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Stars

Chapter 10: The Sail

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Summary: What if Harry wasn't taken in by Petunia? What if, instead, he was taken in by another wizard who moved into number four after Petunia forced her family to move to avoid taking in the freak? Neutral!Harry

Beta: Cauchy! Big thanks to her for being my beta! This means less confusing words and spelling errors and brains flying around.

Disclaimer: I own nothing but my own character.

A/N: For the sake of everyone, I will bold anything in a different language. Taiwanese is a dialect, just like British English is for American English. Written, it is Mandarin Chinese.

The next chapter will take two weeks. I've been busy, sorry!

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Dumbledore buried his head in his hands and closed his eyes. He looked very distraught, but no one was there to witness it.

He wasn't used to taking advice from others. He had always been the mentor, the tutor, or the leader. Cygnus Rowan shouldn't have been able to make him feel like a child. The lambasting that Dumbledore had received shook him a little.

Dumbledore had been so sure. So sure that Harry, the young impressionable little boy that he had met as a baby, would want the best for everyone. Dumbledore had thought that he would agree to sacrifice himself, as cruel as it may sound, for the safety of thousands of others.

Then Cygnus stepped into the picture.

Cygnus was not Dumbledore's equal in terms of magical power. He wasn't even at Dumbledore's level of intelligence. And yet, he had something Dumbledore had never obtained in his long years of existence. He had a child whom he called a son and the child referred to him, despite the lack of blood, as dad.

Cygnus was a parent. And as a parent, Dumbledore understood he wanted the best for Harry, world be damned. Dumbledore knew that. But he had also, somehow, underestimated the depth of the love Cygnus had for Harry. He felt a bit foolish for that; hadn't muggles and magicals alike proved again and again that blood was not what solidifed the bond between parent and child?

As the Leader of the Light, Dumbledore had no equal. No companion he could share his worries with and get advice from in return. Dumbledore had searched all through his childhood for an equal. That was how he had met Gellert Grindelwald.

Gellert had had Dumbledore's ambition. He had listened to him. He had given him advice and Dumbledore had actually listened in turn. But then, the temptation of power was too much for Gellert to resist. Dumbledore lost his best friend and his only lover that day.

Dumbledore didn't want Cygnus to lose Harry. He didn't want Cygnus to experience that kind of pain. And if Harry lost Cygnus… Dumbledore didn't even want to think about what he would do. Recklessness and the temptation of power might corrupt Harry like they did Gellert all those years ago.

Dumbledore wanted to trust Cygnus. Cygnus seemed like a reasonable man. He seemed like he knew exactly what he was talking about as well as how he was going to do everything. But it was hard to give up the plans that Dumbledore had made all those years ago when the prophecy was spoken. To believe in someone else's ability was something that Dumbledore had not done for many, many years.

But he would do it.

If things were really as Harry had said they were—with Voldemort with a temporary body and Quirrell assisting him, then things were already pretty bad. The fact that Voldemort wanted Cygnus on his side didn't surprise Dumbledore in the least—wardists as skilled as Cygnus were not easy to come by. Adding to that, wardists were also quite knowledgeable in ritual casting—something that Voldemort had always been deeply interested in.

To aggravate Cygnus anymore would cause the man to favor the Dark. Cygnus was right in that he knew what was best for Harry. Even if Dumbledore didn't agree with Cygnus' decision to tell him so soon, he did agree that Harry would have to know.

Dumbledore hoped that his trust in Cygnus wasn't misplaced.

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Severus Snape eyed the cauldron in front of him with a wary eye. The potion he was working on—a powerful anti-paralysis potion—was difficult to brew and quite volatile at this stage. The smallest spark could cause the ingredients to explode.

Unfortunately, this stage was also the longest. It required an hour to simmer and an hour to sit before the crushed dragon scales could be added.

So in the meantime, Snape was left to ponder the idea of Potter in his classes.

Potter didn't seem like the class clown his father was so insistent on being. He wasn't the studious Lily either. He wasn't exactly cunning, or mischievous, or ambitious like other Slytherins either. Of all houses, why had the hat put him in Slytherin?

