Author's Note: To old readers, I have made some changes to this story that I think will be beneficial to the overall plot. The entire story has been written out now but is still going some edits before I finish uploading it. To new readers, welcome to the beginning. I hope you enjoy.

Chapter One: Ten Years Ago

"This story isn't that story."

Chapman's Clean & Bright Laundromat was neither clean nor bright. It was a small, murky place with five washing machines and two dryers in one of the many impecunious neighborhoods of Detroit, Michigan. The machines had no coin slots and the sparse customer who stopped by had to pay upfront with the cashier. That's to say, if the cashier happened to be awake because Mason Chapman, cashier and owner, was a drunk with a terrible habit of falling asleep in the middle of his sentences.

He was deep in these said sleeps when the front door swung open, allowing a wind of icy wind to sweep inside with ferocious furry. The bells attached to the door gave a lazy ring, but Chapman, who had his head resting on the cash box and was drooling unto the counter top, only snorted mid-snore and turned his cheek to the other side, his half open mouth revealing a black hole of decaying teeth.

"'S closed," he mumbled, not bothering to open his eyes.

One could hardly blame him for turning away the incomer. Not only was it well past midnight, but the weatherman on the television had been warning everyone to stay indoors for a week now, and the predicted blizzard had all but engulfed the entirety of the eastern coast. These were not times to be about for any reason, laundry in need of washing not being at all the exception.

The incomer, however, did not bother with the drunk man's protests. The pair of emerald green eyes had immediately found the child sleeping on a pile of dirty bed sheets by the broken down vending machine. He made his way and squatted over the boy, allowing a loud breath of relief when the child's chest gave a comfortable rise. The thin blanket he was under was definitely not qualified against the cold of the room, but his health did not seem in any immediate danger.

The man stood himself back up. "Chapman, wake up."

He had never met the man before but he was certain this was who had signed the message that had been delivered to him only a few nights ago. When Chapman did not stir, the man pulled out a long from his robes with a swish, sprouted out an indigo string of light that plopped open the cash box, hitting Chapman on the face.

Chapman's head rattled, he cursed, and reached underneath the counter where he surely had a weapon hidden but then the old man caught sight of the infamous lightning bolt scar, and his hand quickly abandoned his initial plan of attack. "Mr. Harry Potter, sir. I was not expecting you."

"You wrote for me."

Harry's response was dry but, in truth, he had hoped his arrival would come as a surprise. He hadn't even discussed his visit with his best friends, Ron and Hermione Granger-Weasley, so determined was he to come into the country completely unexpected.

He had, however, done extensive research on the man he was now staring down.

Mason Chapman was a squib born in a town near York. Both of his parents had also been squibs and had kept very little in touch with their wizarding relatives. The entire family had relocated first to Canada and then to the United States during the first Wizarding World.

The Chapmans had arrived in the United States during a period of time when wizards and squibs co-existed in almost seamless manner. Mason Chapman Sr. had invested well, thrived as a real estate agent, serving both muggles and wizards, and when he and his wife both passed away a few weeks after their son's twenty-first birthday, he inherited his son a good number of high-producing properties they had acquired throughout his career.

Mason Chapman lived an opulent lifestyle following his parent's death. He spent heavily on gambling and even more heavily on drinking. By the time he had turned thirty, he had lost most of what his parents had left him.

It was in that period of his life that Chapman somehow had found employment with Lewis Rousell and his family, a man of great wealth who had just arrived from England. That employment, like all of Chapman's employment, had not lasted very long, and Harry was struggling to understand how that small connection could have possibly led Chapman having custody of that man's grandson.

"I would have gladly gone to you," Chapman slurred, his tone both sheepish and somehow insulting underneath the praise. "A man of such great responsibility didn't have to bother himself coming all this-"

"You would not have allowed a step inside of England without being detained, you know that."

Chapman scowled. "I'm a born Englishman just as good as-"

"-with a long list of criminal offenses."

Chapman smiled sheepishly. "Small offenses. Most of them made the officers laugh."

Harry couldn't see how Chapman's public displays of indecencies could have made anyone laugh, but that was not what he was here to argue today. "What do you want from me?"

"Well," started Chapman, apparently having enough decency to pretend embarrassment but not enough to sugarcoat his demands. "I believe the amount we discussed is more than fair enough. It's a large amount, to be sure, but for a wizard of your caliber, I'm sure-"

"Let me rephrase," said Harry sharply. "What could I want from you?"

