Now: The Boy Who Lived

Violet – November, 1981

The phone rang shrilly, startling nineteen-year-old Violet Evans into wakefulness.

"Vi! Phone!" her flatmate called, moments later.

Who the bloody hell calls at (she peered blearily at her bedside clock, the alarm not set to ring for another half-hour) half-past six in the morning!? This had better be important, she thought, padding barefoot into the kitchenette, yawning.

"Morning, Karen." Karen glared at her silently and held out the phone before returning to her porridge. Her flatmate was not a morning person, by any stretch of the imagination. "Violet Evans," she identified herself. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Violet? Vi? Is that you? Oh, thank God!"

"T-Tuney?" Violet hadn't heard her older sister sound so hysterical since the day they had found out magic was real.

"Vi – you need to come over. I – I need you to come over today. I need to talk to you."

"Petunia? What's wrong?"

"I-I'll explain when you get here!"

"Tuney, I have to be at work in an hour and a half. Rodgers will fire me if I'm late again." Not that it would be that much of a sacrifice to lose her typing position, except she did rather need the money. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"Call in sick! It's important!"

"But –"

"I'm sending Vernon to pick you up. He'll be there in an hour."

"But, Tuney –"

The dial tone cut her off. Damn it, Petunia!

…

By eight, instead of sitting at her desk at the Law Offices of Dean and Wilson, she was sitting at Petunia's kitchen table, trying not to break down into hysterics herself.

Lily was dead.

Lily was dead, and some bastard of a wizard had just dropped her godson off on Petunia's doorstep like a foundling child in some old story.

Petunia had let her read the note that had been wrapped up in his blankets:

My Dear Vernon and Petunia,

It is my sincerest regret to inform you that your cousin, Lily Potter, and her husband James, were killed last night. I understand that you have not been in communication with the Potters for some time. Lily told me that they had distanced themselves to try to protect you. I don't know how much she told you.

You may know that there is a war going on in Magical Britain. The forces of light and order wish to maintain the current status quo, protecting and welcoming muggleborn witches and wizards, such as your late aunt Matilde Harrison, into our society, while the insurgents value blood purity and see muggleborns as inferior. Their leader, who calls himself Voldemort, wishes to kill off or exile all muggleborns and has been carrying out a terrorism campaign against our government to that effect.

The terrorist Voldemort killed Lily and James personally. Lily enacted a very old, very strong protection on her son as she was killed, essentially sacrificing herself to save the child. It worked. When Voldemort tried to kill Harry, his curse was reflected upon himself, and his body was destroyed. We do not yet know if he is dead, but for now he is defeated.

Unfortunately, he had many followers, and dozens of them are still on the loose and looking for revenge. To protect young Harry, as well as your family, I have enacted wards, based on the protection Lily left her child and your family connection. He must come live with you to ensure that these wards protect you all.

If you should need to contact me, a letter sent to the following address will find me:

Hogwarts, Office of the Headmaster

c/o John Proctor

11 Purley Ln

South Croydon

Greater London

My condolences,

Albus Dumbledore

"I – I can't believe this! Li – Lily… It – We hadn't talked in months, but she – she said she was just busy, with her research work, and Harry, and – and –" she stuttered.

Surprisingly, it was not Petunia, but Vernon who responded.

"S-so it's true, then? This – this wizard rubbish?" he glared impotently at the letter, perhaps understandably more preoccupied by the revelation that his wife was related to a witch than that a girl he had met only a handful of times (and whom he hadn't particularly liked) was dead.

Violet nodded, thinking of the first time she had seen her cousin do magic, making a rose bloom for her on command. Vernon didn't look much like he believed her. She wished she had something she could show – before she even finished the thought, she realized that she did. It was the work of a moment to dig the moving picture out of her wallet – little Harry playing with a toy broom, zipping through the air a foot off the ground. She passed it to the big man without a word. His blustery face went a sort of greyish color in the space of a few seconds, and he had to sit down rather quickly.

"You have to take him, Vi," Petunia insisted. "You're his godmother. Lily wanted you to have him, if anything happened to her."

"I – I – Of course I'll take him – but… it's just so sudden. And work, and oh, good Lord – I'll have to talk to Karen. And what about the – the funeral? Is this – did he really just… just leave you a letter?"

"H-how is this even possible?" Vernon was still staring at the picture, as though it might explode.

