What if there was a story where Harry had a twin brother called Harvey
What if Harry's brother had been recognised as the boy who lived and not Harry?
What if Harry was sent away by his widower father to live with certain muggle relatives of his deceased mother?
What if this was that story?
What if you don't like that?
What if you go read something different?
What if…?
Ten year old Harry Potter lay in his cupboard, dreaming of escape. It wasn't a practical idea, he knew, but recently it was as if he couldn't think of anything else.
The previous day had been his tenth birthday. His present from the Dursley's was no food, hard work and a beating from Uncle Vernon. His behind was still sore.
Today however the Dursleys were going on holiday and Harry was supposed to go to Mrs Figg's house. He got up when his aunt called him and made breakfast for the fat slobs, sneaking a few pieces of toast and a rasher of bacon. Following breakfast he was ordered to take the luggage out to the car. He dragged their heavy suitcases to the door and out into the hot sun. He heaved them into the back of the car thinking Dudley had probably packed his TV and computer but knew better than to comment.
Aunt Petunia handed Harry an envelope for Mrs Figg. Uncle Vernon then made a great show of locking the door as if to show off to all the neighbours that the Dursley's were going on an expensive foreign holiday. They all piled into the car, except for Harry, and drove off. Harry could hear that Dudley had already started complaining that he was missing his favourite television show. Harry was left on the pavement with a small bag of his cousin's cast offs to make his own way to Mrs Figg's house on a nearby street.
When he got there however, he found it to be as locked and silent as Privet Drive. He went around and asked the neighbours, they said that she had gone away and that they didn't know when she would be back.
Any normal child would have panicked at this point, but Harry had been alone, fending for himself, for most of his life. So he began walking through Little Whinging, he walked to the centre of town, and found a small children's play park to sit in.
He spent most of the morning sitting on the swings, thinking. At lunchtime he remembered the envelope Aunt Petunia had given him for Mrs Figg. Pulling it out of his pocket he wondered whether it would contain any clues as to where Mrs Figg was or when she'd be back. He quickly tore open the paper and Harry was amazed to find a fifty pound note. Leaving the park, Harry decided to go to one of the in town supermarkets to get something to eat.
Once he was there, he walked up and down the aisles, looking for bargains. He had never had any money before, but he wasn't going to waste it, he didn't know how long he would have to make it last.
"Excuse me young man, you couldn't help me get some things from the bottom shelf could you?" Harry turned to find an elderly lady with a hunched back gesturing towards a shelf with a gnarled finger.
"Oh, sure. What was it that you wanted?" Suddenly there was a loud bang. "Aaargh!" Harry cried as he found himself on the floor, with a large man lying spread-eagled on top of him.
"Oh damn, this means I'll have to retake my test," he heard the man grumble, groaning he got up, pulling Harry up with him. "Good thing I didn't splinch myself, mum's going to kill me," the man mumbled before turning to Harry. "Are you alright? I didn't squash you did I?" Harry shook his head. "Look kid, can I take you back to your parents so you can see Healer or something?"
"N-No, s-sorry sir, I don't have any p-parents, and my Aunt and Uncle have l-left me here." Harry said, staring at his feet, shuffling them nervously. He didn't want to get in trouble for being alone, after all.
"What? You've got no one to look after you?" He'd seen the boy's clothing, and could now defiantly see that he was underfed. What could he do? This was a muggle child, and he didn't know what the muggle procedure was in cases like this. Then Charlie thought of what his mother would say, if he were to leave such a young child all alone in the world.
"My name's Charlie, Charlie Weasley. What's your name kid?" He asked
"H-Harry, Harry Potter, sir," Harry managed to squeak.
Charlie's eyes widened. 'Could this really be THE Harry Potter, the brother of The Boy Who Lived?' Charlie thought as his eyes raked the boy's forehead. Yes, there was the scar he had received from the debris that fateful night, Harvey Potter had of course not received a scratch on him.
"Well, would you like to come with me to my parents' house; my mother would kill me if I didn't at least offer our help."
"Um, well okay, h-how are we getting there?" Harry asked nervously.
Charlie thought about apparating them to St Mungo's Hospital, but thought that Harry looked alright now, and besides, it wouldn't look too good turning up splinched.
"I think we'll take the bus, if that's alright with you, Harry." Harry nodded and they walked away.
"Well that was odd," exclaimed the old woman.
"What was odd Perenelle?" asked an equally ancient looking man approaching from the end of the aisle.
Harry and Charlie left the shop, and walked out to the pavement. Harry had never taken a bus before, so he was a little bit excited.
Harry saw Charlie stop by the side of the road, and pull a long, thin piece of wood, from his pocket. He lifted it up, into the air, and there was a loud bang, the loudest Harry had ever heard.
'That's definitely not the normal way of calling a bus,' Harry thought, 'and that's definitely not a normal bus.'
AN: This is just an idea that came into my head. I can't promise that I will work on it further, but maybe I will. This is the sixth fic I have started, and I have yet to finish any!
The reason for Mrs Figg not being there constantly is that Harry is not recognised as the boy who lived, therefore Dumbledore's not using her to mind him.
Harry's father really did dump him with his aunt and uncle, so whatever leniency the Dursley's might have shown to him in the books does not appear here.
