STEALING THUNDER

Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

4/16
AN: Edited some parts of this chapter. I really underestimated how bad this was written. Did some change for Chapter 2 as well but mostly just correcting inconsistencies and small stuff.

"HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED DEFEATED!"

"THE POTTERS' FINAL ACT OF SACRIFICE"

"HARRY POTTER: THE BOY-WHO-LIVED"

Macmillan Manor, Berkshire, England

The sound of hooting owls was heard throughout the house. It was as if the owls themselves were in a mad frenzy themselves, as were most of Wizarding Britain that day. The morning of November 1st, 1981, the day when the most infamous and arguably worst Dark Lord in the history of wizards, the self-proclaimed Lord Voldemort was defeated just the night before on the eve of Samhain, All Hallows Eve, or perhaps Halloween, as most muggles would refer it to.

But of course, this so-called 'defeat' of the Dark Lord didn't just magically bring happiness and an eternal happy ending for all of the witches and wizards of Wizarding Britain, no. Unbeknownst to most, the same morning of the celebration, the thread of fate lingered on as it spun another tangle of it. Sirius Black, a Hogwarts graduate, and known best friend of the late James Potter was apprehended by Aurors force for 'betraying' the Potters as the right-hand man of the Dark Lord Voldemort, as well as cruelly killing another of their best friend, the wizard Peter Pettigrew. But of course, it wasn't like anyone knew the better, for the secret would stay for many, many years.

For the Macmillans, the morning started as usual, with worries and fears slowly creeping into their heart and mind as another day of uncertainty arrived. The ruling lord of the time, Lord Gerald Macmillan was a wizard in his prime, just 31 years of age. He took the mantle of the lordship when his father died of Dragon Pox nearly a decade before. He was a tall man, with blonde hair and brown eyes, his presence commanding and demanding respect just as his own father had groomed and taught him during his childhood.

Gerald walked through the hallway of his manor, his posture steady and calm. He kept chanting the same words he had been repeating for too many times to count anymore, "I must be strong. I am the face of the family and I have to be strong." He must be strong for his family, and Gerald was no stranger to tragedy. For his life had been well acquainted with the concept of death since he was only a 5-year-old. He always resolved himself to his strength. That was his duty, his burden to shoulder, and his responsibility to his father's last wishes. "My time is not long for this world, my son. You have to be strong. You are the legacy of our ancestors, of our family. I will always mourn not being there for you, especially in your childhood, I was not a good father, and nor am I now. But I do not ask you this to forgive me. Come what may, you have to be strong. Our house stands tall and proud, as it had been for years, and as it will and shall be for more."

Soon, he reached the dining room and approached the table, noticing that it was still empty and devoid of life. He grabbed ahold of a seat on the dining table and pulled it out, before proceeding to sit down and grab the first newspaper that had been delivered by the mad cahooting owls earlier. But before he managed to take a hold of the newspaper, his blonde-haired wife came in a rush, she had teary eyes, and trails of tears could be seen on her cheeks, and she sported a somewhat relieved(?) smile on her face.

Lord Gerald's wife was the Lady Elizabeth Macmillan, born of House Abbott. Lady Elizabeth herself hadn't been the healthiest for the past year, not after the birth of their second child, Ernest Macmillan just a year ago. Ernest himself had been a very healthy child, but also unusually quiet. He suspected that the child had seeped and absorbed the melancholy from the serious grieving and worry that he and his wife had projected for this past year.

A year ago, during one of their visits to the St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, they had been caught in the middle of a Death Eaters raid. His first son, Darius was struck by a stray and unidentified spell and because of that, had been in a coma ever since. His wife had been distraught and distressed since the accident, and it sure didn't help that she was pregnant at the time. When she gave birth to Ernest, he had thought that his wife wouldn't be able to make it, judging from how pale she looked at that time. But thankfully, Ernest, their second born, had grown without much problem. Well, except for the overbearing attention from his mother, but he himself understood, especially since their first son's fate was still hanging in question, no sane parent would neglect another chance and a newborn, at that.

Gerald himself was never coddled overbearingly by his parents. After all, his mother had passed away when he was just one and a half-year-old from the birth process of his brother. And so he had grown up with just his father as a parental figure. And his father was certainly not the most vocal and emotionally active person he knew. No, instead his own father was quite cold and distant. Although Gerald was sure that his father did love him, he had a different way of showing it, as he preferred to compliment him silently instead, caring little for words and gestures.

