1 The Wrong Boy-Who-Lived
Some say the birth of a hero is accompanied by fanfare and the singing of angels.
That the world eagerly bustles to greet them the moment their arrival is heralded. Others say the birth of a hero is brought about through necessity.
They live and die to serve their destiny – 'For the fate of the world', they say.
And so they watch with envy as the hero walks on, surrounded by all that the world could offer. Too blind to see that the hero does not wish to walk the journey forced upon him.
It's a fallacy to think that heroes are not broken by the end of their quests. To forget that they too were once children, picked mercilessly by Fate to dance to her tune.
Hadrian was only a year old when it happened. When Fate's machinations singled his household and destroyed a life that would have been all too simple.
...
October 31st, 1981. Godric's Hollow.
In a modestly lavish, and homely room, laid two young boys.
One of the boys had light, auburn brown hair, rather similar to a bird's nest. Frizzy strands of hair flew in odd directions, as if parts of the boy's hair did not know how hair should function.
The other had dark brown hair, though most would call it black. His was also messy, though it seemed to lack the frizzy, and wild quality that the other boy's hair possessed.
This, and their differing eye colours – was the only way to distinguish between the two boys.
Mostly because they were still children, newly graduated infants – even. They were yet to grow into their respective features, but it was clear that they were not to be identical twins.
The two of them were asleep, their bodies still, but gently heaving up and down in the dead of night.
They slept inside a crib made of a light-coloured wood that thrummed with a small but steady pulse of magic. It looked quite old and withered, as if many a baby had made use of it, and it was simply the two boys' turn now.
That would be prudent to say, because the crib they were laying in was a family heirloom. With each generation's emergence, a new child possessed the large crib.
And it was rather large, if one were to truly look at it, since it could fit the current occupants twice over.
It was the dead of night, and traces of unease came along with it. Halloween, a holiday that brought both fear and delight in Muggles. Slightly more fear, when it came to Magicals.
Especially so, since the creatures and monsters that the Muggles dressed up as, were very real, and all the more dangerous in the wizarding world.
Soon enough, October 31st would come to mean something else for wizards and witches in Britain – another one of Fate's workings.
It was on the night of All Hallows Eve, that the two children awoke suddenly. There was no explanation as to why; it was purely instinctual. A primal sensing that something was wrong, but of course – they were too young to understand this.
So immediately, screeching cries commenced, with the auburn-haired child being the sole participant. The other child remained rigid in positioning, his face set to cry – only prevented by an immense nauseous feeling that festered deep within his stomach.
The magic surrounding the crib began contorting and moving unnaturally. It engulfed the entire room, permeating it with dread, and the bitter taste of magic perverted. Feelings that could only be attributed to the appearance of dark magic to the highest degree.
"Oh?" a disturbingly raspy voice croaked out from the corner of the room. "It seems the Prophecy had some validity to it… Mere children, able to sense the presence of the most powerful wizard since Merlin himself…!"
The figure stepped away from the corner, and suddenly his body was illuminated by the moonlight peeking through the window. His face was partially obscured, though what could be seen, was horrific enough. Blood red eyes, and waxy white skin, with a menacing visage – peering down at the crib with burning intensity.
Slowly but surely, he made his way towards the two children.
Unfortunately for the figure, his exclamation had garnered the attention of the children's parents. If the eager and desperate steps thudding across the hall was any indication.
It seemed he did not mind, however – choosing to focus most of his attention on the harmless infants instead.
Still, he subtly brandished his wand – a long, white coloured wooden stick. He swished it harshly into the air, creating a translucent dome of magic that encased the room.
Meanwhile, the parents frantically bashed against the door with spell fire.
The mother cried pleadingly from beyond the door, trying to barter for her children's life with her own. Whereas the father cast spell after spell at the door, accompanied by panicked and rage filled shouts. Until finally, in a last-ditch effort, he threw a dangerous variation of the exploding charm and blasted the door, ripping it to pieces.
The door was reinforced with magic, so it was a considerable threat when the wooden shrapnel pieces bounced off of the dome that the intruder had cast – hurling it back in their direction.
Fortunately, the mother – Lily, had quickly cast a shield charm, deflecting most of the pieces that threatened to puncture her and her husband.
As the charm quickly dropped, James and Lily could do nothing but watch as the hooded figure etched closer and closer to their children's crib.
They knew who he was, of course.
They had denied his offers to join his cause thrice already, which was thrice more than what most families could get away with.
Deep anger and helplessness filled them as they threw spell after spell at the shield and watched as it did nothing to disturb its structure and integrity.
It remained unfailingly solid, blocking them from reaching their children – but remaining transparent enough so that they could see everything that was happening.
In the midst of all the chaos, of his brother's crying, and his parent's pleading, Hadrian Potter remained quiet. The nauseous sensation he felt when he woke up, had been increasingly stirring in intensity.
Ever since his eyes opened; waves of something – a force akin to magic – yet so different, built up within him.
An alarming amount of it too, to the point that even the hooded figure felt its force.
The man, who James and Lily knew to be called Lord Voldemort, leered into the crib. His vision flickered between the two children, distress and a frenzy of madness present in his eyes.
'Which one...?'
With a snarl, he aimed his wand at the auburn-haired boy – the tip of his wand glowed a bright emerald green, filling that area of the room with a green hue.
Choked sobs and desperate begging, sounded from the Potter parents. They ceased their casting, and instead cradled each other with their wands grasped tightly.
When the tell-tale light of the killing curse emerged, pointed above the crib – they had no choice but to turn away.
They refused to watch their children's execution.
"AVADA KEDAVRA!", the figure screeched, finally releasing the green light of death.
The killing curse launched with great speed at the auburn-haired boy, and instantaneously – a huge burst of energy escaped from Hadrian.
The nauseous feeling gave way to protective magic that narrowly shielded his sibling from all harm. Strangely enough, the curse was even sent back towards the figure!
Voldemort let out a deep, quavering howl as his body dispersed into the air slowly. The dark ashes of his form blew into the atmosphere until it turned into nothingness.
It was foul to watch, and if anyone else was privy to the death and listening intently – the howls of his screams would have still been heard. Whispering in the wind, with promises of something more.
James and Lily swiftly leapt towards the cot as the barrier dispelled.
They had been holding each other with their faces buried in each other's nape before they heard the Dark Lord's scream. When they turned around, they were faced with his decaying form floating in the air, and their children crying loudly.
They quickly picked up the twins, with tearful relief and thankful prayers resounding. They fretted over them by embracing and scanning the lucky children, hugging them as they slowly quelled their crying.
"Thank god!" James cried out; his eyes glossy as he held Arthur warmly.
An element of fear still remained as he nestled the child, as though he may be separated from him at any point, that there would be a chance for the Dark Lord to return somehow and finish the job.
But he knew better. Voldemort was dead, the bitter war that had been tearing apart his livelihood was now over – and his children would live to see a peaceful time. He was sure of it.
"Harry's, fine!" Lily beamed through tears. She waved her wand with haste, speeding through all the detection and healing spells she knew, which was admittedly not that many.
She then pointed it in James's direction and said, "Arthur's alright too!"
Lily turned back to Hadrian, bouncing him in her arms as she took him in.
He was sweating, far more so than a normal baby should have been – and he looked extremely worn out. She drew in a shuddering breath as she freed one of her hands to rest her palm on his forehead.
