CHAPTER 1: POTTERGANDA

Neville trudged his way sleepily down the winding stairs of 12 Grimmauld Place, reluctant to even drag his sorry arse out of bed. The illustrious Boy-Who-Lived had had a lot of horrid summers but none were more stressful than this one, the constant barrage of nightmares only contributing to his perpetual misery. His vulture-wearing Gran also did her part, as always, but in a different way, more headache inducing than a hangover, that old witch…

Rubbing his sleep-deprived eyes, Neville walked through the archway leading into the dining room where upon looking up he came upon an (unfortunately) common sight of ten to twenty Order members having breakfast while bent over the latest edition of the Daily Prophet whispering gravely. Shoulders slumping another notch, Neville braced himself for the latest slander about the attention seeking Boy-Who-Lived and or the mentally decaying Headmaster of Hogwarts. However, when he dropped himself down next to Hermione he was surprised to find a very different article from a newspaper he had never seen before clenched between white knuckled fingers:

VERITAS VANGAURD – 17 AUGUST 1995

THE CUBOARD UNDER THE STAIRS: MUGGLES ABUSE UNDERAGE WIZARD!

OPHELIA BULSTRODE

12 August 1995, fifteen-year-old Harry James Potter was found, beaten and severely malnourished, by Aurors upon investigating the use of underage magic in a highly saturated muggle area, Little Whinging, Surrey. The original inquiry and home visit were made when the child in question failed to arrive at his disciplinary hearing on the matter, however, Aurors couldn't have expected the horrors that prevented the child from attending his hearing, nor could they have known the horrific circumstances in which accidental magic was preformed.

"Accidental magic at fifteen!" Auror Dawlish exclaimed in an exclusive interview, "That's unheard of, but I'm not surprised, if anything, I'm surprised the boy hadn't become an obscurus by now! The conditions that little wizard was under was utterly appalling, appalling I tell you, worse case of muggle abuse I've ever seen! I found an emaciated child locked in a cupboard under the stairs! Apparently it was the lad's room! I don't know how he slept, curled up in a ball, I suppose…" Auror Dawlish was one of two Aurors sent to retrieve Potter and was the Auror on duty who found himself apprehending the vile muggles in question, muggles that were abusing a child of their own blood.

The muggles in question are the wizard's maternal relations (uncle, aunt, cousin) from his muggleborn mother's side: Vernon Dursley, Petunia Evans Dursley, and Dudley Dursley. Potter had been left in his maternal aunt's 'care' after the incapacitation of his parents, James Potter and Lily Evans Potter, by Sirius Black III on 1 November 1981.

The boy, however, was anything but cared for by these muggles. "[Mr. Potter]'s physical and mental health indicates long-term abuse that escalated as he got older" reports Healer Greengrass, the healer overseeing Potter's recovery. "For privacy reasons I cannot divulge the full extent of my examinations, but I can say that severe malnutrition and countless cavities are the least of my concerns. I doubt if the child has ever seen a healer outside of his first year when he was still under magical care". What other abuses has this magical child endured under these vicious muggles if starvation concerns the child's healers the least out of all his injuries and ailments?

"Unfortunately, muggle abuse such as the Potter Case is not uncommon" according to an Underage Magicals Bureau staffer, Euphemia Rosier, "in fact, such cases are much more common than most wizards and witches can imagine. An estimated seventy-one percent of domestic underage abuse cases involve muggle perpetrators, relatives nine times out of ten. [Mr. Potter]'s case is the norm in our office files, muggles have never taken well to magic and that will never change, devilry they call it – just look at [Petunia Dursley], she starved and neglected her own flesh and blood, the only child of her only sister, just because he was magical!"

Which brings to question, what should be done, we cannot simply allow rampant muggle abuse to continue? "Indeed, it's heart wrenching to hear the deplorable conditions Mr. Potter survived and the atrocities that were committed against him" says Warlock Nott, "No magical should experience such abuse, especially a child. Muggles, they would readily burn our children at the stake again if not for the Statute of Secrecy, not that that helps much – from the rumours I've heard, Mr. Potter has burn scarring… This case is no different from others, children shouldn't be trusted in the care of prejudice and violent muggles, relatives or otherwise".

"The Potter child has been taken into Ministry Custody as of the 14 of August, and is awaiting placement into a magical household, where he will be loved and cherished as any little wizard or witch should be" reports Auror Yaxley, "The muggles have also been taken into Auror custody and the muggle and magical ministries are debating whether they will be tried under muggle or magical law, hopefully magical law as the muggle authorities rarely show the proper concern for magical children. I doubt the muggles would even be imprisoned for any length of time, I bet their Minister will congratulate them if anything…"

Inquires have begun at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry where Potter is an incoming fifth-year, ranked seventh in his year group academically and a likely Prefect candidate. "Mr. Potter has always been a quiet yet polite child, very reserved," notes one of his professors, Septima Vector.

"Not a single detention and only a handful of points lost for minor occurrences. Competent too, it's a miracle that he's done so well despite his hardships" says another of the boy's professors, Regulus Black.

When questioned about the child's care at school, Board Governor Gaius Ollivander had this to say: "Our Matron, Poppy Pomfrey, has never interacted with Mr. Potter as he has yet to require or seek medical attention while at Hogwarts. Hogwarts has since made preparations to treat the boy according to Healer Greengrass' instructions and he will be required to have regular monthly examinations and potions for the remainder of his education. Our staff has been briefed on the issue and we're committed to make the boy's remaining three years at Hogwarts as comfortable as possible".

While it is well and good that Harry Potter's case is being addressed properly, how many other muggles continue to abuse their charges and how many of those caught get away with nothing more than a stinging hex to the wrist? I ask you, my readers, why Harry Potter's case was even allowed to come to pass in the first place and what measures we can take against muggle violence and prejudice to prevent muggle abuse from happening again?

For one wizard or witch is one too many.

*If you or a loved is being abused or you suspect abuse, contact the Underage Magicals Bureau by owl or floo. All concerns are taken seriously by the British Isles Ministry of Magic and will be investigated and addressed to the best of our ability*

For Underage Magical Abuse Laws pg. 3

For Muggle-Magical Judicial Proceedings pg. 5

"Unbelievable!" Hermione exclaimed besides him, throwing down her paper in disgust, "Propaganda, rampant scapegoating and distraction, how is this allowed! This was probably completely blown out of proportion, criminalization! Ugh! I can't believe this!"

"Not to mention those interviewed read like a Death Eater guest-list," Noted a middle-aged Order member

"Not really" Tonks piped up defensively, "Ollivander, Vector, and Greengrass are considered neutral families"

"Neutral is just a euphemism for coward or Death Eater sympathizer" Gran snapped back.

"Hey!" Tonks defended, "If you haven't forgotten, I'm an Auror, I've seen this kid's file, and what Dawlish says is true! Am I right, Moody?"