As he saw his wife in tears like that, many thoughts raced immediately to his brain,

'Was it Darius?' 'What happened to him?'

He had also been worried for his wife, even if they weren't madly in love or something since their betrothal had been set ever since they were just 12, or was it 13?. But they had reached some sort of understanding between them and had chosen to stay loyal to each other despite their match not being a love match. And now their mutual love for their sons was also a huge helping factor in their marriage.

"It's Darius!" cried his wife, happily.

"What, what happened to him?" asked him back, he was unsure on how he should react, especially when his mind was still uncertain whether it would turn out to be a piece of news he'd like to hear or not.

"He's awake! He's really awake this time!" answered Elizabeth with a full-blown smile.

Unknowingly, a smile unconsciously crept into his face too, "That, t-that is great news! Great news, indeed!" replied him back.

"Well, what are we waiting for? I want to see my son."

The two of them reached upstairs in no time, seemingly dashing in a rush just to climb all the way to the stairhead. And sure, his 4-year-old son was there, eyes wide awake. If he didn't know any better, he was sure that the boy was assessing him, as if questioning and searching for something. He called on his house-elf, and immediately a 'Pop!' was heard from somewhere inside the room. It was Mimi.

"Mimi, please bring the bag from Healer Aubrey." to which the house-elf just answered excitedly and popped back out and in no time.

She returned with a medical treatment that Healer Aubrey had said to give Darius when he finally woke up. Meanwhile, during his whole interaction with Mimi, it seemed that his son was surprised and shocked at seeing the house-elf if the bulging eyes were any indication. He just laughed quietly, it was a relief to see his son acting as a child befitting of his age, instead of sleeping way morbidly when in reality he was unconscious as he had been for a year.

Little did he know, however, that his son was far from a 'child befitting of his age.' But all Gerald could see on the 4-year-old was nothing but relief for himself, now that his son was secure, and that House Macmillan had two heirs.

A few minutes later, his wife had left the room with the purpose of quickly drafting some letters to inform the others and some relatives of the happy news. Meanwhile, Gerald was left alone in the room, along with his firstborn. The child was no doubt, a Macmillan, for the dirty blond hair was a dead giveaway, not to mention the honey brown eyes, now that he thought about that, were also kind of golden, or was it just amber? Was it possible? He had never known a Macmillan with golden eyes, mostly were brown just like his, and his wife's family was all about the light-blond hair and azure blue eyes. 'Ah, perhaps it was just kind of a mutation of the genes,' he mused. After all, years of marrying outside the family must have created some kind of new genes or at least, forcing them to evolve.

His lip was pulled upward, and he gave a kind of a quirked smile seeing his son staring wide-eyed at him. 'He will be great, I know it.'

Gerald was never a strong believer of fate or destiny, no, he wasn't one of the beliefs that someone's life was set in stone. But now, looking at the child in front of him, he had just known that Darius was destined for something great. For his son had defied all odds. After all, the many healers and health consultants they had hired for the past year, all said nearly the same thing, that the chance was slim, and that it would need nothing short of a miracle. But this, now! It was proof that his house was truly blessed.

But sadly, life wasn't that simple. He might be happy now that his son truly lived, but the thought of Death Eaters still running amok didn't sit quite well for him. And it was a truly worrying thought, for considering the bloodbath that was the British Wizarding War, or perhaps The Blood War would be more correct, had raged Britain for nearly a decade. The ministry might have tried their best, but the fact that they owed their continued survival until now to Albus Dumbledore and his own campaign against the Dark Lord spoke volumes of the condition and prospect of the Wizarding Britain. Gerald himself wasn't a wizard much inclined to dueling or such activities, no, he was always the political one, the one with charisma and goodwill and the ability to charm the others. His brother, on the other hand, was the wilder one, the free-spirited. 'Perhaps it's time to remedy that. Time for a change.'

While Gerald was lost in thoughts, many thoughts were actually racing on his son's head, not that Gerald knew. The boy was opening and closing his mouth repeatedly, as if he was trying to say something but decided not to at the very last moment before changing his mind yet again, and so on. The Lord was then brought out from his musings when he noticed his son trying to rise from the bed that his little body was currently staying on.

