A/N: When I first wrote this story, I had it as primarily movie-centric, but then I changed my mind and decided to combine content from the books AND the movies. There will also be subtle references to Twilight and The Hunger Games, so kudos to you guys if you're able to spot the references. I don't own anything except for my OCs, Cassia, Laurel, Jasmine, and Raina.

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Third-Person Narrative

For Muggle and wizarding families alike, Halloween was a time for celebration, filled with magic, mischief, and of course, candy. But on this particular Halloween night, people would be celebrating for an entirely different reason; October 31st, 1981 would soon go down in history as a day of triumph, the day a notorious wizard was defeated by a pair of twin babies. At least, that's the story people would come to believe in the days that followed.

Unfortunately, this triumph came at a heavy cost for the twins—the night they defeated the evil wizard was also the night that they lost their parents.

Godric's Hollow had been bustling with trick-or-treaters earlier in the evening, but now the streets were almost empty, save for one singular figure making their way through the village.

The figure wore a long, black cloak, with the hood pulled up, nearly blocking his eyes, to conceal his face. At first glance, his attire might have passed for a very well thought-out Halloween costume. Many of the parents in Godric's Hollow had chosen to dress up along with their children to celebrate the spooky occasion.

But if anyone had been looking closely, they would have noticed that he was walking in a very distinct manner. His gait signified that he was there with a clear purpose. There was intention in every step. He had a job to do here in Godric's Hollow, and he would not rest until it was done.

In their cozy cottage, unaware of the impending danger, James Potter was in the living room with his two children, one boy and one girl. He entertained the two infants by conjuring bubbles with his wand, bubbles in various colors and sizes, watching with amusement at the twins' enthralled reaction at the display of magic. It wasn't the first time they'd seen one of their parents waving a wand, but to a pair of one-year-old minds like theirs, it was nothing short of amazing.

The boy, whom they named Harry James, nearly matched his father in appearance, with the sole difference being the color of his eyes. While James's eyes were hazel, Harry's eyes were a brilliant emerald-green, like Lily's.

His sister, named Cassia Helena, had inherited her mother's facial features, and as with Harry, she also had her mother's emerald-green eyes. Though contrary to the dark red hair that made her mother so distinctly recognizable, Cassia's hair was the same ebony hue as her brother and her father.

James was still in disbelief at how quickly the twins were growing; they'd more or less learned how to fly on their first birthday, when Sirius had gifted them those toy broomsticks. Now they were grabbing at the bubbles, or at least trying to. Harry's little hands were especially quick; James grinned, already imagining Harry wielding the Golden Snitch in his hand, flying high over a crowded Quidditch stadium.

The twins had been born in the very early hours of the morning on July 31st, 1980. James remembered it like it was yesterday.

"Just breathe, Lily. Big breath, big breath. You're doing great. You're almost there," James encouraged, rubbing Lily's shoulder with one hand and holding her hand with his free one.

Lily's breathing came in sharp gasps as she held fast to her husband's hand, beads of sweat dotting her face. Her first-born, a son, had come into the world less than five minutes earlier, and was currently being cleaned up and looked over by the assistant Healers on the other side of the room.

Moments later, one of the Healers was levitating a bassinet beside Lily's bed. "Six pounds, 13 ounces, 19 ½ inches long," she said.

Lily forced a smile despite the pain in her pelvis and lower back. She had been in labor for the better part of 17 hours, since her water had broken yesterday morning, around 11:00 or 11:30 AM. Her pain-relieving medicine had worn off long ago, so she was eager to have this delivery over so she could have both her children in her arms.

James looked over at the bassinet, beaming at the now-asleep baby boy. One down, one more to go, he thought to himself. He'd been looking forward to this day ever since Lily had broken the news to him nine months ago that she was pregnant.

The excitement only grew at their 12-week checkup when the Mediwitch announced that they were having twins. He and Lily had decided they wanted to know the genders ahead of time, since Lily wasn't really a fan of surprises. But deep down, James's only concern was that the twins were healthy.

"As long as they're healthy, I'm happy with anything," he had said that day.

"All right, Lily, your next contraction's coming up. I want you to give me another big push like you did before," said the Mediwitch supervising Lily's delivery.

