A/N: This is my first ever fic, so please be understanding in your criticism.

Lord Voldemort stepped over the threshold of the Potter cottage. He threw the black haired man against the wall with a casual flick of his wand. The auburn haired witch had time to point her wand at him before she suffered the same fate.

Voldemort cast a simple search spell and located two babies upstairs. He stepped over the unconscious forms as he walked towards the stairs. He'd kill them on his way out. Thwarting the prophecy took precedence.

A few moments later he stepped into a cheerful little room. Voldemort couldn't help but sneer at the zebras, giraffes, and other animals painted on the walls. He set aside his distaste as he moved over towards the crib. He looked down at the children inside, mildly surprised. Pettigrew hadn't mentioned that there had been twins. He would have to punish him later. A cruel smile crossed his lips at the thought.

He raised his wand and pointed it at the children. One of them blinked open its eyes and looked right at him. Voldemort paused, curious as to how the child would react. It blinked at him again before looking down at his wand. It frowned a little before looking at where the wand was pointed. The frown deepened when it saw that it was pointed at its twin.

Voldemort sneered as the baby crawled between his wand and the other child. It looked at him defiantly, as though daring him to attack. Well, why wouldn't he dare?

"Avada kedavra!"

Pain like nothing Voldemort had ever experienced ripped through him, along with a deep sense of shock. He could feel his body crumbling from the backlash of an avada kedavra gone wrong. He could feel his soul being torn apart and cast out of his disintegrating body. But what had gone wrong? What could possibly have gone wrong?!

As Voldemort's soul was catapulted from the house, the twins began to cry. A few minutes later, James Potter staggered into the room with his wand in hand, looking around wildly for Voldemort. When he was certain there was no immediate threat he rushed over to the crib. What he found there shocked him.

One of the babies, Daniel, had a scar on his forehead that looked remarkably like eihwaz, the rune of protection and perseverance. James blinked at them, baffled at why Voldemort would carve runes on them instead of killing them like he'd been dreading. He quickly cast a spell to play back what had happened in the room during the last thirty minutes. He watched in shock as one of the twins - he couldn't tell which - protected the other. His shock only deepened when Voldemort was blasted apart by his own curse rebounding.

James turned to look at the two children. He didn't know for certain which one had caused Voldemort's curse to rebound, yet he couldn't help but believe that it was Daniel, since Daniel was the one with the rune of protection on his forehead. As he hugged the two boys to his chest, he wondered why the curse would cause a rune to appear on Daniel's forehead.

Daniel started to cry. James clutched him to his chest tighter, letting Harry slip to the floor. Nearly ten minutes later, Lily Potter came crashing up the stairs, wand in hand. She looked frantically around the room, then her eyes locked on James Potter and their two sons. She dashed over, picking up Harry and looking him over before focusing her attention on Daniel.

"What happened to him?" She asked after taking a look at his forehead.

"I used videre praeterita, but it was distorted, probably from all the magic. All I could see was that Voldemort filling a killing curse at Daniel. It rebounded and hit Voldemort himself, seemingly obliterating him!"

"But that… How is that possible?" She whispered.

"I have no idea," James said frankly. "I was hoping Dumbledore might. I sent him a message. Hopefully he'll arrive soon."

But it was nearly two hours later before Dumbledore arrived. He looked exhausted and worn.

"Ah, ah. Good, I'm glad you're all alright." Dumbledore gratefully collapsed into a chair at James' gestured invitation. "My apologies for the wait. After receiving your message I thought it prudent to act against Voldemort's followers before they had a chance to recover from the shock of Voldemort's disappearance."

"So he really is gone then?" Lily asked quickly.

Dumbledore sighed. "It certainly appears so. I find it hard to believe that Voldemort could die so suddenly. Yet that's exactly what seems to have happened. The dark mark has faded on his followers, becoming little more than a smudge on their arms. The blood magic he worked on his inner circle has lost its power, making it far easier to capture them than I initially expected. But most damningly, dozens of Ministry workers have been freed from the imperius curse. Any one of these things wouldn't be enough for me to call Voldemort dead, but all of them together along with what you've told me? I simply don't see an alternative."

James gestured down at the twins. "But what about our boys?" His voice was pleading. Begging Dumbledore to confirm that there was nothing wrong with either of them.

Dumbledore pulled out his wand and waved it at the twins, mumbling several different spells as he did so. He closed his eyes for a moment, processing what he had learned. Then he nodded at Daniel.

