DISCLAIMER

The wizarding world of Harry Potter and all its characters belong to J.K Rowling. I am only killing my boredom playing with this fantastic sandbox and writing something I would love to read.

The text in bold is taken from 'Harry Potter and The Order of Phoenix' by JK Rowling.

This story is NOT The Wrong Boy Who Lived story!


"You can kiss your family and friends goodbye and put miles between you, but at the same time, you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach, because you do not just live in a world, but a world lives in you."
Frederick Buechner


Even when young, Harry Potter always knew that his family meant everything to him. At five years old, he subconsciously felt the upcoming danger. His nightmares forced him to promise himself that he would keep them safe no matter what. He promised that no matter what, he would find a way to become the hero he always longed to be.

He never liked attention, so he was never bothered by the fact that people didn't know him. When his parents and twin brother went to parties, celebrations, and banquets, he was most likely to stay in the Potter Manor with his books and, later, when his sister came into the world, still too young to take part in the grand gatherings of the elite, Harry found solace in her company. He loved the hallowed halls of their ancestral home, sharing stolen moments of affection with her, cherishing the innocence and bond that connected them. It wasn't a matter of exclusion or neglect; no one ever wished for him to be absent. Instead, it was a matter of personal comfort. Harry had never been at ease with the bustling crowds and prying eyes, preferring the quiet exclusion that allowed him retreat.

Their parents always treated and loved them the same as the rest of the family. The twins were raised in an environment where favouritism was never even a shadow of a concern. Yet, despite this equal treatment, a natural distance seemed to persist between the siblings. It wasn't borne out of hatred or hostility but rather by their markedly different personalities constantly clashing. The twins' contrasting temperaments often led to many fights and conflicts, their interests diverging as they grew older. While Archie revelled in the thrill of adventure and chaos, Harry was content with the peace of mind. They always tried to be better than the other.

To complicate matters further, a horrible incident widened the gap between Archie and Harry. One fateful day, Archie's mischief went too far, resulting in a prank that nearly cost little Rose her life. While Archie never intended to cause harm, the gap between the twins grew even further. It shook the entire family and left Rose understandably shaken and wary of her brother's antics.

Harry was mainly content with his life. He had loving parents, a great family, and even a few friends. But sometimes, he had nightmares. Nightmares that would grip his heart in fear, making him wake up drenched in a cold sweat. These nightmares always revolved around a sinister figure, a cloaked man with eyes as red as burning embers. In his dreams, this evil presence would torment and terrorise his beloved family, the people he held dearest in his heart. In these haunting dreams, Harry would find himself powerless, a silent observer as the cloaked man brought havoc upon his family, their cries of agony piercing the depths of his soul. The vividness of these nightmares left Harry feeling as though they were not mere figments of his imagination but a grim foreshadowing of a dark fate yet to come.

During the day, Harry often found himself lost in thought, trying to decipher the meaning behind these recurring nightmares. Were they mere products of an overactive imagination, or did they hold some hidden message?

The thing that bothered Harry the most was that he was a squib. He had never performed accidental magic, and after some tests, it was clear that he had only a bit more magic than regular squib but still too little to be a wizard. He envied his twin brother for his abilities and power. Last year, when he was four, Archie Potter started training with Albus Dumbledore to be ready when You-Know-Who returns. Of course, it had an impact on Harry's self-confidence despite assurances from all of his family that Harry's lack of magic didn't matter to them.

But it did to Harry.

He simply couldn't accept it. How could he ever protect his family without any magic? How could he be a hero?

Since the fateful attack on Halloween 81', Harry has been very weak and constantly sick. This led to all of his family being overly protective, which angered Harry endlessly. He wasn't a baby! In his young mind, he was a very capable five-year-old!


The morning of the twins' fifth birthday was quiet but filled with joy. The whole family and friends gathered in Potter Manor's extensive gardens to celebrate. Of course, many more people wished to attend the famous Boy Who Lived birthday, but James and Lily had a strict policy – their children were to stay safe and protected from the influence of politicians and others essential for the Wizarding World personas. Besides, it was a family occasion, and Harry didn't like crowds.

