The Anti-Magic Campaign

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and associated characters.

Summary: Michael Potter is hailed as the Boy-Who-Lived, and that’s just the way Harry Potter likes it. He would like it even more if his parents didn’t insist on sending him to Hogwarts!

Chapter One: Attack of the Rabid Wolves

31st July, 1984

“Mr. Potter—!”

“—such an honour!”

“—thank you so—!”

“Un!” Four year old Harry Potter fell gracelessly to the ground, squirming frantically to avoid being trampled by the pack of rabid wolves on two feet that had inexplicably appeared. “Ach!”

Panting and wide-eyed, little Harry huddled under his table and watched as the screaming mass attacked his family. I didn’t know wolves could talk! And where’s their fur? Because the salivating mob trying to rip his brother from his mum’s arms couldn’t possibly be human.

“Boys,” his dad said gravely. Dad was never grave. Harry wondered who this pod person impersonating his dad was. Was Sirius playing with polyjuice again? Except Sirius was never serious. “Your mother and I think that you’re old enough to understand some things, now.”

Harry sat up straight on his hospital bed, thoughts of human-abducting aliens abandoned for the moment. “You’re gonna tell us why you’re always red and sweaty when you come home when Uncle Moony watches us Friday nights? Uncle Moony says you’re not sick, but he won’t tell us why!”

His mum turned red and choked, and Dad’s funny expression kinda froze on his face. Except his eyebrows climbed halfway up his forehead before they froze. Harry wondered if they’ll frost if they froze for much longer. And how can they freeze on such a warm night? Maybe his blood’s cold. ‘Cept humans are warm-blooded, Miss White said so!

“Ah, ha, no.” Mum’s stopped choking, but her face was still blotchy red, like her hair. Except Mum’s hair was beautiful dark red, and her face was a spotty kinda red, almost pink, really. “We’re going to talk about what happened at the Leaky Cauldron this afternoon.”

Mike whimpered from the next bed, and Harry’s gaze sharpened. They had his full attention now.

“You see, boys, there was this evil dark wizard…”

2 years later…

Harry curled up on the bed, book in hand, and tried to ignore the racket downstairs. It was his bed, in his room, he supposed, but he’d only stayed at Potter Manor twice before, so it didn’t feel like his room. And I wouldn’t be here now, if Mike hadn’t wanted to invite half the Wizarding World to our birthday!

He glared at the floor, through which the sounds of a hundred noisy strangers still buzzed. Suddenly, he smirked and with a mental twist and push the world fell silent.

And Dad’s worried I’m a Squib! The thought was tinged with smug satisfaction.

His brother might have gotten over the shock of their first foray into Diagon Ally and embraced his adoring public like a true attention whore, but he had no desire to be devoured by that pack of slobbering wolves (which was how he still thought of Michael’s fan club, especially now that he could appreciate the wonders of metaphor).

Harry’s aversion to those wolves (as opposed to Uncle Moony, who was a good wolf), was so strong that he’d determined early on that he would never do anything to draw their attention, even if he had to lie until he was blue in the face, and offer his brother up as a scapegoat to boot. No need to feel guilty, either. Mike practically glowed from the attention.

It was a well known fact within the family and at school that Harry Potter was a little genius in the making with a photographic memory. It’d be kind of hard to miss, when he’d been reading short novels by himself since preschool. He’d been tested and everything! Muggles take those kinds of things seriously.

What was not known, was that Harry Potter remembered everything! Well, maybe not everything, Harry thought with a scowl. He could remember his own birth, and a long, warm darkness that he thought might have been his mother’s womb. He remembered it with crystal clarity; sights, sounds and scents.

He remembered Halloween Night, how Pettigrew had let Voldemort into the house, how they had gloated and laughed. He remembered a wand pointed at his head. He remembered green light. He remembered crying and screaming, huddled into a corner on the floor with his brother, the house falling down around them, a searing gash dripping blood into his eyes. He didn’t remember what happened between the curse and the screaming, and if he’d fallen unconscious, he most certainly didn’t remember waking up. And what he did remember of that night was fuzzy, as in a dream. Until his fourth birthday, he thought it was a dream.

This didn’t mean he was the real Boy-Who-Lived, of course. Harry hoped to Merlin that he wasn’t. But he was well aware that he could be.

So I’ll do everything I can to make sure no one else thinks so, too.

The best way to do this was to play the part of the Squib. After all, the Saviour of the Wizarding World can’t be practically a Muggle, can he?

And really, it’s not much of a sacrifice at all. While Mike and every other magical child out there had random bursts of accidental magic, Harry didn’t.

For as long as he could remember (his whole life), magic was a pulsing ball of warmth beating counter-point to his heart, stretching lazily through his body and curling around him, just above his skin. And when he wanted something, he pushed and pulled and it happened. There was nothing accidental about it.

Fortunately, no one had ever caught him at it, and because dishes didn’t rattle when Harry was thunderously angry, and food didn’t miraculously appear when he was hungry, all were convinced that Harry had never done a spot of magic in his life.

So all he had to do was keep hiding his magic. It would mean missing Hogwarts, of course.

Not much of a sacrifice at all. He was well aware that what he could do wasn’t normal, and he doubted Hogwarts could teach him anything he couldn’t teach himself. And missing Hogwarts would mean continuing Muggle school.

He smiled, flipping through the science journal in his lap. Harry Potter was also a certified nerd, science geek extraordinaire.

AN: Hi all! My name is lessraya, you can call me Raya if you want. I’ve been a reader of fanfiction for several years now, and between you and me, I think I might like a well-written fanfic better than an original story ;)

This is my first attempt at writing something myself, so I’d appreciate some feedback.

I’ve seen lots of stories where Harry has a twin that’s mistakenly thought of as the Boy- (or Girl-) Who-Lived, and Harry is neglected or abused, maliciously or not, and he grows up bitter and angry. While I’ve enjoyed those stories very much, I had a sudden brainwave and thought, what if he liked being ignored? What if he didn’t want to be the Boy-Who-Lived? After all, in canon, he hated the attention. So this is my take on a Harry that is encouraging people to worship his brother (better you than me!). Just a warning, other than the aversion to attention, there’s not much else about my Harry that’s going to stay true to canon. I like super!Harry. (Does anyone know why we use the exclamation mark like that? I’ve never been able to figure it out.)

About the story so far, in the first section, when Harry is four, I’ve used some big words and some slang, and I’ve tried to make the writing whimsical, to portray a Harry that’s smart for his age but still childish. Did I succeed?

The second section is a little more serious. I always hated wordy descriptions that go over every single detail and a lot of it irrelevant or repetitive, so I’ve tried to put in the important bits and just hint at everything else. I’ve also tried to keep the writing as fast-paced and interesting as possible while setting out boring back-story. How did I do? Was I too obscure on something?

And if you’ve read this far, you’ve got more patience than me! This AN is half as long as the story! I won’t put in so much on future chapters, but for this first one, I have one more point. I have a vague outline of a plot in my head, but no details. I’m just winging it, so any suggestions are welcome, full credit guaranteed! I have no plans for a pairing (because really, he’s only six!), and I think I might turn this into a crossover with Stargate (can you say AK equals Ascension?) if I don’t get any better ideas. Again, comments welcome.

And that’s it from me! Thanks for reading. Oh, and ignore the title. Harry isn’t really anti-magic, he just pretends to be.