Summary:

After Dumbledore left little Harry on the doorsteps of the Dursley's house, he expected him to live with his mother's family in the next ten years. However, someone will change the boy's fate and raise him to become the most powerful wizard instead. How will the Wizarding world react when they soon find out the Boy-Who-Lived had gone missing all this time? What will they do?

And who on earth is Hadrian Black?

This is a twisted version of the HP Sorcerer's Stone plot.
Unbetaed: Don't like don't read. We all die like men.
Update is every Friday.

Notes:

I am back.
This time, as a Drarry fanfic fan.
I know I may receive a lot of negative comments and warnings from this work but I don't care. You can report it or take it down for all the hell you want but my sole purpose is just to see how this story will look like when posted on this platform. To those who will support it, thank you in advance but to those who won't, well, screw you all.

Prelude:

"Albus… do you think it is wise to leave the boy with these people?" Professor McGonagall was in hysterics when she noticed the silver-haired wizard holding a bundle of soft blankets in his arms was about to lay it in front of Number four Privet Drive's doorstep. "Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. They are the worst sort of muggles you can imagine. They really are –"

"The only family he has." Dumbledore interjected firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain to him everything when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" McGonagall repeated faintly, sitting back down the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand! He'll be famous – a legend – I wouldn't be surprised if today will be known as 'Harry Potter' day in the future. There will be books written about the boy. Every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn every boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk. Famous for something he won't even remember. He's far better off away from all of that."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and eventually, she conceded, "yes – yes. You are right, of course."

Hagrid, the half-giant man who brought the boy in from Godric's Hollow blurted, "can I – can I say goodbye to him, sir?" He asked. Given permission, he bent his great, shaggy head over little Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Once he's done, he turned around and stood behind them bawling like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" Professor McGonagall hissed. "You'll wake the muggles!"

"S – sorry." Hagrid took a large, spotted handkerchief the size of a tent and buried his face in it. "I just – just can' stand it. Lily an' James dead – an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles –"

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

"Well," said the old wizard finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and 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 onto the flying motorcycle he used to bring the boy in and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore mused, nodding to her. The severe-looking woman blew her nose in reply.

He turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver put-outer. Dumbledore clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped into the streetlamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange back to how it used to before they arrived. He could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. All that was left was the bundle of blankets on the step of Number four.

"Good luck, Harry Potter," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky. One would think whatever happened here a few moments ago would be the last thing this place would witness in silence, but no. Something even more astonishing is about to happen.

Once everything went back into place, a hooded figure suddenly appeared behind the bushes. One could not make out of his features because his dark ebony cloak covered him from his head down to his limbs. Although it is most certain that this stranger is a man, because the moment he stood in front of Number Four's doorstep, eyeing the little boy beneath the blankets fast asleep with one small hand clutching the letter the three wizards had left for him, he muttered, "the only family he has, they said. Far way better off from all these, they said. Hah!" He huffed, picking up the kid. "Blundering hypocrites. They think they know better. Who on their right minds would ever leave a poor child out in the cold, eh? Dimwitted Bastards!"

The little guy wiggled in his arms but didn't twitch. So, the man calmed down and eyed him with those pair of cobalt blue eyes adoringly. With a loving gaze, he whispered to the boy, "you deserve more than this, my love. Not after all what lies ahead of you. Come, I'd rather take you with me. We shall depart before anyone sees us." He stood up and pulled something out of his robes what looked like a wand. He made a flick of it and swished, and something that glowed came out of it. Finally, after giving his surrounding one last glance, he stepped back into the night. Plain and out of sight.

On the other side of the country, a group of people are meeting in secret, holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices – "To Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived!"