After the birthday breakfast, the children went to play. Archie had shenanigans with other boys, while Harry stayed with his little sister and her friend Ginny. It wasn't anything exciting, as Rose was showing off her new magical doll that could change outfits with a wave of its tiny wand to her best friend, but Harry preferred it more than the chaos his brother would make.

They were sitting beneath the ancient oak tree that their father had told them had been growing there for centuries. The Weasleys have returned to their home as the last of the guests, leaving the Potters alone. Harry liked them, but their visit was a little too long for his liking. Now, he could relax in peace with his sister by his side. Yes, he was content. Well, that was until his brother came running to them, bored without company.

"Hey! I will show you something!" Archie said, taking out a wand that probably was stolen from his private lessons with Dumbledore. Harry didn't doubt that he would use it for some stupid pranks and fooling around.

"You want to fly, Rose?" He asked with a joyful glim in his eyes. Rose's horrified expression answered for her as her brother pointed a wand at her.

„Look at this new spell I learned! Wingardium Leviosa!" Rose took off the ground stronger and faster than her brother intended. Archie wasn't worried much because, as his tutor Albus Dumbledore told him once, he shouldn't care about mistakes he committed as they happened even to the best, especially at such a young age.

„Ahgrr, let me go!" Rose shrieked, pleading for help.

Although Harry desperately wanted to help her, he knew he could do nothing. He was too weak to match his brother basically in everything. He could only shout at him to stop.

Archie's brow furrowed in concentration as he tried to hold on, but it became increasingly difficult. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead, and his breath quickened with the effort. Despite his best intentions, Archie's magical grip on Rose was slipping. He could feel the spell slipping through his fingers like grains of sand. Panic started within him as he desperately attempted to regain control, but it was too late. In an instant, the spell faltered, and Rose fell to the ground with a loud crack. The sound echoed through the air. Archie's heart sank as he rushed to the fallen Rose, his hands trembling. He had underestimated the toll this spell would take on him, and now, his little sister lay broken and lifeless at his feet.

"Rosie!" Harry shouted, terrified, running towards her as fast as his small legs and weak body let him. "Rosie, are you alright?" He asked, his voice quivering with fear and urgency. But his sister didn't respond. She lay there, motionless, her head at an unnatural angle, and beneath it, a chilling pool of blood continued to spread, staining the ground. Panic surged through Harry's veins. "Rosie, please!" he said with desperation evident in his voice.

He turned to Archie, who stood frozen, shock written on his face. "Archie! Don't just stand there! Do something! Go, get help!" With trembling hands, Harry reached out to gently cradle Rosie's head, careful not to exacerbate her injuries. His heart pounded in his chest as he tried to inspect the extent of the damage. Blood oozed through his fingers, and he knew that time was of the essence. Archie finally snapped out of his shock stupor and sprinted towards their house to get help.

As Harry waited for help to arrive, he continued to hold Rosie, tears streaming down his face. He whispered soothing words, hoping that somehow, his sister could hear him and find the strength to pull through. All he could do was cling to hope and pray that help would arrive in time to save Rosie's life. Harry couldn't lose her; she was too young, too innocent, and too good for any bad thing to happen to her.

Harry closed his eyes, crying, wailing and screaming. If he had only been stronger and better, he could have stopped Archie. But he was only Harry, a sick, weak little child.

As he cried his eyes out, the unbelievable started to happen. It was as though the very fabric of reality itself was being rewritten before his eyes. The blood began to flow back into her body as if it were retracing its steps to where it came from. Her head, once unnaturally twisted and contorted, now returned to its normal position, the bones and muscles realigning with a soft, almost imperceptible sigh. It was a miracle unfolding in despair.

Not only did her physical injuries seem to mend themselves, but her skin also began to regain some colour. The deadly paleness was replaced by the healthy flush. It was as if life itself was breathing back into her, dispelling the death that had loomed so ominously. He couldn't believe his eyes. The tears that had flowed from his eyes, once filled with hopelessness, now glistened with hope and wonder.

