Chapter 1
Lily Potter sat on her couch and stared at the letter sitting on the coffee table in front of her. The envelope was bulky, and the shield emblazoned on the letter showed a stylized 'H' on a background divided into four parts - a golden lion on a red background, a silver snake on green, a bronze eagle on blue, and a black badger on yellow. It was the familiar crest of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The letter itself wasn't distressing, no. The reason why she was currently sitting on the sofa nursing a glass of firewhiskey in broad daylight was the name on the letter.
'Harry James Potter'
Her son - Charles' twin brother - whom they had all thought to be a squib and whom she had given to her sister Petunia to raise after the numerous attacks on her family by the remnants of Voldemort's forces, had received an acceptance letter from Hogwarts.
Had it been from any other school, Lily might not have thought much of it, assuming it to be a mistake. But the Hogwarts letters were generated by an enchanted quill that wrote down the name and address of every magical child in the British Isles around their 11th birthday. In the 1000 years that Hogwarts had been running, this quill had never once been wrong, yet now it had printed the name and address of her, supposedly squib, son.
It didn't make any sense to Lily. After Voldemort's attack, Charles' magic had become unstable. The only way for the Healers to save him was to perform a ritual that would stabilize Charles' magic using the magic of the closest match possible, his twin brother. James and Lily had known that there was a small risk to the ritual, but they hadn't been too bothered when the worst had happened and the Healers reported that despite the ritual's success, Harry had been rendered a squib.
She and James hadn't cared. They loved both their children, regardless of whether they had magic or not. And for a few weeks, they had been a happy family. Then the Lestranges and Barty Crouch Jr attacked and tortured Frank and Alice Longbottom into insanity. Lily had never before been more thankful that she and James had listened to Dumbledore's advice and kept the Fidelius charm active. That said, they couldn't stay at home forever. But every time they left, they ran the substantial risk of being attacked by the remnants of Voldemort's Death Eaters - something that happened often to them and their close friends.
Finally, she and James decided to give at least one of their children a chance at a happy life. Charles was the Boy Who Lived, the survivor of the Killing Curse and the vanquisher of Voldemort. He was already well known and celebrated throughout the Isles. But not Harry. Only their close friends even knew he existed, and with him being rendered a squib, she and James had decided to give him a better life in the muggle world with Lily's sister, Petunia.
Despite their decision, Lily continued to feel anxious about her son's wellbeing, but she couldn't contact him. The Potters had many enemies after that Halloween night in 1981, and even a single owl post, let alone a visit in person, might let their enemies track down her son where he had no protection.
At the time, Lily's only comfort had been that Harry's lack of magic would make Petunia's husband more receptive to him. She could only hope that he was well taken care of, that he and Petunia's son Dudley got along well, and that he was happy.
It took a few months, but the Wizarding World eventually calmed down, and the two of them immediately went to visit their son. To her relief, and hidden disappointment, Harry was healthy and happy with the Dursleys. So they left, reaffirming to themselves that they were doing what was best for Harry.
Lily had still wanted to be a part of her son's life. She sent Petunia a letter, asking about her son and when would be a good time to visit. But Petunia informed her that she had been forced to tell Harry that his parents were dead after he kept pestering her for answers she couldn't give him. It had hurt Lily when she read that letter, but she couldn't really blame Petunia. Lily had been the one to put her sister in such an awkward position in the first place after all. And Harry was healthy and happy so Lily saw no reason to waltz into his life and muck things up.
It hurt, but she and James kept their distance. Harry couldn't have been a part of their world anyway, they reasoned to each other, so there was no point in dragging him into it when he was living a perfectly happy life in the muggle world.
Except, according to the letter in front of her, neither of those assumptions were true. Harry was a wizard. Had the Healers been wrong all those years ago? Had Petunia lied to her about Harry not having any incidents of Accidental Magic? Lily didn't know, and right now, she didn't even care.