He walked closer, taking a step or two, and scooped the boy out of the bed, opting to hold him in his arms, close to his chest. The boy seemed to be resisting as he was trying his best to abuse Gerald's sternum to let him go. He gave a quick barking laugh at his son's attempt to resist his hold. Ah, maybe he wasn't meant to be that kind of father, he thought.

He put his son back in the bed and took out his wand before he started to transfigure the edges of the bed into holdings to create that akin of a crib but for a bigger child instead. He failed, however, to hold back a laugh at his son's seemingly disbelieving stare, his eyes were so wide that they looked like they'd come out. He didn't know if he was more amused or worried seeing his son's reactions to his magic.

Strange, that. His son should've been comfortable around such things considering he'd practically been raised with magic ever since he was an infant. His laugh quickly turned into a frown and he called out Mimi again to look after his son for a while. He strode out of the room, intent on finding his wife. Meanwhile, he had forgotten completely of the newspapers laying on the dining table. And it wasn't until his own house-elf told him that he would finally find out about the news.

The first day of November, the year 1981. The day was the greatest day ever for the Macmillan household. The threat of a Dark Lord that had been looming over Britain for more than a decade was over, and a miracle had also happened in his son's recovery after a year of uncertainty. What a joyous day it was, mused the Lord of the House.

What the actual f* is happening? I was in a child body, a freaking child. This lady was crying tears of joy and just rushed out of the room. The next thing I knew, HOLY SHIT, IS THAT A FREAKING HOUSE-ELF!? Oh my God, this can't be true. This was just one big joke that life was playing on me again. I was in the middle of an existential crisis when suddenly, this man that I presumed as the father of this body whipped out a wand, an actual magic wand, and transformed my bed into a crib. Holy shit, there's no denying, it was straight out of the Harry Potter world.

A week. It had been a week after the joyous celebration for the household of the Macmillan Manor, Relatives had been coming in and out of the manor itself, celebrating the happy news of the young Macmillan heir. For the young heir himself though, the week hadn't been as joyous as it was for the others. No, his days were barraged with confusions and a million thoughts were running all over his mind, his head felt as if it was scrambled from the inside, his brain no doubt had failed to comprehend the level of thinking that was far from suitable for a brain of a 4-year-old.

On the bright side, people seemed to have enough common sense in them not to badger the young boy too much as he was 'recovering' heavily from his year-long time spent in illness, during which the fate of the house had hung on a knife's edge. Also luckily for him, or unluckily according to some circumstances, the body he was currently in was indeed actually recovering from the illness, so he wasn't forced to pretend and do much since the cover of his body being too fragile to actually do things was enough while his mind went ablaze with all the realizations and procrastinations.

Darius knew all too well what he could expect, after all, he wasn't an avid fan of Harry Potter for nothing. He had memorized and even fantasized about the circumstance he currently was in. Still, it didn't make it much easier as he had to deal with the reality of his new identity. That now, he was no longer Darius McCarthy, an 18-year-old average boy just coming out of his awkward puberty phase, he was Darius Macmillan, 4-year-old, pureblood heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Macmillan, one of the Sacred 28 in the Wizarding Britain. And it certainly was one hell of a moment when he learned his current identity.

When he learned that he was reincarnated as a pureblood heir, he supposed that there were indeed certain advantages, for some, if he was a muggle-born, it would take time to notice his magic and he might be caught unaware until the time he was 11, being a pureblood also meant more sources for learning, he knew that some of the pureblood trained their children early, no doubt for rivalry and showing just how so mighty their house was. And he supposed that to be the heir to a family like this one, the Macmillan, wasn't actually that bad.

From what little he knew of the family and its history from canon, a Macmillan, Melania, was it? married Arcturus Black and gave birth to Orion Black and thus she was also the grandmother of the famous Sirius and Regulus Black. The Macmillan was also one of the traditionally light, or perhaps more to the neutral side of a family, certainly no pureblood extremists so he wasn't forced to grow up with his parents spewing bullshits about pureblood supremacy or something like that, but still proud and pureblood enough as one of the Sacred 28.

He also knew that there was a Macmillan among the canon cast, Ernie Macmillan, who was a Hufflepuff was one of the believers that Harry was the Slytherin Heir during the events of the Chamber of Secret, but was later a part of the Dumbledore's Army if his memory was correct. Not long after that, he had also realized that he was now the older brother of said character when his mother had said to him, "Oh my little Darius, I'm so happy that you're fine now. My baby boys will be fine, you'll love your brother Ernie, won't you? I have no doubt you will be a great brother, my dear".