Lily managed a nod in between breaths, mentally readying herself to bring her daughter into the world. If her mother could do this twice, so could she.

"You're almost there, Lils," James repeated.

The Mediwitch lifted her head from behind the sheets covering Lily's lower half. "Wait," she said suddenly. "Don't push."

"What—do you—mean?" Lily panted. "Why—why can't I push yet?"

"Is the baby okay?" James asked, concern edging into his tone.

"We have to keep an eye on her heartbeat. She's breech," said the Mediwitch.

Now it was Lily's turn to worry. "Breech? What does that mean?" she asked.

"She's not coming out headfirst," the Mediwitch explained. She glanced at the Healer in charge of watching the health monitors. "What's the status?"

"It doesn't look good. Baby's heart rate and blood pressure are starting to drop," said the Healer.

Lily bit her lip, glancing at the monitors. It was the first time in nine months that she felt scared. Even when she first found out she was pregnant, and with twins, she wasn't scared, just anxious. Now she had real fear on her face. What if her daughter didn't survive?

"Can't they turn her around so she comes out headfirst?" James asked, trying to keep calm for Lily's sake. He worried that if Lily saw he was afraid, it would frighten her even more.

"Not when the baby's buttocks are already halfway delivered," said the Mediwitch. "Lily's already dilated too far to have a Caesarean. We have to deliver this baby naturally, and we've got to do it fast."

James gave Lily's hand another reassuring squeeze. "She'll be okay, Lily," he said, though his voice came out less confident than he wanted it to.

Tears were welling up in Lily's eyes, but she forced them back. Now wasn't the time to cry. She had to be strong for her baby.

"Here comes the next contraction, Lily. I need you to push on the count of three. The baby's in a more difficult position, so you're going to have to really bear down, okay?" the Mediwitch instructed, making eye contact with Lily again.

Lily nodded, taking several short, deep breaths as the Mediwitch's head disappeared behind the sheet again.

"1—2—3—" the Mediwitch counted out quickly, "All right, push now."

Lily bit her lip as she felt the contraction coming on, and she pushed as hard as she could. She started feeling a slight pressure in her lower abdomen and pelvis. Twenty seconds passed before the pain subsided, though the pressure in her abdomen still lingered.

"...3...2...1...and relax," the Mediwitch instructed.

Lily sighed, leaning back against the bed.

"Good, she's on her way out," said the Mediwitch. "Looks like the next contraction is coming in about fifteen seconds."

Lily could only nod, too tired to give a verbal reply. 17hours of labor were really starting to take a toll on her, but she was determined. She was going to fight for her daughter.

"I'm going to need you to push harder this time. Ready?" said the Mediwitch.

Lily nodded again, squeezing James's hand once more.

"Push," the Mediwitch instructed.

Again, Lily bore down and pushed, willing her muscles to work harder than they had before. The pain from this next contraction was just as painful as the last one, but now the pressure in her abdomen had increased, moving down toward her pelvis.

"And relax," the Mediwitch finally said after another twenty seconds. "She's almost here, Lily, one more big push ought to do it."

"Just one more and we'll have her, Lils," said James, grinning proudly at his wife.

Despite her exhaustion, and the sweat running down her face, Lily couldn't help smiling at her husband in return.

"Ready?" asked the Mediwitch, looking back up at Lily from behind the sheet.

Lily nodded, taking another quick, sharp breath, anticipating the next contraction.

"One more push, give it everything you have," said the Mediwitch. "And...now."

Lily's body lurched forward as she pushed this time, using every ounce of her strength. Her screams of pain and effort filled the room. The pressure she had been feeling earlier was at its most intense, and now she felt it primarily in her pelvis. Keep fighting, she told herself in her mind, Keep fighting for her.

Ten to fifteen seconds later – though it seemed like much longer to Lily – the sound of a baby's cries pierced the air (for the second time that night).

Lily fell back against the bed, exhausted, but relieved, as her daughter's cries filled her ears. I did it. It's over, she thought.

The Mediwitch pulled out the folder containing the notes about how Lily's pregnancy had progressed, up until Lily had come to St. Mungo's once her water had broken. She glanced quickly at her wristwatch. "Baby Boy Potter was born at 12:41, and the time is 12:53, on July 31st, 1980," she said as she jotted down the details of Lily's daughter's birth. "She's twelve minutes behind her brother." She handed James a pair of medical scissors.