"Magic, Vernon!" Petunia snapped, thumping a decanter and a trio of glasses down on the table. "There is no how or why. And yes! That's all we know. Do you… still keep in contact with any of… that lot?" she asked rather hesitantly.

Violet shook her head. Out of the few wizards she had met, none had been much for taking up a correspondence with the curious little cousin of their friend. Severus Snape would probably be the most likely to respond if she were to write him, but she didn't know where he was living, or how to get a message to him without one of those messenger-owls the wizards used. "I guess I could write this Dumbledore character," she suggested, trying very hard to focus on logistics.

Harry needs you to keep it together, she reminded herself. Channel Lily. You can break down later, when all the adult business is sorted.

"What's… what's this bit about us being in danger, Pet?" Vernon asked. He had snatched the letter back while Vi was thinking of whom she might contact in the magical world, and was pouring over it desperately, as though if he read it enough times, the world might start to make sense again.

"Are there… papers, and things? A birth certificate?" Violet asked.

Petunia made an inarticulate noise of frustration. "I don't know, and no, there aren't. I don't even know if he was born in a hospital! Those freaks might have had a – a midwife or something!"

"Tuney!"

"Well, sorry, Vi, but they were!"

"No, they weren't. Just because you didn't like them –"

"'curse reflected… body was destroyed. We do not yet know if he is dead…'" Vernon muttered, cutting her off. "How can they not know if he was dead?! If he hasn't got a body, he's got to be dead, hasn't he?!"

Dudley started crying at his father's loud, angry tone, waking Harry, who immediately asked for his mum, which nearly made Violet start crying as well.

"I'm sorry, Harry, baby… I'm sorry, your parents are gone. They're not coming back. I'm so, so sorry," she whispered, rocking him gently.

"Mum! Mum! Mum! Wa' mum!"

"No, Harry, no mum. No mum."

"What about the Carmichaels?" Petunia asked, soothing her son by shoving a binky into his mouth before doing the same to Harry.

Violet snapped at her – given the choice, she would indulge anger over grief. "If you've any idea how to get in touch with them, feel free to tell me!"

There was a knock on the door, and a young man's voice called into the house: "Hello? Pet? Dursley?"

"In the dining room, Matt!" Petunia called.

Violet glared at her, though she transferred the expression to her twin as soon as he showed his face in the doorway. They had not spoken in months: Petunia had blamed Lily and magic for their parents' deaths; Violet had blamed the people who actually killed them. Matt had sided with Petunia, and was now even more violently outspoken against magic than their older sister.

"Wotcher, 'Tunia, Dursley. What's o – Vi?" he cut himself off.

"Lily's dead," she told him bluntly, explaining her presence and the reason he had been called all at once.

He ran a hand through his hair, pain in his eyes, though he clearly didn't want to admit that he cared. "Blimey." He sat down next to Vernon and reached across the table to snag his twin's untouched drink, downing it in one. "How?"

"Show him the letter, Vernon!" Petunia ordered her husband.

There was a relative silence as he read, the only sound the boys' occasional whimper or babble, quickly hushed.

"So this is… Harry, then?" he asked, slowly.

The women nodded. "Found him on the doorstep this morning," Petunia added.

Matt's expression became resolute. "You have to get rid of him."

"Matthew Fredrick Evans! I am not going to 'get rid of' my godson!" Her arms wrapped around him reflexively, even more tightly. He whimpered.

"You don't know what they can do, Vi! They can track things, people! He'll lead them right to your door! They'll kill you too if you keep him!"

"They will not! The letter says there's a ward – protection!"

"Vi! Listen to reason, would you?"

"Shut the bloody hell up, the both of you!" Vernon roared. The babies were crying again.

Petunia, who had obviously been trying to get their attention said, "Thank you, dear. We need to get in touch with one of the f – them. We need more information, as fast as possible. Vi, sit down." She hadn't realized that she was on her feet and two steps toward the door until her sister spoke. She blushed, but did as she was told. "Mattie, do you have any… contacts? Anyone we could…?"

He shook his head, but said, "This Proctor, in Croydon, he'd have to be one of them, to pass on letters. My two pence'd be to track him down, make him lead you to the other freaks if you want to talk to them so bad. You should just chuck the kid in an orphanage or something, though. I mean – can they even do this? Is it legal to drop a kid off without any papers or anything? Do you even know it's him?"

"Of course it's him!" Violet snapped. "Look at his eyes!"

"They can change how things look, Vi!"