"The boy's file is confidential, Bulstrode shouldn't have even published the little that she did"

"It's true then!" Mrs. Weasley gasped in horror, "The boy's relatives actually abused him?!"

"It's probably all over exaggerated, I'm a muggleborn and my parents have never had a problem with magic, yet Bulstrode makes all of them out to be abusive sociopaths, worse than Skeeter that woman!" Hermione continued, nearly ranting, "I can't believe this! Blatant propaganda, blatant! Ugh! I can't!" Hermione repeated, increasingly sounding like a flustered, broken record.

As the rest of the table broke out into a debate over the validity of the article, Neville began to eat his eggs and toast, idly picking up the paper Hermione had abandoned. They had a photo of Potter next to the front-page article, taken at St. Mungo's next to the Aurors that brought him in. Unlike the majority of photos printed in the Daily Prophet, Potter's was the first he had ever seen coloured in a newspaper. Not even Neville, as the ever loved and loathed Boy-Who-Lived, had ever had a coloured photo printed.

Potter was a lanky kid and looked as malnourished as the article said he was, highlighted further by his anaemic pallor, which contrasted starkly with his onyx-curls and the bluish-brown bruise on his jaw. Neville noted idly that the boy didn't look very muggle, considering he grew up with muggles and his mother was a muggleborn, but then again Potter was a pureblood name wasn't it? In fact, if you traded his emerald for grey or violet, Potter would be a clone of half the pureblood boys in their year…

"Hey, he looks familiar actually…" Neville said, skimming the article, "It says he's in our year?"

"Yes, he's in my Arithmancy and Ancient Runes courses, usually sits in the back of the class though so I've never spoken to him" Because of course, Hermione sat in the front of all her classes, "He was in our Transfiguration and Charms classes last year, remember, he was the one to do his presentation on the Patronus charm"

"Oi!" Ron exclaimed, glancing over to eye the photo, "Yeah, yeah, I remember him! He's a raven, ain't he?"

"No" Hermione corrected, shaking her frizzy locks about, "He's a Slytherin" Both Neville and Ron scrunched their noses in distaste.

"Well, no wonder he's accusing his muggle folks, I betchya Malfoy put him up to it. Probably paid him off!"

Neville scrunched his brow in thought, glancing back at the photo, "I don't know, that bruise looks pretty real, Ron"

"He could of done that himself! Maybe he was just asking for it, probably insulted his aunt or whatnot and she gave him a good wallop, what else would you expect from a snake?"

"Wotcher there, Little Weasley" Tonks warned, "My mother was in Slytherin and I told you the boy's case is true!"

"What? It's truth, everybody knows Slytherins hate muggles!"

"My mother married a half-breed, you twit, and she was in Slytherin!"

"Tonks don't aggravate the boy, you're nearly twice his age"

"I'm only nineteen!"

"I said nearly didn't I?"

"Actually, Ron" Hermione piped up, "I had to do a group project with him in Ancient Runes and he never had a problem with me, plus his mother was muggleborn according to the article. More than likely it was a domestic dispute that got out of hand and the pureblood elite decided to capitalize on Potter's troubles, blowing it completely out of proportion. Look, they even list Sirius as having been his parents' murderers, it's all a load of hippogriff dung" At the mention of Padfoot, Neville looked around to see the man's reaction, but found the man curiously absent. Perhaps the man was upset at being blamed for another crime, scapegoating indeed…

Having eaten thrice his fill already, Neville decided to abandon all the bickering in favour of chatting up his parents' old friend. Slipping out of the dining room during the hubbub, the Boy-Who-Lived climbed his way towards the attic where Padfoot often spent time with Buckbeak. Knocking on the door, but not receiving an answer, Neville let himself in: "Hey, Padfoot, you in here?"

"Yeah…" he heard in the darkness, raspy and pained, "I'm over here, Nev" Approaching the fugitive hesitantly, Neville found Sirius Black looking worse for wear, petting Buckbeak's head gently with one hand while he held a half-empty bottle of Ogden's in the other. "How're you doing, kid?"

"I'm fine… you?" It wasn't the first time Neville cursed himself internally for being so socially inept and it wouldn't be the last either, "I mean… with the article blaming you and all…" As Neville knew the man had read it, the front page was spread out before the man – Neville carefully lowered himself next to the man as he spoke, hesitantly sitting on the fungal-infested floorboards.

"Oh, well, everything's been peachy besides finding out my godson has been abused his whole life by muggles while also being told that I tortured his mum and dad into insanity" The man said casually, taking a swig of Ogden's before handing it to Neville who politely handed it back without taking a sip. "Just peachy…"

"Godson?"

"Aye…" Sirius murmured, staring longingly at the photograph of Harry Potter, who looked just as depressed and broody as Padfoot did in that moment. "James, Remus, Peter, and I… we were the Marauders, causing mischief and such. Best mates for all of Hogwarts, but Jamie, Harry's dad, he was my best best mate… made me his best man when he married Lils… Harry's mum…

"Prongs, that was James… we called Harry Pronglette, Jamie didn't like that though, thought Prongton sounded cooler… but Pronglette always stuck." Padfoot licked his dry lips, took another swing, and continued, "Jamie and Lils, well, they were perfect parents, spoiled Harry rotten – Merlin, they loved that boy… still do, they're not dead, not yet… but might as well be…

"I never knew Peter, that rat, had the guts" Padfoot said softly, his eyes somewhere distant but still staring at the article, "Never thought he'd have the guts to do something like that, torture his friends into insanity… I could see Bella doing it, but not Peter, too much of a coward… but he did and I came too late… h-he had already finished Jamie, Lils was still under the crucio when I walked in… It's what I hear when dementors are around… Lils just… screaming… begging… I see Jamie with lifeless eyes and drool running down his cheek…" Neville swallowed thickly at the gory details, feeling his stomach drop.

"I've never been that angry before, Nev… beyond words… I cast every curse I knew that night, every single one, Dark and Light, but I still couldn't kill the bastard… I-I don't understand it, not even Malfoy or Nott would have done what Wormtail did that night, not even those scum… Jamie was pureblood too, a good man, he was in the Order, but still a good man… I can never forgive that rat, Nev, never…

"A-as his godfather I was supposed to –supposed to protect him, raise him up… but I got arrested… and Harry ended up with that bitch and her filthy husband!" Padfoot raised his volume just a bit, escalating the venom in his voice, "Just as bad as Wormtail, those two, just as bad…"

"You think it's all true then?" Neville asked curiously, eyeing the photograph.

