Prologue:

Protectors


Something happened on the night Harry James Potter became an orphan. His mother gave her life for a blessing.

As the death eaters passed through the wards on Halloween night, Harry James Potter was being rocked to sleep by his mother, having woken up in a fit. Lily Potter, known for being the smartest witch of her time, heard her husband, heard the fighting, heard the Death Eaters as they took out James Potter, many falling first to his wand. It was then that she began chanting, the Nordic prayers she had come across in her husband's library, the runic arrays she had gently tattooed on her son's three-year-old body just a month before, just in case. It was her last hope. Halloween night, one of the most magical nights in the year, and she would be giving her life up to the Gods, or to Magic, or whatever it is that is beyond what she knows, she would be giving it up for him. Willingly and without a fight.

They came in. Just as she hoped, Bellatrix LeStrange, infamous and bat shit crazy, danced into the room as Lily was finishing the ritual. She kissed her young child on the forehead, eyes of steal. "I will always be with you, Harry. My magic, and my soul. I love you."

"Mom…" He whined, hands reaching for her and tears welling up in his ears. Bellatrix cackled from the side and magic enveloped his beautiful mother, exploding the room. There was heat. There was his mother's magic, all around him. He was young, he was overwhelmed, he was being touched by pure magic and his mother's soul. Voices he didn't quite understand were chanting. Everything was white. Then he slept.

Harry James Potter had been three years old when his parents had died. The night they died was the last night he slept. But something about that night… there was something that changed. He had runes that his mother had tattooed into his skin, they spiraled on the skin above his heart on his chest, always swirling in their spiral motion. When danger was near, they seemed to speed up. When he said his prayers, or was about to get hurt, they reversed their rotation. Each rune was perfectly written and he knew every line of it. It was soul magic, from his mother and his father. Both of whom had given their lives the night they died protecting him.

His grandfather, Charlus Potter, had taken him in. Only him, Sirius Black, and Albus Dumbledore knew that something extraordinary had happened that evening they died. They felt Lily and James on Harry, it was a magic presence that never left his own magic. The boy had grown, quickly, the way legends do. He grew up knowing his magic like no other child would. Every time he used it, every time he channeled his magic in his body, he felt the warmth of his parents. He loved magic. And he hardly ever missed his parents because of it.

Dorea Potter, Harry's grandmother, had lived for four years while Harry and Charlus. She was well on in years, but she had all the love in the world to give to Harry. They were happy. It was difficult for Charlus and Dorea, they were old, they were terribly sad for the loss of so many. But they, and Sirius, Harry's god father, figured out how to handle the extremely magical child.

Harry traveled. Everywhere. He never slept, his magic was too much to call for his body or mind to need the rest. And Harry was a very curious boy. Everything he encountered, he wanted to know about. He wanted to understand. Everyone who was slightly magically aware knew there was something about the boy that they just couldn't put their finger on. It wasn't his accepting nature, though that certainly helped. Charlus got headaches often, knowing that Harry tended to attract the attention of less politically savory magical creatures, gaining friendships with vampires and werewolves, spending time learning from the goblins, requesting tutors who needed to be compensated with great amounts for things like History, Harry's favorite subject. And Runes, Harry's favorite subject, one of the few ways he could practice magic before going away to school. He loved it. And he made friends.

There was one moment in particular that Harry thought on frequently. One that became something of a defining moment for the boy. If anyone asked him who he was, his first response was always, "Well, I'm a protector." And it was because of the talk that Sirius had had with him when he was just five years old.

"Uncle Paddy," Harry said, gaining the attention of his uncle from the puzzle that they were working on. His handsome godfather looked up at him. "Is Nev an orphan like me?"

His uncle's eyes got sad. "Yes, pup. Neville's parents, Frank and Alice, were killed the same night as yours."

"Who saved Neville?" he asked, knowing that it had been his mother and the greater magic that granted him saving from his own fate when he was younger.

"Well," his uncle began. "His mother and father saved him almost the same way you did. See, Lord Voldemort, the one who led the Death Eaters in the war, he was scared of Neville and his parents."

"He was scared of a baby?" Harry asked him, looking contrite. "That's stupid. So, he killed Neville's family because he was scared of a baby?"

Sirius's mouth twitched, but he still looked sad. "Yes. So, he killed Frank, and he killed Alice, but when he went to kill Neville… well, he tried to but the magic bounced back and killed him instead."

Harry thought, lips puckered. "So Vold… Volly… So, Mold Shorts killed himself because he was scared of a baby."

Sirius barked out laughter for a bit before his somber mood returned. "Yes, Harry. Moldy Shorts, or Voldemort," he coughed, hiding his laughter. "Voldemort was defeated that night. That's where Neville gets his scar from."

Harry nodded. "That's why he's called the Boy-Who-Lived. That's why people thank him for saving them?" His godfather nodded sadly. "They call him a protector, but he was a baby."

"Yes, they do."

"I don't think Nevly can remember it, I don't think he knows much of what happened, Uncle Paddy. He gets scared a lot." He looked at his godfather. "He saved a lot of people from being scared."