Rose's hazel eyes fluttered suddenly, struggling to focus on Harry's face. Her voice trembled with fatigue as she whispered, "Harry... what happened?" Her words sent shockwaves through Harry's bewildered mind, and he was at a loss for words. He could hear the frantic footsteps of his parents running to where they were, their voices filled with panic as they shouted something incoherent for him. All the sounds were muffled to Harry, distant echoes that refused to make sense.

Harry's temples throbbed with unbearable intensity, as though his thoughts were being crushed in a vice grip as he struggled to make sense of the situation.

As Harry's parents arrived, their faces etched with fear and concern, he strained to comprehend their urgent words. Their voices were distant, but the urgency in their eyes was unmistakable. Amid the chaos and confusion, Harry reached out to Rose, reassuringly squeezing her tiny hand.

There was only one thought, one question he could think of.

How?

Then, his world turned dark.

He woke up suddenly, with all his body throbbing painfully, especially his head. It was as if someone decided to do a rearrangement there without his permission, with a bulldozer – a fancy muggle machine his mother once showed him.

He felt his hand being squeezed by a much larger one. He turned to it only to see his mother's tear-streaked face. Even though she was silently crying, was smiling at him the whole time. She brought a comforting hand to his cheek, caressing it. Without thinking, he leaned into it to draw soothe from it. It was as if his mother's touch repelled most of the pain.


"Sweetheart! How do you feel?"

"I-I'm fine, I think. What had happened?"

"Do you remember anything?"

"Only whisps…"

"Archie was fooling around with a wand, and he… h-he hurt Rose," her voice broke significantly.

"Whe-where is she?!" He suddenly jumped up abruptly. He had to see her!

"Easy there, little guy," his father unexpectedly appeared on his other side, reassuringly touching his shoulder, "she's fine now. A little bruised but fine.

"But how? All I remember is blood…" he said, causing his mother to look even paler.

"We think she had an accidental magic accident strong enough to heal her. Andy said that there were almost no signs anything was wrong with her. Now she just needs rest, just like you do."

"What happened to Archie?"

"Don't worry. This was much too serious to be 'just a prank'. He will learn his lesson. Now, it'd be better if you went back to sleep. Goodnight, my little knight."


Almost a week had passed since the accident. The Potter's life nearly came back to normal. Rose was again a cheerful, bubbly little girl tugging along Harry constantly. The only difference was Archie's behaviour. He was lectured by almost all the adults he knew about proper behaviour with magic, dangerous pranks and whatnot. He also got punishment – he was forbidden from going to friends, flying on his training broomstick and he was under constant supervision until he learned how to behave safely for himself and others.

Archie himself showed great remorse and accepted his punishment without hesitation. He was constantly apologising to Rose, no matter how many times she forgave him. Yet, Harry still held a grudge.

The evening was a quiet affair. Only Rose and Harry ate supper. Their parents, grandparents, and brother were getting ready to go out. The new Minister for Magic, who was elected last week, was doing a banquette as a celebration and invited the most important and influential people in Wizarding Britain. Normally, a five-year-old boy wasn't invited to such affairs, but of course, The Boy Who Lived wasn't an ordinary boy; he couldn't be omitted after all. Even though their parents were against it, they couldn't ignore a Minister's wish just like that.

Harry didn't envy his brother at all; it was said that there would be many people there, and he preferred to stay behind the thick walls of his home, which was quiet and peaceful, especially with the greatest companion ever – his sister!

The door to his room opened, and his parents walked in. He looked at them with admiration. His mother, beautiful as always, had her dark red hair braided gorgeously. And his father, handsome and graceful no matter what, always looking elegant. He wanted to be like him someday—the head of his family, a brave hero protecting all the wizards and witches from the evil dark lords and other monsters!

"Hi, sweetheart," his mother said, taking a seat on his bed next to him. Her hand automatically went to his unruly hair to flatten it out with no effect. Instead, she pinched his cheek. "We'll be going in a while. Just wanted to say goodnight."

"I don't understand why Archie's coming. You said he was forbidden from parties!"

"Harry," said James seriously, "there are some matters that even we don't have a say in. You may not understand it now, but it will make sense when you're older. Much older."

