Disclaimer: Moi, je ne suis pas JKR. Alors, s'il vous plaît - don't sue me! After all, no one else can live up to her. This disclaimer stands for the entire story.

Notes: For my fellow fans in the States or for anyone who doesn't know... flat is apartment, public schools are what's known as private schools in the States, digestive biscuits with chocolate are yummy, and I'll try to use British spellings and terminology, but I'm sorry if I miss something! Montcreiff is a name from some book that I've never read, but my mother mentioned it and I asked, so credit goes to the original author for that name. And also, all titles - of the story and chapters - are from poems by Algernon Charles Swinburne, of whom I would not yet have heard if it weren't for the wonderful series by Lightning on the Wave. Enjoy!

Edit July 8th, 2010: This chapter has now been Beta'ed by the wonderful Riham. I am very pleased that she's agreed to Beta this fic. :D

I Shall Rise with Thy Rising

Chapter One: Hours That Rejoice and Regret

Twenty-eight year old Lauren Montcreiff would say that she was, for the most part, content. She and her daughter lived in a decent sized, three-bedroom home in Islington. They'd only just moved out of their dingy flat – in one of the darker sections of London – a few months ago, and neither was sorry to see it go. They'd made the move after Lauren got her long-awaited bonus and raise. In fact, the only thing Lauren really wanted was to find someone who wouldn't mind being with her despite her obsession with a series of books and her occasionally mischievous child. A few men had been attracted to her family name, one of wealth and aristocracy. Yet after dryly telling them that she'd only taken the name back after divorcing her husband of two years and that she and her family had the relationship of distant acquaintances at best, they often left rather quickly. She'd only taken the name back because her dislike for her ex-husband was greater than her dislike for her parents. The main reason for her estrangement was their views on life and their self-importance, but she would never forgive them for telling her to "get the brat aborted or get out of our life". No, there was no one who could make her give up Lily and that would never, ever change.

The doorbell rang and Lauren blinked. It was rather strange to be able to go to the door freely, rather than with a baseball bat, after over ten years in a neighbourhood where their neighbours were alcoholics, drug addicts, or insane ex-cons who wanted nothing more than to cause trouble. So she was, understandably, still nervous about approaching the door.

"Lily! Lilianna!" she snapped. Her daughter's head jerked up from her book, wearing a scowl at being interrupted during her favourite part. "Go to your room. I'll call you back out if you need to be here – after I make sure it's safe," she added.

Lily shot the comfy couch a longing look but took her book and retreated up the stairs, shaking a head of curly, auburn hair as she went.

As soon as she was sure her daughter had done as asked, Lauren let out a deep breath and shook her own head, moving the same curls her daughter had inherited. A glance out the window revealed only a man with messy black hair and rectangular glasses perched on his nose. Was that a cloak he was wearing? Lauren scowled. Great. She'd thought she'd left the teasing and strange salesmen behind.

With a sigh, she opened the door with an air of great suffering. The man appeared oblivious. "Hello? May I help you?" she asked.

"Mrs Montcreiff?" he queried.

"Ms," she corrected automatically.

"Ah." He blinked. "Er, may I come in?"

This caused a frown. "I think," she said icily, "that you'd best tell me why you're here before I call the police. I'm not in the habit of inviting strangers into my house."

He nodded in approval and said, "I wish more people would take that attitude, Ms Montcreiff, but I promise I mean neither you nor your daughter any harm. I've come about your daughter's acceptance to my school. I really think it would be more comfortable to discuss this inside."

Sighing in defeat, Lauren opened the door wider. There'd been a mix up, obviously. She was living comfortably but there was no way she had the finances to send her daughter to a public school. In a few years, perhaps, but not now.

"Please sit down," she invited. "I'm afraid there's been a mistake. We haven't applied to any schools."

"No, you might not have," he agreed. He looked around and frowned. "Speaking of your daughter, where is she? I think she should be here while we discuss this. Children don't like to be left out of discussions of their future."

"My daughter won't be joining us until I've worked out who you are and why you're here and whether or not you're safe to be around," she said flatly.

"I'm here about her acceptance to my school," the man repeated calmly, "and I've already told you that I mean you no harm."

"If I believed that every time someone said it, I'd be dead several times over," she retorted. Then her natural politeness took over and she asked, "Now, would you like anything to drink? I've got a pot of tea about ready."

"That would be wonderful, thank you." He was beginning to show signs of uneasiness and Lauren noticed them immediately. She was satisfied; whatever this man was looking for, he wasn't going to get it.

As she walked back to the drawing room, she grabbed a package of digestive biscuits and plopped them onto the table. She handed the man his tea and went back to the kitchen to get her own. She nibbled on a biscuit as she sat, watching him, and noted gleefully that he began to fidget. Her penetrating stare had been perfected and many salesmen had been sent away in full flight. She couldn't wait for this man to do the same.

"The tea is wonderful, thank you," he said, sounding strained.

Lauren continued to stare, now smiling into her half-eaten biscuit.

"Look," the man said, setting down his teacup, "I don't know how to do this, all right? I've never done it before, so I'm probably messing everything up and that's why this is going so horribly." Lauren actually thought it was going quite well as he was continuing to look more uncomfortable, but she didn't say anything. "Your daughter has been accepted to my school. The children who've been sent offers to join the school have been tracked since birth. There hasn't been a mistake. You see," he paused and glanced at his teacup, "there's a world that you don't know anything about. A world where things are done and thought differently, where magic is the centre of our very being –"

Lauren held up a hand to cut him off. Her smile turned sharp and her eyes hardened. "I think you'd better leave," she said quietly. "Or were you going to continue and say my daughter's been accepted to Hogwarts?" She ignored the man's confusion. "I don't know who paid you, or if you just came for a lark, but I'm not stupid. I wouldn't mind if people were just making fun of me, but I won't let you do anything at my daughter's expense. Though, I must say, no one else has lasted as long as you without giving something away."