Padfoot ripped his eyes away from the photograph in confusion, "True? Yeah, it's true… I only met Petunia and her husband once, at Jamie's wedding, but even then she was… she was horrible. Called Lils a whore cause she was already pregnant with Harry, kept on bragging about her own oaf of a husband the whole damn time… Jamie told me they had a terrible relationship, Petunia was pretty spiteful and rude to Lils their whole childhood just cause she was a witch…

"I wish it wasn't true, but it probably is… and it's my fault… it's all my fault, Nev… Merlin, Nev, my damn brother has probably raised the boy more than I have, being his stupid history professor and all… coddleswap…" Neville shifted uncomfortably, unsure of how to console the distraught man, "I've done nothing, nothing… and he hates me, he has too… he looks just like his da too… but with his mum's eyes, he was perfect, is perfect…"

"I mean," Neville floundered a bit, "He's getting help now, article says he'll be placed with a new family, one that will take care of him and all… he's getting medical treatment, probably a mind healer too… maybe you could, I don't know, send him a Christmas gift or something… anonymously of course, but I'm sure he'd appreciate it… nobody has to know but you?"

Padfoot nodded slowly, his posture straightening, eyes brightening as he thought about Neville's suggestion, "Yeah, you're right… a nice broom… some sweets and candy… books, seems like he inherited his mother's smarts if his class ranking means anything… photos, lots of photos… that watch Charlus gave me, he deserves it more than me… maybe…" Padfoot's lips quirked slightly, releasing a dry chuckle, "Yeah, maybe one or two of those magazines Jamie liked, I wonder if they still make them…" The man trailed off, obviously lost in thought. Neville smiled slightly; glad he could brighten the old dog's day just a bit… at least he was doing something right…

Nymphadora morphed her hair to a subdued brunette, her eyes simultaneously lightening to the common violet so that she didn't stand out like a Phoenix in an Owlery. Not that her crimson-red Auror robes helped in that regard; Nymphadora shook her head in equal parts disgust and confusion, whoever designed the Auror robes deserved a Merlin-be-damned Bombarda to the face, because, really, why not just make the robes neon-orange instead!? The metamorph would bet a thousand galleons that half of all Auror deaths was a result of their bright-as-pygmy-puff robes!

Properly subdued looking, Nymphadora took off down Camalette Alley in the magical-majority town of Varbella, her current patrol duty. She wasn't too concerned though, Camalette was nothing compared to Knockturn or Diagon – that would be like comparing a friendly little Lorax to a full-grown Nundu. Varbella to London would be a similarly ridiculous comparison as Varbella and the surrounding farmland was a low-risk region for any violations to the Statue of Secrecy, the fact that the majority of the residents were law-abiding witches and wizards just assured that this particular patrol was just as chill as it was desirable.

She might even have time to get a bottle of Butter Beer and look for a birthday present for her father, maybe one of the shops had those smelly oils her mother was so fond of?

Humming a happy little tune from Waldo Valerius' latest album, she practically skipped through the alley, keen eyes taking in the lack of hubbub with a pleasant smile, greeting the locals with an exuberant "Wotcher!" all the while. Most of the locals returned her greetings with equal exuberance and she loved the magical ambiance of the town, only second to Hogsmeade in her esteemed opinion. Varbella was by far her favorite patrol!

It was only a few minutes into her patrol that the young Auror noticed something amiss when a small crowd of various witches and wizards gathered about some posters pasted outside of the town's city hall. Curious, she approached the multiple posters, scanning it with her current violet eyes:

MAGIC IS MIGHT!

DON'T LET THE MUGGLES GET US DOWN!

Harry Potter is One too Many! Do Your Part in Protecting Our Magical Children!

Vote in Favour of the Muggleborn Protection Act

JOIN THE ALBIAN LEAGUE TO DO YOUR PART!

That particular poster sported the same photograph of Harry Potter published in the Veritas Vanguard the other day, coloured in order to emphasize the bruise on the wizard's jaw and his unhealthy complexion. Nymphadora's heart constricted at the sight, recalling the boy's file with ease – the whole department had been briefed on identifying abuse since then and had been given the right to take into temporary custody any and all magical spouses or children they believed in danger of muggle abuse. Her heart went out to Potter, it really did.

Her eyes began gravitating towards the other posters, some standard ministry pamphlets but others more interesting such as some political posters championing a proposal for a Wizengamot Senatorial Act or some additional national level proposals to the Statue of Secrecy, some of which she thought would make her job much easier. However, out of all of the other posters a certain poster concerning a very interesting act:

MAGIC IS MIGHT!

MAGIC IS MAGIC, REGARDLESS OF FORM!

Do Your Part to End Creature Prejudice! Remember, We're All One Magical Family!

Vote in Favour of the Familias Restoration Act!

JOIN THE ALBIAN LEAGUE TO DO YOUR PART!

Nymphadora stared at the photograph accompanying that particular poster with a rising hope in her chest; it depicted a beautiful little family composed of a half-merman and his witch wife, they had two little guppies that smiled proudly at the camera, giggling periodically, only to hide their faces in their father's scaly shoulders. She quickly had to blink away the wetness in her eyes, ha, crying on duty; Mad-Eye would never let her live it down!

She really couldn't help it though, the hope that bubbled up within her chest, morphing her hair into a jaunty sunflower-yellow without her conscious decision. Growing up a quarter-breed was bad enough, but her half-nymph father had had it so much worse... Half-breeds had never had a place in magical society, only a class above werewolves and muggles, really, but it appeared this so-called Albian League was intent on changing that with this FRA campaign. Well, she would most definitely be voting for that! Though, she had to go renew her voter registration for that… oops…

Violet eyes quickly searched out the organization in question and she didn't have to wait long, some Hogwarts-aged students were swarming a tray of Albian League pamphlets. Deftly plucking one out of the pile, the quarter-breed continued her patrol, eyes locked on the pamphlet rather than the streets she was patrolling. Not that she was worried, after all, when was there ever a crime in Verbella of all places?

THE ALBIAN LEAGUE

MAGIC IS MIGHT!

What's the Albian League?

The Albian League is a non-profit organization committed to improving the welfare and protection of all magicals: witches, wizards, half-breeds, creatures, and everything in between. Our philosophy is that magic is magic and that all magicals should unite under one banner in order to protect ourselves from the threat that muggles pose to not only our society, but also our very lives. We promote equality and integrity for all magicals regardless of breed: championing our rights and campaigning for our freedoms.

The pamphlet continued to detail other stances of the league, many of which she found herself supporting and highly interested to see made into realities. Despite being a relatively new league, only established a few months ago, the league was already a hundred thousand strong in members according to its self-updating data section. The league had grown enough that they already had junior and senior divisions – she was very displeased to note that she fell under the category of 'Junior' according to the pamphlet.

Who is allowed to join? How do I join?