Harry reluctantly nodded his head. They were right. He didn't understand it. But he understood that his parents were wise and would never lie to him, so he trusted them.

"When will you be back?"

His mother smiled at him, "Before you even notice. And tomorrow, as a recompensation, we will go to ice cream. What do you think? Just me, you're dad, Rosie, and you!"

"No Archie?"

"Just like you said – he's forbidden."

Harry pretended to think about it, but the answer was already on the tip of his tongue, "Okay!"

"Great, then!" said James, ruffling Harry's already messy hair. His expression turned solemn: "It is up to you to protect our home and your sister. Are you ready for this task?"

Harry jumped a little, his face very serious, "Of course!"

James smiled at his son proudly, "I wasn't expecting anything less. Goodnight, Harry."

While his father left his room, his mother still sat beside him, holding his hand all this time. She always was like that when Harry was to be left alone. She always tended to be a little bit overprotective over her eldest son.

"Be careful, Harry. Eat something before sleep. And please, don't stay longer than nine!"

"Okay, Mum."

"Keep an eye on Rosie. And don't be shy to ask house elves for anything."

"I won't"

She took his head in her hands and kissed his hair lovingly, "Sweet dreams, my little knight."


Three cloaked figures—two men and a woman — apparated just before the wards of Potter Manor. The first man, cloaked in light wizarding battle robes, walked first. The woman, robed in a simple, unspeakable cloak, turned to the other mysterious man.

"I still don't understand why we even bother. Isn't it pointless to come after a squib? We should be after his brother! If anyone, he who defeated Voldemort should be the one you so desperately seek!"

The man, wearing a beautifully designed and decorated with golden strings cloak, turned his overwhelming attention to the woman, "Do not worry about my assessment abilities, dear. I'm sure we are after the right boy," he said with an always calm voice, light like a feather.

"But he is not the prophecied one!"

The man chuckled, "Dear Tissaia, maybe you are one of the best, but you still have many years of learning before you. Prophesies are nothing more than a possible version of what can happen. Prophecies alone hold no power; only we, who believe in them, unintentionally make them real."

"But that doesn't change the fact that the boy we are coming for is just a squib," the other man said.

"Ah, Croaker, but he is not a squib by any means."

"How so?" Asked Tissaia unbelievingly.

"So far, the boy has used his magic only two times, and two times, he has done things that most adult wizards would never possibly dream of doing. He uses his power only under the influence of powerful emotions. I have made the necessary investigation and discovered that he used his magic for the first time the night the Dark Lord vanished. We can only speculate what happened that night, but I believe that our boy protected his brother, The Boy Who Lived."

"When was the other time he used his magic?" Asked Croaker curiously.

"Last week," Said their leader, much to their shock. "An accident happened in which his sister was hurt. Very critically, may I add. The death practically had her in her embrace. But the boy healed her. Even if unconsciously, it was still an indicator of what he is capable of."

"So, how do you know he will accept your proposition?"

"We don't know," He answered simply.

Croaker was indignant. "So if he declines our offer, we are just going to leave him alone," He said.

"The only way he can become who we want him to be is to come with us willingly. Forcing him to do anything will not do anything good. But I believe he will choose wisely, even if he is this young."

"So why did no one detect his magic?" Asked Tissaia.

"I have my theory, but it is not a talk for now." Said the man, leaving no place to argue.

Stepping closer to the Manor, Magnus Augustus made a few complicated wand movements in the air, making Potter's house elves sound asleep. They walked up to the main entrance and knocked on the door. They didn't need to wait long before it was opened by the most petite and skinny boy they had ever seen. He looked at them with incredible emerald green eyes, which, quite strangely, were rather dull.

"Good evening," The boy said, eying them uncertainly. He tried to peek under their hoods, but they were enchanted to never show their contents. Instead of faces, there was only a black void. It could be somewhat scary for a five-year-old boy to be greeted by three cloaked persons, especially at night. "How can I help you?"

"Could we, by any means, shelter our elder legs inside, my young friend?" The man asked, with his voice so smooth and serene that it calmed the boy automatically.

"But… I don't know you, Sir. And my parents always say not to talk with someone I don't know." The boy said sincerely.

