Disclaimer:

Rawr. I will eat you if you think I own it. Ok, I won't, but same difference.

Authors Notes:

A bit… odd, is what this is. Initially this was going to be completely different. But, yes, it didn't end up this way. I hope you like it anyways.

How Normal Can Turn

By Lady Coia

"Something isn't right," she said quietly to her husband.

He nodded in agreement, "Go put him upstairs," he said, motioning to their young son who sat on the woman's lap, strangely quiet and calm.

She nodded, not bothering to argue. He would be tired. Of course her son would be. He always was. He was a baby. Babies were always tired, weren't they? Of course. Yes, they were. It was perfectly normal. Everything was perfectly normal. She was just putting her son to bed like she normally didn't.

Thoughts raced through her head, as she tried to calm herself as she carried her son up the stairs and towards his room. She put him in his favorite baby blue pajamas. Baby. Yes, he was a baby. This was a normal night.

She sat him down in his bed, and kissed the top of his head. His hair was just like his fathers. Just like his grandfathers, also. Messy. No matter what his mother tried, she could not get it to become tame. Neat and tidy. People liked their children neat. But children, babies especially, weren't meant to be neat and tidy. No, they weren't.

"Mama!" he cried out. His mother turned quickly, scared something was wrong. He wasn't normally this way. Something was wrong. No, this was a normal night. She kept reassuring herself as she went back to the crib that held her son.

"What's wrong?" she said softly, leaning down closer towards him. Her red hair streamed out in front of her. Her son seemed to be crying softly. "Shh, shh," she said, picking her son back up.

Once he seemed to have calmed down, and his breathing had gone even from sleep, she set him back down in the crib. She turned off the light, and closed the door slightly so her and her husbands voices wouldn't drift in quite as loudly. She was still able to hear her son, though. She made absolute sure of that.

When she got back down to the living room, she looked across it to her husband, who sat on the couch. Yes, everything was quite normal. And yet, even through the normalcy of it all, she still couldn't get the feeling that something was terribly wrong to go away. And it seemed that neither could her husband.

"Did he go to sleep?" he asked finally, after she stood there silently for a moment.

"Eventually, yes. He didn't want me to go. I had to hold him until he fell asleep," she said quietly, scared that speaking too loudly would trigger some sort of explosion.

He nodded.

"Something is wrong," she said again.

And again, he nodded.

She eventually sat down beside him, and let him pull her closer. She knew he hated sitting there waiting. He always had. She didn't like it, either. But they both knew it was for the best. It was better to not bring attention to themselves for any reason in times like this.

"Should we send a letter to Dumbledore?" she asked eventually.

He shook his head, "Not yet."

Yes, everything was normal. Still stubborn and brave. She had married a true Gryffindor.

Then it all happened so fast it was scarcely believable. Her husband jumped up, causing her to fall off the couch in surprise. The front door burst open, causing her to jump and hit her head on the table. And finally, her son began to cry, which caused her to scramble to her feet.

"Go to his room," her husband said, looking at her. She opened her mouth to protest, but decided against it. Giving him a quick kiss on the cheek, she ran out into the entranceway. A small yelp escaped her mouth as she ducked from a flying spell that was shot by someone in the doorway, just as her husband skidded out into the entrance.

Her son wailed upstairs as she hurried up the stairs towards the room. She would protect him. The normal of the whole evening had left, and she knew that. Now it was just a fight for her family's life.

Her wand. She needed her wand. Where was her wand? Cursing, which she didn't often do, and hoping her husband was all right she ran into the master bedroom, and grabbed her wand off the bedside table. Turning around she found herself face to face with a Deatheater. She swore again, and shot the first spell that came to mind. Ok, so she levitated him. That was fine. Now he was stuck at the ceiling like a helium balloon.

She ran into her son's room without any more interference. Downstairs she could hear spells being shot. She positioned herself in front of the crib, her wand at ready. Behind her her son had gone silent again, hiccupping occasionally.

Someone yelled 'Avada Kedavra!' downstairs, and everything to her went quiet. She didn't hear her son hiccupping or begin crying again. He was dead. She knew he was. And if not, he was gone. Unconscious. He had survived near death more than once. Perhaps he wasn't. Maybe he was all right.

And then his killer was in the doorway. This man had brought so much terror. But he would not take her son. No, he wouldn't. Voldemort, the Dark Lord, would not kill her son.

She realized she was crying, then.

"Leave him alone," she said, her voice braver than she felt. Gryffindor. Why had she been put into that house? She wasn't brave.

"Stand aside, girl," he said.

"No," she replied firmly. Before she knew it, and after a bit more exchange of words, her wand flew out of her hand, landing near the doorway. Then the room went very green, and everything went black. The last thing she heard was her son crying shrilly, and yelling for his 'mama' and the faint voice of a prophecy, before going off to meet her husband.

'On the night ere the first child was born,

When the second child has lived a year,

History will repeat itself for all to see,

And the blood of Slytherin will fall twice more.'

So the third true prediction of Sibyll Trelawny said for only one to hear, who did not understand it. For if he had, he may have been able to warn his master, if he really was his true master.

"He looks just like Harry; except he has Ginny's eyes. Yes, he has his mothers eyes."