"You did it, Lils," said James, giving Lily's forehead a kiss, before accepting the scissors. With a quick snip, he cut his daughter's umbilical cord, as he had when his son was born earlier. The baby girl was then swept away by the Healers to be cleaned off and checked.

Five minutes later, one of the Healers came back over, carrying a bundle of pink blankets. "Six pounds, three ounces, nineteen inches long and perfectly healthy," she said, handing the bundle to Lily. "She's a little fighter."

Lily finally let the tears fall, but now they were tears of joy. Her daughter was here, and she was okay.

James's grin spread even wider, if that was possible. "Just like her mummy," he said, kissing Lily on the cheek, and then doing the same to the baby girl in her arms.

"Do you have names picked out yet for these two little miracles?" asked the Mediwitch.

Lily smiled down at the blue bundle in her arms. "Harry James Potter for this one," she said.

In the weeks leading up to Lily's delivery, they had had several heated discussions over what to name their twins. James wanted to name the boy James Jr., but Lily argued that it was unoriginal, so that idea was scrapped. Instead, Lily suggested using James as a middle name, to which James had eagerly agreed. One night, Lily had come across a particular name in one of the books on pregnancy her friend Marlene McKinnon had given to her during her baby shower. The name that had caught her eye was Harry. Lily fell in love with the name the moment she saw it written on the page, and the next morning at breakfast, she mentioned the name to James and asked what he thought about using that for their son's first name.

"Harry James...I like it, it's got a nice ring to it," James had said.

The Mediwitch jotted down the name so they had it on record for when the children's birth certificates were printed. "And your daughter...?" she asked.

Choosing a name for their daughter was more complicated. Lily and James just couldn't agree on their daughter's first name, though they'd at least found common ground on their daughter's middle name— Helena. The two parents wanted their baby girl's name to have some sort of connection to their old school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It was where they'd met, and where they'd fallen in love, and it was like a second home for both of them. So they'd decided on the middle name being Helena, after Helena Ravenclaw—the daughter of Hogwarts founder Rowena Ravenclaw, though she was more popularly referred to as the Grey Lady.

Lily looked down at her newborn daughter, wrapped in her pink blanket. The baby was looking up at her, and Lily could see a kind of light – a brilliant, fiery light – shining in those little green eyes.

It seemed that she wasn't the only one who could see it.

Sitting on the edge of the bed beside his wife, James smiled as he looked into his daughter's eyes, bright green like her mother's. She already had a strong resemblance to Lily, except for a thin patch of ebony hair lining the top of her little head—a trademark of James's appearance. As he gazed at his daughter, James saw that telltale glint in the baby's eyes, which were widened with curiosity. She'll be a feisty one when she gets older, he thought to himself.

Then a new idea for her name popped into his mind, a strong name for their spirited little girl.

"Cassia..." he mumbled. It sounded perfect.

Lily looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. "What did you say?" she asked.

"Cassia...for her name, I mean," said James.

"How did you come up with that?" Lily asked, curious.

James shrugged. "I don't know...I was just looking at her and I saw this glint in her eyes, and then the name just sprung into my mind," he said.

Lily smiled. "Cassia Helena...I like that name," she mused. "It's fierce...just like her." She gave her daughter a kiss on her forehead.

"Cassia Helena Potter," the Mediwitch murmured, recording the name in her folder. "Harry and Cassia...those are wonderful names. Congratulations."

"Thank you," said Lily, leaning her head on James's shoulder.

James lifted baby Harry out of his bassinet and cradled him close to his chest. "Our two little miracles," he said, tears of happiness brimming in his eyes. He kissed Harry on the cheek, and then did the same with Cassia.

It was the best thing that had ever happened to them in their three years of marriage.

Outside, the man approached the cottage, now visible to him and to the other residents of Godric's Hollow. They actually thought they could trust their lives with that miserable rat Potter called a friend? How pathetic, he thought with a smirk.

