The rain was light, but it obscured his vision; fogged up his glasses. His fingers slipped on the black wire frames as he pushed them up the bridge of his nose. Soon, the black - haired boy thought, the rain will stop. Soon. But soon was not enough. No, no, soon was far too long to wait.
Harry Potter was standing in the rain, standing and hoping the rain would stop now, so that he could finish his chores. But, no, no, it would not stop. Such bad luck, one might say to this boy. Such bad karma, another would tell to him. But it was not luck, nor was it karma. No, mother nature was up to something, he was certain. For, you must realize, this boy, this young man was not normal. Far from normal. This aberration, this abnormality, was that he was a wizard. 'A wizard?' You may be thinking. Or you may thinking it is all nonsense. But, no matter what reason you may state, he is what he is. A wizard; a powerful wizard at that. Indeed, more powerful than most.
There is such a thing as a killing curse. A curse used far too many times than need be. When young Harry was a child - an innocent - he was attacked. Attacked by a paranoid madman out to control the world as you know it. Yes, yes, he would conquer your world, too. You lives would be wasted with slavery. Or maybe simple death, like so many others.
Though death is hardly simple.
The self-proclaimed 'Dark Lord' called himself Voldemort, a name that many wizards and witches fear to say, even now. Even now, twelve years after his defeat. Even now, people flinch at the name. This Dark Lord, this Voldemort, had killed Harry's parents. He killed them out of fear, for he feared that they would over - rule him. He feared that the youngest of the Potter line would stand against him. He feared Harry.
People tend to destroy what they fear. You may fear spiders, and so you kill them. They have done nothing to you, and yet you still take their life. Simply for what they might do. Simply because you do not wish to know if they might bite you. Following this logic, Voldemort tried to destroy what he feared; Harry Potter.
On Halloween night of 1981 Voldemort attacked Godrics Hollow, home of the Potter's. He killed James Potter in the living room, without so much as a second thought. The dark-haired man with glistening ruby - bloody - eyes walked up to the nursery on the second floor. That was the scene laid for Voldemort's downfall. Lily offered up her life for her child, Voldemort killed her in an act of cold blood. The child, who looked so like his father, cried for the lost life of his mother. He cried for his father. He cried for the lost soul of the man before him, too.
Tears stripped the 13 year old face as he remembered that night with more precision than ever before. Harry cried for his lost innocence. For having to witness such a heinous act against nature. But over-all, Harry cried knowing that his mother had died for him. He took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes, looking heaven-wards as he did so. It was no longer raining, but Harry could only think that nature had a way of predicting the furture sometimes.