The Albian League is magically inclusive! Every magical, regardless of age, gender, race, species, occupation, and or religion has the right to join the Albian League. If you are interested in getting involved, fill out the form on back of this pamphlet and send it via Owl Post to the Albinarx, located in the magical town of Elbon on the Isle of Man. Upon receiving your form, our staff will send you a packet detailing where the nearest Ablian Center to you is and how you can do your part.

Finished reading through the pamphlet and famished from wandering the alley, Nymphadora headed towards the local pub, Bacchbo, wondering idly if the hot bartender had a quill she could borrow…

Harry's bony fingers twisted between his father's limp ones, looking plump in comparison to the comatose wizard's – in his other hand, the calloused pad of his thumb rubbed the golden badge between his fingertips; an engraved "P" continued to be traced over and over again, mesmerizing the emerald-eyed youth. Harry liked holding his father's hand, feeling the beat of his father pulse when his fingers delicately traced the blue veins visible on his father's wrist. It felt like just yesterday that he had come to St. Mungo's for the first time… he had been a doe-eyed third year at the time, vainly hoping such touches would magically awaken his parents like the muggle fairy tale where a prince awakens the princess with a simple kiss.

Life wasn't so simple, however, his parents never awoke, even with the aid of magic.

Harry's emerald gaze traced over his father's startlingly similar features – Harry hadn't known he resembled his father so much, but it comforted him now as much as it protected him throughout his years; looking like a pureblood went a long way in the magical world. The fact that his father inherited so many features from his mother, Dorea Black, went a long way too. His father, of course, was older now – hair graying prematurely due to his inactivity, but it remained no less unruly all the while. Harry wondered idly if his father would be pleased that his son resembled him so much, most father's Harry observed usually were – least of all Lucius Malfoy.

Would his father be proud that his son had been beaten up by weak, fat muggles? Probably not… but, hopefully Harry's achievements would make up for it… Speaking of achievements… Eyebrows furrowed, he tried to figure out how he could possibly be nominated to such a position, a Prefect of all things… perhaps Malfoy or Nott had rejected the position? Perhaps they hadn't qualified, low grades, loss of points, one too many detentions? Who even chose the Prefects? Surely not the Head of House for there was no way in Hell or Tartarus that Professor Snape would nominate him, not even with a dementor inches away from his lips. The Headmaster or the Deputy then, most likely the latter – after all, why would the Chief Warlock even know his name, let alone notice him enough for such a nomination?

Or was it pity… Harry's lips thinned at the thought, not liking the likelihood of such with all the press he got over the last month of summer when the professors were probably debating who would be a good Prefect or not. Merlin, it probably was pity, wasn't it! Grinding his teeth, Harry clenched the badge tightly in his fist, ready to jump out of his chair any moment to write a rejection letter… but then, why shouldn't he accept? Being a Prefect could help him get a job in the future… attract a better foster family… possibly be his only saving grace when his father awoke…

It was the Slytherin thing to do, wasn't it? But Harry didn't want pity, let alone want to use pity, because despite being a filthy half-blood he had pride – a pride in his magic and in his person. Lips thinning further in distaste, Harry moved to push his glasses up the bridge of his nose, only to poke himself in the face… that would take getting used to, no doubt… but it was nice not to worry about his crooked glasses anymore.

Just then he heard a knock upon the door, which quickly welcomed elderly Healer Greengrass into his hospital room. "Salve, Potter" She greeted softly with her wand arm crossed across her chest, exposed in a traditional pureblood greeting. "I see you've come to visit your parents once again, but I must insist that we return to your own hospital room for your daily check-up". She gestured for him to follow her, Harry stood dutifully, releasing his father's hand without preamble.

"Salve, Healer Greengrass" Harry mimicked automatically, having long since become accustomed to feigning pure blood in Slytherin House. The healer nodded her approval before turning on her heel for him to follow. Once again, Harry did so dutifully, only taking a single moment to glance towards the flaccid features of his father's face before walking out the door. Harry couldn't bear to glance a little farther into the hospital room, to the parallel bed near the window, occupied by a woman with foggy-green irises, which had once been a brilliant emerald. Even if he had looked his mother's way, she would have continued to stare blankly at the wall as she always was when not asleep…

The Healer and patient duo traversed the hospital corridors with a comfortable ease, an ease Harry attributed to the last few weeks he had spent under the Healer's care. The walk was tedious but not unpleasant, seven minutes passed before they reached the children's ward, otherwise known as Hebe's Ward. With practiced ease Harry sat upon his hospital bed while Healer Greengrass proceeded to cast the complicated diagnostic charms that Harry had become so accustomed to yet no less impressed by – to a muggle raised wizard, a translucent projections of his circulatory system and skeleton was always very impressive.

"Your bone density has increased gradually during your time here, almost to the density I'd like but that's not factoring in any growth spurts that you may have in the near future as a result of your potions regime…" The elderly woman murmured, continuing her diagnostics and occasionally jotting something down, all the while periodically poking and prodding him. "Hm… your blood pressure still remains very low and the… yes, we'll have to address that by adjusting your Haemosanus potion… that should do it…

"How's your eyesight? Any trouble adjusting to different lighting or blurriness?"

"No, ma'am"

"I see you made Prefect, congratulations," She said as she gently massaged his lymph nodes along with a few specialize spells, obviously noting the badge he had placed on the bedside table, "My great-granddaughter, Daphne, was nominated as the female this year"

"Yes, I suppose I was… do you know who decides the Prefects, Healer?" He asked the archaic witch – great-grandchild indeed, the witch must have been at least Dumbledore's age…

"Hm… I believe nominations are given by each of the professors before they all vote on it, of course the student has to accept…" She eyed him shrewdly, "However, refusals are very rare, most wouldn't pass the opportunity for their resume – employers and masters consider Prefects the unicorn amongst hippogriffs, you'll be assured at least serious consideration as a Prefect" Harry nodded his head slowly, idly wondering how the old witch knew his inner thoughts…

"Will I be able to ride the express to school, Healer?"

"Hm… Yes, I believe your fit enough to do so, as long as you keep taking your potions and eating regularly." She narrowed her eyes at him playfully, "And I swear by Merlin's beard, if you miss a single potion, a single one, I'll have you back in this very bed before you can say, snitch"

"I solemnly swear I'll be good, Healer" Harry said with a dry chuckle, having grown fond of his assigned healer.

"Now don't you dare get sarcastic on me, Mr. Potter" She shook her head in amusement, bone-white curls bouncing about, "Now, a staffer from the bureau will be coming tomorrow morning to bring you to the station via floo, Euphemia Rosier – she was the one quoted in that article a month or so ago"

"What about my school supplies?"

"Already handled" the healer smiled brightly, wrinkling her face further, before she gave a few flicks of her wand, which soon summoned an unknown trunk. Harry eyed the witch in question: "Unfortunately, it appears that the muggles damaged the large majority of your belongings. Fret not, however, as the Malfoy family has sent this as a get-well gift, a belated birthday present if you will" She gestured towards the trunk, which Harry hesitantly approached.

