece of rubble off to the side, to uncover a lone crib, in which two one-year old infants lay bawling.
Harry, he thought. Harry is alive! For long moments he simply stared at the crib as his heart momentarily lifted at the thought that his son was amongst the living...and judging from the strength of his lungs so was young Neville.
The distinctive sound of a wizard arriving by portkey broke him out of his reverie in time to notice a large hand clamping down on his shoulder. He looked over to see Hagrid, Hogwart's faithful gamekeeper staring down at him.
"It's good that yer still among the livin' young Potter," Hagrid mumbled to cover his suprise at seeing James there. His normally booming voice was quiet as he looked down at the wizard. In his hands he held an ordinary looking spoon, which he jabbed towards the motionless figure. "Lily and the Longbottoms...are they.."
As James looked on speechless, Hagrid coughed and tossed the spoon over his shoulder, shaking his head. "Dumbledore sent me," he explained, straightening. "Soon as he got word."
He clapped his hand against James' shoulder and moved off towards the crib. Reaching inside with both arms he cradled the two infants to his chest then moved back to where James was still kneeling. As he did, a rumbling noise separated itself from the background hubbub and steadily gained in volume. Moments later a flying motorcycle dropped from the sky and a lanky figure dismounted and dashed over.
"James!" came the worried voice. "James are you okay?" The man stumbled and skidded to a stop as he approached the two. "That's not Lily is it..? She's not..." he voice trailed off.
"She's dead, Sirius," James said, his voice barely a whisper. "It's all my fault...I should have been there for her..."
"Nonsense!" Hagrid boomed. "If you were here you woulda been smashed too!" He belatedly turned and greeted the newcomer. "Sorry, but if you'll excuse me. James, I'll leave young Harry to you. I've got to get young Longbottom to his grandmother."
"I'll help you Hagrid," Sirius said with a quick glance at James.
"Sorry. Dumbledore's orders, best get m'self on my way now."
"Oh," Sirius looked at a lost for words, his eyes taking in the wreckage. He looked up at Hagrid again, "Take my bike then. It'll help you get there faster since you can't apparate."
"Sirius Black!" Hagrid exclaimed, turning, "You love that bike!"
Sirius shook his head, "I wont be needing it now, go on Hagrid."
Hagrid nodded and settled into the motorbike's seat. Soon he was off, the rumble of the motor dying out in the distance.
Sirius moved back over to James and threw his arm over his shoulders. "I'm sorry Prongs," he whispered. "This is all my fault."
"It's not," James threw back. "It's Voldemort's. Voldemort's and his supporters!"
Black's eyes hardened at the last phrase. He clapped his hand against James's back and stood up again. "His supporters indeed..."
"How did he find them, Padfoot?" James sobbed, clutching Lily to his chest again. "The Fidelius Charm! It's supposed...!" he held her tighter, his voice falling to a whisper, "it was supposed to be..."
Sirius turned so as not to look at what his best friend had been reduced to. "I've got to go, Prongs," he said softly. "There's something I need to take care of. I'm so sorry..."
As Sirius apparated away, James turned his attention back to his son. Brushing his hair back he noticed the jagged scar on his forehead.
Confused with grief, he didn't grasp the significance of some of the events that night. He didn't know how Voldemort had stormed into the Longbottom's house to remove a threat to his power, only to have it stripped away from him. He didn't know how Lily and Alice had died sheltering their children, invoking a magic older than Merlin himself. That as the Dark Lord had tried to curse the children the ancient magic had come into play, rebounding his spell between the two and sending it back to the caster.
He didn't know that as word spread, wizards and witches everywhere were raising their wands in a salute, at the end of a frightful era.
"To Neville Longbottom and Harry Potter," they would whisper. "To the Boys Who Lived!"