Chapter Text
If—
by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or, being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream--and not make dreams your master;
If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with triumph and disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with wornout tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on";
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings--nor lose the common touch;
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you;
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run--
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!
Chapter One: One Too Many Prophecies
“Leaders aren't born they are made. And they are made just like anything else, through hard work. And that's the price we'll have to pay to achieve that goal, or any goal.”—Vince Lombardi
“A story has no beginning or end: arbitrarily one chooses that moment of experience from which to look back or from which to look ahead.”—Graham Greene
~*~
January 1, 1980, Hogs Head Inn, 8:26 P.M.
Albus Dumbledore sighed, as he shifted in his chair once again, reading the day’s copy of the Daily Prophet. The statement: “times were very bad” was laughable. People were desolate, and Voldemort seemed to be swiftly crushing the Light. He had tried his best to warn the Minister in the early years, back when the words “Dark Lord” were mere whispers in even the darkest alleys, but Nobby Leach had staunchly denied it, claiming it was only rumors and conspiracies. Now it was too late: with casualties at their highest and not stopping, fear more widespread than ever before, and Death Eaters being recruited left and right, it seemed that the war was truly lost. And he, instead of planning strategies with the Order, was here at Hogs Head, for a teaching interview. He wasn’t even here for a significant teaching position—no it was Divination.
It wasn’t that he didn’t believe in foretelling of the future, it was just bitterness about the war along with the weather—endless rain that didn’t seem to stop—that made this job interview worse than it seemed. The woman he was supposed to meet tonight was named Sybill Trelawney, a descendant of the well-known Cassadra Trelawney who had been a formidable Seer. Unfortunately, from what he could glean, Sybill was not as gifted as Cassandra had been. Nor punctual, he mused to himself, sipping his tea. The pub was mostly empty, save for a trio of wizards in one back corner conversing quietly while keeping their heads down and especially avoiding looking at him, Aberforth who was cleaning a glass with a filthy rag and scowling to himself, and a wizard against a wall who had his head on the table and a glass of what looked like Firewhiskey right in front of him.
He sighed, putting his glass down in front of him. Aberforth—his brother—shot him a glance before dismissing him and cleaning his glass again. Just as Albus was about to do something to alleviate his growing boredom, the door to the inn fell open: a frazzled looking woman with huge spectacles rushing in, her boots making squish squish squish noises. She attempted to tidy up herself, but giving it up for a lost cause, looked around the pub instead, and spotting him, came forward to sit on a nearby stool.
“Headmaster Dumbledore, I apologize for my lateness, but I was caught in the middle of the storm. It was awful.”
“Ah hem, and you didn’t forsee today’s weather.”
She stiffened “Headmaster, the Inner Eye is not used to predict weather.” Ah, she had taken offense. Usually he would apologize or try to make amends, but his patience was already quite thin, what with waiting on this chair for nearly an hour. Still, he had to attend an Order meeting later on tonight, so it was best to get straight to business.
“Yes, yes. Now then…You are applying for the post of Divination Professor at Hogwarts, m’dear?”
“Oh yes, Headmaster.” He noticed some movement out of the corner of his eye.
“And do you have any prior work experience?”
“I worked as a consultant on Witch Weekly’s, you know sir, to predict and guide in the matter of true love, but alas my Inner Eye showed me that I had to find a more suitable job.”
“Your Inner Eye showed you that it was best to leave your already well-paying job, so that you may apply for a teaching position.” He couldn’t believe this woman.
“Why yes, Headmaster.” Apparently Sybill had never heard of sarcasm before. The movement happened again, he frowned trying to look for who or what had caused it, without being too obvious.
“I see…” Hah, a pun! “And you graduated from—?”
“From Ava’s School of Foretelling. It is a specialized school of magic, sir.”
“Yes, yes…and your O.W.Ls and N.E.W.Ts, do you have copies of your examination scores?”
“Here.”
“Ah yes, 2 O’s, 3 E’s, 1 A and a T on your N.E.W.Ts. O’s in: Astronomy and Divination, with E’s in: History of Magic, Herbology, and Muggle Studies, an A in Charms, and a T in Transfiguration. You did not take Potions or Defense Against the Dark Arts, m’dear?” That was a depressingly inadequate quality of classes for someone who aspired to teach at Hogwarts.
“Oh no, sir, the Defense professor was not at all well suited to teach, it would not have been worth it, and I am dreadful at Potions sir.” There again, it was man at that table, the one who had his head slumped on the table.