Potter hadn't gotten into trouble this year, but trouble somehow found him anyway. The missing polyjuice in his storage room told him the basic outline of what had occurred. Quirrell had consumed polyjuice and impersonated Dumbledore. And the boy, for whatever reason, had trusted Dumbledore enough to follow him to the third floor.

Snape was grateful that Cygnus' wards were powerful enough to keep Harry from dying. The boy had at least been smart enough to bring them along. That, Snape supposed, was a Slytherin trait, as was keeping Quirrell and Voldemort occupied until Dumbledore arrived.

Cygnus Rowan, on the other hand, was something of a mystery to Snape. Snape was reasonably certain that the man had power. Political and economical power that, quite possibly, rivaled Lucius Malfoy's. Working for Gringotts already gave the man a name, but the fact that he had adopted the Boy-Who-Lived was definitely icing on the cake. Warding was a tricky business that not many people bothered to try to learn.

Snape watched the cauldron bubble and frowned a little.

Wandless magic and warding magic. Both were rare abilities that few had. Even fewer had the ability to do both. Snape wasn't sure how things were run in Asia, but it was very likely that it was more common there. Immigration out of the Asian Magical community was rare, and most who did refused to tell other Magical communities their secrets. A strong sense of community kept the Asian Magicals loyal.

In fact, according to Snape's research, Cygnus Rowan was one of a hundred Asian citizens who immigrated in the year 1981, as well as the only magical. Why the Asian community let Cygnus immigrate, Snape had no idea. But with a last name like Rowan, it made sense if his roots lay in Europe.

Cygnus didn't look especially Taiwanese, though his immigration papers said that he was. "Cygnus" was also not a very Taiwanese name, but Snape supposed that it was possible that it was his real name while he had a second, Asian name. According to his Asian Potion Master Colleagues, Cygnus had moved for personal reasons, though they remained tight lipped on what those reasons were.

Snape was interested. Cygnus had only been twenty-three when he immigrated to Britain. Twelve years had passed since then, so he would be thirty-five or so. That was an exceedingly young age for someone to move all the way across the globe with no friends or family. Snape wondered at the motives behind the move.

Petunia had put her house on the muggle market long before Lily had died. Muggle documents stated that Cygnus had been in the process of buying the house when the Potters had died and young Harry was dropped on their doorstep. Petunia had supposedly told the movers that the basket, which contained the covered baby Potter, was a housewarming gift for the person who was to move inside that very same day. She had lowered the price so that she could escape as fast as possible.

And, thus, Cygnus had moved in. Cygnus had taken young Potter, raised him as a muggle, and taught him next to nothing about his magic. Snape had seen the reports of exploding matches and needles, as well as Harry's unimpressive results in charms and Defense Against Dark Arts. Harry seemed to grasp the concept more than the actual magic.

In Potions, Potter was quite good. He would do his work, double and triple check his ingredients and weights, as well as copy down notes so he could reference them later. Snape had caught him, more than once, murmuring ingredients to himself or trying to figure out what each ingredient did. It seemed that brewing came naturally to Potter, as it did to Lily.

Snape would have much preferred Cygnus to have been Lily's husband rather than Potter. At least Cygnus could protect her. At least Cygnus would think things through. He would have prepared for Voldemort's attack, rather than put his faith in his friend. Then maybe, just maybe, Lily wouldn't have died…

Snapping himself out of his fantasy, Snape picked up the glass stirring rod and gave the potion a gentle swirl. The fumes rose up and dissipated in the cool dungeon air, making swirling patterns in the darkness. Potter was protected now. There wasn't much Snape could do himself to protect the boy anymore.

He mentally cursed himself for his failure to dispose of Quirrell earlier though. Not even Snape could have predicted that the man could plan to that degree. Dumbledore mentioned that the Dark Lord was alive and had a body but Snape still doubted the truth in that, as his Dark Mark had not grown darker through the year.

Snape suspected that someone was impersonating the Dark Lord, or perhaps using the Dark Lord's name to try to intimidate Potter. It didn't seem to have worked that well though, as Potter simply pretended that he didn't understand or believe him. Obviously, the boy was harder to scare than Snape had first assumed.