No, what had her utmost focus was the address written underneath his name on the letter.
'The Cupboard under the Stairs,
No. 4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging, Surrey'
The cupboard… under the stairs. The Hogwarts letter was extremely precise when it came to addressing. Lily still remembered how her own letter had been addressed to the 'first bedroom on the second floor'. Which meant that Harry was currently living in a cupboard under the stairs. Hence the firewhiskey.
Lily heard the woosh of fire that signified that someone had floo'd in. A moment later, her husband, James, settled in next to her and pulled her close to him.
"I talked to Albus about this," James started, his own voice hollow. "He says the letter's legitimate. Harry is a wizard."
Lily barely heard him. "Harry - our baby boy - is living in a cupboard under the stairs! What did they do to him, James?! What if he… We-We should have gone to see him. This is all our fault." Lily's rambling trailed off into a barely audible whisper.
"We should have," James agreed, holding his wife close. "We thought we were doing what was best for him. We were wrong. But we can still make things right."
"How?" Lily asked bitterly. "He's going to hate us."
"And we deserve it. We're his parents and we failed him. But we can't let that stop us from doing our best to be there for him."
Lily thought it over as she forced her breathing down to normal. Having calmed down, Lily nodded and echoed her husband's words, her tone resolute.
"You're right. It doesn't matter if he hates us. We'll just have to do our best to earn his love again."
Privet Drive was an ordinary suburban street in the small town of Little Whinging, Surrey. The houses on either side of the road were all built with the same boring, boxy designs and had small gardens at the front and back. The only way to really tell them apart were the numbers on the mailboxes.
House number 4 was, on the surface, the same as all the other houses on the street. The lawn was well maintained, as was the car that sat on the driveway. All in all, a cursory inspection would indicate absolutely nothing odd about the house or its residents.
The family living in this house did their best to maintain that image; to keep secret from others on the street the one abnormality their house hid.
Harry Potter was a strange boy, completely unlike the relatives he lived with in every way imaginable, which is just how Harry preferred it.
Harry lived with his aunt, Petunia Dursley, his uncle, Vernon Dursley, and their son - his cousin - Dudley Dursley. Vernon was an overweight man who had thick, dark brown hair and a bushy brown mustache. With his size and coloring, he greatly resembled a walrus. Petunia, on the other hand, was a tall and willowy blonde, her neck elongated like a giraffe's. Their son Dudley had inherited his father's size and his mother's coloring, making him look like a blonde, baby whale.
Unlike them, Harry looked healthy. He was slim, but not thin. His hair was an untamed, pitch black mess, and his green eyes were completely unlike the Dursleys' brown or blue.
Harry knew he was different from them in other ways too. His relatives were loud, opinionated, and somewhat dim-witted. Harry was quiet, non-judgmental, and much smarter than all his peers at school, not that he let the Dursleys know that.
This wasn't always the case though. There was a time when Harry was meek, subservient, and full of self-loathing - back when he still cared about being a part of the Dursley family and put in effort to please them.
But no matter what he did or didn't do, the Dursleys were forever wary of him and his 'freakishness' as his Uncle Vernon put it. Most children would probably be deeply impacted by this kind of behavior and would perhaps attempt to fix whatever abnormalities their relatives saw in them.
Not Harry though. Oh, he'd tried at first. He tried to be a part of their family, doing all his chores - and Dudley's - finishing his homework, helping around the house, never complaining about anything, etc. None of it worked. It had disheartened Harry until he discovered something incredible.
It had started with an accident, when Harry dropped a teacup he'd been cleaning, shattering the porcelain dishware. He could still remember the sheer terror he felt at that moment of how Petunia would react. Before he could even begin thinking of excuses, however, the shattered pieces of the cup flew back to Harry's hand and reattached themselves in moments. Harry was left staring stupefied, wondering if he'd dreamt the whole thing up.