"Daniel was certainly the one hit by the avada kedavra. The traces of it linger in the cut on his forehead." Dumbledore paused as he considered Harry.

"Harry is different. He was certainly struck by horribly dark magic, but I must confess that I have no idea what it is. Only that it has to do with the mind and soul. If I didn't know better, I'd say that it tried to possess him and was fought off by his magic. But if Voldemort truly did cast a possession spell, Harry here wouldn't have stood a chance. Therefore I'm stumped as to what it is."

Both James and Lily were looking terrified. After a minute of them all staring at Harry, James spoke up.

"What should we do?"

Dumbledore frowned. "Well, we should certainly seal the dark magic in Harry. We should also take Daniel to St. Mungo's to get the traces of the avada kedavra removed."

"What will sealing the dark magic do to him?"

"Well," Dumbledore's shoulders slumped slightly, "It will likely turn him into a squib."

James and Lily both jerked. "A squib!" Lily shouted, face turning red. "You want to turn our son into a squib!"

Dumbledore gave her a mildly reproachful look that caused her to wilt and her anger to evaporate. "The dark magic must be sealed for the simple reason that I have no idea what it does and therefore must assume that it's something terrible. But the problem with that is that it had already attempted to infect his magic. As I said, if I didn't know better, I'd say that it tried and failed to possess him. But whatever it was actually trying to do, it became intertwined with his magic. Therefore sealing the dark magic without sealing Harry's magic will be nearly impossible. I'll naturally try my best and ask a few associates for help, but you need to know that it's almost certain that Harry will be turned into a squib by the process."

Lily buried her face in her hands and started crying. James wrapped his arms around her as tears fell down his own face. Dumbledore pursed his lips slightly as he watched them. A touch of legilimency told him precisely why they were crying. They were concerned about their son and sorry for the future he could have had if this night had never occurred. But more than that, they were horrified by the idea of their son being a squib. Because it was such a shameful, horrible thing. He'd thought better of them, especially Lily.

He shook his head and stood up. "I'd like to take Harry with me. I'll contact my associates immediately and we'll attempt to seal the dark magic. The sooner we do it, the better his chances of keeping his magic."

Their eyes widened simultaneously and James, who had been holding Harry, quickly passed him over to Dumbledore. Dumbledore held the child gently, smiling sadly down at him.

The next several weeks passed in a blur. The grip the death eaters had on Magical Britain was shattered. The whole nation, and much of the continent, celebrated. Daniel Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was made into an icon. His vast natural reserves of magical power, his display of accidental magic at the tender age of one and a half, and the rune on his forehead only added to his legend.

Meanwhile, Dumbledore split his time between studying Harry in order to design a ritual to seal the dark magic and doing his best to repair the damage Voldemort and his death eaters had caused Magical Britain at large. After about two and a half weeks, Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel showed up, along with Mad-Eye Moody and Gilderoy Lockhart, who'd made quite a name for himself in recent times, in order to help Dumbledore with the ritual to seal the dark magic.

"So, what exactly are we dealing with Dumbledore?" Moody asked gruffly.

"I can say with almost total certainty that it is a piece of a soul," Dumbledore said gravely.

Nicolas' eyes widened in shock, while Perenelle's head snapped up from the notes of the ritual. "What kind of soul magic was used?" She asked urgently.

Dumbledore frowned. "I can't be certain. I myself never did much research into the magic of souls. Most of what I know I learnt over the last several weeks. However, I'm currently considering the idea of horcrux magic. Although why Voldemort would turn Harry into a horcrux is beyond me."

Perenelle frowned, while Nicolas looked slightly lost. He'd done almost no serious study of soul magic. Everyone jerked as Lockhart spoke up.

"I believe I might know a thing or two about horcruxes." Everybody stared at the youngest wizard in the room. Gilderoy shifted uncomfortably. His expression, usually so buoyant and carefree, was looking serious and pale. "I ran across a horcrux in Egypt. Just a year after I graduated. I didn't know what it was when I first found it; just that it was the darkest magic I'd ever felt. It took me almost four years to figure out what it was and how to destroy it."

Lockhart paused, frowning at the memory. "Horcruxes are containers for soul fragments that a dark wizard has split from the main part of his soul." Lockhart ignored the horrified looks as he plowed on.

"That gives them nearly the same level of invulnerability that a soul has. As such, only fiendfyre, basilisk venom, or phoenix tears can destroy a horcrux. The first two are so destructive that they are capable of breaking the container of the soul fragment despite it being fortified by the soul fragment. And phoenix tears are full of such perfectly pure magic that they counter the dark magic binding the soul fragment to the container, thus freeing the soul fragment from the container. After being freed, it will assumedly rejoin the dark wizard it came from."