The man gave her a bemused smile as she gestured for him to get up. "How do you know about Hogwarts?"

Lauren scoffed. "Please. Stop. You're just being ridiculous. Who doesn't know about Hogwarts? Next thing, you'll be asking me if I've heard of Harry Potter!" she snapped.

The man blanched and spluttered. "I thought – but – they said – Muggles!"

"I know what Muggles are!" she cried. "And they don't exist – at least not by that name, because if magic doesn't exist then why would we be called by any other name?"

He smiled in relief. "So you are a Muggle. How do you know about Harry Potter and Hogwarts and magic, then?"

Lauren gave him a look that clearly questioned his intelligence. "Because," she said through gritted teeth, "Harry Potter is only the best-selling series and I've only been obsessed with it for, oh, eighteen years, which you already know – so would you please get out!"

"The books were popular?" he asked in disbelief.

"Yes!" she said, flapping at him with her hands, trying to get him to leave. She didn't want her daughter being disappointed like so many other Harry Potter fans.

In confusion, he asked, "But why?"

She stopped, confused herself. "What?"

"Why," he repeated, "would anyone care about those books? Why would anyone care about what Harry Potter did?"

Lauren exploded. "Because we enjoyed them, you idiot! Because the books gave us a world we could escape into and something we could relate to with each other. Because despite everything Harry Potter went through, despite being a human being and having faults, he was still a good person and he triumphed over evil and went on living even though he'd been through so much! Because we could relate to him and other characters and feel their pain and because the books inspired so many people to read other things and to write their own stories. Because they were just damn good," she hissed, keeping her voice down so her daughter wouldn't hear her swearing.

For some reason, the man blushed, and this just annoyed Lauren even more.

"It wasn't like that," he said quietly, and Lauren stared. "I'm no better a person than Ron or Hermione or Ginny or anyone else who fought. I couldn't have done anything I did if I didn't have someone there to help me, or if there weren't people willing to die to defeat Voldemort. I'm no hero. I could do something no one else could, so I did it, and maybe I am more powerful than some people, but that's just because of experience and what I had to do. I was afraid the books would make me out to be some kind of hero and I'm not," he said tiredly.

"Wait a minute," said Lauren in disbelief. "Are you actually trying to pretend you're Harry Potter?"

He gave her an even look as he raised his fringe, revealing the famous scar. Only then did she realize what a brilliant shade of green his eyes were.

Oh, crap.

Lauren shook her head in denial. Clearly, the scar was drawn on. In pen or Sharpie. It would wash off. When she returned with a damp, soapy cloth, the man looked amused. She almost shoved him back onto the sofa, where she proceeded to rub his forehead vigorously. It was only after a few minutes, when she saw him wince, that she gave up and began to process everything that had been said.

"Oh, crap," she moaned. Then she brightened. "Wait, no! You don't have a wand!" He pulled it out, but she continued. "That doesn't prove anything; I've got one myself. Forty bucks online, when I was at school. My friend ordered it for me and I paid her back. Magic, magic, I need to make you do a spell. But not one that could've been set up. If I break this," she said, pointing to her teacup, "can you fix it and remove the stain?" He nodded.

"Reparo. Scourgify."

Lauren blinked. She half-heartedly threw a biscuit at his head and a light-blue shield appeared just in time to block it. She hadn't heard an incantation or seen him move his wand. "Expecto patronum?" she asked weakly.

"Expecto patronum," he cast, and the silvery stag erupted from his wand.

"Oh, crap. I've been rude to Harry Potter," she whispered in utter horror, staring at him with the digestive biscuit packet clutched firmly in her hand.

"You believe me now?" he asked hopefully. "And you'll get your daughter?"

"I've been rude to Harry Potter. And he's you – you're him. I'm a complete failure in the name of Harry Potter fans. I'm – I'm horrible!" she wailed.

The man – Harry Potter – blinked. "No, you're not?" he tried.

Lauren ignored him. He wasn't a fan, what did he know? "Do you have any idea how many people would kill to meet you?" she asked. "I grew up at a boarding school in the States. Trust me. Nothing worse than angry teenage fans. And my generation is the one that went to midnight book releases, wrote angry hate mail to people who insulted JKR, and who argued with religious fanatics who insisted Harry Potter was converting people to Satanism. The fervour may have died down but we're still loyal," she said fiercely. "We won't forget, not ever!"

"Um, thank you, but I really need –"

"I mean it, if there's anything I can do, just let me know."

"Actually, there is something." Lauren looked hopeful. "Could you please get your daughter?"

Lauren laughed ruefully. "All right, all right." She paused by the door. "I don't suppose," she hesitated, looking embarrassed, "that there's any way – I mean, I am a Muggle, aren't I?"

Harry nodded. "Yes."

"Oh. I don't, I don't suppose that…there's any way I could, you know, go to Hogwarts?" she asked quickly. "I could, I don't know, teach something. If you don't have any positions open, I could teach Martial Arts. It's important for kids to be able to protect themselves and be in shape, and it helps with stress and I'm qualified. I have a degree in education as well as languages, and I've earned three black belts so really, I know what I'm doing," she rambled.

"I'll have to speak with my colleagues," he replied. "Your daughter?"

Lauren took the hint and returned with her daughter, only to give him a pleading gaze. "I don't want to lose her," she said quietly.

Harry could feel himself wavering. "I'll see what I can do," he promised.

And so, Lauren found herself relaxing in the presence of a man for the first time since the conception of her daughter, and it was with tinges of both relief and regret that she threw her head back and laughed, long and loud.

Harry Potter, indeed.