Disclaimer: None of my initials are J, K or R, I am not one of the richest women in the country, nor am I famous the world over for my imaginative writing. I have borrowed these characters and this world for my own amusement but they do not and never have belonged to me.
A/N: this is a prologue to an AU that I'm not sure I will ever write – mainly because I'm not sure which story to write because there are at least three stories in here. If you like it please read and review and let me know whether it is worth me continuing.
Everyone knows
There are lots of things that everyone knows. Everyone knows the story. Everyone knows how Vol … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named went one Halloween night to Godric's Hollow. Everyone knows that while there he killed Lily and James Potter, tried to kill there baby son Harry but failed when the curse re-bounded. Everyone knows nothing has been seen of Vol … He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named since. And maybe, just maybe, he is gone forever.
Everyone knows it was James Potter's best friend who betrayed the young family to He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Everyone knows Black is one of the worst wizards ever to have lived, a spy for the dark: a betrayer, a murderer. Evil.
Everyone knows that after the disappearance of Black's master, a young, slightly inept, wizard called Peter Pettigrew, an old school-friend of the Potters and of Black, tracked Black down and confronted him. Everyone knows Black, mad with the loss of his master just as he had finally revealed himself to be the spy, blasted the young wizard (and with him half the street) to pieces.
Everyone knows that when the aurors turned up shortly after Black was still at the scene laughing at the destruction he caused. Everyone knows that the aurors, so horrified at the scene, took just a moment too long and Black apparated away into nowhere.
Everyone knows that Dumbledore took young Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, and placed him somewhere, in hiding. Everyone knows Dumbledore put the strongest wards he cold around the place, warding it against intrusion from anyone who meant young Harry harm. Everyone knows the wards failed and young Harry was stolen from the house on his second birthday.
Everyone knows it had to be Black who stole him. Black was the only dark wizard who could possibly have had that much power. Black was one of the most loyal servants of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Everyone knows that Black must have thought there was some way he could bring his master back, that he could use Harry, kill him and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named would return. Everyone knows there have been no sightings of Black or little Harry since. That poor little Harry must be nine years dead by now.
Everyone knows. So how could this be?
Minerva McGonagall was sat at her desk doing her annual task of sending out Hogwarts letters to new students. She was staring at the letter in shock. Minerva McGonagall who was strict, but fair. Minerva McGonagall who never had favourites. Minerva McGonagall who was staid and emotionless. Minerva McGonagall who punished strictly but never held grudges. Minerva McGonagall who had wept like a baby that first of November nearly 10 years ago when two young people's lives had been ripped from them. Minerva McGonagall who for many years had barely spoken to Albus Dumbledore since his wards had failed to protect young Harry. Minerva McGonagall who felt, in her heart, that she was responsible. That she should have known. Minerva McGonagall who would never admit her anger with Albus Dumbledore was her comfort, her way to hide her anger with herself.
Everyone knows the letter in front of her was impossible. But part of her, buried for many years, the part that was called hope said "Everyone knows the sky is blue" as outside the setting sun bathed the world in oranges, reds and purples and black clouds floated in from the north. "Everyone knows" she whispers.
She snatched the letter up in her hand and raced through the corridors of the school. "Albus!" she called out "Albus, quickly!"
Night falls on the Isle of Wight. An ordinary night for most, but not for the man and the boy. This is the last night for the two of them. They've talked about this night forever, the man and the boy. Talked about when it would happen. Just a few days before the boys eleventh birthday, they have to part.
It wasn't easy. The man has raised the boys as a son. But he has taught him well. The boy knows as well has he does that it must happen. They say their goodbyes in their spot, their favourite spot.
It is time." He says sadly, "I have to go."
The young boy nods, he understands. Knowing it was coming doesn't make it any easier though, for either of them. And the boy holds back the tears as he hugs the only person he can ever remember loving him.
"Be brave. Think of your father and mother. Think of James and Lily. We will meet again Harry. I promise you."
"I know. I love you Padfoot."
"I love you to." And the man, known to his neighbours as Steven Brown, a quiet, unassuming, independently wealthy, slightly eccentric, widower, disappears into the night, never to be seen again.
Long after he has gone the boy sits there. Alone. Tears flowing silently down his cheeks. Waiting. And that's where they find him. Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived still lives.
He is taken to a hospital, where he is poked and prodded and pronounced healthy for his age. He is taken to a room where people question him. The same questions. The same answers.
"My name is Harry James Potter. I grew up with my godfather. I love my godfather very much. My parents were James and Lily Potter and they died to protect me from an evil wizard. My godfather told me everything about them. He's left. I don't know where he has gone. Yes I know why he has left. Because you think he did something bad and he didn't. He would never hurt anyone. He looked after me." The same questions, the same answers repeated over and over until the boy starts to cry. And once he starts he can't stop. And then a man appears. Another man, an old man with long white hair, a long white beard and blue eyes that look as if they can see into people's souls.
"Hello Harry. My name is Professor Dumbledore."
"Have you come to take me to Hogwarts sir?" The boy looks at the old man, pleading silently.
As they leave he hears the others behind him "He looks so much like James!"
"Except his eyes, he has Lily's eyes"
Everyone knows Sirius Black was a murdering traitor. But as Minerva McGonagall and Albus Dumbledore settle the Boy-Who-Lived" down to sleep, they see something in his eyes that any boy raised by the darkest of dark wizards couldn't possibly show. They see a boy who is both loved and loving. And they wonder. "Could everyone possibly be wrong?"
