Premise: The beginning of an attempt to write a 'Harry's brother is thought to be the BWL' story. It didn't get very far.
October 31st, 1981 in Godric's Hollow, Wales was a tense night. The residents of the small village looked nervously out their windows, taking note of the ominous clouds rolling across the sky. They were not overly superstitious people, but many of them could not help but feel that something… dangerous lingered nearby on this night when the realms of the living and dead coincided so closely to one another. So they suppressed a shiver and closed their curtains, glad that trick-or-treating was over and done with and their children were safely tucked into bed for the night.
Then, around midnight, an enormous BOOM sent everyone jumping. Men rushed out of their houses barefoot, their wives following just a few steps behind as they threw on slippers and robes. Children sat up in bed, the younger ones crying for their parents and older ones scrambling for their younger siblings, wanting to cry for their parents but struggling to maintain their dignity in the face of their terror. People looked about wildly and quickly spotted the smoke in the distance. It took several moments, but eventually they recalled what lay in that area, the Potter place.
Oh yes, how could they have forgotten? The house was a tiny old lodge, recently renovated for the use of young James Potter, his pretty and intelligent wife, Lily, and those two adorable little boys of theirs, Harry and Harlan. Alarm began to spread through everyone. Some of the men began shouting, running toward the smoke while others ordered their wives inside, telling them to call the fire brigade.
When the men of Godric's Hollow arrived at the Potter home, they were horrified. The front door was blackened and twisted, swung inward in such a manner that it would probably never be able to move back into place again. Many of the window panes were cracked and shattered, and smoke billowed out of them.
The fire brigade lorry rang in the distance, signaling that their arrival was imminent. Still, some of the men approached the house anyway, keeping their heads low and away from the smoke. They shouted for Mr. and Mrs. Potter, sending up silent prayers that the young couple was still alive, as well as their two toddler sons.
Those prayers were answered when the men heard the sound of fast-paced footsteps. Within moments, James Potter appeared, his right arm dangling uselessly at his side and his left arm carefully holding one of his sons close to his body. Lily Potter followed just behind him, her face covered in soot and her eyes shimmering with tears as she carried the other boy.
The lorry arrived then and the fire fighters immediately set to work. Hooking up their hoses, they began to spray water through the windows and over the house, dousing the fire that was beginning to peak out at various spots. Meanwhile, the chief met the Potters and began seeing to their comfort, supported by the local townspeople.
It was then, the men of Godric's Hollow recalled, that things became fuzzy. They recalled the fire being put out and the statements given by the Potters, that of an electrical fire. They remembered that the Potters and the fire brigade left the area quickly, and that the Potters chose to take up residence in another house they had some distance away. There had been nothing suspicious about the incident to suggest foul play, but it had all wrapped up rather quickly. It was discussed among the residents of Godric's Hollow for a time and remembered long after, causing people to shudder just a little if they recalled the ill-boding feelings they'd had earlier that evening.
The Hogs' Head appeared deserted from the outside. The windows were covered, no light peeped out of any of them, and the battered 'Closed' sign hung on the door. Inside, however, the bar room was filled with many people.
The Order of the Phoenix had assembled. Aberforth Dumbledore stood behind his bar, cleaning glasses with a dirty towel methodically, but his blue eyes swept over the room repeatedly, piercing anyone who looked at him. Alastor Moody sat in a corner, watching people in a similar, scowling manner, checking the privacy and security wards around the bar every few minutes. Frank and Alice Longbottom sat at a table, looking thoroughly shaken. Their young son, Neville, was cuddled in his mother's lap. Many of the other members milled about in confusion.
In the center of the chaos, Albus Dumbledore sat with James, Lily, and the Potter twins, listening patiently as the two explained what had occurred at their home in Godric's Hollow. They explained that Sirius Black, James' dearest friend, had not been their Secret Keeprer, as they had led everyone to believe. Instead it was Peter Pettigrew, another childhood friend of James', who was thought to be the perfect decoy. That thought had nearly brought about their deaths, as Peter turned out to be the long-sought spy within the ranks of the Order of the Phoenix and had brought the Dark Lord Voldemort right to their home in Godric's Hollow.
