NOTES: Hello! This is the first ever fanfiction I have written (well started to write). I have read fanfictions (mainly HP) for years now and have always thought about making my own. So here is a start. This story is heavily inspired by a few stories I have read in recent time:

The Case of Abuse by deathly-cool

High Heels and Hippogriffs by NinjaPandaScholar

The Good War by inwardtransience

Shout out to all those authors I have loved all of those stories a lot and wanted to try make my own. We will see how this goes I usually get pretty busy this time of year so don't expect my updated to be quick but I will try my best. Please give me tips if you think there is any to be given, be that for my writing style, how to format properly, or whatever you think. THANKS

P.S may upload this to AO3 as well not sure yet, and I also have no idea how to format in the document editor on so please be kind.

Chapter 1: A Meddling Old Fool

October 31, 1981

Sirius Black apparated to the front of the Potters' house in Godric's Hollow with a loud crack. Immediately, his heart began pounding as he took in his surroundings. The night air was still—too still as if the world were holding its breath. His thoughts raced as he surveyed what was left of the Potter's house, the destruction gnawing at his gut. James and Lily were more than family; they were the closest thing to true siblings Sirius had ever had. Just hours ago, he had left his daughter, Lyra, in the care of James and Lily. Lyra was only recently born, almost a full year younger than James and Lily's son, Harry.

He'd kissed Lyra's forehead goodbye, the soft black curls of her hair tickling his lips as he promised to return soon. But now, standing outside, he felt that promise slipping away.

As he entered the house, silence enveloped him. The two exterior walls... well, they weren't there anymore.

The shattered remains of the wall greeted him, jagged edges and fragments littering the ground. Sirius took a shaky step inside, his heart hammering louder with each passing second.

"James? Lily?" His voice cracked, his throat tight as he called their names. His footfalls were muffled against the broken glass and debris. It was too quiet. Too still. But in the silence, he could hear the faintest of noises—the softest whimper, as though a child was still alive amidst the ruin.

Sirius slowly forced himself upstairs, the floorboards whimpering underneath his muffled footsteps as he stood upon broken glass debris. His breath caught in his throat as his eyes lay upon the nursery. There in the center of the room lay the lifeless forms of James and Lily, their faces frozen in shock. In Lily's arms laid Harry, still bundled up in the remnants of his blanket, obviously an escape was attempted but to no success, and Harry also lay there lifeless.

Sirius staggered forward, his mind unable to process the nightmare before him. They were gone... his best friends were gone. The family he had chosen, even over his "real" family, was destroyed in an instant.

As thoughts kept racing in his head of how this could have happened, his grief was slowly met with anger as well. With only one man left on his mind, he apparated out of Godric's Hollow, with no thought of the original purpose of his visit.

Albus Dumbledore arrived an hour later, greeted by the same sight of devastation. The once-welcoming home of the Potters was now a ruin. The destruction was horrific, but Albus's thoughts were elsewhere—he could only hope that an answer to the damned prophecy had been found this night.

This was the last place the Dark Lord had been before his supposed destruction, Severus had told him.

As he entered through the front door, he swiftly made his way up to the nursery. The sight before him confirmed what he already knew—the Potters were dead. James, Lily, and Harry Potter lay lifeless on the floor, and their deaths were the confirmation of who the Dark Lord's equal was. He would ensure Neville Longbottom would be in the best position to destroy the Dark Lord upon his return.

Just as he was about to leave the nursery and head downstairs, his gaze caught something—the faintest sound of a whimper. His heart skipped. Had he missed something?

Moving carefully, he approached the source of the sound. He cracked the door open, his eyes landing on a small crib beneath some fallen debris. Inside, nestled among the wreckage, was a child. The sight of her made his breath catch in his throat.

She had dark hair, barely eight months old, blinking up at him with wide, confused eyes. Albus stepped closer, his heart hammering. It couldn't be… Could it?

Lyra Black. Sirius's daughter. She had been here, too, in the house with the Potters when Voldemort came.

The child stirred, still unaware of the horrors around her, her eyes searching for some form of comfort. Albus's mind raced, the implications of this moment overwhelming him. This child, not Harry Potter, had survived—she was alive.

Albus stared down at her, his mind spinning with possibilities.

He could take her back to the Ministry, to Sirius, or perhaps even to Amelia Bones. But then, a thought struck him. If Lyra remained hidden, if she were raised outside of the public eye, the prophecy could still be used in a way that would protect Neville.

He could use her.

If the world believed Harry Potter had survived, it would shield the true prophesied child, Neville. The Death Eaters would be drawn to the false "Boy-Who-Lived," while Neville, the true one, could grow up in peace—untouched by the Dark Lord's followers.

But the consequences of such a decision weighed heavily on him. Manipulating the truth like this, sending a child to a life of obscurity and danger, was no small thing. Yet, in his mind, it was the only way to secure the future. The sacrifice would be great, but the greater good demanded it.

With a heavy heart, Albus reached into his robes and pulled out his wand. He began to cast, weaving powerful glamours—charms so intricate that they could not be detected and would never wear off. They would transform the child before him, turning Lyra Black into the fake prophesied Harry Potter. He vanished the body of the young boy, wrapped in Lily Potter's arms, leaving no trace of the truth. Without a second glance, Albus turned and left the house, the weight of his decision hanging heavy in the air.

In the early hours of the morning, two loud cracks shattered the silence of Privet Drive. The only sign of change was the small form of a boy lying on the doorstep of Number Four.