Lily watched James and the twins from where she stood in the doorway of the living room, leaning against the wall. She loved moments like this, seeing the wide grins on Harry and Cassia's faces; if they were this enthralled with watching magic, she could only imagine what they'd be like when they got their wands. They were already starting to develop their abilities. Harry had made the little hippogriffs on his baby mobile flap their wings last night, just as he had been put to bed, and a few days later, Cassia had made a bottle of milk explode when she was crying because she was tired and wanted a nap. Lily giggled to herself as she replayed that memory in her mind.

James was all in a frenzy that day, trying to figure out why Cassia was so upset, and his first thought was that she had been hungry, so he made her a bottle, only for the top to blow off and splatter his face with milk. It had been a messy milestone, but it was one she'd treasure for the rest of her life.

She sighed. "All right, I think that's enough excitement for one night." In truth, she didn't want to ruin this moment, but all the same, she had a hunch that if they didn't get the twins to bed soon, none of them would be able to get to sleep.

James resisted the urge to groan, laying his wand on the coffee table. He lifted Harry and passed him to Lily. "Here...I've got Cassi."

Lily playfully rolled her eyes as she held Harry closer to her, while James lifted Cassia from the sofa. She would definitely be a daddy's girl when she grew up.

"Time for my little lioness to get some sleep," James cooed to Cassia, tapping her little nose.

James liked to joke with Lily, Remus, and Sirius about how Cassia was a shoe-in for Gryffindor; she already had that plucky, adventurous nature as a baby, so her nickname of "little lioness" seemed apropos.

Harry yawned in Lily's arms. "Let's get you to bed, sweetheart," said Lily, kissing Harry on the nose, her dark red hair brushing against his little cheeks.

James followed his wife up the stairs and into the first door on the right-hand side, where the twins' nursery was.

The walls in the room were painted pale blue, and a large, wooden crib stood in the center of the room, and dangling above it was the hippogriff baby mobile. It had been a gift from Remus upon Lily and James's return from St. Mungo's, a few days after Harry and Cassia were born. White sheets lined the inside of the crib, and a large blanket was set over the sheets. The blanket was a dark shade of green, matching the trees outside, with a pattern of hoof-prints and paw prints stitched into the fabric.

The menacing, dark-cloaked man in the streets was now just mere feet away from the house, separated only by an iron gate marking the fence around the small front yard. He gave the gate a light push, testing to see if it was locked—it opened easily, emitting a creaking sound as it moved inward.

Lily had only just placed Harry into the crib when she heard the creaking sound coming from outside. "What was that?" she wondered, looking over at James. "I thought no one could enter the house with the charm in place."

"I'm not sure," James replied, "Stay here. I'll go check it out." He handed Cassia to Lily. "It might just be Padfoot playing a joke on us or something..." He left the nursery, heading back downstairs to see who the visitor was.

Lily hugged Cassia closer, trying to calm her nerves. If it really was James's best friend playing a prank, he was in for it. She'd hex him to kingdom come for scaring her and for scaring her babies.

As James reached the bottom of the stairs, the front door flew open and banged against the wall, blasted clean off its hinges. He paled once he saw the hooded man approaching the threshold of the house. The Fidelius Charm was broken; they had been found.

"Lily, take Harry and Cassia and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" he called up to Lily.

Lily's heart nearly stopped when she heard James's words. She was overcome with shock; how could Wormtail have sold them out like that? He had given them his word that he would protect them, when they had asked him to be the Secret Keeper. Then her shock turned to fear as she remembered James had left his wand downstairs. She crept to the doorway, her hands trembling as she held Cassia ever closer.

James dodged an oncoming curse as he made a run for the living room. His mahogany wand was still on the coffee table, right where he'd left it. He reached out—the wood brushed against the tips of his fingers—

The man shot a spell at the coffee table, breaking it in half. The wand flew across the room, out of James's sight. He froze in his spot, unable to discern whether he should try and use wandless magic, which was not his strong point, or if he should take his chances and run for his wand.

The hooded man took advantage of the distraction and went in for the kill.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light filled the cramped hallway, it lit the pram pushed against the wall, it made the banisters glare like lightning rods, and James Potter fell like a marionette whose strings were cut...

"JAMES!" Lily screamed, seeing the green light flash downstairs from her position near the door. She shut the door quickly and placed Cassia into the crib beside Harry. She spotted the dresser and pushed it in front of the door. Then she grabbed the rocking chair from its position in a far corner of the room and hoisted that in front of the dresser.

