One moment, the world had been ash and green fire. The next, silence. An impossible, deafening silence that pressed against my ears.

The cottage stood before me, whole and untouched. Warm light spilled from its windows. A garden gate swung gently on its hinges, as if someone had just passed through.

And then—

A man's silhouette filled the doorway. Messy black hair, glasses askew. James Potter—young, breathing, alive—raised his wand at the figure that had appeared at the end of the garden path.

The figure was tall, hooded, and utterly still. Death had come to Godric's Hollow.

Inside the house, a baby began to cry.