Notes:

This will be a rewrite of my already posted story, the Duality of HJP. Many of the main concepts are the same, but the details are different. This is also a complete AU and there will be OCs, canon in name only characters, and characters only mentioned on Pottermore/WW. Last thing, this is part 1 of 2 or 3. In order to eliminate a lot of the confusion in my first iterations, I'm going to spend some time developing young Harry.

Happy reading!

Summary: Harry Potter. A name that will live on in infamy...and on the shoulders of an innocent, unsuspecting child. Born to young, idealistic parents, Harry learns about the world while the old and the high-handed attempt to shape and mold him in their images.

Also, there's no bashing.

What's In a Name?

On the day he was born, his mother took one look at him and burst into tears. Lily Evans was a young woman of twenty whose life wasn't going anywhere near the way she wanted it to.

James Potter, his father, stared at her from his place in a dark corner. He was also twenty with a slim build and messy, black hair. On his pointed nose were brown, oval-shaped glasses, which he pressed the bridge of, so that they were as close to his face as possible. It was as if he wished to see Lily better.

The red head sat in the hospital bed with her knees up. She clutched her newborn to her chest and sobbed. The baby didn't seem to mind a bit, though. James minded, but it took a few moments for him to realize those tears didn't come from a place of joy.

He sighed then walked over and placed his hand on her back. "What's wrong?"

"He's going to look just like you," Lily whispered.

James froze for a beat then snorted. "Fuck off."

He picked the baby up and moved to sit in a chair. His newborn had a tuft of black hair, but otherwise looked like any other person who'd existed for only mere minutes. Still, James knew this child would look just like him. Family history told him so.

"There's nothing wrong with our face." He touched his newest son's nose. "We're cute."

Still, Lily sobbed and James stopped giving her his attention. He didn't know what was wrong with her – beyond the obvious – and, as it was clear, only to him, that she wasn't going to share, he left her alone. The only time he disturbed her was to decide on a name.

"Robert Harry or Harry Robert…" Lily whispered.

James stared down at her while the baby rested in his cot. "Why that name?"

"Robert is my father. Harry for the champion of muggles and muggleborns."

James took a moment to move. His mind went over what life would be like for a child named Harry Potter. He would be teased regardless, but especially if he couldn't live up to it. Then James imagined this Harry Potter taking Hogwarts; Gryffindor House by storm. He would make a mockery of the dark and the bigoted. He would fight for the small and the voiceless like his great-grandfather.

James turned to the nurse and told her the baby's name. "Harry James Potter."

-1-

A few days later, Harry was brought to the quaint village of Godric's Hollow. He was to stay in a charming, two-story cottage near the outskirts of the village.

When they arrived, three women were inside. Two of them, the young ones, were sitting on the navy blue couch. The old woman sat in a pastel blue armchair. All three were having tea and scones.

Lily crossed the threshold then stuttered in her steps. She only moved when James eased her forward by adding a little pressure to her back. James, himself, paused when he spotted them and stood in the doorframe instead of entering completely.

"Mother?" He glanced at the unfamiliar women. "Why are you here? What's all this?"

Euphemia got to her feet. "Come in, James, and close the door."

She was a tall, stately woman dressed in silk, mint green robes. Her hair was pure white and fell down her back in a long braid. Euphemia had passed her hazel eyes onto her son, but hers were sharp and cold whereas his were typically full of mischief.

James did as he was told and he kept his eyes on his mother the entire time.

Euphemia turned to Lily. Her eyes remained cool even as she glanced at the baby in the travel bassinet. She raised her eyes to hold Lily's for a brief moment. In that moment, Lily's face flushed.

"Good morning, Miss Evans."

"Hello, Mrs. Potter."

Euphemia inclined her head then turned to the two women. "James, Miss Evans, this is Miss Seren Jones, the baby's nanny. And this is Miss Sarah Baker, his night nurse. Miss Jones, Miss Baker, this is James Potter, Miss Lily Evans, and…"

Euphemia looked down at the bassinet once more.

"His name is Harry – " Lily said

Euphemia whipped her head around to James.

"And I don't need a nanny," Lily finished.

Euphemia's eyebrows were near her hairline. "Harry? As in Harry Potter? Have you lost – " She waved her hand then turned to Lily. "You may stress yourself, but the child – Harry," she said with a note of derision, "need not be." To Miss Jones and Miss Baker, she said, "If you'll excuse us."