"Aren't you a smart one?" the man praised, "Yes, you do not know us, but we certainly want to know you."

"I… I don't know." The boy said, looking over his shoulder to the depths of the Potter Manor. His mum and dad always say never to talk to strangers. Croaker started to take out his wand but was stopped in the middle by the gesture of the Mysterious man.

"What if I promise you we don't mean harm?"

The boy reluctantly nodded, "I, Magnus Augustus, the head of The Department of Mysteries, swear on my life and magic that I and my companions don't mean any harm or evil intent. As long as you wish, we will stay, and with the first word of your disapproval, we will leave and never go back."

The boy nodded, this time more confident and let them enter. They entered the big, elegant room full of fancy furniture and sitting places. On one of the couches was a sound-asleep little girl. The boy stood between them, protecting her with his body. Yes, he was sure that the boy was the one they needed.

"May we sit and let our old legs rest before we move to introductions, my little friend?" Harry nodded again, twisting in the place he was standing. He was uncomfortable with three scary-looking people.

"Thank you. As you may have noticed, I am called Magnus Augustus, the head of the Department of Mysteries," the man said, much to the shock of the young boy. He surely didn't expect it coming. "I'm afraid my actual name can't be shared. My two companions are Croaker and Tissaia Earhart." He pointed to the man and a woman.

"I'm Harry Potter." The boy introduced himself, proud of his name. He poofed his chest as much as he could and had the most serious expression a five-year-old could have.

"We are here," The man continued, "because you are special."

"But you are wrong! I'm just Harry, nothing special! I'm weak, sick and a squib!"

Magnus Augustus chuckled, "I don't think you are a squib, son."

"But… but why?" Harry asked, amazed.

"Well, it seems that your magic is powerful, and you use it only when incredibly strong emotions take control over you. I have my suspicion that something dark is blocking your magic."

"But you don't understand! Archie has magic! He's The Boy Who Lived! Not me!"

"I don't think holding some title makes a difference, Harry. I believe that the night the Dark Lord fell, part of his soul clung to you into your very own soul. I have my reasons for thinking that it poisons you and your magic. That's why you are always sick."

"So how do I get this something out of me?" Harry asked determinedly. Of course, he was also scared, but he had waited all his young life to be normal.

"This, my little friend, is a very tricky procedure that cannot occur here. If you want to get it out, you must come with us. The thing is, when you choose us to help you, there is no coming back. You leave without saying goodbye to anyone. We will train, protect and teach you, but you won't see your family until you are ready. You can, of course, choose not to come with us, and we will never see each other again."

The boy's shoulders fell, and he wore a very crestfallen expression. His family meant everything to him. How could he just leave them like that?

Magnus Augustus, as if he could read Harry's thoughts, kneeled before him and gently put his hand on the boy's shoulder, "I know it's hard. But I also know that you have always wanted to protect and keep them safe. You can find true power with us and become the mighty hero you have always wanted to be."

Harry looked forlorn between the three Unspeakables and his little sister. Would he really be powerful enough to protect her?

"Sometimes, my little friend, we have to choose between what is right and what is easy. The choice is only yours to make." The man stood up and reached his hand to Harry.

He stood there, torn between his heart's desires and the harsh reality that loomed before him. Leaving was the last thing he wanted. In his heart, he knew where the right choice lay, for that would be the only way to shield his beloved family from upcoming danger. Despite this knowledge, he found himself paralysed by indecision.

His gaze fell upon his little sister, the one who had brought him countless moments of joy and laughter. Memories of their shared adventures flooded his mind. He couldn't help but be overwhelmed by the love he felt for her, a love so powerful that it tugged at his very core. Thoughts of his parents added to the weight of his decision. They had always been his pillars, his protectors. Now, the roles seemed to be slowly reversing.

Sometimes, we need to choose between what is easy and what is right

Harry turned away from the three Unspeakables and went to where his sister was sleeping. He touched her cheek gently and pressed the softest kiss on her forehead. "I'm sorry, Rosie, but I have to go. I promise that I come back. No one will hold me away from you. Never."