But he hadn't. Aunt Petunia had stormed into the kitchen moments later, drawn by the sound of something shattering. When she laid eyes on Harry's bewildered face and the teacup in his hand, she immediately blew up on him, shrieking about his 'freakishness' and how it wouldn't be allowed in her house.
Harry said nothing at the time and let the woman's abuse wash over him. It was only later in the night, within the privacy of his cupboard, that Harry began processing what happened and Petunia's reaction.
That was the moment he realized that there really was something unnatural about himself. He was capable of things normal people weren't and that was the source of Petunia and Vernon's hatred of him.
Other children might have perhaps taken that experience in a negative light, doubling down on their attempts to be 'normal' and fit in, ignoring what they may or may not be capable of. But not Harry.
Harry realized that Vernon and Petunia's hatred didn't stem from their revulsion of his unnaturalness. No, they were afraid of his powers and what he might one day be capable of with them.
Harry realized that he was different from the Dursleys, and that it wasn't something to be ashamed about. That was the night Harry promised himself that he would be as different from the Dursleys as was humanly possible. He promised himself that he would explore his powers and all that he could do. He would become greater than anything the Dursleys could hope to be.
Years later, Harry liked to think his efforts bore fruit. In both mind and body, he was far superior to Dudley, which was admittedly not much of a milestone. He was far smarter than the other kids in his grade at least, and he was much better looking than most of them in his humble opinion.
But most importantly, he'd made quite a lot of progress mastering his powers. In fact, Harry was even now thinking up more experiments to try later as he folded the recently dried laundry into separate piles. He was broken out of his musings when the doorbell rang.
Curious to see who it was, Harry set aside the 4XL shirt he was folding to answer the door.
Harry opened the door to find a bespectacled man and a woman looking at him with strange expressions on their faces. The man had messy black hair and was quite tall. He wore wide-rimmed spectacles over his hazel eyes. The woman was tall as well, though shorter than the man. She had auburn hair and stunningly bright green eyes. That last bit surprised Harry, having never known anyone to have eyes like him, but he didn't let it show on his face.
"Can I help you?" he asked instead.
The two seemed oddly hurt by his question. "You don't know who we are?" the woman finally asked.
"Should I?"
Before Harry could once more ask who they were or how they knew him, he was interrupted by the distant bellowing of his uncle. "Who's at the door, boy?!"
Harry grimaced slightly at the man's voice but answered anyway. "I don't know, but they seem to know me."
It didn't take long for Petunia and Vernon to make their way to the front door, Petunia easily outpacing her husband's heavy gait.
Harry noticed that his aunt recognized the visitors, and she did not look happy to see them. Her face was pinched and she clearly kept a distance from them, stopping in the entryway as soon as she saw them.
"I suppose I should have expected you sooner or later, what with the boy almost turning 11 and all."
"Hello to you too, Petunia," the redheaded woman replied, her tone far icier than Aunt Petunia's.
"You're here for him, yes? Well you can get his things and be off!"
"Oh we will, but we'd like to talk to you about a few things first."
Petunia's face became even more sour if that was possible, and Vernon finally made it to the entryway.
"What's going on here, Pet-" He paused to take in the two visitors and his face colored in fury and disgust. "You."
It honestly impressed Harry sometimes how quickly his uncle grew angry. It was also quite helpful that his face gave clear indications as to how angry he was. His beady eyes narrowed and his mustache rustled whenever he was distinctly displeased or surprised with bad news, like when the school nurse sent back a note that Dudley was approaching dangerous levels of weight for a child his age.
When something happened that went directly against his sensibilities, his face would redden and his breathing became like a bull, like that first time when Harry had come home with a report card that was distinctly better than Dudley.
Harry had honestly thought his uncle would strangle him for 'cheating' as Dudley had complained he had. Harry had never again brought home a report card better than Dudley's, instead he simply made a deal with Dudley to write his homework and exams for him. Dudley got the grades and was praised for his intelligence and work ethic, but Harry was the one who grew smarter.