"Yes, I suppose he did."

"But he's so little, Uncle Paddy. Nevly is so tiny, still. And they treat him like he will protect him from every bad man like Moldy." He stared hard at the puzzle, putting two more pieces together before looking hard back at his godfather. "What if he gets scared? What if he doesn't want to protect everyone? He was so little. It doesn't seem fair. He's not big and strong like mummy and daddy were."

Sirius was choking back some tears. "No, he's not. But you get scared sometimes, don't you Harry?"

Harry nodded, thinking very hard. "But Pop told me, he said, 'Harry, you are special. You have many people who love you and care about you. If you trust them, they will protect you, all you need is faith and you never have to be scared.' And he said that it's okay to be scared, but you don't need to if you have people who love you and who protect you." Sirius was looking at him hard. Harry nodded at his godfather, deciding something. "I'll protect Nevly. That way he doesn't need to be as scared. He'll never have to be so scared if I'm protecting him. I'll be the best protector. We can be like brothers, like you and Daddy," he nodded to himself again, putting the last piece of the puzzle in the picture, looking at it. "I'll be his protector."

Sirius hugged him for a long time at that moment. That moment when Harry Potter started thinking of himself as a Protector. Sirius would go on to tell Neville's grandmother and Harry's grandparents of the moment, the one when they all decided to support Harry Potter however they could. He was a golden child, a heart of gold, he didn't judge people when he met them, no matter who they were or what they had done. He said if someone was truly bad, magic would tell them, and the few times he came across those people, his magic did tell him. And he trusted his magic. He trusted most magic. And people he was close with trusted him.

Harry was ten years old when his grandfather became ill. He had a magical disease that made his own magic erratic and made his body very sick. He had had it for a long time, and had valiantly fought it in hopes of living long enough for Harry to have support and know his routes.

Harry knew his grandfather. And he felt blessed knowing his grandfather. He was a great man, one who fought giants and Grindlewald. He protected his father from the war and gave him a childhood, and knew that that wasn't what Harry wanted. He saw people and times for what they were, he knew his grandson was meant for greatness and didn't curb his enthusiasm or try to tell him what was right and what was wrong. He had accepted, at the pleading dying wishes of his wife, that Harry would never see the world as Light and Dark. He would never look at a Death Eater and think, you deserve death. He would never shy away from a vampire's touch, or a hug from a werewolf. And he had learned a lot from Harry, and Harry had learned a lot from him.

"One day, Harry, one day when you are sixteen, you are going to run this family. You are turning into a great man, Harry. And I am so," Charlus had tears in his eyes, something that made Harry want to cry. But he didn't, he knew his grandfather would want him to be strong and composed. He knew this day was coming. He would feel the magic, feel the presence of death begin to settle on the room. "I am so proud of you, grandson. Go on and follow your dreams. You can do whatever you wish, Harry. Build the life you want. You have a great head on your shoulders, and you are, you are good, Harry. The Protector Potter. I love you."

"I love you, too, Pop." Harry said, hugging his grandfather. He felt the old man gently hug him back. His godfather was behind him, struggling with his own emotions. "I'll keep an eye on Uncle Sirius and Uncle Remus for you."

"Atta boy," he said, chuckling, ruffling Harry's hair. Harry could see the magic draining from him. "Sirius, watch out for Harry. He is Lily and James' legacy. Love him, please."

"I do. I will. Thank you, Charlus. For everything."

"I am proud of you, Sirius. You have turned into a fine man. You'll make the Black name noble once more."

They sat together in silence, Remus walking into the room and paying his last respects. The trio watched as he died peacefully. Finally, Harry began crying, his uncles crying alongside him. The funeral would be two weeks later, one that nearly every family in the wizarding world would attend.

Harry welcomed everyone to his Grandfather's funeral. He knew that his grandfather was one of the younger wizards of his generation to pass. Many of his generation had passed in wars, others had fled and refused to return. Those who knew of their family's connections to Charlus Potter, a Baron whose title was earned defending his people in battle and proving themselves on battle and in the political rink, they were all present. Harry encouraged everyone to, if they could find the time, leave him a letter of their fondest memories and stories of his grandfather, someone whom he wanted to create a magical memorial of on the Potter grounds.

That was Harry's first major public showing. Most of the people there had already met the young man and fondly remembered his bright, childish curiosity. The aura of his magic had people willing to talk to him, he made people feel warm and listened to. And seeing this child, someone so honest in their love and respect of their family, asking a simple kindness from any who wished to aid him in any way with his grandfather's passing, it did something to the wizarding community. It drew them together. And for the first time, the wizarding community considered Harry James Potter as someone with a bright future, regardless of light or dark affiliations. And suddenly, Harry James Potter was on the radar.

Sirius Black had lived a unique life. He couldn't help but wonder briefly what would have happened had things gone just a bit differently. What if Harry had been the boy-who-lived? What if he had chased after Peter and tried to kill him instead of listening to Charlus when he had arrived, just after Sirius, at the ruins of his best friends' home? What if Charlus and his Aunt Dorea had passed? He certainly would have been a different person.