When he returned to Magnus Agustus, silent tears ran down his eyes. He took the man's hand, and together, they left the Potter Manor in absolute silence.


He was led through narrow, long corridors with high ceilings that seemed to stretch into shadowed recesses above. The walls were constructed from smooth, dark stone, almost black. The floor, made of polished stone tiles, reflected the dim, flickering lights from the enchanted wall-mounted, blue-flamed torches. The flames cast a cold, ghostly light, creating deep shadows and a slightly eerie ambience. It made a balance between visibility and a deep sense of mystery and uneasiness. Sometimes, enchanted symbols and runes, subtly etched into the stone walls, glowed faintly. Harry noticed that the further they went down the department, the colder it got. There was ultimate silence; their footsteps were the only sound that echoed within the walls.

"Where are we going?" Asked Harry quietly, yet his voice rang loudly.

"You have to meet the Chapter. They will decide your fate in our ranks."

"What?" The boy said. He thought all was already decided! "You said I can join you! And you're the chef of the Department of Mysteries! Why would you need someone's permission?" Was all of this a lie? Did he really fell for it?

"I am. But every good leader listens to their advisors, respects and considers their word."

Harry suddenly felt insecure again. "So, you have doubts about me?"

"No, not at all. But it will be best for you to convince the others yourself."

The thing that worried Harry was what the Magnus Augustus didn't say. His unspoken question was thundering inside his mind. 'What if I won't manage to convince them? What will they do to me?' The more he was here, the more he regretted his decision.

At the end of the corridor stood a large, intricately carved door, made of heavy, dark wood, reinforced with bands of enchanted metal, inscribed with protective runes and sigils. Magnus Augustus raised his hand and flicked it across the door. Slowly, the mechanisms and locks started to open with the clattering and grinding noise of metal.

The door opened fully, and the chamber of the Chapter appeared before their eyes. It was a grand, perfectly circular room with a high, domed ceiling that seemed to extend endlessly upwards, vanishing into shadows. The walls made of polished obsidian reflected in mirror-like the ambient light of blue torches in a strange and captivating way. At the back of the chamber stood a large pedestal and stone table that stretched along the round wall. At it sat many dark-cloaked, hooded figures.

Magnus Augustus led him to the chamber's centre, where a large circle was drawn on the floor, filled with strange sigils. In the room was complete silence; the people, or at least that was what Harry hoped they were, were quiet, as if they were waiting for something. Even though he couldn't see their faces, he felt their stares on himself.

"He-hello?" The boy stuttered quietly, uncertain himself. Even though he was tiny, he now looked even smaller.

The people were silent for a few minutes past before one of them spoke, "This is the one you so desired, Magnus Augustus?" A woman's voice resounded in the chamber, echoing from the walls.

"He is."

"He doesn't look anything special," another person, sitting on Harry's left, gruffly remarked. His voice was rough, unpleasant for the child's ears. Harry looked at his feet. He knew he wasn't welcome here!

"It's irrelevant how things seem, Thaddeus, for the inconspicuous often holds the most surprises. You should be well aware of this by now." His hand found its way to Harry's shoulder. The boy felt a gentle squeeze on his shoulder and automatically felt reassured.

The man – Thaddeus – kept his silence, but Harry felt an intense stare at him. Being encouraged by Magnus Augustus' faith in him, he raised his eyes from the ground and stared back at the Unspeakable. This was one of the boldest things he did in his short life. But that wasn't his fault! His parents always taught him to be respectful, and now this man was being rude!

"Why are you here, child?" Other women asked.

He felt the squeeze again, "I-I want t-to…" But what did he want? Protect his family? Seek power? Be someone? He wanted all of that.

He fell silent, feeling dozens of eyes on him. It made him nervous, and he had to reconsider his words.

"I don't want to be weak!" He finally said loudly, almost shouting with determination.

"How can we be sure you will not die? The resources we put into training our people are great. How can you assure us it will not be wasted?"

"I won't die!"

"How?" Another voice asked.

"I won't let anyone kill me!"

The room filled with chuckles and laughter. Why are they laughing at me? I told them the truth!

