Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, plots, settings, and events that have occurred in the Harry Potter Series; it all belongs to JKR.
Any warnings about this story can be seen on my profile; I shall only add the full summary.
Summary:
Harry James Potter has been known as the saviour of the Wizarding World for the past ten years; but all that the Magical Population of England believed was nothing but a tale spun by a young boy. His Hogwarts years over; Harry leaves the public eye for several years after the discovery of his lies. Now, the Dark Lord Voldemort has risen again, more powerful and terrible than before and more determined to vanquish the child of the prophecy and all who stand with him. Harry must return home and offer the use of his abilities to the brother he swore to protect, the woman he once loved, and the world that is quaking under the threat of the Dark Lord.
Please R&R. Enjoy
Prologue: The Boy-Who-Lied
The Leaky Cauldron, for the first time in history, was deathly silent. The patrons of the pub sat silently, their gaze focused on the figure standing on a chair near the bar. He was a short young man, standing at over six foot three inches on the chair. He held a newspaper in his hand, the Daily Prophet, and his brown eyes were alight with anger as he looked at it. Running a hand through his mousy brown hair, the young man began reading.
"It has been discovered early on in the week that the Wizarding World's beloved saviour, the Boy-Who-Lived Harry James Potter, is nothing more than a liar. The day after the Potter heir's birthday, one he shares with younger brother Damien, the Potter's had unearthed the truth about exactly what transpired that Halloween night."
"We all know what happened that day," cut in a large man. "We've known about it for years. What's so different 'bout it? Bloody Prophet must be mad to call him a liar!"
The young man spared a glance in his direction as he saw several others nod their heads in agreement and continued reading from the paper.
"While the entire Magical World knows of the events that branded Harry Potter a hero, we here at the Daily Prophet have just discovered that those events were fabricated by Potter himself. In a statement written to us by Lord and Lady Potter and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, we are now knowledgeable of exactly what happened."
The boy glanced around the pub, noting the anger beginning to contort the faces of those before him, continuing his reading.
"On Halloween of 1981, You-Know-Who stormed the Potter's home with the help of their once best friend of the family, Peter Pettigrew. The Dark Lord proceeded to kill Charlus and Dorea Potter, before moving on to the children. Instead of first turning his wand on eight-year-old Harry as we were led to believe, he merely stunned him and turned his wand on baby Damien. As the Dark Lord uttered the dreaded Killing Curse, it rebounded toward him, leaving young Damien Potter as the only person to have ever survived the Killing Curse, a title once held by his brother. Now the only title Harry Potter will ever have is that of the Boy-Who-Lied."
As the boy uttered the last word, the pub stayed deathly silent for several seconds until pandemonium broke out. People could be heard shouting, tables were being banged as the patrons each wanted to be heard above the others.
"He's nothing but a stinkin', filthy.."
"Bloody boy. Always knew he was…"
"Can't believe we ever trusted him!"
As the patrons of the Leaky Cauldron raged about the news they had just received, the life of one Harry James Potter was shattering, and there was nothing he could do to prevent it.
London at this time of day was busy, car horns blaring in the streets as many tried to get to work. Standing at the window of the rather large flat, a man was gazing unseeingly outside as he pondered over the events of the last few days. His black hair, which was naturally messy, seemed even more uncontrollable as it framed his aristocratic features and his emerald eyes, constantly sparkling with happiness and a glint of mischief, were cold and contained a hint of anger.
He stood in the large flat, the space clustered with his belongings. The walls were painted beige and were trimmed with interwoven lines of gold and silver. The dark brown, nearly black, wooden floor was gleaming as the rays of sunlight danced across. His school trunk lay near the entrance to the kitchen having left it there in his haste to get the rest of his belongings in his room. The sitting room was left with two couches and an armchair, both a deep burgundy, and a large television near the wall. The flat contained two bathrooms, a kitchen, and three rooms; one of which was his bedroom with its own bathroom, one which would serve as an office, and a guestroom.
His mind kept replaying the day he had with his family, after they discovered that his brother was the owner of Voldemort's brother wand.
He stood stock still as his father angrily paced in front of him waiting for something or someone. The fireplace to his right roared an emerald green as Albus Dumbledore stepped out. Dusting the soot off his robes and long beard, the old man gazed at him silently as if awaiting his explanation; his blue eyes missing their trademark twinkle.
Beside his father stood his mother Lily, and his godfather Sirius Black and pseudo uncle Remus Lupin stood behind them. His younger brother Damien sat on the couch watching the proceedings apprehensively, as if he sensed it would end badly.
