Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Hence the fanfiction.

AN: Well, here goes my first foray into HP fanfiction. I think it sounds a bit cliché right now, but I think that's just the curse of first chapters sometimes. I'm going to try to keep it original. As a note, I haven't read any "twin who lived" fics in a while, so I hope it doesn't resemble anyone else's beyond the superficial stuff that Twin-Who-Lived fics do (Harry having a twin, for instance). Pairings aren't confirmed, but probably Harry/Luna.

"Talking"

Thoughts

Time Passage

Peter Pettigrew regretted his actions, but only so much. He'd never been as skilled as Sirius, or as clever as Remus, and certainly never as brave as either of them. James and Lily should have known that trusting him with the knowledge entrusted with a Secret Keeper was a mistake, that he would put his own self-preservation above the importance of the survival of their children.

Children. That had been rather unexpected. Instead of a single child, the Potter's had ended up with twin boys, Harry and David. However, it had given Pettigrew room to sway the Dark Lord with reason, with what little loyalty the traitorous Animagus still held toward his old friends.

"Master," he'd said, "Surely they couldn't be the ones in the prophecy. It said one would be born. There were two children."

Of course, it hadn't been long before the Dark Lord had silenced him, and pointed out that two of them being born didn't change the fact that one of them might be the child in the prophecy. After his meager attempt to stop the Dark Lord from targeting the Potters' children had failed, he had decided to change tactics. Perhaps he couldn't save the boys, but he could save his one-time friends, the ones that had protected him through all those years of schooling.

"Master, at least let me make the task less complicated. I could distract the Potters, get them out of the way. Then you would be free to kill the children with no more than a breath."

The Dark Lord had been angered, and clearly disgusted at his servant's remaining humanity, but had agreed nonetheless. Maybe he still had some mercy left in him, maybe he believed something could go wrong if there was someone to protect the children, maybe he simply wanted to keep Peter from annoying him further without losing his only link to the Potters. Whatever the reason may have been, he'd agreed to his sniveling servant's request.

And that's how Peter had arrived where he was now. In Godric's Hollow, October 31, 1981. The Potters were out for the night trying to relax for a short time, while he "guarded" their children. Suddenly, the door was slammed open, Peter jumping from the comfort of the chair where he'd been lying in wait for the Dark Lord's arrival.

"T-The boys are upstairs, Master." The look would have undoubtedly given his young, more foolish self a heart attack. As it was, his slightly older and more matured self merely remained on the verge of self-collapse at the scathing glare of the Dark Lord.

"You know what must be done."

Of course he did. He would be useless as a spy after this. They would never trust him in his human form, and his Animagus form would be easily identified by any of the Marauders and probably by a fair number of their fellow Order members. So it was a simple fix. They would stage his death. Destroy the entire bottom floor, spread a little blood. They would make it appear as though the Dark Lord had not only killed him, but completely obliterated him. From then on, he could put his skills as an Animagus to use in the Ministry or some other location where he wouldn't be so easily recognized.

So as Peter proceeded to destroy the room, cut off a finger, and make his death seem a little more glorious to someone who didn't know the truth, the Dark Lord made his way to the second floor.

Moments later Voldemort heard the explosion below him. It was hard to miss. Pettigrew was a foolish servant, more cowardly than he would have preferred and none too loyal, but useful enough for what he needed at the moment. Still, he had to admit that the rat was at least sly enough to orchestrate a backup plan in case something went wrong in the plan, even if the odds of Dumbledore discovering his activities before he could finish his goal were remarkably low. Either way, Pettigrew's desire to appear heroic in the attempt was none of his concern. Soon the Potter twins would join their parents, and the Longbottoms would follow in due course. Then there would be no one else who properly meet the terms of prophecy. He would truly be immortal.

After reaching the children's room, looking upon one of the three people who might have been able to match him in some life, he couldn't help but chuckle. Saviors? It was pathetic to think that this is the best Dumbledore, his lifelong nemesis and greatest rival, could muster against him. He slowly raised his wand, turning it upon the first of the children. He let himself chuckle once more before uttering the short incantation that would end their lives.

"Avada Kedavra."

However, not all went as planned. If he'd been able to look back on it, he couldn't have truly blamed himself. There was nothing he could have thought of of that could have prepared him for what happened in that instant. It had always been a simple process. The green blast would strike his unfortunate target, would more or less destroy the pitifully frail body.

But somehow, in this moment, in this one instance, it didn't. It slowed for a moment, almost as if running into some invisible wall. Suddenly, bolts of magical energy looking much like lightning broke out from where the blast had "hit" the boy, striking everything nearby, and a green light flashed back towards him. The last thing felt before his vision went dark, though he wouldn't recall it later, was the indescribable feeling of his soul being torn apart, a small piece wrenched from the whole, leaving him a fragmented shade of his former self.

And as the Dark Lord's cloak fell to the ground, no body remaining of the feared master of magic, two small boys sat in their cribs. The first bore a crescent-shaped scar on his forehead, the result of the wild bursts of magic that had forced the killing curse back on its caster striking him from a distance. The second was marked with a lightning-shaped scar in the same position, the result of the magic that deflected the curse.

A few hours later…

Albus Dumbledore hated that he had to make choices like these. He knew they had to be done, but sometimes it was overwhelming, making decisions that could influence others for the rest of their natural lives. He'd been shocked, horrified even to learn that Tom had somehow discovered the location of the Potter children. Even more so upon learning that, based upon evidence discovered at the Potters' home, Peter Pettigrew had died in the attempt to stop him. Even worse, Dumbledore knew that somehow, the boy that had once been among his fondest students wasn't gone for good.

Now he had a decision ahead of him. He'd been standing with the two children for nearly an hour, knowing that one of them would be recognized by the entirety of the wizarding world as the Boy Who Lived. But which one?

Both boys bore a scar, meaning either could have been the one marked as Tom's equal. On the one hand, there was the younger of the two, David Potter. The magical signal left on his scar wasn't nearly as strong as his brothers, but he could feel the light coming from the mark. The elder of the two, on the other hand, had a great amount of darkness radiating from his scar. But which was Tom's equal? Did the prophecy mean he would mark the child as his exact equal, including the dark magic he was so famous for? Or did it mean he would unknowingly mark his equal with the opposite, the light? A power that he knew nothing of to oppose the power he found so precious?

He supposed they wouldn't truly know until the time came. But one had to be pronounced as the Boy Who Lived. So Albus Dumbledore made the most logical choice. Most people would fear someone scarred so deeply with dark magic. So to keep the public calm, and to keep them from fearing their savior if Harry was in fact the child of the prophecy, he pronounced David as the Boy Who Lived.

AN: So, what do you think? Great? Horrible? Okay? Nothing at all? I'd be glad to hear anything, really.