Now? Not only was Uncle Vernon's face purpling at an alarming rate, but Harry could also see a vein throbbing on his temple. The only other time Harry had seen something like this happen was when Dudley had brought home Swords and Sorcery, a game lent to him by his friend. That was the first and only time Harry had seen his uncle explode at Dudley.
Aunt Petunia also noticed her husband's growing anger and knew that it wouldn't be long before he exploded.
"Perhaps we should take this inside?" she asked, looking pointedly at Uncle Vernon. Understanding his wife's gesture, Vernon took a look outside and visibly restrained his anger.
Harry looked as well and noticed Mrs Chester from No 12 subtly looking at them from her garden as she watered her plants.
Image was everything to the Dursleys, so Harry wasn't surprised that Uncle Vernon invited the two strangers inside to avoid the gossipy neighbors.
It didn't take long for everyone to get settled, with the two strangers sitting on the sofa and Uncle Vernon sitting in an armchair opposite them. Aunt Petunia puttered around the kitchen making some tea, leaving Harry to stand around awkwardly.
Normally he'd make himself scarce whenever the Dursleys had guests over, but these two seemed to be here for him, so Harry stayed out of curiosity.
"He doesn't know," the red-haired woman started. "You didn't tell him anything. Who he is, who we are, nothing!"
"Of course we kept it from him!" Uncle Vernon spat back. "He was bad enough as he was with all his freakishness, we didn't need him getting any more ideas."
"Then why didn't you just contact us?" the black-haired man asked. "We left you with a communication mirror in case of emergencies. You could have called us the day he started having bouts of Accidental Magic."
Harry was slightly annoyed that they were talking about him as if he weren't even here but ignored it because of all the things he was learning. Two things stood out to Harry.
The things Uncle Vernon called his 'freakishness' the man called 'Accidental Magic.' Magic. Harry felt giddy just from hearing it. All those years of telling himself that he was not like the Dursleys, that he was different, and now that belief was being vindicated. And it wasn't some freakishness like Uncle Vernon insisted, but honest-to-God magic.
All the time and effort he put in to be different from the Dursleys - studying and reading to educate himself, eating healthy, helping other people, controlling his anger and emotions, and most importantly his abilities - hadn't been a waste.
Unfortunately, Harry's excitement was brought low by the other thing that stood out to Harry. The two guests hadn't said it outright, nor had his aunt and Uncle confirmed it, but the way they talked was giving Harry a bad feeling about who these two were. Uncomfortable questions and dreams that had long been abandoned crept back up from the depths of his mind where they'd previously been stowed away.
"You're my parents, aren't you," he interrupted the still furiously arguing adults.
"We- Yes, we are, Harry. I'm sure you have a lot of questions and we'll do our best to answer them," the redhead - his mother - assured.
As much as Harry wanted to ask more about magic and what it was capable of, there were a few questions he needed answered as soon as possible. "Why? Why leave me here? Why come back now?"
"That… is a long story." His mother shared a look with his father, the two silently communicating with each other.
"Why don't you sit down, first. It's a long story."
Harry was about to go into the kitchen and bring out a chair when his father stopped him. Instead, the man pulled out a stick and waved it in Harry's direction. To Harry's surprise, a comfy armchair in the same style as the sofa appeared out of thin air.
Harry's surprise was no match for Uncle Vernon's anger though, but it was quelled by a withering look from his mother. Harry didn't say anything about it as he sat down, but he was genuinely impressed. He'd never seen his uncle get shut down so quickly and efficiently.
He made himself comfortable then turned back to his parents - that still sounded odd in his mind.
His father cleared his throat. "Right, we'll try to keep it as short as possible, so feel free to ask any questions afterwards."
Harry nodded in response, understanding that he probably didn't have enough context yet to understand the full story.