"But what's the point of it?" Nicolas burst out. He looked appalled at the knowledge he'd just gained. "Why would anybody do something as horrible, as stupid, as splitting their soul?!"

"Well," Lockhart said delicately, "I believe the goal of horcruxes is to give immortality. At the very least, it was for that purpose that Herpo the Foul invented them. The idea is that they act as anchors to this plane of existence for the main part of the dark wizard's soul. However, given that I found the horcrux of a very obviously dead Egyptian wizard, it stands to reason that whatever form of immortality they grant has flaws."

"That makes things simple then," Moody grunted. "Just sprinkle the boy with tears from that phoenix Dumbledore keeps."

Lockhart frowned. "I'm not sure that will work, Moody."

"Why not? Didn't you just say that phoenix tears counter the dark magic?"

"For inanimate containers. Harry here is alive. Everything I read about horcruxes focused on using inanimate objects as the containers. Whenever living containers were mentioned, it was to say that making them was a bad idea since the normal rules of horcruxes were essentially thrown out the window." Gilderoy sighed as he looked as the child sleeping in the crib. "Now, I'm not saying we shouldn't try phoenix tears. It's certainly possible they'll work. It's just that we shouldn't get our hopes up."

Dumbledore gave a weary sigh. "Well, best to get on with it, no matter the outcome. Perenelle, Lockhart, would you please go through the ritual and check for any errors? Moody, if you'd be so kind as to examine Harry and check my findings? And Nicolas, would you check the arithmancy and runes for the ritual? I'll get phoenix tears, if Fawkes would be so kind as to offer them."

Moody grunted. "He'd better. A child's life depends on it."

"We'll get right to it," Nicolas said, giving Moody a pointed look. The auror scowled and took a swig from his hip flask before shuffling over to the baby and pulling out his wand.

Dumbledore returned half an hour later with a small flask of glittering, sparkling liquid. Perenelle and Lockhart were still debating certain parts of the diagram. Or rather, Perenelle bounced her ideas off Lockhart. Brilliant as he was, he simply couldn't match the experience the five hundred year old woman had in the field. Nicolas had just finished checking the arithmancy and runes. There had only been a few minor mistakes in the runes. If you could even call them that, since the only problem would be that the ritual would cost a little extra magic. Moody had long since finished checking Harry and was looking annoyed in a corner.

Lockhart looked eagerly at Dumbledore as he entered. "You have the tears?"

"I do."

Moody grunted. "Took you long enough."

"That's enough Moody," Nicolas said placating. "It isn't easy for a phoenix to give his or her tears. They're more than just liquid. They're the purest form of healing magic given form. It's exhausting to the phoenix to make them and they're never given lightly, for they irrevocably change a witch or wizard touched by them.

Lockhart looked over, surprised. "Irrevocably changed? I've never heard of that."

Perenelle chuckled. "Few have. Nicolas only knows since he experimented with phoenix tears a while back."

Nicolas smiled fondly. "I was trying to create a more permanent form of immortality than the stone grants. Failing that, I wanted to find a way to manufacture phoenix tears. But alas, both were impossible. However, I did find that phoenix tears give a person permanent minor healing powers and some control over fire of any sort, even cursed fires like fiendfyre. It also allows a phoenix to speak to them directly, although the connection is one way and very rudimentary."

Dumbledore nodded. "That last one is certainly true. Fawkes once used his tears to save me from an alchemy experiment gone wrong. Afterwards, he's been able to send his thoughts to me. Although he's only able to send simple sentences with up to four words. He mostly sticks to sending me emotions."

"This is all very interesting, but I think we should try to use the damn tears instead of waxing eloquent about them for the next ten years," Moody snarked.

Nicolas sighed. "Moody, would it kill you to be polite?"

"Yes."

Perenelle smiled at Moody. It was a dangerous smile that made the auror distinctly uneasy.

"Be polite," She commanded. Nicolas chuckled as the auror nodded instinctively before realizing what he was doing and scowling.

Dumbledore smiled as he walked over to Harry. "Lockhart, is there any specific way we should do this?"

Lockhart shook his head. "I don't know. I suppose sprinkle some on him and have him ingest the rest?"

"I would suggest half being ingested and half injected into his bloodstream directly," Nicolas interjected. "Sprinkling any on him would be a waste. Better to inject it directly into the blood."