In fact, Snape wasn't even sure if Potter believed that he had met the Dark Lord. It was quite possible that the boy also thought that the Dark Lord was dead and that this was an imposter. After seeing Dumbledore turn into Quirrell, the boy would have definitely considered that possibility.

Snape brandished his wand and held it over the cauldron. Well, he would know soon enough if it was really the Dark Lord or not.

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"You really are useless."

Voldemort watched Quirrell bumble around to make him tea, as he flipped through the thick tome on the table in front of him. As a baby, it was dreadfully hard to move around without tripping over himself or falling. Apparently, babies weren't very coordinated. So Voldemort was forced to rely on
Quirrell for basic tasks.

What Voldemort really wanted was his wand back. But as it was, he needed a body first. This baby's body wasn't very stable—trying to use magic in it might damage the body, shove his soul out of the body, or both.

It was humiliating, to stay as a baby for the time being. Voldemort tapped his finger on the table lightly, looking at the book with a level of disdain. At least the only one to witness it was Quirrell, and
he was disposable. At least Quirrell had gotten Potter to the last room, even if he had failed in getting the stone for him. For now, the man was still useful, so he had yet to get rid of him. Voldemort pondered on his conversation with Potter.

Potter didn't seem convinced that he was actually Voldemort. Voldemort could tell that much, even without diving into the boy's mind. Questioning his identity wasn't something many people did—Voldemort took that as a personal challenge. The fact that Potter did made Voldemort wonder if Potter had met someone who pretended to be him, or if he truly believed that he was dead.

The Dark Mark was linked to his followers by magic. Voldemort had restricted his magic for the time being. It would do no good to inform his followers too soon, as anything they did now would likely put a damper on his subsequent takeover of the Wizarding World.

Voldemort leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes. He wondered what kind of person the Ward Master was. According to his sources, namely Quirrell, his name was Cygnus Rowan. He had white hair and a fair complexion. He was skilled enough that Gringotts had hired him upon his arrival
to Britain.

He needed that wardist. He knew the idea of magicals and muggles sharing a world was still far off, but it was a possibility that would never happen in Britain if magicals remained so stubborn about their seclusion. Muggles and magicals lived together in Asia just fine. Magicals just needed a strong Leader to guide them into the process of taking over the muggle world.

Voldemort hated the whole idea of the Ministry of Magic. It was a joke. The only people who benefited were those with pure blood. As a half-blood raised in the muggle world, Voldemort had had no place in their society. That's why he had pretended he was pure-blood and, as Salazar
Slytherin's heir, no one questioned him.

Ordinary magicals would amount to nothing. They would become lowly workers, pitiful assistants, or salesmen. To Master an art like Potions or Warding was rare. Quite often, the Master would get their license in another country. Examiners in Britain would turn away those whose blood wasn't pure.

Half-bloods would often betray their magical heritage and learn skills in the muggle world. They would forgo their magic, simply because the Ministry would give the better opportunities to purebloods, no matter how bright the half-blood was or how daft the pureblood was. Power and intelligence
Voldemort valued, no matter what kind of blood was behind it.

Muggle-borns, mudbloods, Voldemort wasn't even going to bother trying to consider what happened to them. He sneered in disgust at the thought of them abandoning their magic for grander things in the muggle world. Even though Voldemort understood why, so many had left that Voldemort wasn't inclined to even consider them magical. They were no better than the regular muggles.

Voldemort wasn't born to be a follower, despite his blood. He was a leader. And as a
leader, he couldn't just sit back and watch the Wizarding World collapse. As it was, the population of magicals actively participating in the Ministry was declining at an alarming rate. Only the purebloods remained in charge, but their ideas and thoughts were outdated, much like the rest of Britain's magical world. Voldemort recalled the Black's family motto "Toujours pur" or "Always Pure". It fit the Ministry of Magic's idea of power perfectly.

As expected, hundreds of purebloods wouldn't be willing to simply give up their position of power to let the younger generation, the fresher blood, lead. Voldemort appealed to as many as he could with the idea of a world where they wouldn't have to hide their magic in front of muggles and would be able to rule them like kings. Purebloods like Lucius Malfoy fell for it, hook-line-and-sinker, wanting the power to exterminate muggles.