Lily hoped it would at least slow down the man's approach, but deep down, she knew her efforts were in vain. James had been killed just seconds earlier, and there wasn't enough time for her to try to Apparate out of the cottage with the twins. Worse yet, she didn't have her wand with her. When she'd finished with the dishes from dinner that night, she'd left it sitting right beside the sink; she hadn't counted on the evil man coming after her and her family tonight. She was practically cornered. If she didn't do something soon, the man would kill her children, just like he had killed her husband.

No, Lily thought, with new determination setting in. I won't let that monster hurt Harry or Cassia. They have to survive.

Lily knelt in front of the crib, facing her two children. "Harry, Cassia, you are so loved. So loved. Mama loves you, Dada loves you," she whispered, putting a hand up to the bars. "Harry, Cassia, be safe—be strong—look out for each other." She bit back the anguished tears as she gazed into Harry and Cassia's little eyes, wanting to savor these last remaining, precious seconds with them...

The black-cloaked man tried to use an Unlocking Charm on the door, but found that it wasn't budging. Silly witch, she thought she could stop me by blocking the door? A more sinister grin crossed his face, and he fired another curse at the door, blowing it to pieces; Lily's makeshift barricade was reduced to a pile of splintered wood.

Lily stood in front of the crib, shielding her children. "Not Harry and Cassia, not them, please not them!" she pleaded.

The man pulled out his wand again. "Stand aside, you silly girl...stand aside, now."

Lily shook her head, refusing to move. "Not them, please no, take me, kill me instead –"

"This is my last warning –" the man threatened, holding her at wand-point now.

But Lily still wouldn't budge. "Not them! Please...have mercy...have mercy...Not my children! Please – I'll do anything –"

"Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!"

Lily shook her head again; her choice was final.

He could have forced her away from the crib, but it seemed more prudent to finish them all...

"Avada Kedavra!"

The green light flashed around the room and with a final, bloodcurdling scream, she dropped like her husband.

The children had not cried all this time: the boy could stand, clutching the bars of the crib, and he looked up into the intruder's face with a kind of bright interest, perhaps thinking that it was their father who hid behind the cloak, making more pretty lights, and their mother would pop up any moment, laughing—

He pointed the wand very carefully into the children's faces: He wanted to see it happen, the destruction of this one, inexplicable danger. The little girl remained sitting as she stared at him, her eyes wide with fear.

"Avada Kedavra!"

But this time, the green light ricocheted off the twins, as if they were surrounded by an invisible wall, and the man gave an agonizing scream as the curse hit him instead. His body was destroyed; all that remained of him was his soul. Greatly weakened by the curse rebounding, he had no other choice but to flee. The cloud of smoke that was his damaged soul flew out of the cottage, far away from Godric's Hollow, and farther away from the eye of the wizarding world.

Only mere minutes after the evil man's disappearance, another stranger approached the cottage. The long, black robes he wore billowed behind him as he quickly passed the front gate and entered the house. Chills ran down his spine—something terrible had happened here. His greasy, black hair stood on end as he passed through the living room. A body lay by his feet—Potter's body. Snape felt a rush of sorrow, seeing his former schoolmate dead on the floor. Sure, Potter had made his life at school a living hell, but never in a million years would Snape have wished this fate on him.

Another chill ran through him as he thought of Lily, and he all but bolted up the stairs, his fear only growing as he saw the damage to the second floor of the house. Several of the windows had shattered; the floor was littered with bits of broken glass.

Snape reached the nursery. The door here was destroyed. Most of the furniture was gone too; the chunks of splintered wood on the floor were all that remained. Shards of glass lined the wall on the opposite side of the room; the window here had broken as well. Only the crib in the center of the room was intact. The twins sitting inside it each had an angry, red scar in the shape of a lightning bolt marking their foreheads. Aside from that, they looked to be unharmed, but they were both crying, tears rolling down their little cheeks. Snape could see the baby girl – Cassia, he remembered her name was – stretching an arm through the crib's bars; she was reaching for something on the floor. Snape's eyes followed Cassia's tiny hand, only for his heart to nearly stop when he saw what – no, who – she had been trying to reach her little hand out for.