"It is bold of you to assume it will be someone, not something." One of the women said. "You are brave or stupid. It depends on which of these traits is dominant for you to live." She turned her attention to Magnus Augustus, "Why do you think he, of all people, is special? I would rather imagine his brother before us, not this…. Squib."

The man removed his hand from Harry's shoulder, and the boy felt its loss almost instantly. "As you know, I have been investigating the case of the Potter twins for years. It is still not certain why it happened, but I managed to determine the chain of events that occurred that night. To this very moment, Godric's Hollow is full of whisps and echoes of the powerful magical discharges. It will be for many, many years."

Harry, along with everyone else gathered, listened intently to Magnus Augustus. How could he not be curious about what had happened that night?

"Everyone believes that Archibald was the one the Dark Lord targeted," Magnus Augustus continued. "And why wouldn't they? He is living proof that one can survive the killing curse!" The chamber erupted in whispers. "It makes sense, doesn't it? That the Dark Lord would fear Archibald, not his Squib brother. Even the greatest minds in our world accept this, though some still harbour doubts.

And they are right to do so.

What happened that night is far more complicated than it seems. It isn't just a matter of one individual's sheer power influenced by some prophecy. When the Dark Lord cast the killing curse on young Archibald, it was met with a barrier, a shield, something beyond my understanding. I have every reason to believe that young Harry was responsible for this, though I cannot fathom how someone so young could achieve such a feat. Yet, he did.

It nearly drained Harry's magic entirely. The collision of the killing curse with the barrier dissipated most of its energy, rendering it no longer lethal, though the barrier was destroyed. The curse struck Archibald on his forehead, leaving him with the scar he bears today.

That's where Archibald's part begins. The curse, now unstable and unpredictable, rebounded from the boy and returned to its caster, charged with new energy.

When the curse killed the Dark Lord, part of his soul split off and lodged itself in the weakest living being in that room at that moment – the magically drained Harry. I believe this vile fragment is responsible for the boy's sickness and his status as a Squib."

"Interesting theory. How do you plan on… extracting this thing from him?"

Magnus Augustus looked at Harry sadly, "The method is risky. Everything will depend on the boy and how much he wants what he claims."

"Very well then," the woman on the top of the table said, looking at others, "I may not be entirely convinced, but I'm curious about your 'little project'. What do the others think?"

Those not in favour were outvoted.


They entered a dimly lit and rectangular room; the centre of it was sunken, forming a great stone pit some twenty feet below them. They were standing on the topmost tier of what seemed to be stone benches running all around the room and descending in steep steps like an amphitheatre. There was a raised stone dais in the centre of the lowered floor, and upon this dais stood a stone archway that looked so ancient, cracked, and crumbling that Harry was amazed the thing was still standing. Unsupported by any surrounding wall, the archway was hung with a tattered black curtain or veil which, despite the complete stillness of the cold surrounding air, was fluttering very slightly as though it had just been touched.

Harry heard whispers coming out from the veil, calling him. He suddenly felt an almost overcoming urge to do what they said, as if it was where he was supposed to be. Where he was destined to be.

He felt a hand on his shoulder that stopped him from going further. He turned to the person and saw Magnus Augustus staring at him. His touch wasn't as it was before – gentle and comforting - he now held him forcefully, almost as if he was afraid Harry would snatch himself away at any moment.

"Here we are. Stand in front of the veil, facing me. Do not listen to it."

Harry did as he was told. Tissaia and Croaker positioned themselves behind Magnus Augustus.

"Will it hurt? And how long it will last?" Harry asked, squirming. He didn't like what was happening. He had a bad feeling about this as if his guts were trying to tell him something.

"Not at all. It will be faster than falling asleep."

"O-okay…"

Magnus Augustus raised his hand, an ancient-looking stick pointing at Harry. The boy didn't hear the words the man whispered. The last thing he saw was a green light coming in his direction, as well as the shocked and terrified faces of Magnus Augustus' companions.

The first thing he saw was darkness. Endless darkness that surrounded him.

Then he regained his sense of feeling. It was muffled as if everything he touched and heard was through a thick cloth.

The floor was covered in a slim layer of water. It splashed when he moved, sending an almost infinite echo through the void.