Dumbledore nodded. He pulled the cork out of the bottle and poured half of it down Harry's throat, using magic to make sure he swallowed without wasting any. He then turned the bottle into a syringe and gently pricked a vein and injected the phoenix tears. All five of them watched and waited. Lockhart unconsciously held his breath.

Absolutely nothing happened.

"What are we waiting for?" Moody asked.

"Anything, I suppose," Perenelle said.

"Does this mean we have to use the ritual?" Lockhart asked.

Dumbledore looked like he'd aged ten years all in a moment. "Yes," he said solemnly. "I believe it does."

Nicolas patted him on the back. "This has to be done Dumbledore. Better to live without magic than to die as a baby."

Dumbledore nodded jerkily, but tears were appearing at the corners of his eyes. He was condemning this child to a life without the wonders of magic. He would never be able to see Hogwarts, never fly on a broom, never experience the wonderful joy of casting spells and watching the world bend to his will. He rubbed at his eyes and sighed.

"Shall we then?" His voice came out slightly hoarse.

The others nodded and they set up the ritual. Three hours later the horcrux, along with the magic of Hadrian James Potter, was sealed away.

After the other four left, Dumbledore stayed there. He couldn't stop an aching feeling in his heart as he looked at the child. He vowed to himself then and there to research soul magic more thoroughly. He would find a way to destroy horcruxes and similar magics without harming the living container. He swore it on his very magic.

Half an hour later, Dumbledore arrived at the Potter manor. He gave the Potters back their son, telling them that he'd been unable to save the boy's magic. He hadn't missed the clenched jaws, but despite his misgivings, he knew the Potters would raise the boy well. He was their son after all, and they weren't bad people. Even if they disliked having a squib son.

But unknown to Dumbledore, the Potters were determined not to have a squib son. At least, not one that anybody knew about. Thus, they gave him away to Vernon and Petunia Dursley, telling them that Harry had been born without magic and thus belonged in the muggle world. The Dursleys had grudgingly accepted the boy, but vowed to watch him closely.

Unfortunately, Harry was not born without magic. In fact, he'd been born with a rather incredible amount of magic. And no seal concocted in a few weeks could hold it back for very long.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Four Years Later * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

"Boy! Get down here and clean the kitchen!" Vernon Dursley roared.

The five year old Harry jumped off his bed, where he'd been sitting, and towards the stairs. His uncle was liable to knock him around if he took too long to follow orders. That or he wouldn't be given food the rest of the day.

As he got to the top of the stairs, his sneering cousin stuck out a foot to trip him. With a scream of terror, Harry toppled down the stairs. His nose slammed into the first stair, crunching in a way that would have been horribly disconcerting if Harry hadn't already been preoccupied with falling the rest of the way down the stairs. He fell and fell and fell. It seemed like both forever and a single instant before he hit the floor hard enough to snap his right forearm. He let out another scream of pain as it happened before sinking into blissful unconsciousness.

Uncle Vernon poked his head out of the kitchen as Aunt Petunia ran out of the living room where she'd been watching a soap opera. Dudley was wide-eyed at the top of the stairs. He hadn't quite realized just how horrible a fall down the stairs could be.

"Quick, Vernon. Call somebody!" Aunt Petunia was almost hysterical as she ran over to Harry's side. She didn't dare touch him in case she hurt him worse, but was terrified to just leave him there. Then she froze as her breath caught in her throat. Harry's arm was mending. Slowly but surely, the bone was moving back into place. The swelling was receding and the purplish bruises were fading. Even his crushed nose was repairing itself.

"Vernon," She whispered in horror. Then, louder, "Vernon! Don't call anybody!"

The sound of Uncle Vernon's frantic shouting subsided and he stuck his head back out the kitchen doorway with a corded phone pressed against his ear. His eyes widened in shock as he looked at Harry. He quickly muttered apologies to the person on the other end, saying things like "False alarm" and "So sorry". Then he rounded on Aunt Petunia.

"I thought your sister said he didn't have it! That he was normal!" He hissed. His face was turning red as he looked at Harry. A scar had formed on the skin where his broken bone had punched through, but that was the only sign he'd ever been hurt. He was just lying there, sleeping peacefully.

"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! They're not right! We can't raise one of them around Dudley!"

"I know, I know," Aunt Petunia hissed. "But I don't know how to contact my sister. They don't have a phone. They communicate with each other using those foul owls."