Snape's knees buckled and he fell back against the wall. Lily's lifeless body lay on the floor in front of the twins' crib. The glimmer in those green eyes that he had so loved to see was gone. He dropped to the floor, pulling Lily's body into his arms. He too was crying, his sobs mingling with the loud wails of the baby boy and girl in the crib behind him. His best friend, the woman he had loved since they were children, was gone.

How long he stayed there, cradling Lily's body against his chest, Snape had no idea. It was only at the sound of an engine humming outside that he remembered where he was. And now he wasn't alone.

"James? Lily?" another masculine voice called out, a couple of octaves higher than Snape's—with a slightly rougher tone.

Snape knew who that voice belonged to, and he was not in the frame of mind to make contact with said individual now. He placed a gentle kiss on the crown of Lily's head, an unspoken final good-bye to her, before carefully laying her body back down on the floor. He managed to stand on his now-weak legs and, turning on the spot, he vanished.

"James?" Sirius called out. He had shaggy, brown hair that barely reached his shoulders, and a slightly scruffy face. His grey eyes scanned the room worriedly, looking for some sign that his friends were okay. He was mentally beating himself; he should've known Wormtail couldn't be trusted! He'd gone to check on Wormtail earlier that night, only to find him missing. Fearing the worst, he'd hopped on his motorcycle and floored it to Godric's Hollow.

Sirius entered the living room; his eyes widened when he saw the body lying mere feet away from him. "James!" he exclaimed. He dropped to the floor at James's side, overcome with shock and sadness. I never should have suggested they switch Secret-Keepers. If I had just taken your suggestion, you'd still be here. Trying to resist the oncoming tears, he reached out a trembling hand and lowered James's eyelids.

He got to his feet and hurried upstairs, his heart pounding harder and harder the closer he got to the nursery. If James was gone, then that only meant—

"Lily!" he exclaimed. Kneeling down again, he reached out and took Lily's hand. "Oh, Lily...this is all my fault..." He gently lowered Lily's eyelids and bowed his head to the carpet. "Forgive me...both of you, please forgive me."

A whimper coming from the crib beside him caught his attention. He turned his head toward the crib and saw Harry and Cassia looking right at him; Cassia was clutching the bars with her little hand, and Harry was trying to get up onto his feet to see him better.

Sirius noticed the lightning-bolt shaped scar on both of their foreheads, the only injury they had sustained from the attack. Now he let the tears fall; partly from sorrow at losing two of his closest friends, and partly from relief, because Harry and Cassia had survived.

"You're okay..." he breathed, his fingertips brushing against the lightning-shaped cuts. Several moments passed as Sirius stared in silence at the twins, tearstains marking his cheeks. He didn't know how Harry and Cassia managed to survive an attack by Voldemort, but that didn't matter to him at the moment—he was just grateful to see that they were still alive.

He realized he had to get them out of the house, and out of Godric's Hollow—it wasn't safe for them here anymore. Pulling out his wand, he conjured a pair of blankets, one red and one yellow, for the twins. James had said himself, he'd bet his glasses that his children would end up in Gryffindor. "We have to leave now," he whispered, gently wrapping Harry up in the red blanket. Then he set Harry back down in the crib for a moment, lifting Cassia into his arms.

Cassia squirmed as she was taken out of the crib, whimpering again as she gazed at her mother's body on the floor.

"Shh..." Sirius hushed her gently, wrapping her in the yellow blanket. "I know—I know you want your mummy..." He rubbed her back. "It's okay now, don't cry. Padfoot's here." With his free hand, he scooped Harry up again, now holding both of them to his chest—which took surprisingly little effort on his part. He stepped carefully around Lily's body, and hurried out of the nursery. "I'll take you home with me, you'll be safe there," he whispered to the little bundles he held securely in his arms.

When Sirius emerged from the cottage, he found another man – nearly twice as big as him – already coming toward the gate. "Hagrid? What are you doing here?" he asked, clearly not expecting to run into this man tonight.

"Orders from Dumbledore," said Hagrid. "Supposed ter bring the twins to Dumbledore at their aunt's house. Harry's supposed ter live with them now."

"What about Cassia?" Sirius asked.

