The Potter Brothers: The Stone and the Book

AU. In this story, Harry has a brother named Ethan. The plot unfolds as Harry and Ethan part ways when James and Lily get murdered by Voldemort. This part takes place in the first year in Hogwarts of both Potters, while many more mysteries unravel with the disappearance of young Ethan, who is 1 year older than harry.

Disclaimer Everything related to Harry potter is owned by JK Rowling. I do not own any Harry Potter characters or any other material from JKR. .

The Boy-Who-Lived and the Boy-Who-Was-Lost

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground…

For many reasons, Albus Dumbledore was not a man who would be gladly received in the neighborhood of Privet Drive. Every little detail that characterized him would surely be found repulsive. He wore violet robes with a matching pointy hat and high heeled boots. His long silvery beard fell just below his chest, and his half-mooned spectacles glittered against the moonlight. He was busy searching his clothes, when he realized a striped cat was observing him and grinned amusedly. He found what he was looking for in one of his pockets, raised what seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter, and one by one, the lamps' lights were sucked into the put-outer as he clicked it.

He slowly walked to the number four, making his way toward the cat. "Ah, I should have known…" he said looking directly at it, chuckling.

In an instant it transformed into a most severe looking woman.

"Evening, Professor Dumbledore," said McGonagall, looking very much distressed.

"Evening, Minerva," he answered. "I would've thought you would be celebrating by now".

"Celebrating?!" she said, even more anxious. "Have you heard what happened?" Dumbledore's stare was a mixture of concern and relief; something was seriously troubling him.

"Ah yes, I have certainly heard the rumors," he confessed, as he raised his eyebrows and looked at the ground, sighing. "As troubling and unbelievable as they might be, they are true." She immediately leaned against the fence of Number Four, looking immensely disconsolate.

"You mean it's... it's true?" she stammered. "Lily, James, and their son, Ethan…?" It seemed that she would faint as every color of her face had gone.

"Yes, I am afraid we have lost them." he said.

McGonagall sobbed uncontrollably. "And about what stopped him? Is it also true?" she managed to let out. "Was a baby, a most innocent and vulnerable child, able to stop the Dark Lord, with all the people he had managed to murder… he was beaten by little Harry?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, Minerva. It's really hard to explain what happened. Somehow, the killing curse Voldemort-" McGonagall flinched at the mere mention of the name, "-used reverted against him, breaking his power. What is of Voldemort, I must confess, I do not know." He confirmed what had been tormenting her.

"And Ethan? Did he…he-who-must-not-be-named murder him, too?" she said, stammering again.

For the first time, Dumbledore looked confused and troubled. "If Harry's survival has a handful of explanations, which are probably wrong, Ethan's disappearing is the most intriguing mystery I have ever encountered," he told McGonagall, who looked shocked. "No body or trace of him was found a mile near the location, not a clue or evidence of a spell that could transport him, nothing." McGonagall had lost the last shred of color from her face.

"Do you reckon Voldemort might have taken him, if he survived?" she asked.

"Certainly not. As I said, the only reason for Harry's survival is that the killing curse Voldemort used backfired. Even if he managed to survive by any means, he would have been inflicted by an amount of pain intolerable to any human being, as wretched as he could be."

McGonagall was still at loss of words. It just couldn't be. "Professor, may I ask…" she said, gaining some of her lost composure. "Who did you put in charge of bringing up Harry Potter?"

As an answer, a roar was heard throughout the dark night as an immense object approached the neighborhood. "What is that noise?!" managed to spill McGonagall.

"Harry Potter's escort," said Dumbledore calmly as the colossal Hagrid got down from the flying motorcycle with baby Potter in his arms.

"Ey' Professor here I have him." said Hagrid, not taking his eyes from the child.

"Thank you very much, Rubeus." he answered. "I assume that is Sirius's bike…"

"Of course, he lent it to me. Poor lad… he was broken. He couldn't say a word when he got to James and Lily's." answered Hagrid, sobbing while he tried to clean the tears that had fallen to his cheeks.

"Oh my… I can't believe it Albus… James and Lily, dead?" said McGonagall sobbing again.

After looking at Harry's scar, Dumbledore looked seriously at Hagrid. "Did you manage to find anything at Godric's Hollow, Rubeus?" he asked gently.

