Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, profit from this story and all creative rights to the characters belong to their J.K Rowling and Bloomsbury Publishing.
Author's Note: I Hope you enjoy this story. I know the Prologue is short, but I am aiming for the chapters to be a lot longer, if you could just be patient. Thanks. x
Stygian Haze
(Stygian
Styg·i·an /ˈstɪdʒiən/ [stij-ee-uhn] –adjective
1. of or pertaining to the river Styx or to Hades.
2. dark or gloomy.
3. infernal; hellish.)
(Haze
Haze/heɪz/ Show Spelled [heyz] –noun
1. an aggregation in the atmosphere of very fine, widely dispersed, solid or liquid particles, or both, giving the air an opalescent appearance that subdues colors.
2. vagueness or obscurity, as of the mind or perception; confused or vague thoughts, feelings, etc)
-SHSH-
On the dark October night, the wind made its way leisurely through the town of Little Whinging. It swept through the trees and neatly trimmed hedgerows one after the other. It swept through the newly mown grass. It swept through garden after garden; street after street.
The wind moved over the small bundle of blankets that were placed on the doorstep of number 4 Privet Drive. The slight movement of blankets, and the chill that accompanied the wind on its travels, were enough to wake the small slumbering child wrapped inside the blankets.
He opened his eyes wide, taking in his surroundings silently. The child looked to be approximately a year old. His hair, mostly hidden underneath the blankets, was jet black and already showed signs of being unruly. His eyes were the kind of green that looks too unnaturally bright to be human. There was a scar on his forehead that could only be seen if someone were to look closely, as the placement of both his hair and the blankets mostly obscured it.
A crack sounded in the darkness, startling the child, who started to cry.
"Silencio," a voice spoke out of the darkness. The child continued to cry, although he now emitted no sound.
A man stepped out of the darkness and walked with purpose towards number 4. He looked to be in his mid-twenties, clean-shaven with long dark hair, pin straight and tied with a band at the nape of his neck. He wore strange clothes, like that of medieval times. They were dark brown robes with a forest green cloak. He was holding a long thin wooden stick in front of him, as if it was a weapon.
The man reached the child and scooped him up, barely looking at him. He carried the child to the end of the street, the darkness once again enveloping him along with the child. There was another crack and there was no more movement on Privet Drive.
When the morning comes, everybody would go about their normal routines. Nobody would know about the strange goings on that happened the night before. In Scotland, hidden in a castle that normal people wouldn't be able to see, an old man wouldn't know that every plan he had put into place for the child he had left on his aunt's doorstep earlier that night, was now ruined. And that child, Harry Potter, now had a very different future ahead of him.