Carved of aspen and lined with Hebridean dragon-leather, the trunk in question was obviously of high quality – Harry was simultaneously disturbed and flattered to note that Malfoy knew his wand's wood and core. Atop the trunk his name and class were engraved, but, most importantly, so was the Potter crest – a Celtic shield bordered by two thestral, below natus ut moriatur. Harry mouthed his family's motto, tracing each letter with the calloused pad of his thumb once more.

Aware that he had company, Harry proceeded to open the trunk to find it fully stocked with textbooks, stationary, potions supplies, robes, and even toiletries – wherein Harry discovered a note in Malfoy's sharp script: Your hair bothers me, please use these, Harry scoffed, knowing he would never live up to Malfoy's vain standards. Harry shook his head in equal parts exasperation and frustration; this must have cost the Malfoy's at least a few hundred galleons…

"Mr. Potter?" Healer Greengrass called for his attention, "I best be on my way, my next patient awaits, but a medi-witch or wizard should be here within the next few hours to check in". They bid each other goodbye, once more in the traditional pureblood way: "Vale, Mr. Potter, and don't forget about your other well-wishers, she gestured to the other side of Harry's private room before leaving.

Frowning, Harry turned towards the direction in question and blinked at the Dudley-size pile of presents that had materialized suddenly with the healer's departure. Approaching the pile, Harry began to shift through the parcels like a muggle expecting coal for Christmas; however, it was anything but coal that he found. The parcels ranged from strangers to classmates, each accompanied by a Get Well Soon or a Don't Let the Muggles Get You Down! Much to Harry's morbid amusement, he had received fifteen different texts of the darker variety in order to not let the muggles get him down and put them down instead!

The last of the parcels were from an anonymous source, nothing but a note with a sharp-thin script that clearly indicated a pureblood upbringing, despite its informality:

Salve, Pup! I was planning to send these at Christmas but decided to just send them now.

The watch is something your grandfather gave to me and I think he'd be happy for you to have it, Merlin knows that I don't need it anymore. The magazines were your da's favourite, though your mum would hex me to near death if she ever knew I gave them to you – but we'll just keep that between the two of us. Didn't quite know what books you like to read and I have no use for any so I just shoved as many as I could in that little pouch from my library, hope you find something of interest!

I'm not sure how to put this, but I'm sorry for not being there when you needed me most. I've made many mistakes in my life, but the one I made on November 1rst will always haunt me, pup, always. I like to think that I've paid for my sins, but I know for a fact that I haven't atoned for them, not all of them anyway. I hope that one day I'm in the position to do so, but that doesn't change the fact that I've failed your father and mother. If you take anything from this letter, know that I'm sorry.

Vale,

A Friend of Your Father's

Harry's brows scrunched together, the man was clearly guilt-ridden but why had he not listed his name and why had he stayed away so long? As far as Harry knew, his parents had very few friends, in part because the war took many lives and in part to them being exceptionally young when they… all but died. Harry shoved the letter aside, no longer wanting to dwell on these thoughts…

Turning his attention back to the parcels in question, Harry looked for the watch and photograph sized parcels mentioned in the letter, those being of particular interest to him. He discovered the watch first and he was not disappointed, welded from what appeared to be a silver of some kind, the instrument did not simply keep track of time but of space. Intricate little gem-planets and stars circled around the little sun at the center of the jewelry – each orbital mimicking the solar system's movements. Harry raised his eyebrows in interest, the watch was obviously meant for specific usages such as time-sensitive rituals, potions, and harvesting.

Flipping the instrument over, Harry discovered an engraving: By Merlin and Morgana's Will. So Mote It Be. – a magical cult of sorts? Harry was aware of multiple cults in the magical world that worshiped deities ranging from Jupiter to Thor and everything in between. Had his grandfather been part of a cult, it appeared so… Not that Harry cared either way, cults in the magical world were the norm and utterly tame compared to their muggle counterparts… in all honestly, Harry would have been more surprised by a biblical passage, seeing as his grandfather had been pureblood.

Without any more preamble, Harry placed the watch on his wrist and was pleased to see it automatically readjust to his wrist's width. A small smile stretched across his lips at the sight, this was apparently his grandfather's and clearly held at least some sentimental value, plus, it didn't hurt that the jewelry made him look quite sophisticated. Admiring it for a few moments more, Harry shifted through what was left of the parcels, deciding to open the biggest next; rightly assuming it was a broom…

…A Firebolt Broom!?

Rightly gobsmacked by the outrageous gift, Harry stared at the polished, smooth masterpiece, each twig carefully crafted for maximum speed and agility. Harry allowed a smirk to quirk his lips at the sight; Warrington was going to barf unicorn piss, no doubt. Merlin, with a Firebolt under the Slytherin Team's seeker and the rest of the team riding Nimbus 2001s… Merlin! There was no way Slytherin wouldn't win the cup this year, not with Wood gone and Weaslette being a fair-weather flyer. Shaking his head at his turn in fortune, Harry gently put the Firebolt back into its case, noticing as he did so that both the broom and the case were engraved with his initials: HJP.

Much to Harry's surprise, the next parcel containing a bottomless-pouch contained at the very least 200 books on a variety of subjects, each tome proving to be rare and obscure, no doubt expensive. The mysterious benefactor was most definitely pureblood; no muggleborn had access to these types of books, books varying from light to a darker shade of grey. All together, the books probably were much more valuable than the Firebolt, causing Harry to shake his head once more at the insanity of the man's generosity. Had the mysterious man been indebted to his father perhaps? Perhaps this was the man's way of paying that debt?

Harry placed the pouch deep inside his new trunk, safely secured in the bottom compartment before moving to the next set of thin, paper wrapped parcels… before choking on his own saliva!

Wide emerald eyes stared at the Aphrodisiac's Delight which portrayed… well… but… with moving pictures!? Running a nervous hand through his gravity-defying locks, Harry glanced towards the door before browsing the first of seven magazines which he soon discovered contained everything from Mermish to Vampiric, male to female, and everything in between, literally, they even had a hermaphroditic nymph towards the end of that specific edition! Feeling more than a bit improper, Harry rushed to shove the rest of the magazines in one of the bottom compartments, trying to will the harsh flush from his face…

Giving himself a few moments to cool off, Harry paced the room a bit in… agitation? He wasn't even sure, but when he finally gathered himself he immediately loss his composure once more as he tripped while pacing, falling hard on his newly skelogrowed ribs. "Coddleswap" he mumbled as he picked himself up, only to find that a small, unopened parcel that he must have missed had offended him. Curious, Harry picked up the parcel, turning it over in his hands.