"No, Professor, only…" Hagrid was now sobbing as hard as McGonagall. "Only their... their... bodies… Lily's and James's…" he said as he finally letting out a howl.

"Calm down, Rubeus," comforted Dumbledore. "We must not wake up the muggles".

"And the poor little Ethan…" Hagrid howled again, ignoring what Dumbledore had said. "I couldn't find him! Argggh!" Hagrid shouted.

"It's okay Hagrid, dear." said McGonagall, surprised how it had affected such a massive and brave man.

"Let's not discuss this matter here." said Dumbledore. "We must get Harry to his remaining family."

McGonagall shuddered. "These? They are the worst type of muggles I have ever met; I have never seen people more different from us!"

"Precisely," replied Dumbledore. "Here, Harry will grow up without all the spoiling that fame can provide him." continued Dumbledore calmly.

"Oh, I hope yeh'r right, Dumbledore." said Hagrid as he put Harry in a basket with the letter Dumbledore had written for the Dursley's.

"Very well, then let us leave," Dumbledore told them. "We must rejoice, for we have not had something to celebrate for eleven years. I will see you both soon at school. We must also grieve for the ones we lost, shall the world remember the bravery of the Potters: James, Lily, and Ethan, that gave their lives for the sake of us all."

Finally, the wizards left Privet Drive, as fast as they had gotten there. Like Dumbledore had foreseen, thousands of people gathered in secret, held their glasses, and cheered to the boy who had lived.


"Daddy! What's happening?!" cried a little boy who could barely walk to his father's legs. "Why is mom crying? Why are you yelling? I'm scared."

James Potter looked scared to death as well. "Lily! Get Harry! He is coming!" he shouted. "We have to leave! Take the baby, I'll get Ethan. We leave right now!" He sounded desperate. "Ethan, don't be scared," he yelled at the boy. "We'll be going to uncle Sirius's"…

Suddenly, a vicious laugh broke the shouting, and at the door, James could see who he feared would find them. Dumbfounded, he realized Ethan was staring directly at him.

"Daddy? Who is this… he… he's scary," he said almost crying.

"Ethan! Get behind me right now!"

Suddenly, Ethan's face did not show any sign of fear, but of a mixture of anger and courage. "You will not harm daddy or mummy or lil' Harry, bad sir!" he yelled at the Dark Lord.

"So brave," Voldemort said at last, with his snake-like voice that would make any man shiver. "And of course so stupid," he said raising his wand.

"NOO!!" said James while he raced to protect his son… but it was too late. A flash of green erupted from the Dark Lord's wand, going directly at Ethan's chest. The world froze for James Potter; he was not going to be able to stop it.

Then it happened. Neither wizard saw or understood what had just taken place in front of them. A blue, blinding light surrounded the boy as he screamed in agony. His father could see a wound was forming throughout his chest in a lightning bolt shape, and it broke his heart. Then the boy was consumed by the blue light and disappeared.

Three more flashes of green were seen from outside the Potter's house in Godric's hollow. As the last flash shone through the night, a man's screech of pain was heard for miles. Then the house that hours before looked so beautiful and peaceful, collapsed. Only the ashes remained, along with the cries of a small baby.



A year had come and gone after the events that lead to the downfall of the Dark Lord. In the outskirts of London city, a nun stood in the lobby of a deteriorated building with a sign was hanging at the front door – 'St. Mark's Orphanage'. She was rechecking yet again the list of the poor little children that were enlisted that month. "Dear Lord, so many…" she said sadly. "We may not be able to take care of the whole lot of them. Please God, help us, you know we desperately need a miracle."

Before she had even finished these words, Sister Rosalie heard three big thumps at the orphanage doors. Recovering herself after almost falling down, she fixed her clothing and after she covered her head with her hood, she opened the door. There in the winter's cold, stood a barely clothed little boy, shivering because of the harsh freezing wind that was blowing outside. He was crying, and he held his chest, on which the sister could see a huge bolt-shaped scar. She immediately attended the boy. She took him inside and led him to the first empty room she could find. At the sight of the bed the nun had shown him, the boy did not think twice to jump up and cover himself. After his shivering calmed down, he held out his hand with a letter.

She became more and more confused as she read. Her eyes followed intensely every sentence until she got to a point that made her give a little jump, cover her mouth in astonishment, and start crying. She hugged the little boy and saw that he was holding in his other hand an immense book. Then she tried to comfort him while she took the book and put it on a shelf.

