Prologue: Green Eyes in the Night.
That night, the world stood frozen. An eclipse seemed to have settled over the night sky giving darkness a new meaning and a new shade. Still nothing moved. Nothing except the roar of flames on a dilapidated house that was once a pristine home to a family of, recently, three. There were two deaths in that house in the last hour, and it would have been three. But, something odd happened. Instead of the killee dying, it was by some miraculous and unexplainable event (though if you knew what had actually happened, you would all say 'of course that would happen') that a boy survived his brush with death and managed to annihilate the killer.
Does that make him a killer?
Does that make the one-year-old baby a murderer, even if unintentionally?
Maybe. But, then again, the killer never did die.
Suddenly everything blurred into motion. Screams filled the air and some people ran, only to run back to witness the inferno that was a house. The house was in shambles. The night stayed blacker than black and the taste of charcoal began to spread. Wisps of smoke flew into the air like streamers on a birthday. Or Halloween. Children in costumes tried to watch from behind their parents, pushing forwards while the middle-aged women pushed back. Whispers broke out over the blaze. The flames didn't spread, but seemed to stay. A dog that would obey a command. One that seemed to draw the light towards its purple hue. The blackness only darkened.
People stayed that way for a while. It didn't matter, they would all forget about that night anyways. Might as well enjoy the carnage while it lasts; human nature permits it. Subconsciously the people knew it, even though there was no possible way for them to know. They just felt it, like latent instincts rising above the human flesh. Above the human brain. Above the human soul.
A light flashed through the eternity. It settled in the form of a man with black hair and a grisly beard. He was an oaf of a man who looked to be unable to fit through a simple doorway. But, he would manage. Somehow, he would managed. Maybe some of my power at work. I lost track of where I put all of it.
He was wearing an expensive brown wool coat. Textures danced on the rough fuzz that fell off of it. His face was large, but not chubby. He had a stern look to him, like he was on a mission. The coat continued down to brown slacks, of the same dark brown variety. The black hair zapped out backwards in a messy hairstyle. The same would be said about his beard.
He was half-giant. We'll learn more about that later. The baby was of more importance.
Our resident half-giant, Rubeus Hagrid, and several other oddly dressed folk in robes and cloaks that one would see in movies about magic, strolled through the gathered fans towards the house. Hagrid hit more than a few people trying to nudge through the gaps between spectators. You could almost hear the announcers calling "And another one bites the dust!"
Nobody seemed to notice, though. They all stared, mesmerized by nothing. They weren't seeing anymore, only looking with empty eyes. They lost any knowledge of everything pertaining to the fire. Jack Michaels, Andy Stoner, and Fredrick decanter, three children still in costumes for that night's festivities, would only remember a palette of black with a smudge of red oily paint on the dark canvass backdrop. Like dreaming of a painter, painting a portrait of an ambiguous scene that others just walk by without the slightest thought. They remembered more than most.
One old man out walking his dog, who had dragged the man to the fire, had a brain ulcer and died that night, one of the now three casualties of Halloween 1984.
Hagrid lumbered into the smoke. It wasn't long before the dust obscured the man from sight. Brown and grey ash fell over his invisible frame. The fire had miraculously died down seconds before, and the people watching had returned home on an order given by an old man with pristine white features that looked to have never met dirt. Smoldering reddish black, the shade of the sky, cinders were all that remained of the construct. It smelled of burning wood. Oak flavored. With some cedar sprinkles mixed in. Yes, it all smelled like smoke, but you have to notice the subtle differences. Those are the differences that may save your life someday.
Hagrid hauled two bodies out of the residue, slung over his shoulder like a sack of death. They sure looked dead- they didn't open their eyes, they didn't move; they were as good as the dead. But, to the careful observer (differences can prove life, not just the absence of it) there was a slight rise and fall in the chest. It was miniscule, but it was still there. One male, the other female, alternating breaths like they were one and the same. Breathing out of both mouths. One breathes in, the other breathes out. Synchronized.
Two children came out, next. Both balancing on the large man's arms. One slept peacefully, while the other sat awake with bright green eyes open; watching.
Wait a second! The other one just opened its eyes also! And it… started to cry? It wailed and screamed and dribbled. Let's call the first baby Brendon Potter (the one that started to scream) and the second one Harry Potter (The one with the unnaturally green eyes).
Some observations of the twins at first glance:
Brendon:
Had black hair that shined red in sunlight; curious indeed
Brown eyes that stared blankly ahead
Was chubby. Even more so than usual children his age.
Had a small cut above his right eye in shape of a lightning bolt.
And had an incredibly large mouth, if the screaming was anything to go by.
Harry:
Had silver hair that was unnaturally long
Was extraordinarily tall and thin
Did not move
Did not speak
(You would almost think he's dead if you didn't know any better)
And he had those green eyes that stared out like a hellish abyss that would bring an onlooker to the brink of insanity. They calculated and processed. They knew. They were. They had an ancient feeling that drew fear from everything. A darkness that transcended anything else. The thing was, they weren't like that before this day.