Wrapped in simple wax paper and no larger than his palm, the package weighed seemingly nothing but Harry assumed this was due to a well-placed Feather-Light charm. Unwrapping the parcel, Harry found a goblin-silver pendant engraved with the Eihwaz rune, the yew tree, which was often mistaken for Sowilo, the sun, due to their similar zigzag shape. Even more curious by the strange yet magically powerful gift, Harry rummaged through the packaging to find a letter written in an intense, bold style like nothing he had ever seen:

Salve, Harry Potter,

Despite appreciating the cultured elegance of traditional letter writing, I find the roundabout method of communication bothersome so forgive me for my bluntness. I do not know you personally nor do you even have an inkling of who I am, but it's from my perspective that we are kindred spirits of sorts and it is for this reason I write to you now and send you this pendant.

As you should know from your Ancient Runes studies with young Bathsheba Babbling, the rune in question is that of Eihwaz of Elder Futhark, otherwise known as the Yew. Most would send a pendant of Sowilo for protection, guidance, and light; however, I'm not particularly fond of that rune and find Eihwaz to be far more appropriate.

Linked to death, endurance, and eternal life, this rune is said to influence transformations. Overcoming trials in order to rejuvenate, the stripping of the weak, diseased aspects of ourselves so that strong, vibrant growth may occur and the individual may flourish. The yew tree is an evergreen, persevering through the harsh winters, surviving in spite of the odds against them and the shriveling, leafy brethren by its side.

I gift you this runic pendent, Harry Potter, with the expectation that you will not only defiantly survive your trials but rise above them, becoming stronger for it.

Vale,

Warlock Marius Gaunt

Harry frowned at the letter; equal parts curious to the writer and peeved that the man not only had expectations of him but also thought he had the right to give Harry advice, unwanted or otherwise. Harry didn't need to recover from the Dursleys beyond fractured ribs and bruised skin, he had never allowed the Dursleys to get him down; he had never allowed the muggles to get him down.

Despite himself, Harry could not reject the goblin-made gift, which differed from all the others in innumerable ways. Before he knew it, the goblin-silver chain was clasped around his neck, the runic pendant laying firmly on his sternum on full display. Harry's fingers explored the rune's zigzag shape, calloused fingers memorizing the groves and inquiring to the magic beneath, a fervid magic of unyielding quality.

As Harry laid down upon the hospital bed, subdued from Warlock Gaunt's letter, he glanced at the Prefect badge on his bedside table, thinking all the while about expectations…

Albus' slipper-ed feet paced his garish carpet, chalk-white beard whipping back and forth with each step. Severus sat as still as stone across from his desk, seemingly immune to emotion, unless of course a Potter was mentioned. His desk was littered with the latest edition of the news… of which there was now seven additional news agencies reporting: Diruna Dailey, Veritas Vanguard, Wizengamot Weekly, Hebridean Herald, Trivia Tribune, Gandalf Gazette, and, Albus' least favourite, Patronus Post. Each of the news agencies had started up in the short span between Tom's ritual and today, much to Albus' own distress.

Tom was acting incredibly strangely and differently than the first war, indicating that the coming war would be unpredictable, especially now that Tom was out in the open, claiming to be Warlock Marius Gaunt. Albus could see that Tom was waging a political war this time, that he knew violence was a moot point: a fact that Albus wasn't sure how to interpret. On one hand, the elderly Chief Warlock loathed violence yet on the other hand he did not want to face the unknown strength of Tom's political acumen.

Tom had always left the politicking up to Abraxas Malfoy and later Lucius, rarely involving himself directly in the administration and bureaucracy of day-to-day life. Albus had always assumed that politics were Tom's weak point, where he floundered with interacting with other human beings for long durations of time, but, oh, how wrong he had been in that regard…

Tom had not only inserted himself back into society as Warlock Gaunt with disgusting ease but had also charmed every politician and ministry personnel that he came into contact with, least of all Cornelius who practically swooned at the sight of the Dark Lord. His politics had been incredibly efficient too, already having passed three laws and currently attempting to pass through the Wizengamot the Muggleborn Protection Act, hence the slew of newspaper articles. Worst yet, was this Albian League, which Albus had no doubts was of Tom's making.

Albus paused to glance once more at the latest edition of the Patronus Post, the specific news agency that Tom founded:

PATRONUS POST – SUNDAY, 27 AUGUST 1995

Horrific Realities of Muggle Raised Children in Orphanages and Asylums: Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr.

Wilhelma Yaxley

Born 31 December 1926, Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. is a half-blood, his mother a pureblood witch of poor health and his father an aristocratic muggle, born with everything he could ever hope to have. One would think that the wealthy father, Tom Riddle Sr. would provide a similar life to his son, Tom Riddle Jr., and provide for his ailing wife after she bore him a healthy son, however, this was anything but the case.

Upon discovering that his heavily pregnant wife was a witch, Riddle Sr. abandoned the ill Merope Gaunt Riddle, who was later forced to sell her family's heirlooms in order to feed herself and Riddle Sr.'s child, who she nurtured lovingly within her womb. Merope's sacrifice paid off for she was able to give birth to a healthy Tom at a muggle orphanage, a child she named after the man she loved but who did not love her in turn, who abandoned her for being born with magic. It pains me to report that Merope Riddle did not live much longer than a few moments, only long enough to bless her son with a name - she breathed her last the same day her son breathed his first.

One would think that upon hearing of his wife's death and the birth of his son, Tom Riddle Sr. would retrieve the babe and right his wrongs, however, this was not the case. Tom Riddle Sr. never set foot in the orphanage his son would grow up in, never protected his son from the horrors his child would be victim to there.

Wool's Orphanage, run by muggle religious figures, was anything but pleasant. Corporeal punishment, cruel and unusual in nature, and regular outbreaks of long since cured diseases in the magical world, were the least of young Tom Riddle Jr.'s worries growing up. Hunger was constant, children only receiving ration meals while muggle wars raged outside, the children never knew if their orphanage would be the next building destroyed by the muggle weapons being dropped from the sky (similar in nature to large-scale explosive runes).

This was the norm for many children during this period not too long ago, but Tom Riddle Jr. had it worse than his muggle counterparts as he was blessed with his mother's magic. You see, my readers, ignorant muggles interpret magic as "devilry" and each and every time young Tom would have a bout of accidental magic he would be punished, severely.

