Staring up at the dusty wood above his makeshift bed, Harry Potter ran his hand absentmindedly across the smooth scales of the snake coiled up against him, unable to sleep. The small ball of light that floated above him cast a yellow glow on his face, and blanketed the small space in shadows. After weeks of being locked in the cupboard, he had grown bored. The tally marks in his notebook helped keep track of the days. It had been thirty days, thirty-one once morning hit, since he'd been locked in. All he had done was sleep and read in an endless cycle for a month. Every few nights, he'd sneak out for food and a new selection of Dudley's untouched books. He'd finished all of them days ago.
Really, Harry should have known better than to talk to the snake at the zoo. He knew better than to do a lot of things, but he'd been taken on an outing with his aunt and uncle. Never before had he been allowed to go anywhere with them. It made him sloppy, and he'd broken one of his rules.
Living with the Dursleys came with rules. Not their rules, even though they had a lot of them, but his own. There were only two rules, but they kept the worst of how he was treated away. Don't ask questions, which was the most important rule, and don't get caught. Breaking either one of them led to being hit or locked in the boot cupboard he called a room.
Of course, Dudley didn't have those rules.
When they were both five and just starting primary, Dudley had once asked, "Why do I have to call Freak Harry at school?"
"Because we don't want people to think we're freaks. Besides, that's his name," Aunt Petunia had told him.
"Why is he a freak?" Dudley then asked.
"Because his parent's were freaks," she said.
Ironically, that was how Harry learned his name was not actually Boy or Freak. And the first time he'd ever learned anything about his parents.
At the time, Harry didn't really know what a freak was, then, he learned he was a magician. Or rather, discovered, because that was the only explanation for the unexplainable things that constantly happened around him. There were plenty of things that got him punished, like turning his teacher's hair blue, or making his hair grow very quickly the time that Aunt Petunia sheared it all of. There was the time he ended up on the school roof, his punishment for that had been one of his worst. He'd accidentally mended a plate he'd dropped without realizing his aunt was in the room once, and earned himself four days in the cupboard and no food for two days.
There were the times no one knew about too, like when Harry set his blankets on fire and exploded his light bulb.
He could also talk to snakes, which is what led to the incident at the zoo. Walking home from school when he was six, Harry stumbled upon a garden snake, and realized he could talk to it. Hiss became his first friend. Then came Morgan a few years later. Just a few days before the zoo, Corra had come to him as well.
It was only after finding Hiss that Harry realized all the odd things that he could do were magic. After that, he tried to see what other powers he might have. Quickly, he discovered it was only snakes that he could speak with. He learned that after harassing a bird, a dog, and a very embarrassing incident with one of Mrs. Figg's cats. In all the books he read, magicians, or wizards, or mages, or whatever they were called could do all sorts of things.
By the time he was eight, Harry could unlock his cupboard, which locked from the outside, and create a little floating ball of light. Warming things was the next thing he worked on, and it took until just a few months ago. He could warm things up, or cool them down without setting them on fire or covering them in ice. His latest project was trying to create water.
He did figure out that the more he learned, the less likely he was to accidentally use his powers where his aunt or uncle could catch him. Although, when Harry was really upset, things just happened anyway.
Which is what happened at the zoo. He'd been lagging behind, talking to different snakes out of ear and eye shot. The boa constrictor had been telling him a particularly funny story about an old man when it happened. Dudley and his awful friend Piers were harassing other reptiles across the room by tapping on the glass and screaming at them. Next thing Harry knew, he was being shoved to the ground by the bigger boys. It hurt, a lot, as Dudley was at least four times the size of Harry, and Piers was tall and strong despire being skinny. Harry was sure he sprained his wrist when he landed on it. As angry, pained tears welled up in his eyes, the glass vanished. Piers and Dudley fell into the habitat and the boa escaped. Then the glass was back, trapping the boys.
When they finally made it back to Number Four, Privet Drive after a tense and silent car ride, Harry recieved the worst beating he'd ever had. Uncle Vernon's fists pounded at him in the front hall, then he'd been tossed, barely conscious, into the cupboard to be forgotten about.
One thing about his powers that he could never figure out, was that he healed unusually quickly. One time, Aunt Petunia hit him in the face with a cast iron frying pan hard enough that he completely blacked out. The next morning, he woke up fine. When they were seven, Dudley broke two of his fingers. Harry taped them up, expecting them to be that way for weeks. A day later, he was perfectly healed.
A full two days after being tossed in the cupboard, Harry had mostly recovered. He was still bruised from head to toe, but otherwise fine. So that night, he let himself out, long after the Dursley's had gone to sleep, to raid Dudley's second room. On the shelf, there were dozens of books he never read and wouldn't notice missing. He grabbed some food no one would notice missing, and filled up a few water bottles, and grabbed some tea.
And he'd stayed there with only his snakes for company for weeks on end.
Until aunt Petunia rapped loudly on his cupboard door.
"Up! Get up! Now!" came her shrill voice, which was almost loud enough to drown out the lock clicking open.
Startled, Harry say up.
"Hide," he ordered the snakes in a whisper.
"Evil woman. You should let me bite her," Morgan said as they slithered into the darkness at the foot of his cot matress.
Harry suppressed a laugh. Morgan was a black adder, and viscous in her protection for him. She hated his family more than him, and had been asking for years to unleash her venom on them.
"Up!" Aunt Petunia screeched again.
Harry pulled his worn and taped shoes on, and crawled out of the cupboard. Even though he was shorter than every kid in his year at school, he still had to duck through the short door.
Aunt Petunia stood in the hall in her dressing gown with a threadbare towel and one of his three sets of clothes in her hands. She shoved the pile at him.
"Shower," she ordered. "Then clean your cupboard. It stinks."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said softly.
"When you're done, clean the kitchen and get breakfast ready."
When Harry didn't move or talk, she snapped. "Go, now boy! You have fifteen minutes".
He scurried up the dark stairs. The only light on was the downstairs hall, it seemed. The white tiled bathroom gleamed blindingly when the light came blaring to life. Harry had grown used to the dim light of his magic spheres, and it took longer than it should have for his eyes to adjust.
Squinting, he dug behind the towels for his toiletries. Aunt Petunia wouldn't allow him to use the good products she bought for the rest of the family. Twice a year, she gave him five pounds to buy anything he might need, which she then made him keep out of sight.
Fifteen minutes later, which was the longest he'd ever been allowed to bathe, Harry made his way back downstairs to start on his chore.
"Want to go outside?" he asked the snakes as he stripped the thin sheets and holet blanket from his cots.
"Yes. It is warm outside, Master-Speaker," Morgan said.