"Oh come off it, you paranoid sod!"

"Children," Petunia said warningly, in a tone that made her sound so much like their mother that Violet did a double-take. Both twins shut up.

"So what?" Vernon asked. "We just… go knock on this bloke's front door, and ask him if he's a… a wizard?"

"Got a better idea?" Matt asked after a moment.

They had to admit, they didn't.

…

Twelve hours, a drive up to Croydon, several 'flue calls', and a trip to the magical bank later, Violet's head was spinning. The old wizard they had talked to – that Albus Dumbledore, who had written the letter – he had been rather upset with Petunia and Vernon for not simply following his instructions to take in the child. Matt had been paranoid about them being forced to do so, or having their memories altered, though the wizard had insisted that he would never do such a thing to a 'muggle'. Violet had demanded that the wizards give her a copy of whatever papers Harry had – a birth certificate, hopefully, or at least something that she could show the government to prove that she had a right to the child – and the wizard had ordered Proctor – the one who owned the house – to take them to Gringott's (a bank of sorts) to see whether Lily had kept a copy of the papers in her vault. The house, apparently, had been largely destroyed, and what was left was a sealed crime scene.

Violet had started crying at the reminder that Lily was dead, and when they (Proctor, Petunia, Vernon, Matt, her, and Harry, but not Dudley, who had been left safely in the care of the Dursleys' neighbor) had finally reached the bank, Vernon had nearly had a heart attack when faced with its employees – goblins.

He and Petunia had left very quickly, demanding that Proctor take them back to the normal world. Matt stayed to guard Violet against the creatures, though all he really did was make a huge fuss when they demanded a drop of blood from both Harry and herself to verify that they were who they said they were, and authorize access to Lily's vault. He made a show (when they were done) of burning the scraps of bloodied parchment with his pocket lighter so that they couldn't do anything else with it. What 'anything else' might have been, Violet had no idea, but the goblins seemed vaguely amused by his paranoia, rather than offended, so she didn't object.

After what seemed like an awfully long wait, the creatures delivered a heavy, old-fashioned folder containing, among other things, a much longer and more informative letter to Violet – practically a novella, at forty-eight hand-written pages – and Harry (Henry James) Potter's papers, both the ones she would have expected and a few obviously magical ones she wouldn't have known to look for. The letter started with: 'If you're reading this, Vi, then I am dead, and Harry has been placed in your care. There are a few things you will need to know, about the war and about my world, which I have never been at liberty to discuss…' and ended with 'I'm sorry to have to ask this of you, and I cannot, and will never be able to thank you enough for agreeing to do it. All my love to you and Harry – Lily'

The folder also contained a deed and a key to a fully-furnished three-bedroom house in Kensington, and a very fancy-looking document which apparently authorized Harry's guardian a monthly allowance from the Potter Trust Vault to take care of the boy. Violet carefully shuffled that to the bottom of the pile. She understood that the Potters had had money, and that James had wanted his son taken care of, as much as Lily had, but she wasn't in a good state to think about the fact that that allowance was more than her salary at the moment. And they had given her a bloody house. Well, Harry, technically, but still!

The only thing was, she would have to move in there immediately, according to the letter. The house was protected – warded, Lily said – against tracking spells (apparently Matt hadn't been paranoid about those) and scrying, and all manner of other wizardly nonsense that Violet hadn't understood. The only wizard who ought to be able to find her there was Severus Snape, and, Lily noted, she doubted he would be a frequent visitor. She was to trust no other wizards, including Albus Dumbledore, whom Lily referred to as a meddling old goat.

Violet almost started crying again, the relief was so great when she realized that the biggest logistical problems of her taking on Harry's guardianship had already been taken care of – including the ones she hadn't known were going to be problematic. Until Harry received his letter from Hogwarts at eleven, they both could have a relatively normal life – certainly a better life than she had had, growing up, as far as the money went. And they didn't need to worry about terrorists attacking them or magic (except the accidental sort, maybe) or work or anything.

If Lily hadn't had to die to bring the situation about, it would have been perfect.

Long after Harry was bedded down for the night, Violet collapsed onto her new sofa, the pages of the file scattered about her as she read through the letter yet again. Tears blotted the messy calligraphy as she tried to come to terms with the new reality of her life.