Then there were people like Dumbledore. Voldemort gave a mental sneer of disgust, his tiny fists clenching the old oak table. Dumbledore, the Light wizard who would rather fight him than change the Wizarding World for the better. With all of the old fool's brilliance, he should be the first one to see that the Wizarding World was on the verge of collapsing. But no, the old fool remained in his blissful denial, calling him evil and Dark.

This wasn't a game of good against evil or Light against Dark. It was about doing what was best for magic—for all the children who would rather go to the muggle world since they couldn't get a well-paying job in the Wizarding World. People like Voldemort himself, who started off as a shop assistant and was unable to climb the ranks simply because of his blood.

Voldemort hated muggles. They had treated him badly as a child, but Voldemort also realized that there were plenty of brilliant muggles out there. Muggles made do without magic, finding solutions to things that Voldemort could only dream of. Voldemort had spent quite a bit of time, as a teen and as an adult, reading muggle literature and informational books. It would be foolish to try and rule over the Muggle world without knowing about Muggles first.

Tom Riddle hadn't become Lord Voldemort by making stupid choices and decisions. Each move had been carefully planned out, the risks calculated, the pros and the cons laid out. Even the night he went to kill the Potters.

Voldemort glanced out of the broken window. One of the window panes was shattered and the wood on the windowsill was rotting, but Voldemort barely noticed. The prophecy was something not even Voldemort could have predicted. Since he had heard of it, Voldemort had spent many months
weighing his options. However, time was short back then, the Order of the Phoenix was catching up to him, mostly due to the efforts of James Potter. His options were limited.

Since words clearly didn't have much of an effect, Voldemort had to act. He had originally only planned to kill James Potter, but the prophecy weighed heavily on his mind. If the child was anything like his father, he would kill him, and then that would be years and years of sleepless nights, of planning, of brilliance that went up in smoke. No, death was most definitely not part of Voldemort's plan for taking over the Wizarding World. Magicals were dumber than a sack of bricks and had no common sense or logic whatsoever—if they tried force, muggles would simply use what the newspapers called "nuclear weapons". That would be a complete disaster. Magic could do a lot, but people could not prepare for something that they had never seen before.

Voldemort wanted that power. He needed it to keep Magicals and Muggles in place. The terror of technology that muggles had produced and kept countries at bay. It was an intoxicating aspect.

Voldemort had panicked that night he went to murder the Potters. He had let his fear of death raise his wand against a helpless child and had shot the Killing Curse at the boy. Looking back at it, it was an impulsive, foolish decision to act before hearing the rest of the prophecy. That mistake had cost him ten years.

Voldemort wouldn't be making that mistake again. He would appeal to Potter and his father, convincing them that if they joined him, it would be for the good of the Wizarding World. Cygnus came from a background of magicals and muggles living together—he could give insight on how magicals ruled over muggles. Potter was a good asset, as his presence would boost Voldemort's political power.

But if he was planning on such a thing, Voldemort couldn't keep using an alias. Originally, he had created the alias so he could be spoken about without the risk of people finding out his true blood heritage and his background. Once he obtained control over the Ministry, then he could flesh out the start of a new era. One in which muggles would submit to the more powerful magicals.

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Harry hid his laughter behind his hand as he heard Cygnus' mother, his grandmother, complain. He wasn't completely fluent in Taiwanese, but he understood enough to get the gist of what his grandmother was saying.

"Harry," said his grandmother, her accent thick, but doing her best to enunciate each word, "You want a mama right?"

Before Harry could even reply, Cygnus' mother turned back to her son and said, "See! Your son wants a mother. Hurry up and get married. Ah-yah! You're almost forty. And you're so handsome. You need a pretty wife."

"Mama," Cygnus said exasperatedly. Harry gave another snicker of laughter.

"I even picked out a few good ones for you. Stay in Taiwan and settle down with a nice girl," grandmother said.

"Now, Xue," Cygnus' dad was saying, "I'm sure that Cygnus can manage to find a wife if he wants one. But since he already has a son, so he might not want to."