She darted out of the darkness and wrapped herself around his legs. Hiss and Corra followed swiftly after her.
Master-Speaker was Morgan's name for him, and even two years after he found her, Harry still didn't understan exactly what it meant.
They stayed wrapped around his legs until he pulled the thin mattress outside to hose it down and let it dry in the sun.
"Don't leave us too long," Morgan hissed at him as they slithered away into the hedges, all three of them invisible in the darkness. They would hunt for a few hours before coming back to find a place to nap until he could sneak them back into his cupboard.
His cupboard took thirty minutes to scrub clean. The kitchen was worse. It looked as though no one had so much as wiped a crumb off the counter in the month he'd been locked away. Harry doubted the rest of the house was any better, and dreaded what his day would look like.
Around his fifth birthday, about the time he started schoo, Aunt Petunia had increased his chores from just helping to him doing them entirely. She had, without him noticing, stopped cleaning at all, instead choosing to make him do everything. If it wasn't up to her standards, she'd hit him and make him do it again until it was. Every failure was met with a palm to the face or a twist of the arm. When dinner had burnt for the fourth night in a row, at six years old, she'd hit him with her frying pan. Every time she had to hit him, when Uncle Vernon came home, he'd get beaten bloody. Then he'd be locked in the cupboard while they ate the dinner he'd prepared.
Harry scrubbed until his wrists hurt and the skin on his fingers cracked. The dishes were done, and the smell of cleaner burned his nose. He'd been preparing a bucket to scrub the baseboards when he heard the sounds of movement above him. He hadn't even noticed the sun rising though the window.
It would be better to wait, he decided. Both Dudley and Uncle Vernon were messy eaters, and he'd have to clean the floors a second time. Instead, he started on breakfast.
Harry shoved a bite into his mouth and put the plates of egg and bacon on the table just as Uncle Vernon came through the door, demanding his morning coffee. He liked his with more milk and sugar than Aunt Petunia liked in her tea, which was entirely too sweet.
A moment later, Dudley followed Aunt Petunia into the room, complaining.
"But it's summer!" he whined. During the summer, Dudley routinely slept until one in the afternoon.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon looked a lot alike. They both had large, pink faces and very little neck. Their eyes were watery blue and small. Uncle Vernon was beginning to bald and had a thick moustace, but Dudley had blond hair that sat neatly on his fat head. Aunt Petunia often said that Dudley looked like a baby angel – Harry often said that Dudley looked like a pig in a wig.
They sat down and began eating as Aunt Petunia explained to him that they had an appointment in London to get his uniform for school at nine. It was already seven, and Dudley whined some more, until Aunt Petunia told him they'd go out for a treat afterwards.
Once they had finished, and everyone was bustling out the door, Aunt Petunia fixed her eyes on him.
"To Mrs. Figg's with you. No detours," she said and shoved him out of the house.
Harry swollowed the retort, as painful as it was, and set off for Wisteria Walk around the corner to the only person in Little Winging that would accept him into their house.
Between the Dursley's telling everyone that Harry was a delinquent they'd had no choice but to take in after his parents died, and Dudley's bullying being blamed on Harry, no one but the old woman would even look at Harry. Incedentally, she'd been minding him any time the Dursley's wanted rid of him or went somewhere since he was a toddler. Harry wasn't allowed in the house by himself.
Mrs. Figg was odd, and completely obsessed with the dozen or so ugly cats she had. His time there was spent with her showing him photos of all her cats and telling stories of their mischief making.
There were only so many times of hearing how Snowball tackled Peanut Harry could take before he wanted to scream, or set her and her cats on fire. He put up with it though. Mainly, because Mrs. Figg didn't make him clean anything, and fed him real meals where he could eat as much as he wanted. Not that he ever ate much. He'd made that mistake more than once when he was younger. Luckily, Mrs. Figg though he'd caught something and called Aunt Petunia to get him when he got sick from eating.
He sat in her cluttered, dusty drawing room listening to her drone on endlessly about the cats for hours. The whole time, he thought about how much longer he'd have to put up with his misery at the Dursley's. He would be starting at Stonewall this year, and for once, Dudley wouldn't be there. That meant, he'd no longer have to be careful about keeping his grades low. Seven years until he could take his A-Levels. Then he'd go to University and prove everything they'd ever said about him wrong.
His plans for after University were less concrete, but they were still plans. He'd study hard and make something of himself. While he was doing that, he'd learn more magical things and get stronger. Then, when he was powerful and successful, he'd come back for the Dursleys. One day, they would regret everything they'd ever done to him. But that was a long way away yet.
He'd lived with the Dursley's almost ten miserable, long years. He'd been with them since he'd been a baby, and his parents had died in a car crash. He couldn't remember anything from before him time with them. Although sometimes, when he strained his memory during long hours in his cupboard, he came up with a strange vision: a blinding flash of green light and a burning pain on his forehead. This, he supposed, was the crash, though he couldn't imagine where all the green light came from. He couldn't remember his parents at all. His aunt and uncle never spoke about them, and there were no photographs of them in the house.
When he had been younger, Harry had dreamed and dreamed of some unknown relation coming to take him away, but it had never happened; the Dursleys were his only family. He'd given up that dream a long time ago. Now, he waited and took everything they did to him in silence. And he plotted the revenge he'd be able to take one day.
The phone rang, startling him from his thoughts. It was Aunt Petunia, calling him home. When he arrived, she promptly put him to work, like she always did when she felt like he'd had too long of a break.
That night, after dinner, Dudley paraded around the living room in his new uniform. Smelting's Academy was where Uncle Vernon went, and Dudley would be following him there when they went back to school. And it was a boarding school, so Dudley would be gone for several months every year. Harry couldn't wait.
Of course, he had to make it that far, and it was very hard to keep from laughing at the moment. The Smeltings boys uniforms were ridiculously ugly, with maroon tailcoats and orange knickerbockers. They even had flat straw hats, boaters they were called. They also carried knobbly sticks that Uncle Vernon encouraged Dudley to hit the other boys with when the teachers weren't looking.
As he looked at Dudley, Uncle Vernon said it was the proudest moment of his life.
Aunt Petunia burst into tears and said she couldn't believe it was her Ickle Dudleykins, he looked so handsome and grown-up.
The entire display was sickening, and hilarious. It was almost painful holding back his laughter. A dark look out of the corner of Uncle Vernon's eye sent him scurrying into his cupboard for the night.
There was a new stack of Dudley's old clothes and a packet of gray dye on the counter when Harry went to start breakfast the next morning. In the sink was a large metal tub.
"What's this?" he asked Aunt Petunia when she came downstairs.
Her lips tightened as they always did on the rare occasion he dared to ask a question. "Your new school uniform," she said.
