Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I am not a Satanist, nor am I a heretic; I'm in fact Agnostic, if rather twisted. The following is not in any way shape or form meant to change your mind, beliefs, or final destination.
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A plain family sits down to dinner. A picturesque scene of content. The beautiful, happy wife. The proud, caring father. And the normal, playful child.
The Watcher smirks, their reality is much darker. In the mirror their true forms are revealed. The wife, now a figure of anguish, fear and sorrow, knowing her child is destined to fight and die. The father, full of dread, with the gaze of a man watching and treasuring every second he has until he knows he will see them die. The child, no longer normal, but a maelstrom of darkness, barely leashed, and his playfulness already sadistic.
When the wards shatter, the home crumbles, and the screaming began.
The wife, her fear gone, her face forevermore frozen in agony and despair. The father, gaze now blank, no more time to treasure. Then, the child. Never changing, still the dark in the room, even faced with the 'Dark Lord'. Watching the man turn to dust and boil, the child never blinked. Never moved. Never stopped smiling.
The watcher outright laughs from his place in the shadows.
This child. He's interesting.
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Albus dismissed the confusion he felt about the state of the home in comparison to what the destruction of his wards would have usually caused. Must be an effect of young Harrys triumph, he reasoned to himself. There is no other possible reason as to why Hagrid said the home was so much ash, after all, the Giant could never lie in his life.
It's a shame, he thought looking at the child, that he looks so much like James, and so little like Lilly. Though he did inherit her best feature.
With his farewell, he and his two fellows left Privet Drive, and left the child to his most likely stunted, unhappy and fearful excuse of a childhood. At least, it would have been if he were a normal child.
When Petunia Dursley opened her front door to collect her milk, she screamed at the sight of the child. Both the fear of Magick, and the sorrow of her sisters passing drawing the noise from her.
Harry opened his eyes.
The screaming stopped.
As the door shut, the Watcher smiled.
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Well, prologue is up, draft is up, rate and review please, and I will be updating this somewhat rarely, as I plan to write it year by year.