Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter; he is the property of J.K. Rowling. I do, though, own the plot and a few OCs I'll be introducing later on in the story.
It was midnight. The air was buzzing with energy, a warning, perhaps, to the storm that was brewing in the distance. Thunder rumbled in the sky, casting temporary flashes of light into the dark room, which was barely lit up by a number of small candles. If someone there had cared to concentrate, they would have felt a great amount of magic emitting from the house. It was as if magic was tense, waiting for something to happen, waiting for someone to come.
A scream of pain pierced the quiet room. "Ahhhh!" The woman with a head full of thick, flaming red hair screamed in agony as the mediwitch urged her to not give up. Beaded sweat had gathered on her fore head as she was straining with the effort needed to finally see her newborn sons for the first time.
"Not much left now! I can see them coming out! Just a little bit more, sweetie!" The mediwitch encouraged enthusiastically.
The black haired man was sitting beside his wife's bed, clutching her hand, supporting her in the only way he could. Whispering words of comfort to her, he squeezed her hand.
"You can do it." He said.
"That's it… There!" the mediwitch exclaimed.
The magic in the room seemed to intensify at that moment, swirling around the two children, hinting that something very important was happening at that moment. It started to concentrate at one point, so much that it was almost tangible. And then suddenly, as if its work had been concluded, it vanished, leaving traces that could have been mistaken for a weak charm's.
The cries of two babies pierced the dark room, and the dark-haired man shone with joy at the sight of his twin sons, pride rushing through him. The elder child resembled his mother more, with her beautiful red hair. However, he had inherited his father's hazel eyes that sparkled prettily by the candle light. The child was crying loudly, as any normal baby was bound to. The younger child, however, was unnaturally quiet. He had taken more after his father, with the classical raven hair typical of the Potter family. But the eyes… The eyes were the most brilliant shade of emerald. Luminous and radiant, they glowed eerily in the dark. The eyes resembled his mother's, but his were more exquisite, more striking, more beautiful, than hers could ever hope to be. It was as if the gods had taken his mother's and improved them before bestowing him with their beauty. It was very obvious they would grow to make a fine, handsome pair of young men.
"Let me carry them." The exhausted woman softly requested.
The man handed both of them over to her and watched her lovingly as she caressed the children in her arms. The mediwitch started packing her things and soon she left through the floo, and they were left alone with their offspring.
"What do you think we should name them?" asked the raven haired man.
"How about Damon for this one?" James motioned to his red-haired offspring.
"Yeah, it… suits him," said Lily. "Then this one will be… Hadrian. Yes, I think I like Hadrian."
The couple laughed happily and smiled affectionately at their sons.
Little did they know what a terrible fate awaited them.
A man clothed in a black cloak with the hood up walked towards the little house in Godric's Hollow. The night was unnervingly silent, as if the very world itself was holding its breath, waiting for something to happen. He walked with lithe, graceful strides towards the door painted in red. Stopping at the door, he took out his wand and blasted it open. A startled cry came out of the house as he walked into it. The only occupants of the house were the two children and a squib caretaker who was a close friend of the Potters. They had been occupied with a meeting held by the order of the phoenix. The dark lord strode upstairs towards the room which he knew his nemesis resided in. As he walked into it, he saw the caretaker standing defiantly in front of the two cribs.
"I won't let you hurt them!" said the woman, a fearful yet determined look in her eyes.
"Stand aside." he spoke with a threatening tone.
The woman didn't reply but the stubborn tick to her jaw was answer enough for him.
"Avada Kedavra!" snarled the dark lord furiously, pointing the wand at her with blinding speed. The woman quickly dodged the curse, jumping to the side. But there was nothing she could do, as she had no magic that could help her. She stepped back to the cribs and looked down at the two one year olds she had come to love as dearly as if they were her own. She knew that she no longer had any chance of survival as she heard the dark lord fire another curse at her.
"Confringo!" he hissed
"I'm sorry" she whispered to the two angelic children that were woken by the noise, and then she turned to face the dark lord as the curse came zooming her way. She stood strong, her resolve not wavering in the slightest as the curse hit the floor under her. It exploded, sending splinters everywhere. The caretaker stood strong, shielding the children with her body, and winced as many shards pierced her body. But alas, she couldn't prevent all of the shards from passing. One particularly sharp shard with a nail stuck in it struck little Damon potter on his upper arm. The resulting wound was nasty and deep and probably wouldn't heal without a scar. The child started crying loudly, not able to endure the pain he felt.
"Avada Kedavra!" he said while pointing his wand at the fallen woman. The woman's mouth formed a perfect "o", and she dropped back, her heart no longer beating.
Lord Voldemort stood in front of the cribs, looking down at the two children who faced him.
He looked at the two babies in front of him and tried to guess who the prophecy spoke of. The red haired child was still crying noisily, as any child was prone to do. But the prophesied child cannot be a normal boy.
He can't be the one the prophecy speaks of, thought the man.
He turned to the second crib. He took in the way the baby looked at him. It was eerie, disturbing even. The child didn't blink, didn't move, only stared at the man in front of him, his gaze never wavering, and it seemed to pierce into the man's very soul, or at least what remained of it. It was unnerving, to say the least. The man felt an immense fear that couldn't be explained in words. He ignored the uneasy feeling that gathered in his stomach and pushed aside the warnings his instincts were shouting to him. He was nothing but a child. The child slowly started smiling at him. It wasn't a joyful smile; it wasn't even a confused smile. The child was laughing at him!
He raised his wand, pointing it at the child, and still the child did not stop.
"Avada Kedavra." Voldemort cast the killing curse.
The spell, almost the same color as his eyes but not quite, flew towards Harry. However, as it reached him, time seemed to slow. A faint pink barrier showed up, and tried to protect him but to no avail. It blocked most of the spell; however, some of the magic had seeped through and hit the child, who tensed. Then something strange seemed to happen… A thick blanket of magic enveloped him, as if sent by some greater force, fighting off the foreign magic trying to invade his body. In the process, a thin paper cut like wound in the shape of a lightning bolt was inflicted on the small child, scarring him for life with its dark magic. Magic came off him in waves as it tried to save him by healing him and help him by weakening his enemy. The part that was blocked had gathered and rebounded on the dark lord. The man's eyes widened as he tried to move out of the way in time. Unfortunately for him, he wasn't fast enough, and although he had managed to avoid most of the spell, a bit of it still caught his leg, causing him to fall to the floor and thrash in agony, his spirit unable to die due to his horcruxes yet still unable to escape the pain. He felt burning indescribable agony. Noise filled the air as two shouts were heard downstairs. The parents had arrived. Knowing he wouldn't stand a chance in his current condition, the dark lord apparated with one last glance at the child that had managed to survive the killing curse.
The two parents ran into the room, fearing the worst.
What greeted the was the sight of one Damon Potter bawling his eyes out with a nasty wound on his upper arm, and one quiet Hadrian Potter, with a thin scar in the shape of a lightning bolt, never to be noticed until much later, when it was already futile to do so.
That was the day everything changed.