Harry looked in the clothes again. "Oh," he said. Normally, he was left to pick through Dudley's old things. Not the good ones, she donated those to the charity shop down the street, but the ones destined for the rubbish bin.
"You're to dye some of Dudley's old things grey," Aunt Petunia snapped. "They'll look just like everyone else's when you've finished."
Harry seriously doubted this, but thought it best not to argue. He set the table and tried not to think about how he was going to look on his first day at Stonewall High – like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin, probably.
The upper school uniforms weren't cheap, he knew that, though they were quite a bit cheaper than Dudley's. The only good part about Stonewall, as far as Harry could gather, was that Dudley wouldn't be there. Which meant that Harry would no longer be able to show Dudley up if he did well in class. It would be eight hours a day without a single Dursley around him.
Dudley and Uncle Vernon came in, both demanding their breakfast. Uncle Vernon opened his newspaper as usual, and Dudley banged his Smeltings stick, which he was apparently going to carry everywhere, on the table. Harry snagged a piece of bread off the table and retreated to the corner like he did most mornings.
Midway through breakfast, they heard the click of the letter-box.
"Get the post, Dudley," said Uncle Vernon from behind his paper.
"Make Harry get it," Dudley said around his eggs.
"Get the post, boy."
Harry had to go around Dudley to get out of the room, and had to dodge the Smeltings stick on his way.
Three things lay on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge, who was holidaying on the Isle of Wight, a brown envelope that looked like a bill and – a letter for Harry.
Harry picked it up and stared at it, his heart twanging like a giant elastic band. No one, ever, in his whole life, had written to him. Who would? He had no friends, no other relatives – he wasn't allowed to belong to the library he sometimes escaped to, so he'd never even got rude notes asking for books back.
Yet here it was, a letter, addressed so plainly there could be no mistake:
Mr H. Potter
The Cupboard under the Stairs
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The envelope was thick and heavy, made of yellowish parchment, and the address was written in emerald-green ink. There was no stamp. Turning the envelope over, his hand trembling, Harry saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger and a snake surrounding a large letter 'H'.
"Hurry up, boy!" shouted Uncle Vernon from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter-bombs?" He chuckled at his own joke.
Without thinking, Harry went back to the kitchen, letter in hand, staring at it in disbelief. He handed Uncle Vernon the bill and the postcard, sat down and slowly began to open the yellow envelope. Uncle Vernon ripped open the bill, snorted in disgust and flipped over the postcard.
"Marge's ill," he informed Aunt Petunia. "Ate a funny whelk …"
"Dad!" said Dudley suddenly. "Dad, Harry's got something!"
Harry was on the point of unfolding his letter, which was written on the same heavy parchment as the envelope, when it was jerked sharply out of his hand by Uncle Vernon.
"That's mine!" said Harry, trying to snatch it back.
"Who'd be writing to you?" sneered Uncle Vernon, shaking the letter open with one hand and glancing at it.
His face went from red to green faster than a set of traffic lights. And it didn't stop there. Within seconds it was the greyish white of old porridge.
"P-P-Petunia!" he gasped.
Dudley tried to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon held it high out of his reach.
Aunt Petunia took it curiously and read the first line. For a moment it looked as though she might faint. She clutched her throat and made a choking noise.
"Vernon! Oh my goodness – Vernon!"
They stared at each other, seeming to have forgotten that Harry and Dudley were still in the room.
Dudley wasn't used to being ignored. He gave his father a sharp tap on the head with his Smeltings stick.
"I want to read that letter," he said loudly.
"I want to read it," said Harry furiously, "as it's mine."
"Get out, both of you," croaked Uncle Vernon, Vernon, stuffing the letter back inside its envelope.
Harry didn't move.
"I WANT MY LETTER!" he shouted, damn the consequences.
"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.
"OUT!" roared Uncle Vernon, and he took Harry by the scruff of his neck, threw him into his cupboard, and slammed the lock into place. A moment later, Dudley's whining got louder, as he too was thrown out of the kitchen.
Morgan slithered up to him, and coiled into his lap. She didn't say a thing, just offered him comfort. He really should have thought before taking the letter into the kitchen. It was just such a shocking thing.
Letting his head fall against the thin wall, he could hear a bit of what they were talking about.
"Vernon," Aunt Petunia was saying in a quivering voice, 'look at the address – how could they possibly know where he sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?'
"Watching – spying – might be following us," muttered Uncle Vernon wildly.
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? James said –"
They both went quiet for a moment, then…
"No," he said finally. "No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer … yes, that's best … we won't do anything …"
"Let me see it!" demanded Dudley.
"But –"
'I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took him in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?'
"James — "
"Petunia!"
They went silent after that. A few minutes later, Harry heard the front door open and close, twice. Both Uncle Vernon and Dudley had left for the day.
A little while later, Aunt Petunia let him out.
"Where's my letter?" he asked as soon as he was standing in the hallway. "Who's writing to me?"
It was always better, if he had to ask a question, to ask Aunt Petunia. She was much less likely to hit him or deny him meals than Uncle Vernon. He'd take extra chores any day.
"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake," she said shortly. "Vernon burned it."
"It was not a mistake," said Harry angrily. "It had my cupboard on it."
"SILENCE!" she screeched at him.
A beat passed, as they stared at one another. They both knew she was lying, but he had just been released from weeks inside his cupboard. He wouldn't rise to the bait.
She huffed and glared at him. "Gather your things," she said. "Then go upstairs. And stay there."
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms: one for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one for visitors (usually Uncle Vernon's sister, Marge), one where Dudley slept and one where Dudley kept all the toys and things that wouldn't fit into his first bedroom. It only took Harry one trip upstairs to move everything he owned from the cupboard to this room. He sat down on the bed and stared around him. Nearly everything in here was broken. The month-old cinecamera was lying on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over next door's dog; in the corner was Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite programme had been cancelled; there was a large bird-cage which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air-rifle, which was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley had sat on it. Other shelves were full of books. They were the only things in the room that looked as though they'd never been touched. In fact, the only person that had ever touched them was Harry, not that anyone knew that.
Sometimes, like when Mrs. Bradley, his Year 3 teacher, made a report, he was moved to Dudley's spare room for a week or two. Then, when a social worker came by they saw nothing but what the Dursley's wanted them to see. Little orphan boy taken in by his kind relatives when his drug addict parents got themselves killed. Poor Harry was in the car, who knows what kind of damage they did. He's so very difficult, but we do our best. This was at least the fifth time he'd been sent up here.
In a week or two, when either whoever sent the letter showed up or failed to contact them again, he'd be right back to his cupboard.