Uncle Vernon scowled down at Harry. "Then we'll have to stamp it out of him."

Aunt Petunia gave the boy a nervous look. "I'll try to get ahold of my sister. It will be better if I can. But you're right of course. If we can't give him back, we'll just have to get rid of the magic in him. We can't have him doing anything. Anything at all."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Nearly Six Years Later * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Harry quietly sat in his cupboard, thinking. It was all he ever did, really. Think and meditate. He was currently thinking about magic. He glanced down at his hand and a faint smile crossed his lips. He concentrated and a small flame appeared, dancing and flickering between his fingers. He let the fire disappear and the cupboard was pitch black once more. He'd only recently figured that trick out.

Harry grimaced as he pushed at the cupboard door. Normally around this time he'd go raid the kitchen for some food, but his aunt had locked him in for the night. His punishment for 'accidentally' setting a snake on his cousin.

He grinned at the memory. It hadn't been one of the smartest things he'd done recently, but he had no regrets. Besides, after he'd accidentally vanished the glass he figured setting the snake on Dudley wouldn't do that much more damage. He'd have been locked up either way. But he probably could have avoided the beating if he hadn't asked the snake to attack Dudley. Still, beatings didn't really bother him. It's not like any of the damage was permanent. Well, there were scars, but he didn't really care about those. And the pain only lasted until the injuries healed themselves, which never took long.

He sighed as he closed his eyes and started meditating. He wasn't tired. Drawing on whatever energy fueled his fire always energized and refreshed him. He quickly entered his mindscape. Or so he'd named the world inside his mind. He wasn't sure what else to call it.

He smiled as he looked at the world he'd made. It was a beautiful forest with a small river forming a series of waterfalls over rocks. It had been his pet project for the last few years, ever since he'd first entered his mindscape. In here he was happy. He was safe. He glanced at the crumbling castle off in the distance and frowned. Mostly safe.

The decrepit looking castle had clearly been impressive at one point, but was in total disrepair. Harry had tried to explore the strange place when he'd first entered his mindscape, but strange, terrifying monsters had tried to attack him. He'd had to run for his life. When the creatures tried to follow him out of the castle, they'd slammed into some sort of barrier and been forced back. Harry had never tried to enter the castle again. He didn't know what the barrier was, and he didn't want to see if anything in the castle was able to break through it.

He'd tried creating creatures of his own to protect his forest in the same way, but had only met with limited success. He'd managed to create a few types of birds, but animals were hard to form for some reason.

Harry was startled out of his mindscape at the sound of knocking. He looked around his cupboard, confused and a little disoriented from the sound. The knocking at the front door came again and he heard his uncle shouting in irritation.

"Who's knocking in the middle of the night!"

There was a brief pause. Then, knock, knock.

Harry heard his uncle give a wordless roar of frustration before he came pounding down the stairs. He held his breath and hunched his shoulders instinctively as his furious uncle thumped by his cupboard. He heard his uncle unlock the door and jerk it open.

"Who the ruddy he-" Uncle Vernon seemed to choke on his words.

"Good evening Mr. Dursley. I recently came across a rather alarmingly addressed envelope and thought I should personally investigate."

"Wha- What are you- Who are you?!" Uncle Vernon whispered in a hoarse voice that Harry had to strain to hear.

"My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, and Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry gave a quiet gasp at the admission. Uncle Vernon made a squeaking noise, like a mouse being stepped on.

"You see Mr. Dursley, you have a wizard living in your house who has been accepted to Hogwarts. There's a spell that we use to find the exact address of those who have been accepted to Hogwarts. It's very, very precise so that there will never be any mistakes made." Dumbledore's voice had gain a hard edge to it. "I couldn't believe my eyes when I saw that Hadrian James Potter was living in a cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive!"

Uncle Vernon began stammering some sort of defense, but Dumbledore cut him off. "I don't want to hear your excuses. Bring me to Harry."

Harry heard Uncle Vernon take in a sharp breath and imagined him swelling up like a bullfrog. "He's not going to your ruddy school! We swore when we found out about his- his freakishness- that we'd stamp it out of him! That we'd make him normal!"

Harry heard a heavy thump, then soft footsteps. There was a clicking noise at his cupboard door, then the door slowly opened. An old man with a long white beard wearing flowing silver robes. A slightly horrified expression appeared on his face as he took in the tiny cupboard. There was a bed, a half full water cup, and a threadbare blanket. Spider webs dominated the far end of the cupboard.

"Oh Harry," He whispered. "What have they done to you?"