Chapman looked at the boy and then back at Harry. He looked genuinely confused, as if he had forgotten the point he had been meaning to make. He wasn't sober, that much was clear. Harry wondered when the last boy had last eaten. It was impossible for the memories not to come then - the cupboard, the forgotten birthdays, the adults who made no room for the little orphan boy in their lives… Harry shook his head. There was no room for emotions tonight.

"Is he really Lewis Rousell's grandchild?"

Chapman started to nod, slowly at first and then more eagerly, as if coming out of a daze. "Right," he said, "exactly."

"Do you have proof?"

"He has his eyes," Chapman said, as if that should be enough.

You have her eyes. How many times had Harry heard that throughout his life? To Chapman, he said, "You cannot think I could count that as proof…"

"He has his magic too!"

And there it was. The words Harry had been waiting to hear. "What magic?"

Chapman relaxed a little, apparently taking comfort in this new lead. "You must have heard of Lewis Rousell's magic."

Harry had heard of Lewis Rousell and of his magic.

He was one of the many Death Eaters that had left the country for the United States after the First Wizarding War, disillusioned by the fact that their great Lord Voldemort had been defeated by a mere child and that the Ministry was coming down hard on anyone that had ever been involved with him.

The United States had been a large country however, harder to organize effectively. Lewis Rousell thought it best to reach his fellow purists by writing a book titled "In the Clear," a critique on blood impurity, and the book reached wide success just a few years after Lord Voldermort was defeated a second time around. He was a middle aged man then, said to be handsome and brilliant, but uncharismatic and the Minister of Magic at the Time, Kingsley Shacklebolt, hadn't thought him worth the manpower it would take to track him down.

The American Ministry fell not much longer to a Minister of Magic that was clearly controlled by Lewis Rousell. Muggleborn businesses were shut down. Their traveling is restricted. Harry should have done something about it then, but Ginny was pregnant and Harry's desire to save the world left out the side door when the brown haired boy was born that Spring.

There were massacres that followed. The reports would come into his office every so often. Letters signed by rebel groups in the area, asking him for his help. Ron had stayed silent through it all, respecting the fact that Harry was his superior, but when Ilvermony closed its door to muggleborn children, he said, "Rousell is British. We ought to take some responsibility for all of this."

Hermione was weeks away from having her first child then though. She was also so close to becoming Senior Assistant at the Minister's office too. Albus, Harry's second child, was only a few weeks old as well. Ginny had left her quidditch career to take care of the boys, but she would not have been pleased if Harry had left her with a newborn and a toddler to fight far away evils once again.

Ginny and Harry had been expecting their third child when news came that Lewis Rouell had been murdered. Most accounts agreed it had been one of his own men who had murdered him and taken over the reigns of his power. The evil continued but Harry had a red-headed little girl then, and when she looked his way, he didn't dare look anywhere else.

He looked at Chapman now, wondering where this man fit into the timeline. "You served Chapman?"

"I was his footman for some years," Chapman nodded. "Oh I know," he added when Harry gave a puzzled look, "a position for a time long gone by but Rousell always wanted just that, to bring back the glory of the yesteryear. He believed in the order of things. Purebloods living as "proper" families with magic as their birthright, and everyone else surrendering their wands to serve in their rightful positions in life."

"You were involved with his daughter."

"She was a child when I first met her," said Chapman with a quick shake of his head. "We hardly spoke two words to each other. We found each other shortly after her father had been murdered. She was eighteen then. She hadn't even fully recovered from childbirth, and the man who had murdered her father was hunting her down too."

Harry was used to asking the right questions. "What was his name?"

"Anna never said. There are many things Anna never said."

"Why did you help her?" asked Harry. It was hard not to distrust a man who had asked for a specific amount and promised a child a return.

Chapman had the decency to look embarrassed. "She was eighteen by then," was all he said, and Harry felt the strong urge to jinx him. "She said she thought me very handsome," Chapman added quickly, as though reading his mind. "I wanted nothing to do with her. It's dangerous enough to be a squib without getting involved with that last name but she knew the right ways to convince a man."

Harry felt his stomach turn. Chapman was a lot of things, but Harry doubted he had ever been handsome. Anna must have been completely out of options to reduce herself to seducing a man such as him. Harry turned towards the sleepy boy, as if focusing on his innocence could somehow calm the nausea inside of him.

He saw it then.

He saw that Anna hadn't been much older than his godson, Teddy Lupin, was now. He saw her vulnerable, postpartum, chased, and with a newborn child in her arms.

Lily Potter had once used her own body as a human shield to protect her only son; Anna Rousell had more or less done the same.