Harry sighed and stretched out on the rickety old bed. Yesterday he'd have given anything to be up here. Today he'd rather be back in his cupboard with that letter than up here without it.
Next morning at breakfast, everyone was rather quiet. Dudley was in shock. He'd screamed, whacked his father with his Smelting's stick, been sick on purpose, kicked his mother and thrown his tortoise through the greenhouse roof and he still didn't know what was in the letter or why he'd been thrown out. Harry was thinking about this time yesterday and bitterly wishing he'd opened the letter in the hall. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly.
When the post arrived, Uncle Vernon, who seemed to be trying to be nice to Harry, made Dudley go and get it. They heard him banging things with his Smeltings stick all the way down the hall. He came back without a letter for Harry.
Uncle Vernon gave him a maliciously satisfied smile. "Seem's whoever it was realized their mistake," he said.
It took everything Harry had not to roll his eyes. We're they expecting him to get another letter today? It would be a while before anyone even realized he hadn't replied, if it was even a letter that needed to be replied to in the first place.
Harry leaned against the counter, eating his sole piece of toast, as the Dursley's laughed.
A knock at the door a few moments later shut them up, and Aunt Petunia when as white as a ghost.
"Stay here," she snapped, fixing the most hateful glare she'd ever had on him. The kitchen door closed sharply behind her as she answered the door.
There were voices from the hall, a man and Aunt Petunia's. They seemed to be arguing, and the longer she was out there, the angrier Uncle Vernon became. He was turning an ugly shade of purple when Aunt Petunia yelled through the closed door.
"Harry dear, could you come here for a moment," she called in the nicest voice she had ever used. It was even nicer than when the one she used with the social workers.
Heart pounding in trepidation, Harry slowly went to her. Standing just inside the door was a man. He had the same face and tawny skin as Harry's though he was much older and had a healthy sun kissed glow about him. It was like looking into a mirror that showed what he'd look like in twenty years, if he hadn't spent most of his life starving. The only difference, other than height, that Harry could see were the eyes. His own were a bright emerald green, that Dudley often called creepy, while the man's were a soft hazel. They did, however, both wear the same round glasses. Of course, the man's weren't held together with sellotape and looked new.
He was smiling at Harry and his eyes shone brightly with unshed tears.
"Hello," he all but whispered.
"Um, hello?" Harry said unsurely back.
"Harry, meet your father," Aunt Petunia said.
Father. The word echoed through his head. His dead father. The useless layabout and drunk that got him and his mother killed. And landed Harry in the hell that he lived in. Father. Who was standing in front of him, dressed oddly sure, but looking much to healthy for a dead man. Or a drug addict. Father.
His father. Who was alive. His father, who looked far too healthy to be a drunk or a drug addict. His father, who stood in front of him, looking happy and relieved.
Harry shoved past Aunt Petunia, making her stumble into the wall, and rushed up the stairs. They lied. All of them. His father, James, whose name he didn't even know until he started school, had abandoned him. The bedroom door slammed closed behind him.
He snatched his rucksack up and began shoving things in it. A few books, his box of keepsakes, his other set of clothes. The three notebooks he owned, and a couple of pens were also shoved haphazardly in there. Thanking every god he'd ever heard of the snakes hadn't gone outside yet, he woke them with a hurried plea and helped them into the bag.
Once it was zipped, Harry shoved the window open. Jumping would hurt, but it would get him out of the house, away from the liars. A knock came at the door. Harry ignored it and climbed onto the desk, and swung a leg out of the window.
Before he could jump, the door opened and his father came into the room, followed by Aunt Petunia. His father glanced from Harry to the room to Aunt Petunia. She shot him a look that said "I told you so," loud and clear.
Harry knew exactly what she'd told him about Harry in the few minutes they'd spoken.
"Don't you dare jump!' Aunt Petunia said. At least her tone had returned to it's normal disdainful way.
His father looked unimpressed. Well, he abandoned Harry. He could be unimpressed all he wanted. His opinion didn't matter.
Harry did swallow his retort though.
"Why don't you come back inside so we can talk," his father said. No, James said. His father was dead and would stay that way. James, however, owed Harry an explanation.
Harry glared at him, but brought his leg back in and climbed down from the desk.
"Give us a minute, Petunia," James said.
She left the room, and then it was just the two of them.
James seemed to struggle to find words, so Harry found them for him.
"Why are you here?" It probably came out harsher than it should have.
"To bring you home," James said. He walked farther into the room, and sat on the bed. Something that looked like guilt flashed across his face.
"Bring me home?" Harry asked incredulously.
"I..there's a lot for us to talk about, for me to explain," James said.
"Then explain it."
"I…" he started, then stopped.
Harry glared.
James sighed.
They sat there in a stale mate, not quite staring at one another. James looked around the room, at all the broken things, then back to him every few seconds. Harry could imagine what was going through his head, after all, Aunt Petunia was an expert at telling stories about her troubled nephew, then letting them see the room. It cemented her stories more than anything Harry could ever say.
Eventually, James spoke again. "I know me showing up here is a bit of a shock to you."
"A bit of a shock? They told me you were dead!" Harry screamed at him.
James flinched.
It was satisfying in an odd sort of way.
"Er..right. It was…there's a lot you don't know, a lot I need to tell you," James said. "You were sent here for your safety. Things have changed now though. It's time for you to come home."
His safety. Harry wanted to scream. What could possibly be less safe than living with the Dursley's? It was the worst excuse he'd ever heard. And Harry didn't believe a word of it.
"What changed?" he finally asked. Then it hit him. "It's about that letter, isn't it? The one they took from me?"
"It is," James said. He was smiling again.
"Look, why don't you pack up your…er..things, and we can go home. I'll tell you everything when we get there. We'll have all the time in the world and you can ask me anything," James said as he stood up.
Home, he said it like it was something special. Maybe it would be, but he wouldn't get his hopes up. He'd never had a home before, not a real one. He doubted the man who'd abandoned him to the Dursleys for his whole life would give him one.
As he made for the door, James added, "I'm so happy you're finally coming home."
Harry rolled his eyes at James' back as the man left the room.
He looked around the room and snagged several more books, which he stuffed into Dudley's empty gym bag he got for his birthday. Dudley wouldn't miss any of it. It seemed like going with James was happening one way or another. And it everything went sideways, well, Harry had his powers. He would think of something.
When he finally made it downstairs, after taking a moment to shift his plans around mentally, the Dursleys were still putting on a show. Aunt Petunia was crying softly. Or at least trying to, there wasn't a single tear in her eyes. They did glint with triumph, though.
Uncle Vernon shook his hand as he came down the stairs. Harry didn't has a single memory of the man touching him with anything other than violence.
