Getting away from the wizarding world had been the best decision you'd made. No more wands, no more broomsticks, no more magical creatures—or the lingering shadow of war.

Moving into a quiet Muggle neighborhood had given her peace. Normalcy. A small, warm home where you could breathe again. It was the fall of 1981, and the air was crisp with the promise of winter. You sat curled in an armchair, reading by the fire, when a knock echoed through the silence.

You stiffened.

No one was supposed to be visiting at this hour. Wand gripped tightly in hand, you moved toward the door and opened it with caution.

No one stood outside.

Just a basket.

Blankets were bundled tightly around something small, shielding it from the cold. Tucked in the folds was a note. Your eyes scanned quickly, heart pounding.

"I can't keep him safe. His name is Harry James Potter. Please... look after him."

Your breath caught. Carefully, you pulled the blankets back.

A baby.

Tiny, pink-cheeked, fast asleep, a lightning-shaped scar just barely visible beneath a tuft of messy black hair. As he stirred, his eyes fluttered open—vivid green, unmistakable.

Your hand flew to your mouth. That face... those eyes... You had seen them before.

In James. In Lily.

This child wasn’t just any baby. He was the baby. The Boy Who Lived. Left on her doorstep with only a note, a scar, and eyes that carried the weight of everything they'd tried to leave behind.

You looked up again, just in time to see a moving truck pulling away from the house across the street. Whoever had left him was already gone.

And now... he was yours to protect.

Harry James Potter.