AN: This story is about Harry James and Matthew Orion Potter, and what would have happened if Peter Pettigrew had taken and abandoned the twins on October 31, 1981. This story starts with a preview of their early childhoods, and then skips to the summer they turn eleven. It will be in several POVs, though all third person. Please read and enjoy, and leave me a quick review at the end to say what you think!

This Chapter is dedicated to my little sister- you know who you are, and without you I would have no inspiration for FanFiction! :)

The Love of Family

Prologue: The Aftermath, November 1981

November 1, 1981- 11:05 pm, Headmaster's Office; Hogwarts

Albus Dumbledore collapsed into his chair behind his large, oak desk in his lavish office in a tower of his home, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft andWizardry. As Headmaster he had many things to be done involving the teachers and students about the coming week. As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot he had many duties from the assumed fall of Lord Voldemort to deal with. As Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards he should be planning a meeting to debrief the situation in Brittan to the other members from other countries. But Albus Dumbledore was too saddened and depressed by the events of the last two days to even consider standing up. He couldn't even bring himself to care that his deputy Headmistress, Professor McGonagall, was there to see his moment of weakness.

"Albus?" she questioned softly, now, "Isn't there anything we can do?"

Just like him, she had been close to Lily and James Potter in their school days, as their Head of House and teacher. And like him as well, she had kept in touch with them after they graduated roughly three years ago. Both Professors had been practically adopted into the Potter family (made up of mostly friends that were not blood related, but that all sported 'Auntie' or 'Uncle' or 'Cousin' before their names). The deaths of Lily and James had hit both of their former professors quite hard, but the disappearance of the fifteen-month twins was enough to break both their spirits forever.

Albus slowly shook his head. "I don't know what else we can do. As Wizarding children they won't be traceable in the muggle world. Remus had left the country in his grief, and we have the disaster of Black's killing Peter Pettigrew and all those muggles. The poor twins have almost been forgotten by the Ministry now, except as heroes for Voldemort's defeat. The Minister has no inclination to start what he termed 'a search failed from the start'."

"But Albus! We can't just give up!" she was almost pleading- a term never before associated with the stern professor.

"I'm afraid to say Minerva, that's all we can do right now. The Hogwarts Book still lists their names as eventual students, so all we can do is wait until it is time to send their letters. Then we can locate them. Hopefully they'll have the same names wherever they end up…" the last part was said more as a murmur of pondering than a statement to his deputy head. She ignored it and focused on what was said previously.

"But- but Albus!" Minerva protested, "That's not for ten years yet! Who knows what will happen to the poor boys by that point?"

The Headmaster just shook his head, never having felt quite as old as he did at that moment. "We don't have a choice, Minerva. I hate it as much as you, but there's nothing I can do."

And that was the first time that Minerva McGonagall had ever seen Albus Dumbledore admit defeat- the first time he really ever looked human to her. And it wasn't a good feeling to know that he couldn't accomplish something- it really was impossible, in that case.

November 1, 1981- 11:58 pm, 4 miles from the muggle village Ottery St. Catchpole; Devon, England

The mousy-looking, small, and skittish man raced up to the steps of the run-down building. He'd been watching the Dark Lord's attack the day before from the shadows, as a rat. He'd felt that he needed to- why, however, he didn't know. Maybe to make sure it was successful, or maybe because on some level he still cared for the small boys whom Lily and James had loved so much.

But no matter the reason, he'd been watching when his Lord had shot the livid green curse at the red-haired baby, little Matthew Orion Potter, the one that was a mirror image of Lily. He'd also seen the smaller, dark-haired one, Harry James who looked exactly like his father, launch himself in front of his twin and take the full blast of the spell.

And then, despite his disbelief, he'd seen a gold shield form around the twins as Harry glared at the Dark Lord who had tried to hurt his twin. And then Peter Pettigrew had watched as his Lord was defeated and as his future was ruined.

And that was the moment that Peter Pettigrew figured he'd gone insane. Nothing made sense anymore- there was no purpose to anything he was doing, but it all had some hidden meaning.

These two babies- innocent in every possible meaning of the word (except in the case where Harry had used accidental magic to turn Lily's hair lime green. But Peter was convinced Sirius was behind that scheme…)- had ruined his life. And knowing Albus Dumbledore, he'd plan some terrific life for them, and they'd grow up heroes.

Well not if Peter had any say in it. Before anyone could show up (and he knew Sirius would be first on the scene) he'd grabbed the twins and apparated to London. He knew he'd need to get rid of them, but at some point he was going into hiding. He'd need money, and luckily he had access to a muggle bank.

His mind really wasn't making sense to him anymore, but for some reason he knew the twins would need to be separated. They couldn't be happy, after all.

After hiding the twins nearby, he'd been caught by Sirius. He hated what he had to do- he really did. He thought so, anyway, on some level. But he couldn't remember if Sirius was a friend or an enemy. Maybe he shouldn't have spent so much time living a double life…

Sirius didn't deserve to be put in that place- that much Peter remembered. It didn't matter if he cared or not- the fact remained that Sirius hadn't betrayed James or blown up that muggle street. But Peter was never brave- he didn't know how he had ever managed to get into Gryffindor- and Sirius had just set it up so perfectly. It was a ready made plan for Peter, who was thankful that the one time old Padfoot didn't think a plan perfectly through, was the one time it benefited Peter the most.

And Peter didn't want to end up in Azkaban himself. So he left Sirius standing there laughing hysterically at the irony (that Peter was pretty sure he understood even through his crazed mind- 'little Peter, who would've thunk it!') and returned to figure out what to do with the twins.

