::DISCLAIMER:: The HP universe is not my own. That stroke of Genius belongs to J.K. Rowling. I just try my best to enjoy it, and that involves borrowing a few things here and there.

Please, i welcome all coments, even flames. But constuctive criticism helps the most when i fix things. Don't BS me.

Prologue:

Crystal tears fell from her azure eyes, her very essence ached as she looked at the boy who lay below her in cupboard under the stairs of No. 4 Privet Drive. His glittering emerald eyes were muddled by flowing tears and his youthful face was a picture of absolute agony and grief. It was those eyes which captured her soul so completely. They were not just any eyes; they were the eyes of her children, her favorite children. She felt a building fury at those who caused her child's eyes to be so pained and troubled. A fury which made her shake with rage, a rage that quickly evaporated as she looked deeper into his eyes and found a fierce determination that can be borne of only the strongest wills and the purest souls.

The stunning brunette looked in the eyes of Harry Potter, the savior of the wizarding world, their precious Boy-Who-Lived. She gazed at the boy who they adored and who they betrayed just as quickly, and she made her choice. Harry after all was one of her children, and she could not be faulted for wanting him to be happy and loved. She had watched him all of his life, and after the tragedies early on, love had been in short supply for the poor child.

She would take him away, and give him to those who still knew the old ways, those who would love the boy for who he is not what events had surrounded his life. She would take him from all of those who would use him for their own advancement, away from those who would misunderstand him, away from those who had cast him aside in his time of direst need. She looked to his face again and was greeted by the calm that was brought by sleep. His cheeks remained tear-stained and his tousled raven black hair framed the ugly scar that marred his otherwise flawless childlike features.

Gaea bent down and kissed the child's forehead and with a flash of lightning and the crash of thunder, they were gone from the tiny space under the stairs.

Meteorologists would later call it the freak storm of the millennium. In the space of an hour, a swirling vortex forty kilometers in diameter had sat above Little Whinging. The never understood why it had happened, nor did they understand the concurrent earthquake in the same area. With the winds in the storm approaching hurricane force, and a quake registering 7.4 on the Richter scale, most officials we simply thankful that the death-toll and property damage were at a minimum. Several trees were downed and structural damage to homes was widespread. So no-one thought it strange that Number 4 Privet Drive had been completely destroyed. Had they looked closer they would have seen that the home had been ripped from its foundations and had sunk several feet into the earth. Most of the wreckage had been burned to charcoal by a lightning strike, the only strike during the entire one hour ordeal.

The researchers at the ministry of magic were just as confused. A huge flux of energy had burned out their magical detection sensors and had thrust the ministry into a state of panic. Things got so serious that all unspeakables and aurors were called out to manage obliviations of muggles who had seen magical creatures of all types congregate in the open as is some greater power had pulled them there. In the confusion it was not noticed for several hours, that the Black Quill in the hall of records had crossed a name off of the register of magical persons, the Domes day Tome. Harry Potter's magical signature had disappeared.

Four charred bodies had been found in the wreckage of No. 4 by the muggle firefighters were never identified. They were assumed to be the Dursley family who owned the house, and Marge Dursley who had been visiting from Cornwall. The remains were laid to rest in a family crypt, donated by the local parish.

The funeral was held in the early evening on July 31st. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the few mourners who attended left to return to their cookie cutter lives, no-one noticed the old man with an impressive beard and what would appear to be a stern woman of middle age standing off to the side under the branches of an ancient alder tree. The older man wiped away a lone tear as he pushed his half-moon shaped spectacles up on the bridge of his nose, and the woman next to him let out a strangled sob as she mopped her own tears from her time worn cheeks with a red and gold edged handkerchief she retrieved from what seemed to be an elongated pen case. The man, waving a similar item, left a pure white rose on the granite steps of the crypt. With another flourish glittering green words written in Latin appeared on the columns of the crypt. More strangely shaped symbols appeared on the doors of the crypt, and they glowed brightly before fading and disappearing from sight.

The bearded man sighed and said in a low voice to his still sobbing companion, "This place can never be disturbed now; I have a feeling that Lily and James would have wanted it this way." Turning to the crypt, "May you find happiness in the beyond with your mother and father. I hope they treasure the wonder that you are as much as we shall all miss you. Happy Birthday Harry."

Many intrepid reporters would search for the final resting place of the Boy-Who-Lived. Thousands of witches and wizards mourned the child's death. And with every passing week, the fervor grew less and less until no more people sought his grave, and the wizards and witches who felt a strange affinity to the child gave up on saying goodbye, and made their peace. The wards placed by Dumbledore held, and the Dursley family was forgotten in the muggle world, just as the name Potter was reserved for the history books in the wizarding world.

No-one ever knew the truth about Harry Potter, and they all assumed that he was lost to the world forever. When the Ministry went to Gringotts to seize the sizeable potter assets, they were rebuffed by a large team of security goblins. The goblins knew more about the-boy-who-lived than they were willing to share. Citing confidentiality and independence clauses established in the peace accords of the 1833 goblin rebellion, they denied anyone and everyone access to any records and assets of Harry Potter who they knew, had simply gone to return to his own kind, and would in time return.

Deep in the forbidden forest a lone centaur gazed through the smoke of his burning sage at the night sky with wonder. He muttered to himself as he stood brushing loam from his flanks, "The stars weep not for this 'loss', they rejoice as if one of their own has returned. Venus and Mars dance with Saturn, and the Dog Star shines with a new life. I think we have not heard the last of our young savior." Firenze chuckled as he trotted slowly into the depths of the darkened forest.

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