"Well I suppose we should start in the 60s. There was a Dark Wizard - that's a Wizard that uses bad magic to do bad things - who started rallying like-minded people under his banner. He was a Blood Purist, you see, and he and his followers claimed that the only ones who deserved to know about and learn magic are the ones born into magical families, and that Muggleborns - witches and wizards born to non-magical folk - didn't deserve their magic.
"Things didn't really heat up until years later, but by the time we joined the war effort in 1978, he and his Death Eaters had almost won. They had the Ministry - that's the magical government - on the backfoot and nearly everyone was so terrified of him they refused to even say his name.
"Then there was a prophecy made, and it basically said that the one who would kill the Dark Lord - his name is Voldemort, by the way - would be born at the end of July to a couple who had fought him three times.
"As it happened, you and your twin brother were born to Lily and I on July 31st and fulfilled all the other requirements as well. Voldemort decided that one of our children had to be the one destined to beat him and planned to kill the both of you first.
"We ran, of course. We did our best to keep the two of you safe, but eventually he found us. You and your brother Charles were being watched by your mum's parents when Voldemort attacked. He killed them and tried to kill you two. Except, he didn't. No one knows for sure exactly what happened that night, but we do know that he tried to kill your brother with a spell, which backfired and destroyed Voldemort instead.
"Whatever happened that night, it left Charles in a dangerous condition. The Healers - those are magical doctors - told us they had a way to save him by using your magic to stabilize him. It worked and both Charles and you were fine, but the Healers said that you couldn't use magic anymore.
"We didn't care though. We were just glad our family was safe. But that didn't last long either. Voldemort was gone, but his loyal followers were still around, and they wanted revenge. We fought off half-a-dozen attacks and had to move houses twice in just 2 weeks. Some of them even attacked close friends of ours trying to get our location before they were caught.
"So we decided, your mother and I, that we wanted at least one of our children to have a safe and happy life. We came to Petunia and asked her to take care of you since, without magic, you couldn't have been a real part of our world. We gave them enough money to take care of you and even a way to contact us in case of emergencies. Then we left.
"We did come back. It took several months, but our world finally settled down. We visited you then but left after seeing that you were happy here. It wasn't until a day ago that we got a Hogwarts letter addressed to you - Hogwarts is the school where most British witches and wizards are taught, by the way. The Hogwarts letters are always accurate and are only sent out to those who have magic. The fact that one was addressed to you meant the Healers were wrong, and that you didn't lose your magic. There was another thing we found out through the letter, and… well, see for yourself."
He took out a letter from his pocket and handed it to Harry. The letter was odd, made of something other than paper. The front side had a crest emblazoned above the seal - divided into four parts, each of which had an animal on them, with a stylized 'H' in the middle. Harry flipped it over to see the address and his eyes widened.
Mr. H. Potter
The Cupboard Under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging,
Surrey
He understood what his father meant. They'd seen this scarily accurate address and realized he was not being treated properly. They'd come running, having realized their mistake, and now here they were.
On the one hand, Harry was pleased that someone had finally noticed that he wasn't being treated right. On the other hand, he didn't like that people knew now, and he wasn't sure how to feel that it took his parents 10 years to realize their mistake.
"Why didn't you come sooner?" he asked. "If Aunt Petunia had a way to reach you, then surely she did so when I started using my magic." Harry relished the fact that he could use that word without his uncle punishing him for it.
"That's actually something we were wondering ourselves," his mother turned to Aunt Petunia, her expression indiscernible to Harry but quite intense.
Aunt Petunia just huffed instead. "That mirror you gave us ended up broken by Dudley a few weeks after you left. We tried to put it back together, but the thing wouldn't work anymore. And we didn't have any other way to contact you."
Harry ignored the urge to burst into hysterical laughter at the almost ridiculous, but probably truthful, explanation. Dudley had a gift when it came to breaking things, to the point where Harry wondered if perhaps his cousin also had some magic in him. Instead, he asked another question that had been bugging him.
"You said you came to check on me after things calmed down. Why didn't you take me with you then?" he asked.