Tell Harry what you think he needs to know of this, when you think he's old enough to understand. I trust you, Vi. I know you'll do right by my little boy. He will have to return to my world eventually, but until he does, I know you'll keep him safe and give him a loving home, just as your parents once did for me…

Then: The Lost Girl

Jenny – July, 1961

"Please, Mrs. Evans," Jenny said, staring at the bright-eyed babe in the other woman's arms. "I know she's family to you, but… she's bound to be a witch – she will have to join my world, Matilde's world, eventually. Think how many advantages she would have, growing up surrounded by magic! And it would be much easier for you, too, not having to deal with accidental magic."

Mary Evans, nee Harrison, frowned. "Mrs. Carmichael, you have to understand, Lily has become a part of our family over the past year. Petunia would be devastated if –"

Jenny cut her off. "Imagine how Petunia will feel when her little sister shows signs of a power she will never experience, when she gets whisked off into a land of fairy stories and castles and magic that Petunia will never see." She took a deep breath and prepared to be ruthless. "It's only been nine months; I can still remove the memory charms Matilde placed on Petunia and your husband. Your daughter is five, Mrs. Evans. She will adjust much better to losing her sister now than she would if Irene was slowly pulled away from her in ten years. I'm begging you, let me end the lie now, rather than drag it out to become far more painful years down the line."

Mary was crying, now, and Irene – Lily – was looking at her with concern, reaching for the tears on her face as she hugged her close. Jenny waited patiently for the older woman to reach a decision, peeking in on Petunia and Geoffrey, her elder son, in the meanwhile. They were still playing quietly in the living room. Nicolas, only six months old, had been left at home in the care of the Carmichael elves. She stood in the doorway to the kitchen, watching the children and hoping that Mary would decide to do the right thing, and let Jenny take custody of Irene. When she heard the sound of the muggle clearing her nose, she turned back.

"Lily," she said, her voice strained. "Lily is the last piece of Matilde I have left."

Jenny was fairly certain she felt her heart break a little, at that. "She was like a sister to me, too, Mrs. Evans… Mary."

"Would – would you bring her back to visit?" she asked with a sniff, and Jenny knew she had won.

"Of course I would," she assured the older woman. "Every holiday, if you like."

Mary nodded. "I – just don't let her forget us. We're family – it took far too long for me to find Matilde again, after, well… you know about our parents?"

Jenny nodded. The Harrisons had been the worst sort of muggles, chucking their witch daughter out for the 'sin' of having magic.

"It seems like Matilde and I had only just re-connected, and then I thought she had died, and now she's gone again," she explained thickly, more tear threatening to fall.

Jenny nodded again. It seemed she was always bringing bad news to Mary Evans – first that her sister was missing and dead, and then, only a year and a half later (after it turned out that she had died on the operating table and been resuscitated by muggle medicine) that she was functionally comatose and unlikely ever to recover. And now she was trying to take back the child Mary had gone out of her way to make a part of her family.

But she was certain it was the best thing for Irene. She had almost talked herself into allowing the child to remain with her muggle family – had almost convinced herself that it would be fine for Irene to grow up ignorant of her magical heritage, and join the magical world at age eleven, like any muggleborn – like her mother and Jenny herself had done. But she hadn't quite managed it, and so here she was.

"Okay," Mary sniffled, stepping closer and passing the year-old infant across to her.

"Okay?"

Now it was Mary's turn to nod. Jenny gave her the most understanding smile she could muster.

"Okay, then. If you don't mind keeping Geoff and Irene occupied for a bit, I'll reverse the charms on Petunia – let her think that her cousin is going to live with her father's relatives, now."

"Is she? Are you? Do you know who her father is?" Mary asked suddenly.

Jenny grimaced. "No. There are ways to find out, though, and believe me, if it is at all possible, he will be held accountable for his actions."

"What do you mean?"

"You – she didn't tell you?" the witch answered awkwardly.

"Tell me what?"

"Oh… well… Irene was conceived in… the attack. The one that left her in hospital." Please don't make me elaborate, she hoped desperately.

Thankfully Mary seemed to understand. "O-oh. No. She – she didn't say." They stared at each other awkwardly for a long moment, before the muggle broke the silence. "I'll just, um… go get Petunia, then." She held out her hands for Irene, and disappeared into the living room. Petunia returned in her place a moment later.

"Hi, Mrs. Carmichael. Mummy said you wanted to talk to me!" she said brightly, taking a seat at the table.

"I suppose I did," she sighed, and pointed her wand at the child. "Dormire!"

It was so much easier to modify memories when the subject was asleep.