Antithesis

1

Two cribs, each on opposite walls of the room. They were separated by the squib's body and painted obnoxiously cheerful color's. Innocently they rested under little twinkling mobiles displaying special Quidditch equipment. The far crib held a chubby child with chocolate brown hair. He was curled in a tiny ball, clutching his pudgy fingers into the plush horns of an anatomically inaccurate dragon.

The other crib held a fairly opposite child. A possibly slim child, once accepting all infants had an unseeingly thick layer of baby fat. His hair was dark, nearly impossible to tell the specific colour with the lack of illumination. He slept on his side, one arm near its face while the other lay prone near its side.

He was silent. The names of both children were carved into each headboard respectively. The brown-haired boy has his name written with enchanted letters, glittering gold in bold font.

Skylar

The other was written in the same style and format, the letters a shimmering warm red.

Harry

Perfect.

The man let a small smile grace his normally unreadable face. Even the disgustingly muggle names wouldn't ruin the thrilling glee that pulsed through his blood. He lifted his wand but hesitated. His eyes shifted, glancing between both cribs pensively.

Which child was the imminent threat foretold? His resources had told him that both children were born the same day, almost identical to the specific requirements.

It didn't matter, overthinking it only ran the risk of the owners returning early and jeopardizing his spies.

"Harry Potter." The man mused, his voice caused Skylar Potter to frown in his sleep. Harry Potter shifted slightly, knocking a blanket to flutter between the railings. Harry's crib was on the right, flush against the wall directly across from Skylar.

It was sheer luck (or misfortune), that Lord Voldemort chose to start on the right side that night.

"The last piece needed," he mused, voice rising as he pulled the ivory-colored wand out from a concealed pocket. His eyes focused on the gentle exhalations of the infant and magic coursed through his limbs in excitement, "how fitting, for your death to assure my life."

The infant wriggled, meaty fist closing and opening in a grasping movement. It's pudgy cheeks puffed out in a small gulping snort. It was positively disgusting.

He grimaced, rolling the wand between his long fingers before arching his wrist in the proper stance. With almost lazy movements, the tip pointed directly between the closed eyes of the child.

"Avada Kedavra." He could almost feel the cold talons of death as the spell wracked through the tiny body. He could see its chest stutter, convulsing sharply as its heart jerked and struggled. The infant's eyes opened and a piercing wail exploded from the small lungs. Harry jerked, the waves of frigid energy cascaded and escalated to an excruciating crescendo.

Harry wailed, thick tears falling from his eyes as his face reddened in his screams. His pudgy arms waved and pounded limply against the railing of his crib and the dead weight of his chest.

The spell travelled with precision to find the anchor of the infant's soul to its body. Harry Potter's instinctive magic rose in a wave, attempting to deflect the darker power or negate the effects.

The chilling talons raked across the invisible heart of the infant, leaving gaping wounds and rips across its soul. Having missed, the spell did all that it had been known to ever do- kill.

It deflected, scratching and with a startling unanticipated wrench, tore apart the nearest target regardless of which soul it had lacerated.

The dark magic held within the child's body was too much. With a pain-filled screech, a powerful backlash lunged through the mortar and wood. The already weakened structure groaned and ached wearily as it staggered into a state of disarray. The ceiling collapsed, walls burst, and the metal hinges melted. Nails and wood flew, giving a deep cut over the heart of Skylar Potter, painfully waking him up from his dreams, and giving him anguish over the wound.

Harry Potter groaned, collapsing backwards in severe weakness. The last remnants of dark magic oozed in a numbing haze through a crack just below the infant's hairline. More chunks of wood fell, support beams crashed into the staircases and shingles collapsed through to the nursery. Both infants screamed even louder as the objects collided leaving broken bones and bruised skin.

Harry's eyes lolled, shifting slowly from deep emerald into something toxic as the last remnants of black magic left his skull.

Blood, ash, a single corpse, and a black recognizable cloak rested on the floor of the destroyed nursery.

That night cemented the future death of more than just a dark creature.

'What fun are prophecies if not to throw the unknown word of gods to simple swine and see what conclusions they misinterpret.'