Just some information:

I made this specifically for people who enjoy Harry Potter. I was going to do reader insert but that sounded too complicated for my plan I have.

If you are homophobic don't read this. Since I'm going to use my OC character Kyla, she's going to like girls instead of boys.

Also it's based of the movies and books. So some parts will be cut. Hope you enjoy!

I own nothing and nobody but Kyla.

G/R/H/S/G/R/H/S/G/R/H/S

Potter Twins and the Sorcerers Stone

Chapter 1

The Twins Who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly , thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blond with nearly twice the usual amount of a neck, which came on very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursley's had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy any where.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear wad someone would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potter's. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they haven't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shudder to think what the neighbors would say of the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potter's had twins, a boy and a girl, but they had never ever seen them. The twins was another good reason for keeping the Potters away, they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like that.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed ad he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of the noticed a large, tawney owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his breifcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street he noticed something peculiar — a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't relize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no, looking at the sign; cat's couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward the town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But at the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you'd saw on young people! He supposed this was some new stupid fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of those weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt — these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He's forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next tot gege baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them then, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard — "

" — yes, their twins, Harry and Kyla — "

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought the better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his offuce,snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking. . . . . . no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had twins called Harry and Kyla. Come to think of it, he wadn't even sure his neice and nephew were called Kyla and Harry. He'd never even seen them. It might have been Harvey and Kirsten. Or Harold and Kassie. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at the metion of her sister.

He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that. . . . . but all the same, those people in cloaks. . . . . He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o' clock, he was till so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry." he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds bedorw Mr. Dursley relized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upaet at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made the passerby stare,

" Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You- Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw — and it didn't improve hihis mood — was the tabby cat he'd spotted this morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around it's eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this not normal cat behavior? Mr Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself inside the house. He was determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley learned a new word ( "Won't!" ). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to watch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nations owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of the these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern."

The newscaster allowed himself a grin.

"Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight Jim?"

"Well Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaphs people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it's not umtil next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters. . . . .

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously.

"Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

As he suspected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today. . . . ."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, I just thought. . . mabye. . . . it was something to do with. . . . you know. . . . her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared to tell her he'd heard the name "Potter". He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could,

" Their twins — they'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"What's their names again? Howard and Kirsty, isn't it?"

"Harry and Kyla. Nasty, common names, if you asked me."

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs for bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into.the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did. . . . . if it got out that they were related to a pair of — well, he didn't think he could bear it.

The Dursleys got ininto bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursly lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thiught before he fell asleep was thateven if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind. . . . He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — ic coukdn't affect them. . . .

How very wrong he was.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showning no signs of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and it's eyes narrowed.

Nithing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and vety old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seen to relize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots were unwelcome. He was buay rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still ataring at him from the other end of the street. For aome reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered,

"I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put- Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it was gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather server-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day." said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way over here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's been celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news."

She jerked her head back at the Dursley's dark living room window.

"I heard it. Flocks of owls. . . . shooting stars. . . Well, they're not completely stupid. Thet were bound to notice something. Shooting stars in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense "

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently, " We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritability. " But there's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothing, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as if hoping he was going to tell him something, but he didn't so she went on,

" A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore, " We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

" A lemon drop. There a Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

"No, thank you." said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the time for lemon drops. " As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone-"

"My dear professor, surely a sensibly person like yourself can call him by his name. All this You-Know-Who nonsense - for eleven years I have been trying to persuade to call him by his proper name: Voldemort."

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice.

"It gets all confusing if we say You-Know-Who. I have never seen any reason to be frighten of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall with half exasperated, half admired. "But your different. Everyone knows your the only one You-Know, oh all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me." Dumbledore said calmly. " Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because your to noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madame Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said,

"The owls are nothing next to the rumors flying around. You know what they are saying? About why he dissapeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed Professor McGonagall had reaches a point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither cat or as a woman she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing as she did now. It wa splain that whatever "everyone was saying", she was not going to belive until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

" What they're saying," she pressed on, " is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hallow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that James and Lily are — are -- that they're -- dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

" Lily and James. . . . I can't belive it. . . . I didn't want to belive it . . . . Oh, Albus. . ."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder, " I know. . . . I know." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she continued,

" That's not all. Their saying he tried to kill the Potter's children, Harry and Kyla. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill the two twins. No one knows why, or how, but their saying he couldn't kill the Potter twins, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true?" faltered McGonagall, "After all he's done. . . . all the people he's killed. . . . he couldn't kill two children? It's just astonishing. . . . of all the things that would stop him. . . . but how in the name of heaven did they survive?"

"We can only guess, " said Dumbledore, " "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said,

"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes." said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why your here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring the twins to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."

"You don't mean -- you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't! I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets! Harry and Kyla Potter live here?"

"It is the best place for them." said Dumbledore firmly, looking very serious over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It will be enough yo turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk or talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that till their ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and said,

"Yes-Yes, your right, of course. But how is the boy and girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though as though she thought he might be hiding the twins underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing them"

"You think it's — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life." said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly. "but you can't pretend he's not careless."

"He does tend to — what is that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they looked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride in it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and five times as wide. He looked, simply, to big to be allowed, and just a wild — long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash-can lids, and his in leather boots were the size of baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding two bundles of blankets.

"Hagrid." said Dumbledore, sounding relived. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it Professor Dumbledore, sir, " said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke, "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got the twins sir."

"No promblems, were there?"

"No sir, -- house was almost destroyed, but I got them alright before the Muggles started swarmin' around. Harry fell asleep while flying over Bristol."

"And Kyla?"

"Still awake, sir. Started laughing at the clouds."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the first bundle if blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Besides the boy, in another bundle, layed a girl, smiling up at them and giggling.

Under a tuff of jet -black hair over Harry's forehead, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt if lightning. The same cut rested on Kyla's right eye, though she could still see clearly.

"Is that where - ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore, " They'll have those scars forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well -- give them here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his left arm, while steadying Kyla with his right and turned towards the Dursley's house.

"Could I - could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him, what must have been a very scratchy, whispery kiss before turning to little Kyla. He gave her the same kiss as her brother, when she grabbed his beard and planted her own little lips on his beard, giving him a kiss. Suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles."

"S-So-Sorry," sobbed Hagrid, removing Kyla's fingers from his beard, "But I c-c-can't stand it! Lily and James dead -- and poor little Harry and Kyla off to live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself Hagrid, or else we'll all be found." Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagris gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid rhe twins down gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," Dumbledore said, finally, " that's that. We habe no business staying here. Let's go join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose itself into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said nodding to her, Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets at the steps of number four.

" Goodluck Harry, good luck Kyla." he murmered. He turned on his heel and at the swish if his cloak, he was gone.

G/R/H/S/G/R/H/S/G/R/H/S

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you'd expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up and reach one chubby arm to hug his twin sister, like he would always do. Kyla yawned and snuggled closer to her brother reaching over and grabbing the letter that he was also still holding. Not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken up in a few hours time, by Mrs. Dursley scream as she openes the front door to put the milk bottles out, nor that they would be prodded by Dudley over the next couple weeks. They wouldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voice,

" To Harry and Kyla Potter -- the twins who lived!"

G/R/H/S/G/R/H/S/G/R/H/S

Okay, that took forever to write.

I hope you all enjoy this, the updates will be slow though.

I need some help with the love interest parts -- I'm thinking Luna should be the love interest, or I could just add another OC.

If you think it should be someone else, please leave their name in the comments.

Thank you for reading!!