Verus

one

31st October 1981, All Hallow's Eve

It was rather chilly outside for late October. Usually the typical British winter weather didn't start to set in until about mid November- early December, if you were lucky.

Frost nipped at dewy fields, clung to every possible surface, and danced alongside the harrowing wind. But as the cold crept closer, it seemed that up and down the country people failed to feel it, too overjoyed by the sudden rise in rumours in which spread like wildfire through communities, cities, and towns.

People were gathering. In mass crowds, in warm homes, in well lit taverns where cider and spirits were raised in cheer. In relief.

But one boy, one tiny babe, was left all alone.

So as the rest of the world continued to celebrate the end of an era, this little boy lay, cold and abandoned, bundled in one single blanket on the doorstep of a number 4, Privet Drive.

Little Harry- son to both Lily and James Potter, now sadly departed- stared aimlessly up at the overhang above him. Green eyes, those of his mothers, glazed over and peering out from just below the mark of an unmistakable lighting bolt.

The boy didn't cry. Didn't snuffle or sniff. Toss nor turn. Just waited, patiently, as Halloween slowly melted away into November.

A little way away, maybe a street or so, a pop sounded and an unfamiliar fizzle rippled in the evening air. A long second passed before a figure stepped out from behind a postbox, its usual red colour shrouded in shadows. The figure, a man with a rather large, looming presence, adorned in the darkest of robes strode further into the night. He had an almost never-ending beard, wisps of white and grey blended seamlessly into his halo of hair. A staff, taller than himself, was held in one fisted hand but with a simple wave the man shrunk it down and tucked it away inside a possible pocket.

Streetlights seemed to dim and then burn out completely before he even had the chance to pass them by. One by one, they diminished in his presence as he walked on.

It was obvious that this was the kind of man who was on a mission, who had a necessary task to complete. His ageing face was wound tightly as his boot covered feet clacked against the broken pavement slabs. It was only as he approached a certain house, on a quiet little street, did the tension in his shoulders finally begin to ebb away.

"Oh, my child." The man murmured as he moved quickly towards number 4, lifting tiny Harry from his bassinet with an ease in which was surprising for a person of his supposed age. "I cannot allow such foolery. For any one to think you should grow up in such a place..." He shook his head, "Well-"

The man gifted the baby boy a gentle smile and pressed a single finger to his rosy cheek.

"That will just not do. The fates, will simply have to change."

The man raised his head and with that, vanished in a flash of light.

—

That same night, back in Godric's Hollow, Sirius Black stumbled into the ruins of the Potter cottage and cried out in utter agony when he caught sight of the remains of his best friend, his brother.

James Potter lay in the cottage's stairwell so lifeless, eyes still open wide, his mouth agape. It looked as though he'd been stunned and had just crumpled, his body unable to do nothing else but succumb to the defeat as he gazed into the eyes of his merciless killer. But Sirius knew better. He knew that James would have fought with all that he had, though it seemed even that hadn't been quite enough.

Sirius fell to his knees beside the dead man and took James' cold ashen hand in his own as a sob tore its way from out of his throat. He clung helplessly to his best friend and let his body fall limply across James' torso. He wasn't sure how long he laid there, retching and crying, as he called out for the rest of his friends, for his brother. Only that the hurt and pain he felt grew with each soundless sob.