"We'll miss you around here, boy," he told Harry in a gruff way. Even with Harry's…James standing right there, the man still couldn't say his name.
Aunt Petunia pulled him into a hug, her fake sobs got just a bit louder for a second. Then she whispered quietly into his ear, "If you ever darken our doorstep again, I'll kill you."
She promptly let go of Harry and dramatically threw herself into Uncle Vernon's arms.
Harry followed James out the door, with all three Dursleys waving at them from the front hall. The door closed with a finality that Harry relished in. He wanted to see them again as much as they did him.
There wasn't a car out front, and Harry thought maybe James had walked from the train station. It didn't fit with him though. His clothes, while the oddest outfit Harry had ever seen, looked expensive. He wore fitted brown trousers with some type of dark leather boot. Instead of a normal shirt, he wore a red jacket-looking top with gold embroidery around the edges and had golden buttons from neck to waist. There it flared out, almost like a tuxedo, except the ends of the jacket brushed the bottom of his boots.
Briefly, Harry wondered how he'd gotten there.
"I'll bring you back to visit any time you want," James said as he scanned the neighboring houses.
"Thanks," Harry drawled. Even if he ended up homeless, he was never coming back here.
"Right then," James said. "Take my hand."
I'm not a child, Harry wanted to say, but he didn't. He wondered how James felt about sarcasm. Better to hold it in.
Harry took his hand.
Without warning, Harry felt like he was being squeezed through a tube, and the world blinked out of existence. As fast as it started, it was over.
The world swam in a green haze, and he collapsed to the ground. Which was surprisingly soft like grass. He had been standing on the sidewalk. He closed his eyes and breathed in and out slowly, willing the nausea to pass.
James laughed next to him.
With a deep breath, Harry opened his eyes to look at him. His head was half turned when he stopped.
Instead of the monotonous suburban neighborhood, a large house stood stately in the middle of a lush green lawn in front of him. It was half again as large as the estate his class took a field trip to the year before. Not that Harry had been allowed to go, but he had seen plenty of pictures in the book.
Between two of the windows on the first floor, above the door, in an alcove, was a statue of a man with one arm stretched out holding a stone stick. Above him was a gabled roof with a sprawling crest on it. The crest had a cauldron in the center of it, and on the cauldron, was a triangle with a circle in side of it and a straight line bisecting it. It was an odd symbol.
"Side-Along is awful, especially the first time," James told him.
Harry just stared at him. So many questions flitted through his head. He might have no idea what was happening, but he was sure James had powers too.
"Er, right. You don't know what that is." James paused for a moment, then he reached a hand out to help Harry up. "Come on, let's get inside, then we can talk," he finished.
Harry ignored the outstretched hand. No one had ever helped him up before, and it was James' fault. He definitely didn't needs his father's guilt ridden help up.
With a look of hurt, James pulled his hand back. "Come on," he said softly, and led Harry across the lush green lawn towards the house.
The door was a large heavy thing, made of dark wood with iron banding that creaked when it opened. He was led into an entrance hall that was half again the size of the Dursley's front room. Across from the door was a fireplace large enough for a man to stand in. Three arches led off from the room, and he followed James through the one to the left. It led to a short hallway with a large marble staircase that curved upwards.
One flight of stairs up, they turned back to the right and emerged into a spacious sitting room. Shelves full of trinkets lined the front wall with a couple of squashy arm chairs in front of them. There was another large fireplace across from a set of sofas. Leaning against it were a couple of broomsticks with odd fixtures attached to them.
Beyond the sofas were two doors, and James led him through the one on the right. It opened into a large bedroom done up in browns and gold with red accents. There was a small sitting area across from a smaller fireplace with a bed and desk beyond it. Bookshelves were dotted strategically around the room. Unlike the rest of what he'd seen so far, there were no paintings or tapestries on the walls in here. It could have been cozy, except that other than furniture, the room was completely empty.
"This is your room," James said with a nervousness to his voice.
"Its nice." Big. The gold accents were a bit garish, and Harry wasn't overly fond of the color red. But, he'd never had his own room before, let alone one as big as this.
"I'll just, let you get settled," James said quickly. "I'll come back soon, and we can talk."
Harry waited until he heard the door click and James walk away before moving farther into the room. The windows opened, and it would have been a good escape route, except for the stone terrace below. He could see a pond at at the edge of the garden, with a forest just beyond it.
The desk wasn't as empty as the bookshelves. There was some parchment in the drawer along with a bottle of old fashioned ink and an actual feather quill. After confirming that every other drawer and cabinet was empty, Harry let himself through th door next to the desk. It led into an actual dressing room lined with wardrobes and shelves. He caught his reflection in the large mirror, and looked as out of place as he felt.
The wardrobes, were, unsurprisingly empty. Beyond the dressing room was an ensuite with an antique claw foot bathtub on the far wall. The cupboard in the bathroom was filled with fluffy looking towels and wash cloths.
When he first saw James, Harry, to his own horror, though James might be well off. The opulence of the house and what Harry was sure had been spare room until this morning confirmed it. James wasn't just well off, but very wealthy. He had powers just like Harry did. Did he not want Harry, and only came back because he had no choice? It was a choice to decide to reserve his judgment until James explained himself.
With a sigh, Harry found where he had dropped his rucksack and pulled the snakes out. The rest of his stuff could stay packed for now.
"Never again, Master-Speaker," Morgan hissed at him. She was angry.
Hiss and Corra seemed to agree with her.
"I'm sorry," Harry told them.
"What happened?"
"I don't actually know, but it was awful for me too."
The snakes looked around the room, their little forked tongues flicking through the air.
"Where are we?" Morgan asked. "It tastes different."
"Our new home, it would seem," Harry told her. Then, to all of them, he said, "Have fun exploring the room. Same rules as always, don't be seen."
They slithered off in three different directions, disappearing underneath furniture. Harry nervously paced around the room.
A few minutes later, a knock came at the door. Harry hissed for the snakes to stay out of sight, then called, "Come in."
His father had returned carrying a stack of books with a stack of cloth on top, and an envelope. "These are for you," he said as he placed the cloth, clothing it appeared to be, on the bed and the books on the bedside table.
He sat down on the edge of the bed with the letter still in hand, and patted the space next to him. "Join me?" he asked.
Cautiously. Harry sat down next to him. And waited.
James fiddled with the letter for a minute, then said, "I'm not good at these things. I'm not sure where to start."
"Why did you send me away?" Harry asked sharply.
"I thought I was protecting you, but this," he held up the letter, "changes things."
"What is it?" Harry asked.
"An acceptance letter for Hogwarts. It's a school for magic."