He was 4-year-old and it seemed that the war had just ended, so he had estimated that he would enter Hogwarts in 1989 since they had said he had missed his birthday for two weeks, so he was born in October. That's actually kind of nice, he would be in Hogwarts alongside some recognizable faces at least, from the Gryffindor house, he remembered the Weasley Twins, Lee Jordan, and Angelina Johnson. And there's also Cedric Diggory from Hufflepuff, the Hogwarts Tri-Wizard Champion who was, or will be? the first victim of the Second War.

And speaking of houses, he had figured that the Macmillans were traditionally sorted into Hufflepuffs, deduced from the various tidbits he had picked up from the adults conversing with each other, Until now, Darius was still continuously thinking, organizing his mind and plans for his future as a wizard, as an heir to a prominent house, that would grow smack-dab amidst all the chaos that was Hogwarts and Harry Potter.

Darius also hadn't forgotten about home, yes he was an orphan and his uncle had tried to raise him as best as he could, no matter how cold and aloof the guy was, he still had a few precious people from his homeworld, the world where 11-year-old doesn't wield a magic wand and power to levitate things. Although for some reasons, perhaps some shit divine interventions, he wasn't all that clear about the memories from the world back home. He remembered growing up, making a few friends, and finally graduating from high school. He remembered his love for cinema, for books, and for fantasy. But it seems that his actual 'personal' memories were kind of suppressed. He remembered Raphael, his best friend from kindergarten until high school, the socially awkward, lazy genius that he was. Or Sasha, who was his closest friend, no matter how much she liked to meddle in his personal issues.

Darius didn't grow up with the best or complete familial love, his parents were killed in a car accident when he was just 3, from then, his father's brother had raised him alone, even if the man was getting more rarely at home as he grew up. He certainly remembered about the shit that was the Covid-19 pandemic that was going on in his home, and how it forced what was supposed to be the pinnacle of his teenage years into a boring and meaningless time at home. He remembered the big things, he remembered his bonds, but all of them felt suppressed. Like he remembered he shared happiness and close things with his friends but struggled to actually remember how that happiness felt. It was as if he only knew the way his life had been, not how he actually lived his life. Now that he really thought about it, his memory of the Harry Potter world was also not as clear as he'd like it to be, sure he remembered all the books and their main plot, but he was sure that there were things missing from his memories, though no matter how hard he tried, he failed to recall those things.

As he mused about these things, however, he suddenly realized that he was not alone as the door to his room was opened. His 'mother' came alongside someone he didn't recognize. He hadn't been paying that much attention to his visitors, but he did know that among the visitors were his uncle Henry, his father's younger and only sibling, the man seemed to be a good enough of a person since he wasn't one of the serious types, instead opting to joke around, a typical fun uncle, he supposed. The rest of the visitors were various pureblood families, second cousin, or third cousin which he couldn't care less, but he did learn that a few of them were also Macmillans, which must've meant that there were some sort of cadet branches of the house.

The person who entered the room alongside his mother looked like a male version of his mother, but only slightly different. Both had sandy blond, bright hair and both of them had a rounded face accompanied by a sharp nose. He deduced that this must be his mother's brother or something, another uncle, perhaps?

Quickly leaving his thoughts, he reverted back to appearing all nice and quiet, back to playing the perfect 4-year-old.

"Hello, Darius. This is your uncle, Daven, he was my brother, and he also has a son your age! A cousin!" introduced his mother.

"Hello, nephew," his uncle quickly followed and greeted him with a warm smile.

He was forced to look up and mumbled a quick "Hi," and not too long after some basic and boring introduction, his mother and uncle were back in their own conversation. For God's sake, or whatever deity was there, Darius hated being a toddler even if people were now talking nice about him, gushing about how adorable and cute he was, but still, a freakin' 4-year-old!

Lineage

Edward Macmillan (b.1922 - d. 1971) m. Renee Fawley (b.1923 - d. 1955)

1. Gerald Macmillan (b.1950) m. Elizabeth Abbott (b.1952)

1) Darius Macmillan (b.1977)

2) Ernest Macmillan (b.1980)

2. Henry Macmillan (b.1954)