The two young women nodded. Miss Jones moved to take the bassinet then followed Miss Baker upstairs. Lily, after a moment of surprise, made to follow.

"Harry. Potter," Euphemia said to James. "No other name crossed your mind? What did cross your mind when making that decision?"

"That Harry Potter was a champion of muggles and muggleborns and risked his life and family for us," Lily said.

Euphemia turned to face her. "I've now found the one circumstance in which that absurd notion isn't amusing."

"It's not an absurd notion – "

"So Henry told you that himself?" Euphemia drawled.

Lily's cheeks pinked. "No, of course not, but he stood up to the minister for us. Purebloods despise him and the Potters. How is it a 'ridiculous notion' that he risked everything for us?"

"Because he married a Rowle. He allowed his birth son to marry a Nott." Euphemia tutted. "Maynard Yaxley came to my husband to offer his granddaughter's hand. His adopted son married a Black mere years after his defeat. That man's son married a Rosier a few years ago."

Lily shook her head and opened her mouth, but then closed it with a rough swallow.

James stared at Lily. "Mother…"

Euphemia took a seat on the couch. "What plans do you have for that child, James?"

"Plans? Mother, he's days old."

"He's been Harry Potter for days," Euphemia mused. "I wonder who is whispering that fact to their associates?" She nodded. "Yes, James, plans. How do you intend to raise this child?"

Lily stepped forward. "That's none of your business."

"Do you have a place to stay? How do you intend to feed and clothe your child? Should you return to work, will you have an agreement established with someone to care for him during that time?" Euphemia nodded. "You are living in my father-in-law's cottage with his bastard great-grandson and namesake with no clear way to care for him, yourself, let alone both of you. I will do that. Therefore it is my business most of all. Answer me."

"I don't want my child to be some spoiled pureblood."

Euphemia curled her lip. "Then you should have kept your legs closed to one."

Both Lily and James colored.

"I'm a very old woman. I've lived long enough to see every iteration of the worst of half-bloods. I refuse to abandon that child to you to create a version of the ones that currently breathe." She glanced upwards then said, "What do you have planned for Harry's future?"

Neither answered and not for a lack of trying on James' part. It was in that moment that part of Harry's course was set.

Euphemia took a deep breath. "I'm not so cruel as to force him away from his mother." To a pale Lily, she said, "Your idol, however, would snatch him in a heartbeat without giving you a chance." She continued with, "I am, however, old and now wise enough to see the error of my ways." She again addressed Lily. "Until you can care for your child by yourself, your grievances are nothing to me. I will see him well-cared for – in the present and in the future – and highly educated. Don't force my hand."

"Force your hand?" Lily said. "How exactly can I force your hand? And what will you do if I raise my son how I want?"

Euphemia quirked an eyebrow. "Our cousin Charlus' parents died when he was about five years old and he went to the Selwyns as his mother wanted. Henry had, fortunately, managed to talk Justus into letting him manage the fortune should they die before they should."

"Why would I care about any of this?" Lily asked.

"Because when Henry found the education the Selwyn's were providing Charlus to be…unsatisfactory, he worked to take him. To this day, Charlus doesn't know those people and won't acknowledge them as family. In truth, he is closer to them in blood than he is to the other Potters, but in spirit he is not one of them," Euphemia said.

Lily paled and took a step back.

"I'm glad you understand me," Euphemia said. "The Potters have given their children the best education they can afford since their inception. Hardwin was born into wealth and he, and his siblings, received fine educations. Harry will receive no less."

Lily looked to James.

"I assure you, he cannot help you." Euphemia laughed softly to herself then said, "I will have my way."

-1-

In the following days and weeks, Harry spent most of his time with Miss Jones, who only spoke to him in Greek. James came by often to play with him while he was awake and left when he wasn't. Sometimes his godfather, Sirius Black, came over to play with him, too. Euphemia dropped by occasionally.

In the weeks and months after, Harry was confined to the cottage. Not because of superstition or some outdated old wives' tale, but because Lily had stopped Miss Jones whenever she'd tried to take him out. James also wasn't too keen on him leaving the house either. Sirius, however, would take him out and Euphemia would send him outside with Miss Jones whenever she was around.

Around the sixth month mark, things started to change. It was at that time Lily went back to work. She was determined to get out from under Euphemia's oppressive thumb. As such, with no other authority in the house, Miss Jones took Harry outside as she'd never received an explicit demand he be left inside.