“Yet you took Transfiguration?”
“Yes, well, I believed it to be conductive towards my future.”
“Ah yes, is there any way I could persuade you to take a look at my future.” He had already made his decision, but it was still polite to ask, even if any “readings” would be made up or melodramatic. There, the man shifted again, his body facing Albus and Sybill. Most…curious.
“Yes of course! Here let me find my crystal ball…Oh! There it is, now lets see…Oh, I see…a house-elf…named Dobby…he seems to be holding a sock! Most shocking…there is a child…oh how curious.” No it wasn’t very curious at all, he hadn’t even been in the so-called “foretelling.” She was a fraud, it was completely pointless to sit around with her knowing he wouldn’t hire her, so he would have to wrap this up.
“M’dear, I am sorry to conclude this interview right now, but I have other engagements for later on tonight. I will carefully consider all that we have discussed and owl you with my response within 2 days.”
“Oh…Alright Headmaster. I hope to hear from you in 2 days time, I suppose.” It was clear she was quite perplexed at the abrupt dismissal. The trio of wizards that had been talking to each other before, left the pub, paying Aberforth and keeping their faces hidden still.
“Yes, well goodbye my dear.” And with that, Albus got up and turned towards the exit, seeing the man at that table raise his head, when he heard:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…”
He turned back towards Sybill, gasping. What, was this a joke?! No, but she was sitting rigidly…almost as if in a trance…
“Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…”
A prophecy…He was witnessing a real prophecy, but then a thought occurred to him, and he turned wand drawn, towards the man…the man who was staring wild-eyed, before he ran out of the pub, before Albus could do anything but cast several hexes that missed.
“And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not…”
He had to follow that man, yet he couldn’t leave now, he had to listen to the prophecy…
“And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies... "
He waited for some more seconds, but after nothing more seemed to be said, and Sybill seemed to come back to herself, he said, “Wait here! I will be right back!” Then, he ran out of the pub, looking for the young man who had suspiciously left after overhearing the prophecy.
~*~
Back in the Hogs Head, 9:00 P.M.
Aberforth stared after his brother, who had just left his pub without paying. His jaw tightened, before he forcibly relaxed. Now was not the time to go running after Albus and whatever craziness he had gotten himself into this time. Instead, he turned to the messily dressed witch sitting on a stool looking miserably at the crystal ball. They were now the only ones in his inn, as no one else had entered after the woman. He brought up a clean glass, poured some amber liquid in it, and put it down beside her.
“Here, Ogden’s Finest. First glass is on the house.” He said quite kindly, feeling pity at her gloomy expression
“He ran out, there is no way I’m getting the job now,” she cried. The light of a nearby candle cast a glow on the crystal ball in front of her, reflecting a colorful mirage that dazzled her. She became rigid.
“The World shall be made anew:
With an eagle’s cry, a deadly pursuit,
A lion that roars nothing but truth,
And the cold-hard respect of a snake.
Of the night of Samhain we do not speak:
The rat cowers, betraying bonds for greater loot.
War echoes in Peace’s wake,
While Victory flies on loyal shoulders.
Dark and Light rise and fall,
But, in the end, Grey will conquer them all.
His eyes will be the color of Death and Life:
His very name a prophecy.
They will fight, conquer, and rule,
Follow in the footsteps of the Old:
Life for Life, Blood for Blood,
The World shall be made anew.”
He gaped, not quite understanding. Two prophecies in one night…the first had foretold of the defeat of the current Dark Lord, while the second seemed to be hailing in another Wizarding Lord. The witch gasped coming back to herself.
“Do you remember…Do you remember anything about what just happened?” He barely resisted shaking her.
She looked at him as if he were mad: exactly how he felt. “N-No,” she whispered, her voice strained after the prophecy. But he could see something in her eyes…some lingering feeling perhaps…
“WHAT DO YOU KNOW?” He roared madly. This was important, Wizarding Lords happened once every fifty to a hundred years yes, but ones that had prophecies foretelling of their coming were too important for her to keep quiet about, regardless of manners.
She sucked in a deep breath, letting it out gently, before looking straight at him and speaking. ”I remember black hair…black as night, representing the Dark. I saw pale white skin…white as snow, representing the Light. And…I know…eyes green…green as the Killing Curse…green as Death. His name will be powerful in meaning, though common. That, that’s what I know.” Her voice had grown steely, and by the end of her statement she had almost been glaring at him.