Cygnus sent his dad a grateful look and picked up their bags. "Mama. We have to go. The plane will leave soon."

Xue's eyes softened and she reached for her son's face. "Be safe." She turned to Harry and said, "You need to eat more. Too skinny."

"Yes, Grandma," Harry said obediently, giving her a hug. "It was nice to see you."

"Come visit again soon," Cygnus' dad said, waving at them.

"Yes, Father," Cygnus replied.

Harry smiled as he walked over to the taxi. He thought about his grandparents fondly.

His grandmother, Xue Rowan, was a little Asian woman, only five feet, three inches. She had gray hair, which she would tie back in a bun with a red ribbon. She was one hundred percent Taiwanese and had met her husband when she was twenty-two. It wasn't exactly an arranged marriage, even if it looked like one; Xue's mother had heard of a smart man who worked in the government. She had arranged for them to meet and apparently then arranged the wedding a year later. Her family were muggles, or non-magical. The men in her family traditionally ran martial art schools.

His grandfather, Alnair Rowan, was the wizard in their family. Alnair was an imposing man of six feet, two inches, his hair the same shade of white as Cygnus'. He was also a wardist, the one who had taught Cygnus everything he knew. His family consisted largely of warding specialists and he was one of the many who maintained the magical field around Taiwan, which was one of the reasons they lived in a mountain high above sea level. He was born in England and moved to Taiwan to help maintain the wards. It was there he had met Xue and fallen in love.

On official documents, Harry's dad's name was Cygnus Rowan. But Xue would often affectionately call him Little Swan. Harry could see that it irked Cygnus a little, but Cygnus put up with it, either because she was his mother, or because he knew she didn't mean any harm by it. To be honest though, Harry understood why it irked him—Cygnus was already thirty-five. There was nothing little in all six feet of him.

"Dad?" Harry asked, watching his father get their tickets for the flight.

"Yes?" Cygnus replied, distracted by the passport checking and the baggage check-in.

"I want to stay at Hogwarts."

Cygnus glanced at him and then collected their tickets. He didn't say anything until they had sat down in the waiting area, their plane apparently undergoing maintenance.

"May I ask why?" Cygnus finally asked, turning to Harry. Harry took a deep breath and prayed that Cygnus would not take this the wrong way.

"I want to learn from the best," he said. "And… I don't really want to cause trouble for Dumbledore."

Cygnus's eyebrow twitched, but he remained silent, as Harry seemed to be collecting his thoughts.

"You told me," Harry started, "You told me before that… I should keep my friends close, but my enemies closer. I need to know my enemy to be able to fight them." He looked at Cygnus carefully. "Since Dumbledore is trying to… um… endear himself to me… perhaps I should play along, if only to find out more about him."

"That kind of tactic would work on a lesser man, but Dumbledore is a war veteran. No doubt he knows about such tactic. He might have even applied it before," Cygnus said. "Do you think Dumbledore is right, in that you need to be the one to defeat Voldemort?"

Harry didn't reply right away. Finally, he looked at Cygnus and said, "Yes."

Cygnus was silent for a few minutes as well, but then he said, "Alright. But if that is the case, then it will be on my terms. Not the convoluted, manipulative terms of Albus Dumbledore."

"I won't do it by myself though. I need allies. Dumbledore and his contacts would be good allies, wouldn't they?" Harry asked. Cygnus nodded.

"Yes, but Dumbledore is no fool. He might suspect, or even know what you are up to," Cygnus said. "I won't disagree with you wanting to learn from the best, as it is your schooling and your future. And you should never judge by appearances. Dumbledore may seem all good, but if you take into account all he's put you through in the past year, I would reconsider that thought. Voldemort may seem evil, but he's definitely not stupid. He has his reasons."

Harry nodded, wondering what those reasons could be. Cygnus didn't elaborate, but stood up instead, getting ready to board the plane.

It wasn't until Harry was in bed back in number four that he remembered that he had forgotten to ask his grandpa about Cygnus' friends, or lack thereof. He rolled over in bed, wondering if Hedwig would be willing to fly all the way to Taiwan to deliver a letter.