The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches. . .

Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies. . .

And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. . .

And Either must die at the hand of the other for Neither can live while the other survives. . .

The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be Born as the seventh month dies. . .

xx

The Potter child was dead.

After everything Albus had done to ensure the prophecy, the child had been born silent and still on the night of July 26. There had been nothing he could do, nothing anyone could do. And with the yet-to-be-born Longbottom child or an unknown child as the only possible answers, something had to be done. For the Greater Good, of course.

It was this line of thought that led the old wizard to a secret room in the Hogwarts' dungeons on the eve of the last day of July. His belief that only by summoning a replacement – a being capable of surviving and defeating Voldemort who would take the place of the deceased infant – would the world have a chance.

There was no thought for the one who would be stripped away from his own life, only knowledge that this had to be done. Had there been another way, he would have chosen it, but he saw no other paths that led to anything but enslavement and the deaths of hundreds, if not thousands.

And so, draped in plain white robes trimmed only with a hint of lace, Albus began the ritual, a staff of alder in his right hand and a staff of birch in his left. His voice was deep and commanding as he called for one who would be their savior.

In a language forgotten by most, he called for one pure of heart and kind in spirit. One with the strength of will to survive whatever life as the hero of the Light threw at him. One with the "power He knows not."

The chalk lines of the ritual circle began to glow, the twelve candles placed around it at even intervals flickering as the air began to stir.

"For hope and life, by the gift of Magic." He crossed the staves together and touching their joined ends to the center of the circle.

Wind burst up from the ground, stripping the flames from the candles as it formed a barrier around the circle. Albus had to fight to hold his ground, his hands shaking as the wind threatened to pull the staves from his grip.

"So MOTE IT BE!" He finished with a shout.

For a moment the air stilled, and then the circle glowed so bright as to nearly blind the wizard.

When the light faded and Albus's vision had cleared, he saw the still figure of a young man laying on the ground. He smiled wearily, his arms falling to his sides as the staves dropped to the floor with a clatter. The ritual had been successful. There was still work to be done, but the hard part was over.

A number of revealing spells showed the boy to be powerful, though there was no magical core like that of a wizard, his very being seemed to radiate a connection with Nature beyond anything Albus had ever seen before, even stronger than the magic of the Great Elves. Almost as if he was part of the Earth, and not merely one of Her creatures – because for all that he looked human, he wasn't.

The connection was not purely physical, as one particularly strong revealing spell revealed several mental bonds. One, small as it was, appeared to be similar in kind to those bonds found in twins or Blood Bonded. It would have to be broken, in order to keep whatever being the creature had bonded with from tracking it. The second, however, seemed to tie the creature's very Essence with another, and had it been any weaker, Albus might have mistaken it for a Familiar Bond or even a Soul Bond. But the intertwined essences were so similar, and the bond so very strong, that it was as if the creature had bonded with itself. Which was, of course, ridiculous, but Albus had never seen such a bond before, and after a long while of thought, he put it out of his mind for the time being.

Unlike the first bond, he did not dare break the second. It was too strong and there was no way of telling where the creature ended and the Bond began. It would be better for him to kill the creature than to sever the connection, though he could not leave it as it was. Not when he wanted this creature to believe it was the Potters' child. Not if he wanted his savior to see the Wizarding World as his home. To leave the bond untouched would be to leave the creature, and the child it would become, longing for its Bonded, even if he knew nothing but life as a wizard. Not only would it ruin Albus' plans, it would be unjust cruelty.

So Albus gathered the suppressant potions he'd had Severus prepare, along with the potions that would affect the creature's heritage and appearance. Kneeling beside the ritual circle, he took in the creature. It looked nothing like a savior – appearing to be nothing more than a somewhat feminine Seventh-year male. Albus almost felt sorry for having torn such a delicate being from its home and family, but he did not dwell on the matter. There was no place for sympathies in war. The creature had answered his summons for a reason, and the world would be all the better for it.

Tilting the creature's head up, Dumbledore paused for a moment, eyes closed in a silent apology for the creature and those who would miss it, before spelling the first potion to flow down its throat. It was the least he could do to allow the creature to sleep through the process, sparing it the fear of being in an unknown place and the pain of the changes.

xx

Drifting between wakefulness and the oblivion of sleep, he dreamed.

He dreamed of determination. Of desperation. Of cold stone and gentle hands and foul-tasting liquids.

Finally he dreamed of pain. Of his very soul being torn in half; of the connections that had existed since before he could remember were smothered into near nonexistence. Not out of spite or anger, but out of ignorance.

And then, as his whole being cried out in agony, he slept.

xx

"CANADA!" America woke screaming, his head aching and his heart empty for the first time ever. "No, no," he sobbed, "It's just a dream! Just a dream!"

But the hole inside of him, the gaping emptiness where Canada's constant presence had been, did not subside.

America rolled off the couch, reaching blindly for the TV remote. Something had happened. Something bad.

There was nothing on the news.

No uprisings, no terrorists, not even a natural disaster.

His breath was coming in gasps, his cheeks itching as tears flowed without stop, as he closed his eyes and called for Canada mentally. Please! Where are you? Why can't I feel you?

When no answer came, America swiped at his tears, stumbling over to the phone and dialing a number he knew by heart. He let it ring again and again, hoping desperately that each time would be the last; that Canada would pick up the phone and laugh and things would be alright. He could live without their connection, it would hurt and he would never truly feel whole, but he could do it so long as he knew Canada was unhurt.

*beep* You've reached - "Matthew Williams". Plea-

America's grip tightened, and the phone snapped apart in his hand. Trying to breath, America could only sob, dropping the broken receiver as he fought to keep from breaking down completely.

"M-Mattie!"

xx

James Potter held his wife close, her face shadowed and tear-streaked as she looked to the infant in Dumbledore's arms with disbelieving eyes.

"You can't be serious," James spat out, mistaking the look on Lily's face for despair. "Our son is gone! You can't-"

Lily interrupted him, her voice hoarse, "The child's parents?"

"His father was killed in a Death Eater attack months ago, his mother taken in childbirth just last night," Dumbledore smiled sadly. "I know that the loss of a child is not easily forgotten, and nothing could ever take little James' place, but it might ease the pain, having someone to take care of."

"Poor thing," Lily whispered under her breath before turning to her husband. "James? Please?"

James had half a mind to tell Dumbledore to find another family to take the child – the infant who wasn't James Jr., who could never be the son he'd lost – but the look in Lily's eyes. . . there was a light in those eyes that he hadn't seen since before baby James' death, along with a silent plea to give her the chance to be a mother, to let her have a son to feed and bathe and watch grow.

There was nothing he could do but nod. If it kept her from fading away in grief and guilt, he would take the child in and treat it as his own. And though it was discomforting to watch Lily act as though James Jr. had never died, her glowing smile as she took the sleeping child into her arms reassured James that he was doing the right thing.

"Does he have a name?" Lily asked, holding the infant close.

"Harry. His name is Harry."

"Harry Potter," Lily smiled, cooing at the baby as she leaned into her husband's warm embrace. "Isn't he adorable, James?"

Dumbledore smiled knowingly at the young couple. He had already obliviated the midwife and locked the documents with a compulsion that would keep the story of the adoption from getting out. As far as the rest of the world was concerned the child had been born Harry Potter. Not even the Potters' close friends would know any different, thanks to a mild compulsion spell.

The Wizarding World would have its savior.