“So the question now is,” Aberforth began with a forced lightness, “What the hell do we do?”
~*~
January 1, 1980, Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix, 9:30 P.M.
It was pandemonium. The minute he had told the Order members of the prophecy, people had started talking. Twenty voices all began speaking at once, directing questions and demands to him over each other. His head throbbed.
“SILENCE!” He did not shout.
“Yes, there is a child who will be born, who has the power to defeat Voldemort.”
Everyone flinched. Albus sighed, raising a hand to rub at his throbbing forehead.
“Now who here is expecting a child…in late July?”
“We are.” The Potters. They had thrice “defied” Voldemort.
“And us.” Hmm…The Longbottoms had as well.
“Everyone else may leave. I have to speak with the Potters and Longbottoms alone as this matter concerns them most of all.”
The rest of the Order members all slowly got up and walked to the door, some of them glancing back at him curiously, but none of them questioned him. When the last person had walked through the exit, closing the door behind them, Albus turned to the two young couples still sitting at the table.
“We will have to put you in safe houses. I fear Voldemort has already heard of the prophecy, and will come after you.” Albus sighed.
“What, but—“
“You can hardly expect us to—“
“How are we going to keep fighting—“
“What about—“
“ENOUGH!”
“You will be kept safe. For how long, I do not know right now, but it is of great importance that Voldemort must not find you. If he finds you, you can be assured that you will not make it through the encounter alive—you can be assured that your unborn children will also die. I am doing this to keep you alive and safe.”
“Fine, Albus.”
“Yes, Albus.”
“Now we will have to find enchantments and spells to keep you safely hidden…There is one particular spell—The Fidelius Charm—it can…”
~*~
July 31, 1980, Godric’s Hollow, 11:55 P.M.
“C’mon, c’mon…push, that’s it!” The Healer’s voice came through the door. James was pacing outside, his face tightened. Lily had been in labor for over 18 hours now, and he was sick with worry. What if something goes wrong? What if the baby’s not okay? What if Lily’s not okay?
“James, breathe…Your panicking won’t help the situation.” Albus tried being the voice of reason, but felt like he wasn’t doing anything.
Finally a cry resounded from the room, a baby’s cry. Albus checked the time, casting “Tempus.”
July 31, 1980, 11:58 P.M.
“It’s a boy,” said the Healer, but before anything else could be said, Lily screamed.
“What—? Another one?” The Healer gasped. “Push! Again, almost there! You can do it!”
“What’s going on?” James asked fearfully, staring at the closed door, tension coming back.
“Stay calm.”
“Lily?”
“James, stay calm.”
“LILY?”
“Silencio!”
Another cry. “Tempus.”
August 1, 1980, 12:00 A.M.
“Another boy,” the Healer said proudly, opening the door. James rushed inside, and he followed, casting a swift “Finite Incantatem,” at his back.
He glanced down at the crib, where two babies slept soundly. One had red hair like Lily’s, while the other had black hair, much darker than James’. They were both curled into each other, looking deeply at peace.
“Have you thought of names?” He asked lightly, glancing at Lily who was flushed and radiant with joy.
“William Sirius Potter, for him,” she pointed at the red-haired one, “and—“ Lily floundered not knowing what to name her second child, as she had thought she would only be having one.
“Harry James Potter for him,” James interrupted pointing at the black-haired baby.
“Which one is the Potter Heir, the oldest?” Albus inquired, trying not to seem overly interested.
“William is the oldest,” Lily said tiredly.
“But I will not name a Potter Heir, until I feel that one of them has proven that he is capable of the responsibilities. I am not like some Wizarding Heads who refuse to name any child except their first-born male child as Heir to the Family Name,” James stated firmly.
“Yes they are both equal, “ Lily smiled at her husband.
~*~
October 31, 1981, Godric’s Hollow, 7:00 P.M.
It was Halloween. Children were out trick-or-treating, laughing and chatting to each other excitedly. The old oak trees cast shadows over the streets, ominously hiding the glowing jack-o-lanterns from view. A cold wind blew harshly across the street, making the children shudder. It was like every other Halloween, maybe a little more colder than usual, but relatively the same.
Then a faint pop sounded at the corner of the street. A dark-covered figure appeared in the shadows. He was wearing all black and no other distinguishing features were discernible. He moved slowly, yet confidently, staying within the shadows and avoiding any light.
