And so, my beloved Kermit, my dear little Hussein, at the moment America changed forever, your father was wandering an ICBM-denuded watseland, nervously monitoring his radiation level, armed only with a baseball bat, a 10mm pistol, and six rounds of ammunition, in search of a vicious gang of mohawked marauders who were 100 percent bad news and totally had to be dealth with. Trust Daddy on this one.

The ones who lived, who truly lived, they make an imprint on our lives. They leave their mark in our hearts. They change the course of our fates and our destinies. Those are the real heroes. The ones who cared enough for a human being that they rewrote their futures.”- Alastor Moody

Before the boy who lived, there was another story. One of a monster inside of a man. One of a hero inside of a child. One of a traitor inside of a friend. And one of an angel inside of a demon.

Don’t get smart - you two are in a heap of trouble!” snarled Anderson. “Names!”“Names?” repeated the long-haired driver. “Er — well, let’s see. There’s Wilberforce . . . Bathsheba . . . Elvendork . . .”“And what’s nice about that one is, you can use it for a boy or a girl,” said the boy in glasses.“Oh, our names, did you mean?” asked the first, as Anderson spluttered with rage. “You should’ve said! This here is James Potter, and I’m Sirius Black!”“Things’ll be seriously black for you in a minute, you cheeky little —