"Said she's supposed ter be stayin' with yer cousin Andromeda," Hagrid replied.

Sirius couldn't believe it. "But—James and Lily made me their godfather, it was in their will! I promised them I would take care of the twins! They can't just be separated—they have to stay together...especially now." He knew his cousin Andromeda was a good person at heart, but he didn't understand why Dumbledore had chosen to disregard James and Lily's final wishes like this. Why was he doing this? And why did Harry and Cassia have to live away from each other in such a critical time?

Hagrid sighed. "I know, I don' like it any more than yeh do, but it's Dumbledore's orders—can' do nothing 'cept follow them."

Sirius wanted to argue, but then he decided against it; he knew better than to challenge Dumbledore. He sighed, giving a reluctant nod. "Just – just let me say goodbye to them...please..."

Hagrid nodded, feeling empathetic toward the young adult standing in front of him. "All right," he agreed. The least he could do was allow Sirius a last moment or two with the twins.

Sirius gazed down at Harry and Cassia. "I'm sorry, little ones, Padfoot has to leave you for a little while. I don't know why, but right now, it's the way it has to be," he whispered.

Cassia whimpered, reaching up to him with a tiny hand.

"Shh...I know, I wish I could have taken you both home with me like I'd said I would," said Sirius, holding one finger out to Cassia, who latched her hand onto it tightly. "I promise, I'll see you both again soon...as soon as I get the chance, I'll come back for you and we can all live together—as a family." He kissed Cassia first on her forehead, then on her cheeks; then he did the same thing with Harry. "I love you both so much—more than anything."

With a heavy heart, he handed Harry and Cassia to Hagrid, one at a time. "Take my bike," he offered.

Hagrid glanced at the black motorcycle parked on the side of the road. "Yer bike? But yeh loved that thing! Guarded it with yer life, yeh did!"

"I won't need it anymore," said Sirius. He helped Hagrid place the two blanket-clad bundles in the little side-car built into the bike.

With a wave of farewell, Hagrid started the engine and wheeled down the road, the tires picking up speed like an airplane going down the runway; the motorcycle lifted off into the air, soaring high above the tops of the trees, and then vanishing into the sky.

<><><><><>

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small soon too, along with a daughter, but they had never even seen them. This boy and girl were another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with two children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar—a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen—then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive—no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely-dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes—the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt—these people were obviously collecting for something...yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard –"

"—yes, their son and daughter, Harry and Cassia –"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking...no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry and a daughter called Cassia. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece and nephew were called Cassia and Harry. He'd never even seen the kids. It might have been Harvey and Candace. Or Harold and Catherine. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her—if he'd had a sister like that...but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mrs. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw – and it didn't improve his mood – was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around his eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early—it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er—Petunia, dear—you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls...shooting stars...and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought...maybe...it was something to do with...you know...her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their kids—they'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't they?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's their names again? Howard and Cheryl, isn't it?"

"Harry and Cassia. Nasty, common name for a boy, if you ask me. And she couldn't have just picked Cassandra?"

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all of this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did...if it got out that they were related to a pair of—well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind...

He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on—he yawned and turned over—it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no signs of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something.

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again -- the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the tabby cat sitting on the brick wall near number 4 Privet Drive. If anyone looked out the window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. As Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak, the cat let out a meow, attracting his attention. "I should have known that you would be here, Professor McGonagall," he said, making eye contact with the feline.

The cat moved to stand up on all fours, and leapt off the wall. Within seconds, it had gone. In its place was a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," she greeted. "Are the rumors true, Albus?"

"I'm afraid so, Professor," Dumbledore replied in a grave tone. "The good, and the bad."

"And the children? How are they getting here?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry and Cassia underneath it.

"Hagrid is bringing them."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"Ah, Professor, I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky -- and a huge motorcycle fell out of thin air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild -- long tangles of bushy black hair and beard his most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding two bundles of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got 'em, sir."

"No problems, I trust?"

"No, sir—house was almost destroyed, but I got 'em out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. Little tykes fell asleep just as we were flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the two bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, were a baby boy and girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet black hair over the boy's forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. An identical cut, not obstructed by her hair, marked the forehead of the baby girl.

