Prologue: Godric's Hollow
Lord Voldemort strode up to the conjoined cots with the intent of a man- well, at this point he was more than a man (or less, depending on how one looked at it; though, of course, Voldemort believed strongly that he was the latter)- who knew, with an air of arrogant confidence that he was to succeed, and that such an easy task was surely beneath him!
Yet, of course, Voldemort, though paranoid and frankly insane, was intelligent, for all his debauched views of the world. If word got out to his Death Eaters about the prophecy; that this- this infant was somehow stronger than him and that he himself had not been the one to kill him, they would surely lose a great deal of respect for him. Though, mind you, nothing that he wouldn't be able to cure them of after a few bouts of the Cruciatus on them and their loved ones; but the sheer necessity of it would surely take away the pleasure he drew from their pain. Pain that he had caused, with his own power- a fact that's never ceased to bring a small smile to his face; Oh, the amount of strength he held!
He revered in that strength now, leering at the sight in front of him. It had been all too easy for him to get the twin's parents away from them; Wormtail- whom he planned on killing soon after he outlived his usefulness as the Potters Secret Keeper, quite painfully actually; it had been a headache (metaphorically of course; for The Dark Lord never suffered from ailments as common as head pains), to be in the presence of such cowardice- Wormtail had lured them off successfully.
Presently, he scoffed in disgust, curling his lips at the two babes who lay in front of him, defenceless and vulnerable. One of them was snoring obliviously, his chestnut brown hair spread around him messily; almost giving him the appearance of a sleeping angel, if it were not for the obnoxious sounds coming from his mouth.
The other though...this one sat up, his attentive gaze fixed solely on Voldemort; his vivacious green eyes gazing into The Dark Lord's own blood red ones, and he practically growled at the disrespect the brat showed. He was The One, Voldemort decided, and it did not matter what his name was; after all, dead children did not need names. Voldemort gave the child an almost soft, albeit condescending, smile. The infant did naught else but continue to glare at him defiantly with those startling green eyes and black hair.
Almost preening at this point, Voldemort lifted his wand, laughing, reciting the incantation that he had done so many times before...yet, little did he know, that it would be a long time before he did so again.
"Avada Kedavra," he murmured quietly, savoring the words that slicked like honey from his tongue. But the boys eyes continued to glow that startling green, the very same shade as the Killing Curse that struck him not moments ago. And Lord Voldemort shouted in rage, but he found he had no voice as the curse rebound upon him and he became nothing more than a shade skulking in the shadows.
The boy, one Harry James Potter, now had a small scar shaped like a lighting bolt, silvery and barely visible, showcasing the very place where Voldemort struck him, on the center of his forehead. The young child sat cross legged and unperturbed ...that was, until Godric's Hollow started to crumble around him; the house shaking due to the sheer force of the magic that had taken place that night.
Liam Remus Potter took that exact moment to decide to awaken from the deep slumber he had been in; and he began wailing as debris fell harder and faster. Harry, for his part, raised his chubby arms in alarm, willing for something to shield both him and his twin brother, unaware of the fact that he was using magic- he simply wished to protect them both, and so it did…
"Liam! Harry! Oh, James! The boys, where the hell are they?!" cried out Lily Potter in desperation, near hysterics. She ran into the blazing ruins of the place she had been calling "home" for the past year, her fiery red hair messy and her leaf green eyes (noticeably less potent than her sons) shining with tears. Her husband, James Potter, ran in strides, hot at her heels as they made their way towards what had once been the boys nursery. Behind them was Albus Dumbledore, the custom twinkle absent from his pale blue eyes, as it had been ever since the blasted war had started.
The married couple nearly cried in relief at seeing their two sons safe amidst the wreckage. The pair sat in the same cot, Harry resting his head in Liam's lap as he cradled him happily, his forehead slick with blood dripping from a single, shallow scar on the left of his temple. It was about three centimeters long, curling in on itself slightly, resembling something like a crescent moon or a vertically elongated letter "C".
Lily threw herself at her children, cradling them happily as she pressed kisses to Liam, and a still sleepy Harry, who had magical exhaustion from the amount of raw power it took to both rebound the killing curse and to protect him and his brother, though none present were to be aware of that. James, for his part, gave Albus a confused look, who was beaming happily.
"God, Albus...What happened?" asked James hoarsely...and then a look of horror arose on his face as he realized. "Peter...he betrayed us! The fucking...He was a- He was bloody working for him, all along! I can't believe that-that-!"
Now Albus looked slightly distracted, replying, "Peter? Peter Pettingrew? So it wasn't young Sirius?"
James, still in shock, was now clasping Lily's hand in his as he stroked Harry's hair, grunting in agreement. "Yeah...Siruis-Sirius knew that everyone thought he would be Secret Keeper, so he got the fucking rat, in every sense of the word, to be the one...but Albus, what in Merlins name happened?" the man reiterated.
Dumbledore looked delighted once more."Well, it seems Liam here stopped Voldemort!" The two flinched at the name as he carried on, seemingly oblivious, "It seems that he tried to cast The Killing Curse on him, but it rebounded on Riddle himself as Liam deflected it."
Both pride and shock surfaced on the couples faces. Lily whispered, aghast, "So...the prophecy…"
The two of them, as trusted Order Members and the parents of not only one, but two potential candidates for it, had been informed of the contents of the prophecy.
The Headmaster became slightly grave as he nodded, "Yes. By casting the curse on Liam, he marked him as his equal, which, in turn, self fulfilled the prophecy. The scar that he bears is a remnant; a curse scar that proves that he was the one."
James looked at him wide-eyed. "Merlin…" he breathed.
Lily looked at Albus, fear in her eyes as she cradled her children tightly, Liam noticeably closer and tighter than Harry. "He's...He's coming back, right? A-And Liam'll have to be the one w-who-who…" She shuddered, and her husband enclosed her arms around her protectively.
Albus winced. "Yes, m'dear, I'm afraid so. At the moment, Voldemort is not dead, merely a weakened shadow of his former self. One day he will come back, but that won't be for a long time from now. We have plenty of time to train Liam until that time comes, and before then we will have him remain as innocent of possible, to live a fulfilling childhood. But for now, it is a joyous occasion, for after such a long effort, this War is over! So, let us celebrate, for Liam Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, will be famous, there shall not be soul who hasn't heard of him. The child has defeated Voldemort and made this possible!"
And, indeed, people all over the world, who heard the news of He Who Must Not Be Named's downfall by the hands of Liam Potter, The Boy Who Lived, were celebrating in his name, yet little did they know of the real events that occurred that night, and they wouldn't; not for a long time.