"Xander can control his magic even through complex spells," Chapman said. Harry realized he was speaking about the boy, that he was going over the selling points. "He was turning the pages of books right around the time he learned to crawl. Anna hid him inside the pantry when it all happened but he was strong enough to break free after a couple of hours. It was lucky it was all done by then or he would have been killed then too."

Harry spluttered backwards. "He was there when they murdered her?"

It was the slightest movement. Harry wouldn't have noticed if he hadn't been staring directly at the boy's face. A tightening of the eyes. The boy was awake. He was listening.

Harry couldn't even imagine what it must have been for him to listen to it all happen, to not be able to move through it all. He remembered Sirius Black then. He remembered Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape. It had been so many years since he had thought about any of them at all.

They were all here with him now though, their memories, but none of them could tell him what to do. Harry could only continue to stare at the boy. He could offer him protection. Shacklebolt had never denied him anything, but the Ministry would always watch the boy closely. They would question him. They would circle around him his whole life, waiting for him to show any signs of evil.

"Contact the muggle authorities," said Harry finally. Chapman looked at him blankly, completely taken back by the change in conversation. "You're not strong enough to protect him and there's not a single person in the magical world I would trust to take him. He needs to go with muggles - with no-majs, that is. He needs to pretend to be one of them. It will be the only way."

He was talking to Chapman now but he was hoping that the boy was still listening, that he was able to understand that this was his only chance at survival.

Chapman was sputtering now, aware that his whole plan was going down the drain. "You can't leave him behind! You're the only one that can help-"

Harry ignored him. The boy had opened his eyes and sat up. Chapman hadn't even noticed him. The boy had eyes of blue that Harry now understood would have been proof enough; it was a color one could ever run into twice.

"Your mother loved you," Harry told him from where he stood. Chapman was still blubbering dumbly, too drunk to realize his words were being ignored. "She would want you to take care of yourself."

The boy blinked and then he nodded quietly.

"You can't go!" Chapman cried from behind him but Harry's hand was already on the door handle, deaf to the manic panic that had settled in the man's tone of voice. "You're the only one he feared! You're the only answer! Potter!"

Harry's hand pushed down on the handle, and, almost in that same exact instant, the room rang with a voice that had not spoken before. "Crucio!"

Harry spun around. Chapman was on the floor contorting with pain. The boy was standing up now, his hair disheveled, and a look of pure fear and hatred on his face. Harry had taken his own wand out, but he was unable to act. His eyes, his beautiful blue, clear eyes, had a coldness that quieted the room.

The curse he had used on Chapman faltered and left, and then real panic set in the boy's face. "You need to run," he told Harry. He pointed at Chapman, showing Harry the knife he had been holding in his hand. "He'll stop your magic."

Harry kicked the knife far away from Chapman. He did so more for Xander's fear than out of actual concern. Chapman was still trembling on the floor. He walked towards Xander and Xander quickly scrambled backwards, hitting the wall behind him. "I won't hurt you," Harry promised him.

"I am Harry Potter."

"I am Xander Vandenberg," said the boy.

"Vandenberg?" Harry echoed, looking at Chapman for an answer.

Chapman shrugged miserably. "It was the name Anna gave him. I would have given him mine, but Anna wanted to give him his father's name, even though that asshole had wanted nothing to do with either of them."

Harry turned back to Xander. He wanted to ask, "Where did you learn that hate?" but instead asked, "Where did you learn that magic, Xander?"

"They- They used it on my mother," responded Xander, his eyes closed, answering Harry's spoken and unspoken question all at once.

Harry knelt in front of him. He placed a hand on both his shoulders. "I'm very sorry for your loss." Xander didn't seem to understand what he was saying. "I live very far away from here. I have three children. They're all more or less around your age. If you come with me, they will be your family too."

Xander shook his head. "I can't."

Chapman looked like he would have reached for the boy if Harry hadn't been standing in the way. "You stupid boy."

Harry fought against everything inside him to hit with a silencing spell. Xander needed to be modeled magic constraintment, especially towards those who did not have magic themselves, losing it with Chapman would send the wrong idea. "Why not?"

The boy looked down. There was a sudden air of desperation in his eyes, frustration with himself. "I can't keep my magic away. It comes out of me. It just does."

Xander had been listening. There was something very literal about the little boy, very serious, but also honest and vulnerable. "You will not have to keep it hidden, not with me, and I will teach you to control it. I promise."

Xander's eyes searched his face, as if unsure that he could trust him, unsure that he could trust himself even, but when Harry reached for his hand, Xander took it.