"Is that where --?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have those scars forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give him here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I -- could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and Cassia and gave them each what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, taking Cassia in her own arms, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it -- Lily an' James dead -- an' their poor little children split up--"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm before briskly walking to catch up to Dumbledore as he walked to the front door. "Albus, do you really think it's safe, separating them and leaving the boy with these people? I've watched them all day. They're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They really are."

"It would be ideal to have Cassia remain with Harry, since their aunt and uncle are the only family they have left, but she was born with very rare and powerful magic, magic coveted by many dark wizards, including Voldemort himself. For both her brother's safety and her own, she must be moved somewhere else."

"But who will take her in? Remus has refused because of his condition, and Sirius' whereabouts are unknown."

"Edward and Andromeda. I have already informed them of the circumstances, and they have graciously agreed to become her legal guardians."

"These children will be famous! There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know their names," said Professor McGonagall.

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "They're far better off growing up away from all of that, and each other...until they are ready."

Hagrid sniffled, fighting back tears as he watched Harry be set down gently on the doorstep, and when Professor McGonagall handed Cassia to Dumbledore.

"There, there, Hagrid," said Dumbledore, "It's not really goodbye, after all." He took a letter out of his cloak and placed it atop Harry's blankets.

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine to life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of red blankets on the step of number four. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay still and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing that he was special, not knowing that he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley...

...or that he would grow up not remembering that he had a twin sister.

<><><><><>

With a small cracking sound, Dumbledore reappeared in the driveway of a quaint, two-story house located in a rural neighborhood just outside of Devon, England. Stoatshead Hill and Ottery St. Catchpole, two smaller towns – known for having equal shares of magical and non-magical residents – were situated five or ten miles away.

Dumbledore knew only a handful of wizarding families inhabited this area of England, one of which was the Tonks family.

Edward Tonks, or as he was popularly known, "Ted", was a man with light hair and a slightly stocky build. He worked as a Healer, helping with magic-related injuries and accidents; he spent most of his days in the Alchemy Room or the Admissions Department of St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

His wife, Andromeda, had dark brown hair and espresso-colored eyes. Andromeda was originally born into the Black family, one of the oldest wizarding families in existence. However, she had been disowned because, according to her elders, the match wasn't one befitting her stature as a Black. Immediately following her marriage to Ted, she was ostracized and her portrait was burned off the family tapestry. But Andromeda didn't regret it; she enjoyed her peaceful life with her husband, and her eight-year-old daughter Nymphadora.

Dumbledore made his way up the driveway, approaching the door of the house; the Tonks's house was two stories high, painted a dark shade of blue, with bright white shutters marking each of the windows. A trio of stone steps led up to the front door, which was painted charcoal grey, outfitted with a vintage silver door-knocker and a matching silver doorknob. He mounted the steps, taking great care not to jostle Cassia with his movements and risk waking her up.

He knew – for now, at least – that this was the best place for her. It was a safe neighborhood for her to grow up in, far enough away from any of Voldemort's remaining followers that hadn't yet been imprisoned. And Ted and Andromeda were gentle, good-hearted people; they would surely treat Cassia with as much love and care as they did with Nymphadora.

He gently placed Cassia on the topmost step, then pulled out a sealed envelope and placed it within the folds of the yellow blanket Cassia was bundled up in. The letter inside the envelope contained a message for Ted and Andromeda explaining what had happened in the hours prior, asking that they care for Cassia and bring her up in their house; the last request written into the letter asked that Ted and Andromeda would not inform Cassia of the truth about her sibling, or what had happened to her tonight until her eleventh birthday.

Dumbledore descended the steps, walking back up the driveway and back out onto the empty street. He looked behind him at the Tonks's house. "Good luck, Cassia and Harry Potter," he muttered. Turning again on his heel, he disappeared with another resounding crack.

Cassia snuggled further into her blanket, the envelope sitting on top of her stomach. Her little mind was too tired to register that she would wake up with two new guardians, who she would later come to refer to as "Aunty Andy" and "Uncle Ted", even though they weren't really related to her. More than that, she didn't have any idea that she wouldn't remember she had a brother—for the time being, at least.

They couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voiced: "To Harry and Cassia—the children who lived!"