A school for magic, for him. That there were more people out there that could do what he did was anything beyond his wildest dreams. He kept the excitement for himself and instead asked, "How does it change things?"
"I didn't think you were.." James started to say, then stopped. "There was…" he trailed off. Tears welled in his eyes.
Harry just waited.
James took a deep breath, then started talking. "You were born in the middle of a war. Lily and I were part of an organization that fought against the…Dark Wizards trying to take over. Not long after your first birthday, we were attacked. Lily…" he trailed off.
Blinking back tears, James continued on. "I wasn't home. Your mom didn't make it. Alex and you only had minor injuries."
Harry had no idea who Alex was, but he let James keep telling his story.
"We had you both evaluated at St. Mungo's. You had a small cut on your head from the rubble. Your brother had a curse scar, which thankfully didn't need any healing."
Harry resisted the urge to touch the small, lighting bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
"You have to understand, it was a dangerous time. I couldn't protect you. You showed no signs of having magic. Without magic of your own, you'd be a defenseless target. We thought, I thought, you'd be safer in the muggle world, away from everyone that could hurt you. So I sent you to Lily's sister, to be raised in her world.
"I regretted it every day since, but it would have been cruel to bring you back. Squibs don't have a place in our world. I had to live with my guilt. But then, Dumbledore contacted me. An acceptance letter for Hogwarts came for you."
James reached out to hug Harry, and it took everything for him to not flinch away from the touch.
"I'm so happy to have you back home," he finished.
"I…" Harry started to say, then realized he had no idea what to say. Or what to think. Finally, he managed to get out, "I have a brother?'
It was a question, and it broke one of Harry's rules. He couldn't help but ask though. Of all the things James said, it was the only thing he could focus on.
"You do. Nine minutes younger than you are. He's been dying to meet you, but I thought it might be easier for you to settle in without him here," James said.
"Do I get to meet him?" Harry asked.
"He'll be home in time for dinner," James said with a smile.
Silence lapsed between them for several minutes. Then James handed the letter to him. "Why don't you read it. It'll make everything more real.
Harry took it. It was just like the one he'd gotten yesterday. Same parchment, same purple wax seal on it, even the green ink was the same. The only difference were the words.
Mr H. Potter
Guest Room
Linweald House
Village of Linweald
Gloucestershire
With one last glance at James, Harry opened the letter and began to read the first page.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Deputy Headmistress
A dozen more thoughts flew through Harry's head. There was an entire school, and entire society of people like him.
Harry flipped to the second page, and found the strangest school supply list he'd ever seen.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
Uniform First-year students will require:
1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)
Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags
Set Books All students should have a copy of each of the following:
The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk
A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot
Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling
A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch
One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore
Magical Drafts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger
Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander
The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble
Other Equipment
1 wand
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)
1 set glass or crystal phials
1 telescope
1 set brass scales
Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad
PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST-YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS
"This is a lot," Harry finally said after he finished reading.
"Feeling overwhelmed?" James asked.
"A little," Harry admitted.
"You can ask me anything you want, any time you want," James told him
"Thank you," he said softly.
"I brought you some books that'll explain more about our world, better than I can," James said. "And you don't have to wear them, but I brought some clothes more like what wizards wear."
Harry assured him he was okay and just wanted to be alone to get his thoughts together, and maybe flip through some of the books.
When he was alone, with just his thoughts, Harry laid down on the bed and let the tears fall. While it was a relief, in a strange way, to know he wasn't alone, that others out there could do what he did, it was worse to know he hadn't been wanted.
If he knew anything, it was that parts of James' story made no sense. For as long as Harry could remember, he'd had magic. There was no way anyone could have missed that. James hadn't wanted him, chose his brother over him. He'd only been brought back into their family because of the letter. James hadn't had a choice in that, Harry was as sure of it as he was in Morgan's loyalty to him.
After some time wallowing, Harry noticed just how silent the house was. The ever present hum of electricity was completely absent. There was no overhead light, instead flames danced in the fireplace and in sconces around the walls. Overhead was a chandelier with candles burning on it, though no drops of wax fell to the carpets on the floor.
The clothing James brought him had fallen to the floor. Harry picked them up and looked to his own clothes. The ill-fitting rags swallowed him, making him appear even smaller than he already was. He looked through the clothing, a pair of plain brown trousers, with hidden buttons and no zipper, a plain white shirt. The shirt had no stains or torn hem, and was as soft as butter in his hands. There was a brown jacket with gold detailing in a similar style to the one James wore.
For a moment, he weighed the chances of consequences. Then he grabbed the clothes and made his way to the bathroom. It was larger than the Dursley's, and the bathtub called to him. He got the water as warm as he wished for once. The bath had been stocked with shampoo and soap in little glass bottles. They smelled of herbs, and Harry relished in their scent.
It was the most luxurious thing he'd ever experienced. By the time he climbed out, his fingers and toes had wrinkled up. And the towels felt like clouds wrapping around him. The clothes were odd, a little loose, but they fit much better than Dudley's old clothes ever had.
He threw the rags into the fireplace, never wanting to see them again. Even if he had to wear this one thing for the rest of his life, he would never go back to the ill fitting rags.
With nothing left to do, Harry turned his attention to the books James left. Beyond the personal implications, there was a lot James said that he didn't understand. Words and concepts that were completely foreign to him.
He made camp at the desk with the books James left and his notebook. He filled a whole page with things from just the school letter and his conversation with James alone.
What do they mean by await my owl?
What is Side-Along?
What was the war about?
What is a Dark Wizard?
Who was the traitor?
There was an entire list of the titles that followed the name Albus Dumbledore.
List made, Harry looked at the books, trying to decide where to start. There were four of them. There was a small brown one, barely more than a leaflet, titled Overview of the Wizarding World for Muggleborn Students; a large heavy tome bound in dark leather with Hogwarts, A History embossed in golden script across the front. The deep blue one was called Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century. The smallest one, but not the thinnest, was black with bright red writing. History of the Blood War it was called.
He grabbed the leaflet first, thinking it was possibly an introductory book of some type. The drawings in it looked more appropriate for small children, but it was informative. It went over things such as the government, including a list of laws relevant to students; the banking and currency system, with was entirely separate from the muggles, and run by goblins. It also answered one of his first questions. Wizards sent mail using owls, which Harry thought was both absurd and genius.
Harry filled out half a dozen more pages, front and back, of things to look up from the leaflet. He even tried out the quill and ink before switching back to his pencil. Eventually, he'd have to learn to use the quill, according to the book, but it would take practice. The black smudge on one of the pages was completely illegible.