They would go to the neighborhood park often. Sometimes they would head to London to a zoo or a park there. Miss Jones always made certain to be home before three thirty. It was enough time to get Harry settled and relaxed before his mother returned home.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Crouch."

"Miss Jones. Young Master Potter."

Whenever they were in Hyde Park or Regent's Park, they would cross paths with Mr. Crouch. No matter what day of the week they went, he would walk through the park. The man would stop, look around, pause with his eyes on Miss Jones as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing, then he would take his leave.

"The future of Britain. What an odd man," Miss Jones would always whisper to Harry.

One afternoon, after returning from the park in Godric's Hollow, a little, old woman paid them a visit. Her thinning, white hair was pulled back into a low bun and her wrinkled face was full of sun spots. She wore a navy blue, flower dress and flat, black Mary Jane's on her feet.

"Good afternoon," the woman said with a smile.

Harry, who was on Miss Jones' hip, babbled at her.

"Oh, yes, you are certainly a Potter." She smiled at Harry then turned back to Miss Jones to whom she handed a bowl. "For the tot. It's been a long time since the Potters have graced our presence. We've wanted to welcome you to the neighborhood, but we were uncertain if you were actually here."

Miss Jones hesitated, but nodded. "Yes, Harry lives here with his mother. He's simply my charge during the day." She shifted Harry to hold out her hand. "I'm Seren Jones."

"Bathilda Bagshot."

Miss Jones squeaked, making Harry giggle. With a red face, she said, "Would you like to come in?"

Mrs. Bagshot smiled and nodded. "Thank you."

So in the living room, which had pastel yellow walls and dark wooden floors, Miss Jones and Mrs. Bagshot had tea.

"You are one of those Joneses? Of Chepstow?"

Miss Jones inclined her head. "Yes, Medwyn is my father."

"Former Head of International Cooperation?"

"Him exactly."

Mrs. Bagshot stirred her tea. "And how did you come to choose this profession with such a father?"

Miss Jones laughed. "I'm supposed to be a teacher and I'll get there someday. I promise, but I started babysitting for some extra gold while studying in Delphi and curiosity led me to sticking it out. I wanted to see and be a significant part of true development. I suppose my ultimate goal is to perfect what Henry Potter started and implement that perfection."

"My you are ambitious. I suppose you will head to House Corvus when he leaves for wherever he'll be sent?"

"That was why I returned actually. Miss Black had offered me a position, but then Mrs. Potter presented me with a more impressive offer."

Mrs. Bagshot looked down at Harry. "Greek or Latin?"

"Greek."

"Good, good. Everyone is teaching their children Latin and not even the classical kind. The Greek will make him stand out. I assume he won't speak English at all for some time?"

Miss Jones inclined her head. "He is to receive an old-fashioned education."

"So the Mediterranean is the goal? Or will he attend House Corvus?"

"The Mediterranean, yes."

Mrs. Bagshot hummed. "Do you have a nursery in mind?"

"The Olive Tree, the Preschool of Syracuse, or the Birdhouse if all else fails."

Mrs. Bagshot just smiled. "Does the father come over often?"

Miss Jones narrowed her eyes. "Yes."

Mrs. Bagshot waved her hand. "I'm just being nosy. No need to raise your hackles. Tell me, how do you find the mother?"

Miss Jones shook her head. "Why?"

"Because I'm curious about Harry's story. I get the sense it's a complicated one many may come to…study in future decades."

Bemused, Miss Jones said, "She appears inattentive. Yet, I believe that, should she be able to afford to pay a muggleborn caretaker, I would be out of a job."

"Ah, so Harry is a half-blood born into interesting circumstances."

"That's one way to put it," Miss Jones said with a laugh.

Miss Jones, once more, narrowed her eyes at Mrs. Bagshot, who had turned her attention to Harry.

"Harry Potter," Mrs. Bagshot said. "What a name to live up to. An almost insurmountable mountain to climb. I would claim it is wholly impossible, but I believe anything can happen in the right circumstances."

"Indeed?"

Mrs. Bagshot nodded. "Indeed."

Mrs. Bagshot stayed a little longer after that and returned every so often. She invited Harry and Miss Jones over to her place for tea and biscuits more often than not. In that time, Harry would play with toys or look at books she gave him.

Miss Jones recognized what was happening, but made no objections. It could only stand to benefit her in the end. As such, every weekday, Harry found himself in Mrs. Bagshot's cottage for an hour at a time without Miss Jones. In that hour, Mrs. Bagshot only spoke to him in Classical Latin.