"Don't worry, my dear, you will be safe here. I will take care of you." But the boy had fallen asleep. She smiled a little and covered him from the cold. As she closed the door she heard him calling for his mom, dad, and another person called Harry. She couldn't be sadder for the little boy and swore to herself that she would protect him with her life, for this boy was lost.


As calm and peaceful as Little Hangleton seemed to be, the townsfolk had not seen such a terrifying and darker night since the deaths of the Riddle family. A chilly, gloomy breeze made the windows and doors of the houses screech, giving Goosebumps to the residents. Just outside the town, the people had built a graveyard a century before, and many of them did not have a clue of the horrors that had taken place long before they came. Just next to it, the Riddle manor stood ever watchful, dark and gloomy, as it had ever been since the murders of the family.

Legends were created around the old graveyard, most of them about the main chapel that stood just in the center. It was surrounded by demonic statues, one on each corner, looking to each cardinal point. Most of the walls had their outline made of stone serpents that seemed to crawl every time a person looked at them. At the front door, some symbols were carved in a language long forgotten, unknown to the people of the little town.

The silence was then broken by a faint popping sound between the graves. Three cloaked figures then stood in front the chapel as if they had appeared out of nowhere, their faces covered by their cloaks. They walked slowly, and with every step the night got darker and darker. The first one stopped in the front door and whispered some inaudible words that resembled more snake than person. The doors opened as if they had been commanded to, and the three figures entered the dark chamber. Inside of it was a tomb, which also had the strange symbols carved from the front door.

The room looked as if it had not been opened for a thousand years, although it was lit by torches in the corners that apparently had been set a few minutes ago. A second figure stood in front of a statue of a cloaked woman, holding a snake shaped staff, which he pulled down. The statue started moving making way for a secret passageway that the three figures entered silently. Another chamber was behind, with a single, squared table with two chairs on each side. In the wood on chairs and the table were once again carved snakes that looked as though they were going to come alive any second.

They calmly sat down around the table, and the first person spoke then with a grave, profound voice. It sounded like he had barely used it in his entire life. "Let us gather," the man spoke, "for the first reunion of the Council of Maeve in the present century." The two other people did not react to the announcement. "We must review the events that have taken place in the past decade," the voice continued.

"Yessss…" said the figure on his right. It was more like a hiss than a word, with a voice so hoarse that it would seem a millennium had passed since the last time it spoke. "It would seem Salazar's heir has fallen… so incompetent…"

The third one, who had not spoken, stared at him. "Wasn't it YOU who gave him the mission?" his voice was unnatural; it was as though two men were talking - a voice that would scare the hell out of the bravest man alive. It could be split in two waves, the first one deep and calm, consumed by pure evil. The second, however, was more like a screech, a high-pitched scream of agony. The combination of both made such an effect that the second one had to turn his face down for a moment.

"Remember, had he not lost his body, he would have become one of usss," the second man answered with a hiss.

"Do not discuss now the failures of others, Isaiah," the first man told the third one, "or we will forget the very reason of our gathering. A century has passed since the last meeting, the same reason all over again."

The second man turned now. "Ah yesss… the same fate preventsss us the achievement of our goalssss."

Then the third man spoke again. "Grindewald turned out to be completely useless. What reason makes you believe that the youngling will not fail to accomplish his task, Azael?"

For a moment, the first man looked like he had died. But then crossing his fingers on the table, he answered, "Ah, it is because he will not be alone. I have sent the heir to look upon him and make sure he does not deviate from his path."

The second man crossed his arms. "So indeed he wasss able to perform the cursed enchantment on himself to survive," he hissed.

"We must summon them to make sure, don't you agree, Eskh'al?" The second man nodded at the doubled-voiced man's question.

"We musssst interrogate them".

"Very well" whispered Azael. He took a black dagger out of his cloak and made a clean cut on his palm. However, the man did not bleed, but a trail of green smoke came out of the wound, and not a second later, a man with a turban appeared. He was a very young and brave man, but at the sight of the three men, he started trembling.

"You summoned me, M-m-masters?" he shuddered.

"Who else would have, you imbecile joke of a wizard?" said Isaiah. It seemed too much for the young man. He almost fainted out of terror.