When someone knocked on the door again, he was deep into Great Wizarding Events, reading about a man called Grindelwald and his failed revolution.
"Harry?" James called out. "Dinner is ready. Do you want to join us?"
He hadn't realized it had gotten so late. There wasn't a clock in the room, and the history book was fascinating enough that he hadn't noticed the sun setting.
Us, James said, which must mean Alex was here. James hadn't impressed him, but maybe his brother would be better. Harry sat the book aside.
James was smiling at him when he opened the door.
The kitchen was directly below Harry's room. It was a large space, lit by torches and candles that were unnaturally bright. Wooden countertops encircled half the room, with an old fashioned wood burning stove splitting them in half. Opposite the stove was another large fireplace just to the right of the doorway. Beyond the kitchen was an old, warn dining table with several chairs around it.
Sitting at the table was a boy. His face was almost the same as Harry's, a little more filled out, but then, Harry didn't get regular meals. The boy had the same messy black hair Harry shared with James. Harry's own skin was a few shades lighter than the boys, who had a healthy, sunkissed glow about him. Behind round glasses similar to Harry's own (but without the sellotape), even the shape of their eyes was the same. Really, the biggest difference between them that he could see, was that while Harry's own eyes were an unnaturally bright emerald green, the other boys were hazel.
Upon seeing Harry, the boy jumped up from his chair, and threw himself at Harry.
"You're here!" he shouted into Harry's ear. Even their voice was the same.
Cringing, Harry tried to pull away. Alex was gripping him too tightly though. Panic started to well up in him.
"Let him breathe," James laughed.
Just like that, Harry was free from the bruising grip.
"Harry, this is your twin, Alex," James said.
It took everything in Harry not to roll his eyes.
Alex pulled him towards the table. "I've been waiting forever to meet you," he said. Then he added, "Sit here." Alex was pointing at the chair directly across from where he'd been sitting.
The chair exploded into confetti just as he put all of his weight on it, dumping him onto the hard stone floor. Alex howled with laughter.
"Welcome to the family," he shouted.
Harry looked to James as he stood up, who was also laughing. "We're a couple of mischief makers in this house," he told Harry.
"Right," Harry said taking the next chair over, which thankfully didn't explode when he sat down. Pranking was a better alternative to beatings.
Dinner was herb roasted chicken with jacket potatoes and glazed carrots. It was the best thing he'd ever tasted. While they ate, Alex shot rapid-fire questions at him. Most of them, Harry didn't know how to answer.
Interupting Alex, Harry told James he thought he was a good cook.
"Dad's an awful cook," Alex laughed. "He can burn water! The elves made dinner."
"Elves?" Harry asked.
"House Elves." Alex said it like Harry should already know what he was talking about.
"Muggles don't have house elves, "James pointed out.
"Then who cooks and cleans?" Alex said, bewildered.
I did, Harry wanted to say.
James answered for him. "I'd imagine they do it themselves, the way most witches and wizards do. Granted, they don't have magic," then he turned his attention to Harry. "We are very fortunate to have our elves. There are four that serve us here. You'll meet them tomorrow, I expect."
Mentally, Harry added them to his list of things to learn more about.
Conversation continued through the rest of dinner in a similar fashion. Through Alex's clumsy questions, Harry learned a little more about his new world and how different is was from the one he'd grown up in.
They were eating pudding, a rich chocolate cake, when Hogwarts came up. James was telling a story about a prank he pulled his first night in the castle, and the damage it had done to one of the beds in the dorm room.
"They made me take the bed, all seven years in that bed. I carved my name into the headboard," he said.
"When we get there, we should try to find Dad's old bed," Alex said excitedly.
"You have to be sorted into Gryffindor first," James told him.
"What is Gryffindor?" Harry asked.
"One of the Hogwarts Houses," James explained.
"Dad was a Gryffindor," Alex said.
Harry thought that bit was obvious. "Hogwarts Houses," Harry asked.
"Students at Hogwarts are sorted into four houses. Each house has a common room, where the dorms are accessed from, that the students can spend their free time in. The entrance to each house is in a secret location. Each house is represented by a different animal. There's Gryffindor, which is a lion."
"The best house, and the one we'll be in," Alex said.
"Not necessarily," James pointed out, then continued, "Hufflepuff, a badger."
"A bunch of useless suck-ups."
"Ravenclaw, which if often mistaken to be represented by a raven. It's actually an eagle."
"Swots and bookworms."
"And Slytherin with their serpent."
"Where evil wizards go," Alex declared.
"ALEX!" James shouted.
"What?" he asked, innocently.
"Not all Slytherins are evil, and it's insulting to say that."
"Sure they are, all of them were Death Eaters."
Harry didn't know what a Death Eater was, but by the name alone, he doubted they were a pleasant lot.
"Andi was a Slytherin, as was Mrs. Longbottom. Are either of them evil? Was your grandmother evil? She was in Slytherin too."
"No," Alex sulked. "But Mrs. Longbottom is scary."
"And Black was in Gryffindor."
"Yeah, the traitor."
Harry wanted to ask who Black was, but the strain in James' voice when he spat the name was enough to hold his tongue.
They finished their desert in a tense silence. Harry ate as quickly as he could, and made to retreat back to his room, but James stopped him.
"Why don't we give Harry a tour," he said.
That perked Alex up. He agreed excitedly, and began dragging Harry from room to room. The grip on his arm was soft, but it made Harry uncomfortable.
On the ground floor, in addition to the entrance hall and kitchen, there was an impressive formal dining room with a table that could easily seat twenty. The drawing room was even more grand, with expensive velvet furniture trimmed in gold. James said they rarely used the rooms, but they were useful to have.
In the basement there was a large library wich connected to James's study. Across from his study was a large room with stone floors and walls. Shelves lined one wall, and counters the other. It was covered in a layer of dust. According to James it was a potions lab they never used.
"This place is really too much for just us," James told him as they made their way back up the winding staircase. "No one had lived here since sometime in the 1700s before Alex and I moved in. The rest of the basement and the entire second floor have yet to me touched. More than a dozen rooms between them. Cleaning the library took ages, and it took a whole squad of Aurors to prune the dark and illegal texts."
"Lily would have loved the library and the potions lab, but Alex isn't much of a reader, and I don't have time these days," James told him.
"Fables is on the wireless tonight," Alex said when they reached the first floor landing, and slipped down the short hallway to the left of the stairs.
"So, Alex's room is down that way," James said, pointing at the door that Alex had passed through. "And mine is through that door." He pointed to the only door on the right hand wall of the lounge. "Just knock if you need anything."
Harry agreed that he would, then escaped back into the bedroom he'd been given. While he was gone, someone had deposited some pajamas and another change of clothing on the bed for him.