Miss Jones said nothing to James and Lily. She did, after hemming and hawing, decide to pen a letter to Euphemia. Euphemia, in turn, wrote to Mrs. Bagshot then stopped by her cottage for tea.

They exchanged pleasantries. Euphemia stirred her green tea and her eyes never left Mrs. Bagshot's face.

After a long, silent moment, in which she realized Mrs. Bagshot was uncomfortable, Euphemia asked, "May I know what your interest in my grandson is?"

Mrs. Bagshot hummed. "I...suppose you can say that, while I'm a fan of history, I'm not all that interested in seeing it repeat itself. Our rulers and Gellert's protégé at Durmstrang don't need to become a fearsome foursome, do they?"

Euphemia pursed her lips. "Tom Riddle?"

"Yes," Mrs. Bagshot said. She hesitated then said, "I suppose I'm also looking for a little forgiveness."

Euphemia hummed. "You believe Harry can grant you forgiveness? And what exactly is your crime?"

Now it was Mrs. Bagshot's turn to stare at Euphemia in silence. "You weren't close to your father-in-law," Mrs. Bagshot remembered. "He wouldn't have shared certain things with you."

Euphemia narrowed her eyes. "I cannot imagine what it is that Henry knows that is also pertinent to this conversation."

Amused, Mrs. Bagshot said, "Things such as I was born Bathilda Grindelwald and that Albus and Gellert met right here in this living room."

Euphemia lowered her face. It wasn't something she did often. Her nose was always in the air, even if she felt she was in a room full of equals. Imperiousness and arrogance were her constant companions, but those feelings left her in that moment and gave away shock and trepidation.

"And you're now looking for absolution in absentia?"

Mrs. Bagshot inclined her head. "In a way. I suppose that when I close my eyes, I would like to say I saw the signs this time and did my best to course correct." She laughed softly. "I would like to say I saw and acknowledged the signs before it was too late." She hummed. "I was a little presumptuous, however."

"Yes and no, but he could use your help regardless."

Mrs. Bagshot hummed once again. "And I will give it."

"How far do you believe your name can carry him?"

Mrs. Bagshot folded her hands. "I can get him places, but it will need to be supplemented as these things usually go. The foundation is important. I've heard good things about Miss Jones. Yes, I'm nosy enough to have asked around. Next would be the nursery or pre-school. The feeders to Syracuse and the Palladion would be the best as you suspect. Best closest to us anyway."

Euphemia nodded. "And then?"

"Alexandria is the next step." Mrs. Bagshot then hesitated, but closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I hope you know that all this will bring Gellert to him."

Euphemia tittered and there was even a hint of amusement in it. "A green-eyed child named Harry Potter was always destined to meet and become acquainted with Gellert Grindelwald."

Euphemia and Mrs. Bagshot spent the next hour mapping out their four year plan. In that hour, Euphemia became a little breathless as her mind flirted with thoughts of herself and her life. When they were finished, she was happy; relieved to be able to step outside and breathe.

She made her way back to her own cottage, taking deep breaths as she did so. Upon her arrival, she dismissed Miss Jones for the day then joined her grandson in his nursery.

It was a lovely room. The carpet was dark blue with pale yellow stars and the ceiling was white with dark blue stars. The walls were ombre blue and yellow deer decals were near the base of the wall; at the perfect height for a baby and toddler.

Euphemia walked over to Harry's cot. For a long time she just stood there breathing. It was all she could do while she managed to keep herself upright. Bathilda had unknowingly forced her to face truths she'd run from for at least twenty years.

"Harry Potter…" She took a deep breath. "Do I cross your mind as much as you cross mine, Henry? Do you think of me at all?"

She looked down at Harry to find his green eyes open. He rolled over and inched onto his knees before using the blue bars of the cot to get to his feet. The two stared at each other until Euphemia decided to kiss his cheek. She couldn't remember doing that before.

"You look like your father. Far more than your brother does. You look more like Henry than they do, too. Fascinating how this has worked out." she said. "I wonder if your looks are a testament to your being our salvation or destruction."

Harry babbled back at her.

"'Our.'" Euphemia exhaled. "Alright, Henry, it took a century, but I can admit you were right. At least I don't have to do so to your face." She ran her hand through Harry's hair. "Very well, if I can admit to myself you were right about that you might be right about everything else." She picked Harry up. "We're going to try this Henry's – and Cantankerous' – so let me tell you all about Potter and Nott."