According to an interview with one of the boy's supposed 'care takers', muggle Martha Johnson: "[Tom] often received lashings with the metal end of a belt whenever he performed devilry, most often by [Priest] Francis. He would then be locked in the cellar, which could be quite cold even in the height of summer…" Exorcisms were attempted, often violent in nature, as the boy was nearly drowned once in what the muggle called 'holy water'. "… Once [Tom] started school he wasn't around much, but occasionally, when his devilry would act out, [Priest] Francis or one of the nuns would take him to the local asylum, he'd be quiet after that…"

Muggle asylums were institutions for supposed criminals and those accused of insanity, as poor Tom Riddle Jr. was. Some of the supposed cures for insanity included barbaric practices such as hydrotherapy (wherein an individual is emerged in water for hours to days), electroconvulsive therapy (wherein electric shocks to the individual induce seizures), and lobotomy (wherein a surgical instrument is pushed through the eye socket until it reaches the brain, wherein an incision is made to the frontal lobe of the brain and nerve tissue is cut). It should be noted that these procedures have few to no benefits, severe side effects, and were performed on perfectly healthy individuals like Tom Riddle Jr., without consent, a direct violation of the Hippocratic Oath, sworn by both muggle and magical healers.

Head Healer of the Neurological and Mental Division of St. Mungo's, Healer Sidra Shafiq, had this to say on the matter: "Magical medicine has always been leagues ahead of barbaric muggle methods as we have magic to cure the body without violating the physical form with various instruments, in fact, prior to the Statue of Secrecy, witches and wizards were the primary healers of both muggle and magicals alike…

"In regards to the mental magic that is Occlumency and Legilimency, this has been proven to be a very safe, self-empowering cure to mental illness amongst the magical populace, in comparison, I have seen very little muggle medicine that treats mental illness of any kind effectively. St. Mungo's and other magical hospitals have observed and researched muggle medicine and their practices for many centuries and have continued to advise against magicals attaining medical aid from muggles, as it's incredibly dangerous to do so."

Unfortunately for Tom Riddle Jr., he didn't have a choice in the matter and consequently fell victim to the barbarity of muggle bigotry. It is with heavy hearts here at Patronus Post that I report that young Tom Riddle Jr. was never rescued form the constant boggart that was his life. Despite all odds, however, Tom Riddle Jr. went on to be made Prefect and Head Boy at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, achieved record-breaking scores on both his OWLs and NEWTs, was awarded for Special Services to the School and went on to achieve three masteries in Defense Against the Dark Arts, Magical History, and Occlumency/Legilimency.

Today, Tom Marvolo Riddle Jr. goes by Warlock Marius Septimus Gaunt, embracing the love his mother gave him and spurning the name of the father that abandoned them both. Warlock Gaunt had this to say: "In recent months the media has brought to light what has long since been ignored: the rampant abuse of magical children and spouses by muggles. I am heartened to see the public's outrage on such treatment, but find that action must finally be taken in order to protect the magical children of our nation. It was with these thoughts in mind that I founded the Patronus Post in order to spread awareness and print the truth of matters long since ignored. It is with these thoughts in mind that I claimed my title as Warlock Gaunt in the Wizengamot so that I can do everything in my power to protect these children, be the wizard that I needed as a child."

Albus shook his head once more in astonishment at Tom's audacity to publish his own life's story, an incredibly dramatized story at that. "Tell me, Severus, has Tom contacted you since your original summons?"

"No, Headmaster" the sallow man repeated once more, "He refuses to see me unless I'm willing to be interviewed about Tobias' abuse, no doubt so he can publish yet another article like that one"

Albus stroked his beard nervously, gazing at the picture of Tom next to the article in question. Tom had obviously undergone multiple other rituals since the night in the graveyard, successful ones at that, seeing as Tom now looked as he once had, a strapping middle-aged man in striking robes, smiling charmingly at the camera. "This is not good, my boy, not good at all… the public is already demanding for laws, laws that will allow Tom to fulfill his new agenda…"

"And what would that new agenda be, Headmaster?" Severus asked, an oily eyebrow arching in question.

"Tom is obviously targeting muggles now, my boy"

"The Dark Lord has always targeted muggles, Headmaster"

"Do not patronize me, Severus, I meant to say that he is attempting to segregate the magical and muggle worlds further by criminalizing muggles. This fear mongering is far more dangerous than Tom's original tactics; these are strategies that allowed Gellert to rise to power so quickly… Not only that, now that Tom's made himself public, he can do much more damage, particularly as a rising political demagogue in the Ministry. Last session he proposed the Muggleborn Protection Act, which will allow the ministry to kidnap muggleborn children from their families and place them into pureblood homes against their will, all under the guise of protecting their welfare. Not even Gellert went so far…" Albus continued his pacing once more, magenta-mustard robes swishing noisily as he did so.

"Then there's the Familias Restoration Act, which appears tame on the surface, but has multiple ulterior motives. It encourages the adoption of muggleborn children into magical families, legalizing the previously banned Sanguinarrogatio Ritual, it also encourages marriages and breeding with so-called 'intelligent sentients': Vela, Sylphs, Mermen, Nymphai, and even Goblins. Do you know what this means, Severus?"

"I do not understand why you are so panicked, Headmaster, the Dark Lord is saner now than he has ever been and the FRA was something I thought you would approve of?"

"Freedom to marry and the pursuit of happiness, I have always preached this, but this FRA is anything but. It limits the creatures one is allowed to mate with, for example, the act would declare Hagrid a degenerate!"

"Well, I wouldn't consider giants intelligent or sentient," Severus said snidely, having never been fond of the half-giant or giants in general.

"Hagrid is the most sentient man I've ever had the honor of meeting, Severus, and you know this. This act is nothing more than a cruel eradication of disliked creature blood within the magical community, it's blatant extermination - it will destroy our familial bonds with muggles!"

Severus frowned at him in confusion, "I don't follow, Headmaster?"

Gravely, Albus stopped pacing and turned towards his colleague: "I don't blame you, Severus, it's not a well known fact, but it has been documented that creatures and half-breeds, even quarter-breeds, are incapable of reproducing with muggles, the lack of magic cannot support the highly saturated creature blood." Hoping desperately to impart the magnitude of the situation to his friend, Albus darkly explained his conclusions: "Such an act, paired with the Sanguinarrogatio Ritual, would eradicate all familial relations with muggles within a few generations, it may even result in the complete biological segregation of magical and muggle humans…"

Severus' tunnel-like irises dilated slightly, his lips thinning, but he remained reticent. Albus sighed heavily, feeling more than ever the weight of the nation on his century-and-a-half old shoulders, he walked slowly towards the windows of his office and gazed at the rocky shores of Black Lake, seeing in his mind's eye generations of Hogwarts students splashing about with joyous laughter, children wading into the murky depths, and couples sneaking off into the obscured gilly-weed stalks. In four days time the new term would begin and the next generation of children would arrived to be taught, Albus could only pray that he would leave this earth safer than it was now, that the next generations to come would not live through three wars as he did…

Marius merrily swirled his pumpkin juice, sipping his favourite beverage as a king might savour his wine. He sat in the recently built Gaunt Manor on the Isle of Man, flipping through the latest edition of Witch Weekly with great amusement; it appeared that he was ranked an eligible bachelor, outranking some ponce by the name of Gilderoy Lockhart – apparently, his "unique, smoldering, crimson eyes" were more attractive than Lockhart's award-winning smile. He would have to save this article, possibly frame it or, better yet, sneak it into Dumbledore's mail.