With the door closed behind him, he hissed, "Morgan?"
She emerged from beneath the sofa, with Hiss and Corra following behind her.
"This is a strange place you've brought us to, Master-Speaker," she said.
"Strange," Hiss echoed.
Corra didn't say anything, but the young snake didn't talk much.
"It is odd," he agreed with them.
The snakes wound themselves up the legs of the bed and coiled up near the pillows.
"It's soft," Morgan told him.
Harry laughed. He quickly jotted down all the new things he'd learned about over dinner.
He changed into the blue pajamas, grabbed the book he'd been reading, and joined the snakes on the bed.
The blankets were heavy and warm. He flipped though the book to more recent events, looking for someone named Black and a group called Death Eaters. The last four chapters of the book covered someone called the Dark Lord.
With the snakes snuggled next to him, he read.
The Fall of The Dark Lord and The Boy Who Lived, Halloween 1981:
The end of October of 1981 brought what was both the darkest part of the Blood War and, by a still unexplained miracle, the end. As discussed in the last chapter, with the Wizengamot suspended and the Ministry closed to all by vital personnel to the War effort, many of the citizens lived in fear, rarely leaving their homes.
Those few that did, risked both themselves and their families. As our people suffered with the loss of loved ones, our economy suffered. At the dame time, the number of supporters of the Dark Lord grew significantly.
Deaths piled up, whole familial lines were taken, and muggleborn's fled back into the world of their parents in droves. Despite using axillary organizations, outside the red-tape and bureaucracy of the government to fight directly against the Death Eater threat, the war was being lost.
The Potter family, by this point dwindled to the newly minted Lord James Potter, Duke of Stinchcombe, and his wife, Lady Lily Jane Potter fought on the front lines. Lord Potter was a rookie Auror, while his wife, Lady Potter was in the last year of her Healer-training were members of one of these organizations.
With the deaths of several people confirmed to be part of this organization, including Marlene McKinnon, former fiancée of Sirius Black, her entire family, as well as the Prewett Twins, Heir Fabian and Gideon, the Potters became reclusive. During this time, targets had gone from outspoken political adversaries of the group to members of the aforementioned organization. One thing became obvious by late summer, there was a traitor within the organization itself.
At some point, both James and Lily became direct targets of the Dark Lord himself. In late September of 1981, the Potters took their young wins sons into hiding, only telling close friends of their plans.
In an interview with Lord Potter in January of 1982, more details of the events of those last few weeks became clear. Potter confirmed his family had gone under the Fidelius Charm with Sirius Black being the Secret Keeper. Sirius was heir to the notorious House of Black, despite being estranged from the majority of his family for several years, as well as James' best friend. Reportedly, the two met on the train to Hogwarts in their first year and instantly bonded.
For those not familiar with the charm. The Fidelius Charm is an incredibly complex piece of magic, which hides a person and their residence from all forms of mundane and magical detection. It also causes anyone who previously knew the location to forget about it. Only the Secret Keeper is able to reveal the location, which must be done willingly, without force or coercion. Once under the charm, the Potters were completely defended from outside attack. For two months, the Potters were protected and lulled into a false sense of security.
Black was a rising star in the Auror Corps and a hero to the people of Britain at the time. A number of Death Eater attacks had been thwarted and hundreds saved over the time period with Black leading the charge. Unbeknown to his friends and fellow combatants, Black had turned traitor. At some point, he had reconnected with his family and began passing information to the Death Eaters.
According to Lord Potter, in the months leading up to that fateful night, Black could often be found in the company of Bartemious Crouch Junior (see The Last Act, Attack on Noblebranch Manor) and Evan Rosier, confirmed Death Eaters. Looking back, Potter stated the mysterious disappearance of Black's younger brother, Regulus, broke something in the man, changed him into someone James didn't recognize.
One of the last successful attacks came late in the evening of October 30, 1981. The Bones family was celebrating the 100th wedding anniversary of Lord and Lady Bones in their country manor in Kent. Death Eaters, led by the Dark Lord himself, broke through the manor's ancient wards, and slaughtered almost the entire family. The only survivors of the massacre were Amelia Bones, now head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and her one year old niece.
Lord Potter emerged from hiding to aid the remnants of the family early on the 31st. The attack was the first successful attack in months.
It is unknown exactly how the following events were set in motion, nor have Blacks motives ever been uncovered. Black revealed the location of the Potters to the Dark Lord at some point, and early Halloween night, he came for them. It is still unknown if Black could not set-up the death of his one time best friend or if he did not know Lord Potter had left the house.
Our only account of what happened next comes from witnesses after the fact. The Dark Lord crossed the wards on the Potter's cottage and attacked. Young Lily Potter was home alone with her young sons, Heir Hadrian Potter and Alexander Potter. She fled up the stairs, into the twins nursery, where she was hit with the Killing Curse. Then the Dark Lord turned his wand on young Alexander Potter. Somehow, the curse rebounded killing the Dark Lord, and Alexander Potter became the Boy Who Lived, the first person to ever survive the Killing Curse.
Lord Potter arrived home in the middle of the attack, just in time to see the distinctive flash of green light in the window. The force of the rebound blew half the cottage apart, burying Lord Potter in the rubble. He spent a month in St. Mungo's recovering.
Many times, he has spoken about his spotty memories of the aftermath. Soon after the cottage was destroyed, Black apparated to the Potter's cottage. He found Lord Potter lying in the rubble. Potter reports that Black was crying and said something to him, but to this day, Potter does not know what was said.
Black then proceeded into the remains of the cottage, where he attempted to abscond with both the Potter Heir and the Boy Who Lived. However, before he could, reinforcements arrived, having been alerted by Potter in the moments before the explosion.
Black left the boys, but did remove the Dark Lords wand, and headed out into the night, to an undisclosed location. Two days later, Aurors were called out to an incident in a muggle neighborhood. Chaos reigned on the streets, where a blood splattered Black stood at the center of a massacre. Witness reports state that Black cornered Peter Pettigrew, another of Black and Potter's school friends. It is believed Pettigrew discovered something about Black's betrayal, and Black wanted him silenced. After some shouting, Black then attacked a defenseless Pettigrew. Using a singular, unknown Dark Curse, Black murdered Pettigrew, destroyed the street, and killed thirteen muggles. Dozens of others were injured. By the time Aurors arrived, the scene was a bloody, gory mess. Body parts were strewn about Black, who laughed madly at all of it. The largest part of Pettigrew that could be found was a finger.
While Black made no attempt to escape, he also refused to speak…
Harry fell asleep with the book open, and dreamed about blinding green light, cold hands, and cruel high-pitched laughter.