Potions and Lions

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Sadly.

Summary: In 1976 Lily Evans gave birth to Severus Snape's child. Nearly 20 years later Neal Evans grows tired of Dumbledore's efforts to keep him a secret from Harry Potter and Severus Snape and decides to take matters into his own hands by applying to study for his missed N.E.W.T.s at Hogwarts.

Chapter 1 - Not Quite Potter

A loud crack echoed through the desert park on Magnolia Road as tall boy appeared out of thin air by the closed gate. Neal Evans was sure he had been thinking really hard about Magnolia Crescent, Little Whinging before apparating to his destination... but judging by the mostly green landscape around, not hard enough.

Shrugging he turned to his left decided to find a street sign and maybe a person for directions.

Twenty minutes and a lovely old lady later Neal had found Magnolia Crescent to the right from the road he landed, a street full of identical square houses with almost unnaturally well kept lawns. He didn't think they could have made all of them more alike had they tried and if someone told him the gardener was a gifted wizard or witch in need of therapy he wouldn't doubt them for a second.

Despite the easy find of Magnolia Crescente it was an incredibly hard task finding the alleyway Mrs. Figg indicated on the directions sent to Neal. He wasn't even sure why Dumbledore, the ever manipulative old man, had decided it was a good idea sending him to the same neighborhood Harry Potter lived just so he could floo to Hogwarts. It was probably the old coot's last attempt to make him mess up somehow.

Finally entering the narrow alleyway and crossing to Wisteria Walk without further incidents - like ending up on Privet Drive by accident, for instance - was a relief. Today was the final negotiation day before he would be officially accepted into Hogwarts' 6th and 7th year, if he messed up after all the judicial battle he went through to get this chance Neal would never forgive himself.

He was in front of number 3 considering the merits of being early for his appointed time for fireplace use when he heard it.

"Hey, Potter! Did they give you a haircut in St. Brutus?"

Neal tensed and instinctively gripped his wand on the front pocket of his trousers. This definitely wasn't supposed to happen, he thought while slipping his wand inside his sleeve before turning to face what he supposed were either Harry Potter's muggle friends wanting to catch up after a school year or Death Eaters who would try killing him in the next five minutes.

"Did they break your glasses before shoving you in a cell?"

"Poor, Pottikins!"

Maybe not friends. Not Death Eaters either, unless Voldemort's followers were a bunch of high school bullies and if that were the case the Ministry of Magic would only need to call their mothers and tell what spooky things their sons were up to. Would that make Voldemort nothing more than a frustrated teenager?

Shaking these thought from his head Neal stared at the blond boy who seemed to be the leader of this gang. The look on the boy's face told him he wasn't enjoying this like his friend, but didn't have the guts to stop them without being mocked. Things would be much easier if Voldemort was a blond teen who started to build muscles before losing all his fat.

"I'm sorry, but I think you have mistaken me for somebody else."

Which was a understatement, he was mistaken for Harry Potter. Harry Potter. Somewhere on the back of his mind he felt elated, but truthly he knew he and the boy-who-lived didn't look very much alike if put side-by-side. He could see exactly where the similarities started and ended…

The first news he had about Harry Potter was in 1991 when his adoptive mother had one day come home from Diagon Alley with a smile on her face. She had seen Harry, she told in response to Neal's inquisitive gaze, 'He looks just like James, but he has Lily's eyes,' she said, 'just like yours.'

But that description of Harry Potter wasn't entirely right either, Neal thought. He had seen the famous Potter for the first time a little less than two years ago. It had been a photo from the Prophet on a article about the Triwizard Tournament. Neal had magically coloured the Harry Potter on page with the same colour as his own hair and eyes . He was 17 at the time and when he looked at Harry he was thrown back to his four year old body, an adult with messy black hair by his side trying to teach him how to fly.

The next second the entire Daily Prophet was burning on the fireplace. And from there on he had avoided every article about the boy-who-lived until that fateful day the Daily Prophet announced Voldemort's return with Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore on the front cover. The kid wasn't simple a copy of James Potter with Lily's eyes anymore. He had Lily's-

"He isn't Harry," the leader's voice snapped Neal out of his thoughts, "He isn't supposed to arrive until later tonight."

Neal's eyes narrowed. So this blond gang leader wasn't just this neighborhood's bully, he actually knew Harry. He should have guessed, the boy had known straight away he wasn't Potter. This kid probably saw Harry Potter more frequently than the others, which could only mean…

Was this Dudley? His beachball with a hat cousin? The one from the pictures he had seen all over his aunt's house when his mom had insisted they go together visit her sister. He had grown, he noticed with surprise that he hadn't thought about the others on his family, grown and developed almost completely out of the ball shape on his baby photos.

Apparently Dudley's word was final and the three other boys pushed past Neal with their shoulders even though there was plenty of space around him on the street without looking back. Dudley stayed and seemed to be trying hard to say something.

Neal raised an eyebrow and Dudley's mouth seemed to unclog.

"I'm… sorry," the blonde said with difficulty turning a bright shade of red before hurrying after his gang.

That had been a weird experience.

Neal looked at his watch, no need to dwell on the merits of being early anymore. He moved up to number 7 and knocked on the door three times, gave a pause and knocked four more times. He didn't think Death Eaters or any of the light's enemies would knock on the door should they decide to attack, but if a secret knock made people feel better who was he to judge?

He waited for a few minutes awkwardly standing in front of the door. Had he knocked wrong?

Neal was about to knock again when an old lady opened the door with a questioning look on her face.

"Are you Neal Evans?" Neal nodded intimidated, she looked like those crazy old ladies who walk around with an umbrella hitting everyone they don't like, "Well, come in. McGonagall has just firecalled warning me to send you to her office as soon as you arrived."

He followed the old lady in the house and was assaulted with the small of cabbage and mold. He tried not to throw up. He could bet this was Dumbledore's way of showing him how unwelcome he was without being on the same room and outright saying it to his face.

"And you're Mrs. Figg, right?"

"Yes. I assume you know how to go from here? I didn't want to connect my fireplace to the floo network, but Dumbledore asked me to two years ago and I couldn't refuse. But it's still not as big as it should be for flooing, I think you'll need to crouch a little."

They were in front of a fireplace full of cat pictures and crouch a little was making the situation a lot better than what he would need to do.

"It's alright," Neal plastered an educated smile on his face, "What do I need to call?"

"Professor McGonagall's classroom, Hogwarts."

"Classroom? Isn't that a bit-"

"McGonagall told me to say she turns her classroom into an office on summer breaks and you have nothing to worry about. Now go on, boy, you don't want to keep her waiting."

Neal decided to throw the floo powder on the flames while calling for McGonagall's office before getting into the fireplace. Which was a mistake because he couldn't step entirely on the flames but there was no going back so he threw half of his body on the flames and felt himself falling backwards on the connection, he would definitely have a rough landing.

Not that Mrs. Figg knew that when she looked where Neal had flooed himself in the strangest position she had ever seen.

"Those idiotic young wizards," she muttered going back to her kitchen.

...

Professor McGonagall was filing some papers when her fireplace chugged and spit a body through it's green fire. She looked over her glasses to the coughing mess on her carpet before going back to her papers.

"Let me know when you have recovered yourself from this terrible landing, Mr. Evans. Then we can go over your security questions."

A muffled yes was her answer.

There isn't much to say. I'm in the mood to write, but I don't know how long it will take for the next chapter. I don't think this is my best writing, I'm having difficulty developing scenes and I don't know how to solve this, but I'm doing my best for it to be an enjoyable experience for anyone who decides to read. :)