His parents shared a look, as if deciding how much to say. His father turned back to him and gave him an apologetic smile. "There's a lot of great things about our world but… it's not perfect. We could have taken you back with us, but we didn't think you'd be happy in the Wizarding World. One of the shameful parts of our society is the contempt for those born to witches and wizards, but who don't have magic of their own, called Squibs. We would have loved you no matter what, but our society wouldn't have accepted you."
That… actually satisfied Harry a bit. That it hadn't been something wrong with him, but rather an issue with their society that led to them giving him up.
He was still mad, of course, especially because he most certainly had his magic and had been practicing it for quite some time. That led to another question of his, but he didn't voice it just yet. There was another thing that was far more important.
"So I have a brother?" Harry wasn't sure how to feel about that. He barely interacted with others his age due to a combination of the negative reputation the Dursleys spread about him, Dudley's interference at school, and Harry's own lack of social skills. He'd tried a few times to reach out to others, but those attempts had ended disastrously and Harry decided to retreat to his books and education.
The point was that he had very little idea of how to interact with his brother, his twin in fact.
His parents smiled at the question, clearly happier to move away from talking about their mistakes. "You do. Charles. He's your twin, but he's a few minutes younger than you. He's a cheerful boy, rambunctious but polite. He's really excited to meet you."
Harry didn't miss the implicit assumption that he'd go with them. He couldn't really fault them for it, they were his parents after all. And really, they weren't even wrong. He'd probably go with anyone if they offered to take him away from the Dursleys.
"Does he know?" Harry asked, glancing at the letter addressed to him. His question was vague, but there was no mistaking what he was asking.
"No," his mother assured him. "We only told him that you were raised by my sister and that you probably didn't remember him. Anything else is for you to share with him when you're comfortable."
Harry appreciated the gesture. He wasn't exactly ashamed of how he grew up, but he didn't want to be probed about it either.
"When do we leave, then?"
His parents seemed slightly taken aback, perhaps by how easily he accepted all the revelations, but recovered easily. "We can leave anytime you want. Is there anything you want to do first? Say goodbye to your friends or anything like that?"
Harry shook his head. "I don't have friends. I just have to gather my clothes and we can leave."
"Maybe we should go shopping first?" his mother suggested instead. "It's fine if you like your clothes, but they're a little… worn."
That was quite an understatement. All of Harry's clothes were hand-me-downs from Dudley, little more than rags by the time Harry got them. Harry hardly cared about his appearance or what others thought of him, but who would turn down an offer for free clothes?
He easily agreed to go on a little detour before returning to their home, eager to get some things of his own.
Harry didn't need to say anything else until they left. His parents just warned the Dursleys that they would be reclaiming half the money they gave them for taking care of Harry since it clearly hadn't been used for that purpose. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon blustered for a bit before they were forced to back down.
Harry followed his parents down the street as they made their way to a more secluded spot. Apparently, using magic in front of normal people - muggles, his mother called them - was illegal and punished harshly, which made Harry very glad that all his experimentations had been conducted in secrecy.
Still, there was one more question he hadn't quite felt comfortable asking back at Privet Drive.
"What are your names?"
His parents comically tripped because of his question; the shock was written clear on their faces.
"You- You don't know our names?" His father asked aghast.
Harry shrugged. "The Dursleys never told me."
Harry could practically hear his mother's teeth grinding and it looked like she was barely stopping herself from making another, more violent, trip to No 4 Privet Drive. His father was hardly any better but was able to pull himself back together faster than his wife.
"James. My name is James Potter. Your mother's name is Lily Potter." He finally answered.
Harry said nothing, just nodding in acknowledgement.
"We're going to Apparate - a spell that lets us travel wherever we want near instantaneously. It feels a little unpleasant though." James explained. He held out his hand and Harry hesitantly took it.
James counted down from 3 before the three of them disappeared with a muted crack.
