Chapter Text
The sound of babies crying pierced the cool, Halloween night air, erupting from the ruins of a home on Godric’s Hollow that had not been visible previously. Several of the neighbors stood a little way off to the side, clutching night robes to their chests or pointing at the second story, where it looked like an explosion had gone off and demolished parts of the wall, allowing for the cries to reach them. None of them dared move towards the crumbling little cottage.
None of them noticed the soft ‘pop’ from down the street. None of them noticed as an elderly man in bright purple robes and half-moon spectacles made his way calmly to the ruined house, as if he were only stopping by for a visit. The only indication in his stature that anything was wrong was the way he had drawn a thin stick from his robes and held it tightly in his hand.
He moved swiftly up to the front door, which had been blown off of its hinges and lay in a dozen pieces in the foyer.
Not too far from the door, close to the stairs, a body lay sprawled on the ground: a young man, barely in his twenties. There was blood trickling down the side of his face from a gash on the side of his head, and more blood stained the clothes that he wore, evidence of an injury hidden under the garments.
The elderly man paid him no mind, striding up the stairs two at a time. He moved, a bit quicker now, into a nursery, the thin stick raised threateningly in front of him.
Another body, that of a young woman with fiery red hair and freckled skin, was sprawled out in front of a crib, where two babies just over a year old were crying loudly. A pile of ash nearby had another thin stick laying on top of it, and the elderly man knelt down to pluck it off the floor.
“It can’t have been that easy,” the man muttered to himself. He sat the piece of wood back in the ash and turned his attention to the children, an easy smile on his face. He stepped over the woman, paying her no mind, “Hello, little ones. Don’t cry.”
The two little boys in the crib were nearly identical, small and chubby with tufts of black hair on their heads. The only difference between the two were the eyes – and their wounds, or lack-thereof.
The uninjured boy hiccupped, reaching up at the man with one hand as he wailed, the other hand firmly clutching onto his brother’s shirt. His brown eyes were shiny with tears.
The other child was clearly injured. Blood leaked from a peculiar shaped cut on his forehead, trailing down his face. Watery green eyes surrounded by blood peered at the man as he sobbed, but he was pointing down at the woman in front of the crib.
“Mummy,” he was crying, “Mummy.”
“This is quite unfortunate,” the man said calmly. He waved the stick in front of the injured child, and the blood disappeared from his face, though the wound still leaked fresh blood. Another wave of the stick and the wound closed up, leaving behind a striking lightning-shaped scar along his forehead. The man reached out and touched it, causing the child to wail even louder, “He will mark him as his equal,” the man muttered under his breath, to himself, “So it’s you. Harry Potter.”
“Mummy!’ Harry cried. He pried himself away from his brother to pull himself up in the crib, pointing almost frantically at the woman.
“I am terribly sorry for your loss, my boys,” the man said simply, “I will take you to your mother’s family. You will be safe there.”
Harry seemed to be on the verge of scaling the crib in his desperation, so the man lifted the child out. The moment he was in his arms, though, he was squirming to be let down, and then he was toddling towards the body.
The body that was very distinctively still breathing.
“Oh,” the man said, surprised by this revelation. He watched as Harry threw his little body onto the woman’s stomach, clutching at her shirt and crying, “Well, this could be a problem. I did not think they would survive. My plans will have to be adjusted. Won’t they, Jack?”
He lifted the other child out of the crib, this one preferring to simply clutch onto his robes and cry.
“No, this won’t do at all,” the man sighed and shook his head and then, softly, as if quoting something, he muttered, “Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.”
“Dada,” Jack mumbled against the man’s robes.
“Ah,” the man shook his head lightly as he looked down at the boys, “Your parents won’t raise a martyr, will they?”
Neither of the babies responded.
“For the greater good,” he said to himself, a determined look appearing in his mind. He sat Jack back down in the crib, the child wailing the moment he was abandoned. Then he plucked Harry off the unconscious woman. The child wailed, squirming in the man’s arms as he was taken away from his mother, “I am sorry for this, boys.”
Clutching the child in one arm, he pulled out the stick with the other.
“Expecto patronum,” he said calmly.
A majestic bird made up of white wisps of smoke erupted from the piece of wood. It flew around the room a few times, causing the cries of the boys to cease, before it settled in front of Dumbledore.
“Send a message to the Order,” he said, voice clear and calm, “The Potters have been attacked. James and Lily are injured but alive. Young Jack…” he paused briefly, eyes flicking to the child in the crib, “It appears that Voldemort cast the killing curse at young Jack, but it rebounded on himself. Jack is alive. I am afraid that the same cannot be said for young Harry.”
The bird flew out of the room, off to deliver its message.
“They should be arriving soon,” the man said to the child in the crib, as if the boy understood exactly what was going on, “I will return once I settle Harry into his new home.”
Without another word, he left the house, one twin clutched tightly in his arms as he whisked him away from his family.
By the time he arrived after leaving Harry James Potter on the doorstep of Vernon and Petunia Dursley’s house, spelled asleep in a basket with only a short letter explaining to the couple that they had to take Harry in, the papers had already heard of the story.
“ VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED ,” the title read, “ JACK POTTER IS THE BOY-WHO-LIVED.”
When James and Lily awoke from their injuries, it was to news of one son’s survival and fame, and the other son’s unfortunate demise.