Then, another voice, much like the second man's voice, spoke out of the turban the young man wore. "We are honored to be in your presence, masters"

"It is an honor, indeed, to receive the call of the three last Serpent Lords," said the young man, still trembling.

Azael then raised his face and gazed directly upon the young man. "We have called you, young one, to remind you of your primary goal," he said, "no… your ONLY goal, Quirrell."he corrected.

The second man raised his head this time. "You must not fail to find the location of the white heir." he hissed.

Then the third's man voice sounded. "Any other mission is second to this. Including the recovery of your body, Tom," he said as he stared directly at the man. "We had not foreseen what happened to the first child. It is now unclear if they had something to do with it."

The young man raised his head in confusion. "Is it possible that they could have managed such a protection?"

Again, the voice of the turban, who sounded more confident than the young man, answered, "I do not believe that their group was the reason the boy disappeared, masters. However the second protective spell, the one that hit me is easier to explain. Although I had not expected it, I believe that was their doing…"

The three cloaked men nodded. "It seems you are not as useless as we had thought, Milord," hissed Eskh'al mockingly. The three figures laughed at his remark.

"To think that common wizards call you the greatest dark wizard of all time," said Azael. "It is simply hilarious."

The young man could feel the anger of the man he carried inside him as he thought, "Indeed, I had thought I, Lord Voldemort, was the greatest."

"Do not underestimate us, Thomas!" said Isaiah. "You call yourself the greatest Legilimens, but you cannot hide your thoughts from us!" said as he struck the table with his fist. Quirrell had never thought Voldemort would be so scared of someone. It seemed unreal, even for him.

"Remember, children, what your mission is," said Azael bluntly. "We must obtain that power and eliminate our… obstacles… Then, nothing will stop us, and of course, you will have your share."

"You are now excused. The meeting is adjourned for now," said Azael. Then, bowing to the three men, Quirrell excused himself and dissaparated.

"I'm disappointed," said Azael. "Although I thought the two of them would be enough, I do not think they will remain true to their mission." said Azael bluntly.

The other two men nodded. "Then we shall summon another one to check upon them." hissed Eskh'Al.

"Do you have someone in mind already?" asked Isaiah. Eskh'Al just nodded. "Then bring him to us."

It was the second man's turn to take the Dagger out of his cloak and wound himself. Again, someone apparated immediately in front of them. This time, a woman bowed before them, though she wore a cloak that covered her face. The dim torches barely lighted her, but even so, and even with the layers of cloak she had upon herself, it was obvious she was an astonishing woman, with long black hair that fell in front of her just below her neck. As she spoke, a glint of a childish voice could be noted. She couldn't be more than eleven, a mere girl in front of three power-hungry evil wizards.

"Long live the Serpents," she said as she saluted the three men.

"I trust you know what you have to do, girl?" said Azael, not even looking at her. "Failure is not an option, we must obtain the vessel."

"Of course, it will be done, Lord Azael," said the girl, but she had not finished her sentence when the first man rose, hand extended.

"NEVER SAY OUR NAMES, YOU FILTHY CREATURE!"

The girl was levitated and held her neck, gasping for air. "Please, milord," she barely managed to let out. "It will not happen again."

"Stop," said the third man. Taking his time in torturing the girl, the first man let her go. The woman crashed on the floor and bowed again before them.

"If you would excuse me, masters," she said, still barely breathing. "I assure you I will not fail as the one before me did."

"You are free to go," hissed Eskh'Al, and without hesitation, the woman disappeared in a cloud of smoke.

As the three Lords rose, they suddenly turned their gaze at the entrance. "Someone is at the front door," said Eskh'Al.

"A muggle!" Azael laughed madly. "Let him in." With a gesture of his hand, a man appeared in the chamber like being pulled from an invisible rope.

"Who are you?!" the man shouted. "Pleaseee! Don't hurt me!"

"Let me, Azael," said Isaiah. He took out his wand and sent him a curse:

"Corpus deleox."

The man floated in the air and started screaming in agony. The three men laughed madly and left the man hanging in mid air. The shadow that was cast by the muggle showed what was happening. His bones started coming out of his body, ripping his flesh as they did so, breaking and spilling blood all over the chamber. His organs started flying to the walls, his eyes exploded and then his spine came out with a last crack. What was left of him fell on the ground, as the doors of the chambers sealed shut once again.