It was the thirty-first of August and Marius decided that he wanted to enjoy his Thursday evening amusing himself with his mail, an activity he had once loathed in his youth but now immensely enjoyed, particularly his exchanges with the idiotic Minister – he would have to usurp the fool with another soon… perhaps, Echo Fawley or maybe Eugenius Scamander? Yes, either would do nicely, particularly Fawley, the First Half-Breed Minister had a nice ring to it, didn't it?

It never seized to amuse him how easily manipulated the current British Ministry of Magic was, but that would soon change with his third wave of acts and laws, after he pushed through the first and second waves, of course - he did have to set the foundation of a strong regime that would put the current ministry to shame after all. The first wave of laws had only just begun, but not a single one of his laws or acts had been vetoed yet, thanks in part to his supporters in the Wizengamot who were now taken with his past hardships and proverbial 'rags to riches' journey. It really was quite funny, but not as funny as watching Dumbledore's face sour as each and every one of Marius' laws were passed by large majority margins, heedless of his pleas and concerns.

Marius, however, did not underestimate Albus Dumbledore, he never had and he never would, but he did know exactly how to get under Dumbledore's skin and he relished every second of it. Patronus Post had been a riot, but also a legitimately lucrative investment. Not only had the newspaper flew off the shelves like Honeykdukes chocolate, but it was ridiculously easy to spread his philosophy and politics.

Yes, his philosophy, word for word. Marius had labored under the pureblood doctrine because it had been convenient, the closest match to his own ideals at the time. As a young man, he had never thought to consider the benefits of preaching his own dogma beyond the short-sighted constraints of the pureblood movement. Much to his own delight and surprise, his dogma was much more popular than he had initially believed.

Apparently, pureblood extremism was viewed as exactly that, extreme. Muggleborn and creature prejudice simply wasn't as widespread as that of muggle. Magic is Might, however, had a much larger appeal to the large pool of purebloods, half-bloods, half-breeds, creatures, and even muggle-borns of the British Isles and beyond. There was a pervasive and legitimate fear of muggles that every magical bore as a result of the witch burnings and the Statue of Secrecy.

As Marius had come to realize, fear was very easily transfigured to rage, thanks in part to one Harry Potter.

The Potter boy would probably never know exactly how detrimental he was in preventing a violent outbreak of war between the Light and Dark factions of his society, but Marius always would remember the morning he read the article hidden in Malfoy Manor, holed up like a cowardly terrorist.

Marius could admit to himself now that he had lost his way, but Harry Potter had set him back on his original path. He hadn't started campaigning for power or even himself. When he was a young, self-righteous lad he had wanted revenge, revenge against the muggles for all the crimes they had committed against himself and his magical brethren. He remembered at age thirteen reading the gory details of Deonisia of West Country's execution; how his magic had burned within him as he read how she was burned alive for her magic, a magic she never understood – she was muggleborn and never had the chance to see the glorious fortress that was Hogwarts, too young to be protected within its walls. Age thirteen; he wanted, more than anything, to avenge Deonisia of West Country.

Good mood forgotten, Marius placed his pumpkin juice on the side table and picked up the next stack of letters to go through, spotting a particularly Malfoy-looking envelope within the stack. Without preamble he plucked the envelope from the rest, wondering idly why Lucius hadn't simply flooed him… Ah, it appeared to not be in Lucius' penmanship, instead his name was addressed in a spikey cursive style with compact lettering. Curious as to whom the sender was, Marius quickly unfolded the parchment within:

Salve, Warlock Marius Gaunt,

Thank you.

Vale,

Harry Potter

Blinking owlishly, it took a few moments for a bubble of laughter to crawl up his throat. "Thank you" is it, Harry Potter? How Ironic, the boy he had once considered murdering had thanked him, shaking his head in amusement, the good mood quickly returning, Marius picked up his pumpkin juice in one hand while gazing at the Boy-Who-Could-Have-Died's letter.

Indeed, had he been born a few moments earlier, Potter would most likely be dead by his wand. Harry James Potter had been born 1 August 1980 on the witching hour, excluding him entirely from the damnable prophecy and setting Marius' eyes on Neville Longbottom instead.

Not that that had saved the boy much grief, had it? Sending Pettigrew had been unexpectedly brutal in nature, the Dark Lord honestly hadn't realized how deranged the rat-animagus really was until he was resurrected and informed of the incident on 1 November 1981. Perhaps death by Marius' hand would have been a mercy considering the cupboard under the stairs and what was left of James and Lily Potter?

Well, no use agonizing over his decision now, what was done was done and he had a Wizengamot session to prepare for, an Azkaban break out to organize, and a political revolution to orchestrate.

A/N: Regulus Black alive? Yes, he's alive and I will obviously expand upon this fact. Salve & Vale: Latin greeting/farewell – there will be a lot of Latin, entirely from google translate. Nymphadora is not a half-blood within my story, but instead the daughter of a half-nymph – I will expand upon this later. Harry's new birthday? Just a super convenient way to disqualify him for the prophecy.

Cannon? Not at all. AU? Definitely. Romance? There will be romance, pairings are undecided, all orientations will be incorporated - suggestions will be considered. Currently, I've set Harry up with either Draco or Daphne but this can change at any point (they happen to be the most common Slytherin fanfic pairings). Polls? No, I'll consider suggestions but everything is suspect to change. Sex scenes? Doubtful. Action/Adventure? Not really, I suck at most action scenes and will be focusing on magical culture & politics primarily - there will be occasional violence but I'm putting the rating at T for now.

Patronus Post Article: IK kind of touchy for a topic, but in the context of the time Voldemort was born and raised (1920-1940), well, probably not the best time to be born and raised, especially as an orphan. Will I expand on Voldemort's childhood? Not really, to Marius, his own past is inconsequential, the only past that matters is that of the magical community as a whole - his sights are set on the future. The details written in the Patronus Post article are meant to construct a realistic reason Tom Riddle was a bad person beyond JK Rowling's interpretation of him simply being born bad. That's ridiculous, no baby is born evil, its the circumstances and contexts that contribute to a person. Nurture over nature. In my story, Tom was treated like an insane, evil, demon-possessed child so he therefore grew up to meet those expectations. As I tried to convey in the chapter, Marius is on a different path now. Is that path the right path? Who knows, but what I can tell you is that Marius is doing what HE thinks is the right thing to do.

Good & Bad? My biggest complaint with the HP series is the lack of 'grey' area, the whole series always came off to me as too black vs white, good vs evil, literally Light vs Dark. I plan for A LOT of grey.

Chapter 2: Perfect Prefect Potter