He wasn't thinking clearly in any way by this point, but he knew that after what they did to the Dark Lord, he didn't want them to grow up in a loving home. They didn't deserve happiness after what they'd done to his future and life.

But he couldn't kill them, because the part of his mind that was still semi-sane recognized them as the little babies who were beautiful and who were so loved by Peter's best friends.

So he'd dropped little Matt- the innocent one who hadn't killed the Dark Lord- off in a nice, well kept, and rather large government Children's Home. The boy hadn't done anything wrong; after all, he didn't need to be punished. Being away from his twin would be enough to satisfy Peter.

But Harry, the evil brat who had killed his Lord, didn't deserve to be taken care of and loved.

So that is how it came to be that on midnight before November second of nineteen eighty-one, Peter Pettigrew dropped little Harry onto the doorstep of the orphanage a few miles outside of Ottery St. Catchpole, before transforming into a rat and scampering away. He knew of a family near here that was fully magical, and even more important, fully Light. He'd hide out there, for a while, waiting for news of his Master coming back. No one would look for a rogue Death Eater in that crowd, and in the meantime he'd have a warm bed and good food.

November 2, 1981- 6:45 am, St. Mary's Children's Home; London

And the next morning, at St. Mary's Children's Home in London, Sister Elizabeth opened the door to fetch the milk and let out a soft exclamation of surprise at the bundle laying innocently on the step. They often found babies left like this, as sad as it was to think about.

Her sound had attracted attention from a coworker. "Elizabeth? What is it?"

"A baby," she murmured as she lifted the bundle. After a thorough search they could find no note, but saw that the little boy was well taken care of, if very hungry, and had a mop of red hair. The doctor proclaimed him fifteen months old with a late July birthday. His name was stitched into the fine quality blanket with the odd, winged, golden balls stitched on, in cold thread. The stitching proclaimed him Matthew Orion. So Matthew Orion was brought into the Home where he was fed, bathed, and introduced to the other children.

An older girl, Rosaline Gibbs, took an instant liking to the boy one year younger, and proclaimed that his birthday would be July thirtieth. Her reasoning was that since they couldn't be sure of when his actually was, he should share the same one as her.

November 5, 1982- 10:00 am, St. Mary's Children's Home; London

A year later when a young couple named Peterson decided to adopt a little girl, they fell in love with three-year-old Rosie. However, she refused to leave the home without Matt.

As she clutched the little redhead to her, the blond pigtails trembled as she shook her head.

"You can't make me leave Matt! He's my brother, and I won't leave him, I WON'T!"

The couple exchanged looks. Anna Peterson had always wanted a large family, but after having her now four-year-old son, William, she was told she was unable to have any more children. Three was a good number, she thought, so she sent her husband a pitiful look.

Truth be told, Richard Peterson had already fallen for the small, redheaded boy. He wouldn't mind another son, and he was sure Will wouldn't, either.

He nodded firmly, feeling joyful as his beloved wife beamed at him. Anna turned back to the two kids as Rich turned to talk to the Sisters. "Welcome to the family, Rosie and Matt," she said, and both smiled as she hugged them.

November 5, 1982- 10:25 am, 'Unnamed' Orphanage; 4 miles from Ottery St. Catchpole; Devon, London

Meanwhile in a little, run-down, dirty, and depressing building outside of a small town in the country, a little two-year old was washing some dirty floors with an even dirtier rag.

The old woman who'd found him the morning of November 2, 1981, Matilda, had been disgusted that a baby was left at her orphanage. Babies couldn't work to earn their keep like the older children, and she seemed to take this unfortunate and uncontrollable fact out on the poor boy the moment he was old enough to walk without tripping (which was at two years, and now he had been working for quite a few months). His nice-quality blanket, unknowingly to him identical to one that was still being slept with by another two-year-old in London, proclaimed him Harry James. He'd been allowed to keep the blanket because Matilda didn't think she'd get any money for it.

Now Harry was forced to clean, cook breakfast, tend the few scrawny chickens, and was expected to keep up with the older children, lest he get yet another beating from Matilda. Those were daily now, as he had trouble keeping up with the chores list. Many of the older kids also would beat him, taking out their frustrations and angers on someone unable to retaliate. And then they would also dump their extra chores on him, knowing that Matilda wouldn't care.

The little boy's only comfort from his miserable existence was at night, from a presence he was pretty sure was imaginary because he knew that magic didn't exist, and his nighttime visitor would have to know magic for it to be real. But Matilda had made sure to tell the younger children about the lack of existence of magic, as she 'didn't tolerate such rubbish!'

And yet Harry James knew that either he was loony, or some sort of magic existed. Because when he would cry himself to sleep at night, on the flat mattress stuck in a broom closet, he'd feel a softness envelope him, and hear a murmuring in his mind calming him.

And then it would be gone the next morning. He associated this feeling with a little boy with red hair, though he didn't know why. He thought maybe it was something from his life before the orphanage. He didn't know, but he was thankful to whatever it was. That was the only reason he eventually cried himself to sleep at night, and without the slight sleep he had, there was no way the little boy would be able to complete even a fraction of the chores he was expected to.

This presence was the only thing that kept him sane and from giving up hope over the years. Even as he grew to be much to mature, understanding, and bitter for his young age, some part of him remained a hopeful little boy, thanks to his guardian angel.

So it continued in this fashion for several years; one little boy becoming a beloved sibling and son, and the other becoming a slave to a vicious old woman, as unknown to both a school full of Professors counted down the days, months, and years until they could find the Potter twins and bring them to safety, at last.