Finally, he stopped in front of a cottage, one slightly smaller than its neighbors, but empty of any children trick-or-treating on its doorstep. The house was completely dark, except for a faint light coming from what looked like the living room. The figure glided to the front door, his pale hands taking out a long, polished stick from his pocket, fingers curling around it and raising it to the keyhole of the door. It was a wand and this man was a wizard.
“Alohomora…” The man whispered, his wand glowing slightly.
The door snapped open, pushed aside. He walked in through the doorway, wand raised.
The laughing man sitting on a worn out leather armchair immediately turned in his direction, wand out and eyes narrowed. He shouted, “Lily get the boys and leave. Hurry.”
Lily who was standing near the staircase, raised her wand and cried, “No James, I will fight besides you. I am not leaving you here to fight him.” The last was directed at him.
The intruder walked inside slowly, “Well isn’t this Gryffndorish behavior absolutely…touching.” He sneered, “Now which one of you should I fight first? Or will I duel the both of you?”
James immediately fired a spell, which the man smoothly ducked. The intruder cast several spells quickly, which James dodged expertly. Lily, meanwhile, sent several curses towards the man. The intruder laughed, “You think you can defeat me, Lord Voldemort! Fools!”
He made a slashing motion in the air with his wand, and Lily abruptly crumpled to the floor.
“Lily!” The man looked at her for a split-second, before remembering the Dark Lord, turned and kept casting spells, furiously.
His rage proved to be his undoing, for within the next minute, James too fell to the ground.
The Dark Lord stood in front of them for a second contemplating on whether to kill them now, or after he sorted out the Prophecy brats. Afterwards. It’s not as if they are a threat to me in their current condition. And I suppose, I should reward Severus for his information, so the woman can live. For now.
Quickly now, the man took the stairs. He looked at the three closed doors in front of him, debating. Then, he walked across the hallway upstairs, until he reached a closed door.
He opened it with his hand, the door creaking as he did. Inside, the walls were a deep red color, with little gold lions dancing across the walls. He sneered at the cliché wallpaper, before entering the room. Looking around, he saw two cribs standing side-by-side in the corner. The Dark Lord glanced down at the babies in their cribs.
The one on the left had jet-black hair, and pale skin. The baby turned his head towards him and stared, green eyes glowing eerily in the room’s dim light. He raised one small hand up towards him, fingers reaching to grab, and then curling into a fist. The toddler was watching him in an almost unnerving manner. He almost reminds me of—He cut that train of thought off. The baby might seem a little strange, but by the time he grows up, he’ll be as Gryffindorish as the rest of his family. Or he would be, if he grows up. Which he won’t. Just because he felt a connection to the brat didn’t mean he would spare any loose ends. It had taken him the better part of a year to find the Potters and he would not let either child live, regardless of whom the Prophecy was speaking of.
Turning, he looked at the other child. If the first child reminded him of someone, this child seemed to look very much like a Weasley. His hair though, seemed to be more of a blood red color, as opposed to that disasterish red-orange Weasley hair color. This baby’s hair seemed to shine in the light, giving the child the illusion that his hair was a dancing flame. It was very…disconcerting. The child looked to be sleeping—no wait, it looked up at him just then. This brat had more…normal…brown eyes, along with already forming Potter features. The child looked very much like his father, just with his mother’s hair. Except the Mudblood doesn’t have such vivid hair. Then he frowned, turning to look at the other baby, the dark-haired one. He didn’t seem to resemble either one of his parents. Perhaps, the Mudblood had an affair, he thought, his eyes narrowed, except magical twins have to have the same biological parents. He shook his head, his curioisity wanted him to wait and observe the twins, but his self-preservation wanted to do away with the threat immediately. He looked at the two children. They were both staring at him, the smaller, dark-haired one, almost analytically evaluating him, while the other red-haired child was smiling at him, a childish innocence in his face. He raised his wand, twirling it carefully in his fingers before saying casually, “Which one of you should I kill first? I suppose I should do it by birth order, but I don’t exactly know which one of you was born first…” He shook his head “So there must be another method to determine whom to kill first.” The red-haired child, seeming to lose interest in him, tried reaching for his wand. There was a moment of silence, in which he evaluated the two babies laying before him.
He smiled coldly then, “Ah yes, I believe it should be you…”
And he cast: “Avada Kedavra!” And almost immediately he knew something would go wrong; the last thing he saw before being engulfed in flashing green light and all-consuming pain, was the green-eyed child, with eyes as green as the Killing Curse, laughing delightedly as though he saw a magic trick.