Harry took a small bag of golden coins from his pocket and dropped it on Chapman's table and ignored his request to count it before letting the boy go. Xander didn't look behind him when Harry led him into the blizzard and when Harry disappeared the two into nothingness, he felt the small hand tighten around his own.

OO

Ginny Potter worked quietly on untying the boy's shoe laces and removing the shoes from his feet. With a gentle hand, she pushed his hair out of his forehead. He was a beautiful little thing. Thin and unkept, but there was a simple elegance to his face that would one day make him handsome. She turned to her husband. He was half sitting on the coffee table by the door. He looked pale and flustered all at once, as if he could hardly believe their current situation.

"It was madness, wasn't it?" Harry asked when he caught Ginny's eyes on him. Before she could answer he gave an exasperated sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Of course, it's madness. I don't know what I was thinking."

Ginny took a deep breath. She would have preferred to be included in the decision to bring another child into their life. "Of course it's madness but nothing else would be you."

Harry looked at her needingly. Ginny went over to him and rested her back on him. Immediately his arms went around her waist. He tucked his chin on the curve of her neck. "If you had met Mason Chapman, you would have done the same."

"No," said Ginny, "I would have probably hexed the shit out of him. International law be damned."

A smile finally pressed on her cheek. "That is probably true."

"The Cruciatus Curse is not an easy spell to manage, to be able to do that without a wand… He's only six years old." Harry turned to her surprised, and Ginny admitted, "We were talking about his birthday when you went downstairs for the glass of water. His mother got him books. He likes to read."

Harry had thought himself good at asking questions but his wife was better, much better.

A gust of cold wind broke open the doors to the balcony. Xander stirred, his eyebrows furrowing. Ginny placed a gentle on his shoulder with soothing hushes, and Harry waved his wand, closing the doors. He jerked his head and Ginny followed him outside.

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "We will watch him carefully as he grows, but the world will look for him too. Clarifiers won't stop until they find him, not with his ties to Rousell, not with that magic he has. If I don't teach him to use his powers for good, someone will use them for evil."

Ginny locked her arms together, and the look in her eyes straightened him up. "Let's get this clear right now, Potter. He's not you. You're not Dumbledore. This story isn't that story. Xander stays but he doesn't stay to become a weapon."

Harry peeked into Xander's room. When he found him still sound asleep, he nodded, slipped his hand into his wife's hand and the two started walking back towards their room.

It was until they were both in bed and Ginny was starting at the darkness above them that she finalized her plan. "Hermione will need to help us finalize the adoption process." Harry had made no noises but she knew he was awake. "She has enough pull at the Ministry to manage that for us. But we can't tell her the truth about this.I know you trust her. I do as well. But she's so close to becoming Minister of Magic. She'll want to do things legally, with the Ministry involved, and I'm not willing to involve the Ministry at all."

Harry looked absolutely torn. "I can't lie to Ron," he said.

Ginny turned on her bed. Her head resting on her hand. "You can and you will. He would lie to you. For Rosie or Hugo, he would do it. Do it for Xander then."

Harry was silent and then he also turned towards her. "I will need to erase Chapman's memories. I don't trust him to not betray us. I need to wipe all his memories of Xander, maybe of Anna too.".

They were both silent for a long time.

Ginny had no idea how much time passed. She only knew that the thought had hit them both at the same time.

Finally, Harry broke the silence. "We can't," he said quietly. "Ginny, we can't."

She couldn't let herself feel undecided. There was no time for doubt. "That experience already marked him, Harry. He learned how to do cruciatus curse. Merlin knows what else he learned from Chapman - or his mother. Anna might have ran away from the men who murdered her father but she might have also been as much of a purist as her father. He needs a true fresh start. He can only get that if his memories are erased too."

Harry didn't argue with her again. Instead he drew himself near and buried his head in her chest. Tomorrow, before any of the children awoke, they would erase Xander's memory, they would take away all of the darkness that had followed him from birth. Tomorrow, Harry would go back to Detroit, he would find Chapman, and he would make sure that Xander was never again a thought he would be allowed to have. Tomorrow, they would ask their house-elf, Sosie, to bake them a cake, they would allow the children more than one slice, they would laugh when James chased Albus and Lily, threatening to smear them with the frosting on his hands.

But tonight, they would make love, and forget that there was a tomorrow they needed to worry about.

Author's Note:

Dear readers, in order for the rest of the story to make sense, I need to start with an epilogue that takes us ten years prior to our story. Essentially, however, this is a love story. I hope you all enjoy. I would love to hear feedback. All my love, Quilly.