One thing was true, and of that truth, there was nothing truer: His life was better because of Harry James Potter.

His godson, heir to the Potter line, next heir to the Black line should anything happen to Sirius, was golden. It wasn't that he could do no wrong, because the lord knew that the time he gave his grandfather's prized watch away to a muggle child, one that had been passed on for generations… he just wanted the kid to have something nice.

And they had traveled. A lot. It had only taken one trip to France for Harry to convince the men in his life that nothing could be lost from traveling. And he was right, as he usually was. The world was so big, something Sirius hadn't considered until Harry picked an interest in seeing everything there was to see. And it was addicting. Once they had started traveling, Sirius found he never wanted to stop. It was endless, and it was thrilling. It was something he had never considered before, but it was just as much as a blessing as Harry himself had been. The people they met, the stories they heard, the things they saw… everything Sirius knew and believed about the world was erased. His upbringing didn't allow for the wonder of the world to set in, the pride in being a British Wizard had built and understanding of their culture being the best, the greatest in the world, but that just wasn't so.

In America, they saw whole entire mountain ranges that had been hidden from muggles. The aboriginals there had secret magics that continued to hide their societies from anyone without magic, and all their technologies. They visited the underground cities in the Catskills, traveled to the vast Mer-cities in the Great Lakes, heard tales of Kings and Queens, their troubles and their successes, partook in the tribal circle celebration of the Summer Solstice with a clan descended from an Aztec clan. Harry was unique and could gain acceptance into all types of societies, he would play with their young, charm their leaders, ultimate built relationships that extended so far passed any boundary that had commonly been accepted that his name was brought to attention in all types of settings.

And that's how he began recording stories. He always got permission, but something Sirius found everyone wanted was a voice. And Britain was notoriously cut off from the rest of the world. It was a society that, true, was very magical and had vast magical histories that others looked to for answers, but also it was something of a mystery to the rest of the world. Not much news got in and not much news got out. And it was true, there were a few obstacles along the way. Sirius had to make promise after promise to tell the tales true. Everything he recorded, everything he wasn't allowed to say, everything he knew was backed up with oaths. It was made easier by Harry's presence. He wanted to learn, and he wanted to understand. And many, many people wanted to impress the Potter. They felt his magic, it was pure. And they met him, and saw the glimmer in his eyes. He truly brought out the best of the people around him. It was exciting.

He recorded stories. He began writing whole novels, Harry taking on the job of translating texts from their languages to English, something he was apparently born to do. By the time his grandfather had passed away, Harry hadn't come across a language that he didn't learn. And that was saying something. There was one other magical man in England who could lay claim to such a proficiency in language, and that was Barty Crouch.

Sirius had yet to publish any of his stories. He was in contact with twenty-nine different magical peoples, all over the world, and he would send them transcript after transcript, in their language and in English, wanting to perfect it before publishing it in any capacity. Finally, he would be publishing the first ten books later the next year in America, with hopes that if it did well in the more accepting community there that it would gain an interest in England as well.

Among the amazing things they saw while abroad, Sirius had the stunning realization that Harry was not only a metamorphagus, like his cousin Nymphadora Tonks, a trait present in the Black family, but was also a Parslemouth. Beyond that, Harry could communicate with all types of magical creatures. Not much was known about Parslemouths, though they had a very bad reputation in England. Harry had found, on a trip to India when he was seven, that he could understand the conversations going on between the snakes and the charmers. And that's what they were known as there, Charmers. Most Charmers didn't know about the magical community, in fact, Harry had only met one other Parslemouth who was magical, and they hid their ability like Harry because there were people in the world who wanted to take advantage of that. It made sense, though. If you could talk to the dragons, you could control them, in a way. Being friends of dragons… that was powerful indeed.

And that's what it came down to. Harry could communicate with all types of snake like creatures. Dragons, ashwinders, basilisks, cockatrice, even nundu. As it turned out, many of the most magical creatures, anything that seemed to come from a scaled background, seemed to understand when Harry spoke with them. And, if Sirius thought about it, that was probably one of the biggest blessings that Harry had. It was, after all, what Harry wanted. He wanted to understand. And Sirius, knowing in his heart that he would gain the most from his life if he spent it helping Harry on his path, seized the opportunities that were presented, from those who wanted to be understood, and found something in his heart was filled with pride from having overcome his past, from having move forward from being the boy who believed everything to be black and white, good and bad, from understanding that there was a back story and a history to every person and everything that happened, that there was a connection to everything going on around him and how he could listen and understand rather than seeing something and judging it as he once had. He had a purpose. He found a calling. He was building relationships and connections with people he never considered. He found love in a Veela Harry had introduced him to on a trip to Paris. He made friends with outcasts and hidden societies who bettered him in a way he would have never in a million years thought possible. And he felt just as blessed as he considered Harry to be.

He had learned to follow his heart, to put more stock in things like love than revenge. He learned to grow. And he had Harry Potter to thank for that.


A/N: Let me know if you'd like to beta my story, please. I'm not sure if I'll continue, but if someone's encouraging and helping me along the way, it would be difficult to just give up.

-Krissy