James could only tell Albus that he had dueled Voldemort for a few minutes before being tossed aside and left unconscious on the sitting room floor with his arm broken. Lily, still trembling, told the older wizard of how she had rushed to the nursery where her sons lay sleeping, desperate to get them to safety. She had then found herself trapped there as Voldemort appeared before she could take the twins and leave. He had used his wand to Banish her out of his way when she had refused to move, causing her to hit her head. When she had awoken, however, it had not been to a deathly silence, but to the sound of two screaming babies and the smell of smoke. As she had stumbled to her feet, she had seen the body of Voldemort lying before the large crib containing Harry and Harlan. Lily had shouted for her husband and reached for the twins. She and James had managed to get out as the house had burned around them.
In the silence that reigned after the story finished, Albus leaned back and stroked his beard thoughtfully. Voldemort appeared to be gone, the prophecy fulfilled. Why, then, did he feel so disturbed, like the sword of death still hung over them?
He turned his gaze to the two Potter boys. Harlan sat in his father's lap, fast asleep, while Harry rested in his mother's arms, appearing half-awake, half-asleep. Harry, the older of the two, sported a jagged scar on his forehead that resembled a bolt of lightning. The younger Harlan also sported a scar, a simple, straight slash mark. One of these boys, Albus knew, had stopped Tom Riddle in his tracks when all others before him had failed.
Harry's scar seemed too messy in comparison to Harlan's, he noted. Harlan's scar seemed as though it had been cut with care, perhaps by Tom's wand itself, Albus wondered? Had Tom marked young Harlan with his wand of yew and phoenix feather before attempting to kill him? It fit the circumstances, not to mention the prophecy.
Albus Dumbledore was a humble man, but he also knew he contained a great deal of intelligence and analytical thinking. When he came to a conclusion, it was usual that he was right in it. Unfortunately, when he was wrong, he tended to be wrong on an infinitely large scale. This time, though, he did not consider that possibility. The war was over for the moment, and now everyone could get on with their lives.
Smiling in satisfaction, he reached out and gently swept his fingers over the head of the sleeping Harlan. "My friends," he stated, "I give you Harlan Charles Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived."
Six-year-old Harry Potter bounced excitedly as he waited with his brother Harlan and best friend Neville for his parents to appear. Their class had been assigned to paint a picture of their favorite place today during Art Time. Neville had drawn a place full of flowers, his mum's garden, and Harlan had drawn the field behind their home (leaving out the Quidditch hoops since it was a Muggle class). Harry, however, had painted the library of Potter Manor, where his father worked and managed the family businesses and accounts. His teacher, Miss Rutledge, had praised his work, saying that he was very talented in painting the books and the desk and chairs. Thus, he couldn't wait to show his dad his painting, hoping to give it to him to put on the bulletin board in the library.
Eventually, his dad pulled up in front of the school in the family car. Harry and Neville piled into the back seat while Harlan sat up front with Dad. Harry opened his mouth to tell his dad about his picture, but was beaten to speaking by his brother.
"Dad," Harlan exclaimed loudly, "can I play with my broom when we get home?"
James Potter replied, "Well, I don't know. Did Miss Rutledge give you a homework assignment?"
Harlan wrinkled his nose. "Just some alphabet stuff," he said. "And some number things too."
"Well then, you know the rules. Homework before you can play. Your mother would have a fit otherwise."
Harlan pouted but then changed the subject. Seeing that he would not have a chance to tell his father just then, Harry turned to Neville. The three of them attended the same primary school and everyday, one of Harry's parents would pick the three of them up, allowing Neville to come to their house for an afternoon snack before going home via the Floo to his dad. Neville lived with his dad in one of his family's homes. Harry wasn't sure what had happened to Neville's mum, since neither Neville nor anyone else would talk about her and he had long since stopped asking.
"Nev," Harry said, "I gotta show you this book I found in the library. It's got all these magical plants in it—"
"Harry," James cut in sternly, "you haven't been mentioning magical things at school, have you?"
Harry shook his head. "No, Dad."
"Good, because what's the rule?"
"Magical world is a secret," all three boys recited. They'd been over this so many times.