J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter


Chapter One

Laura had not even begun to wonder why her son was out so late when the doorbell rang, and she still thought about whatever nothings she had previously been thinking of as she made her way to answer it. Opening the door, however, a scene greeted her which dispelled those thoughts at once, and left her with nothing to do but shriek. This she did, impressively, then gasped, "Mark! What- what-..."

Her son stood in the doorway, his face bloody. His trousers were torn, he leaned unsteadily on the arm of the teenager supporting him, and he appeared semiconscious.

"Paul!" she called, recovering herself slightly, but her husband was already taking the steps three at a time, halting at the door, taking his son from the other boy, lifting him into his still-powerful arms, carrying him to the living room couch, and directing their older son, David, to bring a wet towel and some ice. This rush of action left Laura rather at a loss, and, reluctant to disturb her husband, who was after all a trained paramedic, she focused instead on the boy still in the doorway, whom she only now recognized as someone everyone in the neighborhood knew, but to whom few had ever spoken.

"You're that- that Potter boy, aren't you?" Her voice steadying now, was turning sharp.

"Er- yes," he replied, seemingly taken aback by her tone, which she immediately regretted. The unpleasant rumors about the boy that had always circled the neighborhood did not lessen the fact that he had helped Mark home, and in any case she had long felt that the Dursleys' various claims about their nephew were somewhat odd and that there was something more to the story.

"Excuse me," she continued instead. "Won't you come in?" The Potter boy entered her house somewhat hesitantly, Laura noted, and she wondered whether he had ever been inside any house in Little Whinging but his own.

"He'll be fine, Laura," came Paul's voice as she closed the door and began to lead the way to the living room. "It's just a nosebleed and some bad bruises."

"Thank God," she whispered, sagging into the loveseat.

"David, please get your mother a cup of tea," Paul said, as he extended his hand to their guest. "You're Harry Potter, aren't you? I'm Paul Evans. What happened to my son?" Laura glanced at Mark, who was now sleeping.

"My cousin," the Potter boy replied, with more than a little disgust in his voice. Paul looked bewildered, but only for a moment.

"Dudley Dursley will be the ruin of this neighborhood. Did you see him do it?"

"He and his friends were walking away just as I turned the corner," the Potter boy said. "I wish I'd have got there in time to stop them," he added, which Laura found slightly ridiculous, as the Potter boy was small and skinny - no match at all for his boxing champion cousin.

"You're no match for that gang," Paul said, echoing her thoughts. "It's more than enough that you were able to bring him home." They watched Mark in silence for a few moments. David returned with a glass of tea, handed it to Laura, then watched Mark with them.

Eventually Paul looked around and said to the boy quietly, "Well, thanks again for taking care of Mark. I don't want to think what would have been if you hadn't been there. You'd better get home, though. It is getting quite late." Paul walked the boy to the door, shook his hand again, ushered him out, and closed the door behind him. He did not turn back to the living room, but remained standing with his hand on the doorknob.

"Paul?" Laura said tentatively. "Are you all right?" Her husband shook himself slightly, and let go of the knob.

"Yes, yes, I'll be fine. That was a bit of a shock, wasn't it? I'll get Mark up to bed." Without looking once at Laura, Paul strode over to the couch, lifted his son again, and left the room.

David flopped onto the loveseat next to her, and she hugged him to her. For once, the fifteen-year-old did not protest. "Mark will be fine, right?" he asked.

"I trust your father's judgement," she said, as though she was entirely unworried. "He's been doing this since his Army days."

"I guess." They lapsed into silence once again. The summer air that had drifted through the window all evening was finally beginning to cool, but Laura found she could not appreciate it.