"James," began Dumbledore "I've received a most enlightening letter from Ollivander along with your summons."
Ignoring the headmaster, his father looked toward him, his eyes showing his fury, and he hissed, "Explain yourself Harry!"
Stoically he replied, "There is nothing to explain."
A derisive snort erupted from his father. "Nothing to explain," he spat. "NOTHING! YOU COULD HAVE GOTTEN YOUR BROTHER KILLED!"
Damien was startled and confused by their father's shout, but Harry could tell that he was quickly putting the pieces together.
"Mr. Potter," began Dumbledore "Maybe you should start from the beginning?"
Glancing around the room and seeing the stony faces, Harry began to tell his tale.
"I lied about which of us Voldemort tried to kill because I wanted to protect…"
"Protect," James spat. "You've done more harm than good."
Harry could feel his anger rising but attempted to keep his emotions in check. They didn't need to have a shouting match today of all days.
"We've wondered, ever since you got your wand, whether we had the right child but then, we had no reason to disbelieve you at the time." His father began pacing again as his thoughts came rushing out. "We fully expected Voldemort to come after you during your Hogwarts years but all we had was Death Eater's in the several years after his fall. Your brother is about to start his first year and lo and behold, dark activity increases in Albania and he has the bloody BROTHER WAND!"
"Harry" Albus cut in, "your decision to lie has cost the light greatly."
"Would it have been better had I told the truth? Damien was just a baby he wouldn't have understood the threat, he couldn't even talk!"
"THAT WASN'T FOR YOU TO DECIDE!" roared James. "WE SPENT YEARS TRAINING YOU FOR SOMETHING THAT WASN'T GOING TO HAPPEN"
His anger getting the best of him he shouted back at his father. "SOD THE BLOODY TRAINING, DAMY WOULD HAVE BEEN IN THE SPOTLIGHT AS A BABY! HE BLOODY WELL WOULD HAVE HAD THE PRESS HOUNDING HIM."
"HE COULD HAVE STILL BEEN TRAINED BUT HE ISN'T BECAUSE OF YOU!"
Twisting his features into a sneer worthy of Snape he spat, "You wouldn't have trained him. You would have wanted him to have a childhood and coddled him to death!"
Suddenly, Harry had his father's wand in his face, the tip glinting red as his father's emotions got the best of him.
"Get out of my house," he hissed. "You're not welcome here anymore."
Stunned, Harry reigned in his emotions and made his way up the grand staircase toward his bedroom. Gathering all of his belongings and shrinking them, he carried a large box downstairs after he stripped his room bare. Wasn't planning on moving out just yet he thought.
As he stopped at the spot he stood previously, he heard his father's parting remark. "You truly are a Slytherin. No son of mine would attempt to harm their family."
Stiffening at his father's words, Harry spared one last glance at his brother, seeing the angered look on his face, and flooed to the London flat gifted to him by his grandfather.
He was broken from his musings as he heard the sharp crack of apparition behind him. Not bothering to turn around he stayed quiet, waiting for the person to begin speaking.
"You truly are a piece of work Potter," spat a female voice.
Turning to face her, Harry saw that her hair had turned a fiery red, a sure sign of her anger. Her eyes, also, had turned red and he could see the anger in them. She was shorter than him by a great deal, and as she stalked closer to him, her fists clenching and unclenching, he could tell that despite coming up to his shoulder she could probably make him cower.
"Nym-" he began.
"DON'T CALL ME NYMPHADORA!" she yelled. "You lost any right to call me anything Potter."
He simply stood there watching her, his green eyes gazing at her searchingly.
"You piece of filth," she continued. "How dare you lie about something so – damn – dangerous – to – your – brother's – life?" she finished, punctuating her words with a sharp jab to his chest.
"So that's it then" he said quietly, grabbing her hands. "No questions about why I did it?"
Snorting she replied, "You lied once, and about something that put your brother's life in danger!" Seeing his mouth open she wrenched her hands from his grip and continued, "I don't think I could ever trust you. You disgust me Potter; I don't know what I ever say in you." With that, she turned on her heel and disapparated with another sharp crack.
The flat was eerily silent after her rather loud departure. He stood still, staring at the spot she had just occupied as her words played over in his thoughts. She, like all those before her, didn't bother looking into the situation, hadn't wanted to ask why he had done what he did.
In the dead of the night after contemplating his thoughts, Harry began the long and tedious job of warding his home, effectively masking him from the Wizarding World's criticizing gaze.