The only source of light seemed intangible, appearing from the thin air. It was so dim he could only see a few meters. In front of him was a large, white, ethereal thing floating above the water. It looked like some sort of rift.

"H-Hello?" Harry called into the darkness, disorientated.

What had happened? Where am I? And why?

"Hello, Harry Potter," The voice said behind him, making him jump startled. He turned to the source of it and stared as if he was dumb. Before him stood the most beautiful and perfect woman he had ever seen, her hair was pitch black as if it sucked all the blackness in the world. Her skin was flawless and so pale – the whitest white. She was tall, and her flowing robes seemed to be woven from the very fabric of the stars. Only then did he notice the woman's eyes and fell on his bum on the ground. They were hollow and empty, a grey void, almost as if she were a demon.

The lady giggled, "Do not be scared of me," she said kindly—for Harry, it was the second kindest voice in the world after his mother's, "We finally meet. I've been waiting for you."

"W-who are you?"

"I'm the one who takes the pain and sadness away." She kneeled to his level, and her expression softened, "Do you know where we are?" She continued at the boy's head shake, "We are in Limbo, a place between life and death."

"T-that m-means I-I'm d-dead?"

She nodded slowly, the look in her eyes compassionate. "Yes, Harry. It was meant to be for a long time now. You are finally where you are supposed to be."

Harry's eyes filled with tears as he clutched to the desire to live. "But... but I don't want to be dead! I want to go back!"

"I understand little one. But the afterlife is a peaceful place, free from pain and suffering. You will be happy there."

Harry shook his head vigorously, backing away. "No! I want to live! I want to go back!"

The woman's kind expression changed as if a menacing shadow passed over her features. "I'm afraid that's not possible, Harry. No one can come back. You either go with me or stay as a lonely soul straying in between. Now, please, come with me; it is best for you." She reached her hand out again. This time, her voice wasn't as kind as before. He could notice her moves were stiffer and impatient.

When he moved back from her hand, she tried to snatch him. It happened so fast that Harry thought he had lost, but much to his shock, his body acted on itself with pure instinct, dodging her deadly grip. Her sharp fingers barely scratched his arm, and she withdrew with shock. A shock that she had never felt before.

Harry grinned at her arrogantly. He wasn't sure what made him do this; he had never acted like that. Maybe it was a sudden feeling of adrenaline, perhaps because he felt alive and strong for the first time in his life, as if nothing could ever kill him. He laughed her straight in her eyes and bolted to the rift, his tiny legs carrying him as fast as they could. Before he left Limbo for the Land of Living, he turned to her for the last time with a smug, victorious grin that mocked her entire being.

And the Death didn't like to be mocked. Her eyes were no longer kind but blazing with a cold, unyielding fury. "You cannot cheat Death, Harry Potter," she said, her voice like the tolling of a bell. "You belong to me."

But Harry didn't hear her. He only heard a soft beating like a heart the closer he was to the rift. He wasn't cold anymore; he felt warm, as if life was slowly coming back just as he leapt through the rift.

The emerald green eyes opened again, bright and healthy as never before, full of life. They had a glint in them, a glint that screamed defiance.

"Welcome again, Harry Potter," Magnus Augustus said, "Let me ask you again: What do you want?"

Harry thought for a while, trying to answer correctly, but only one thought was coming to his mind.

"Everything."


A/N: Thanks for reading! First thing first, I would like to point out and emphasise yet again that this story most certainly is NOT and WON'T EVER BE wrong boy who lived story! There will be no bashing, evil Dumbledore, Weasleys or neglectful Potters. Also, I am aware that many readers do not like OC's. The OC's here won't be Marry Sues or Gary Stus and mostly won't affect the plot. I know that Charlus and Dorea aren't James' parents in canon, but I like their names better than Fleamont and Euphemia. In this story, Fleamont is still the inventor of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion.

I'm currently looking for a Beta Reader (native English speaker, most preferably British), as I think it would improve the quality of my stories. If you're interested, PM me!

For now, I'm posting this chapter as a premise and prompt - maybe it will inspire someone.

I strongly encourage you to leave a comment!