If anyone of you notices any errors in my story please tell me in a review. This is my second time writting a HP Fanfiction... So I am still new at this. But I'll try to finish this story, and my other one, before school starts in September.
I Don't own Harry Potter
Harry Potter and The Long Lost Family
The Wrong Boy – Who – Lived
A Happy Family of four sat happily together on Halloween Night, two of them adults. Lily Potter, a gorgeous woman with long, thick dark red hair and stunning emerald green eyes. Her husband, James Potter, was a tall, thin man with hazel eyes and unkempt black hair that stuck up at the back, he also wore a pair of glasses.
Sitting between them were the two most adorable twin babies ever, both just over one year old. The oldest one, Harry James Potter had the same untidy black hair as his father, and the exotic green eyes of his mother. His younger twin, William Evans Potter, had dark red hair – like his mother – but it was as untidy and unruly as his fathers, he also inherited his brown eyes.
James was shooting bubble out of a wooden stick – his wand(mahogany, about eleven inches) – much to his children's amusement, as evident by their loud laughter and their attempts at popping the magically strengthened bubbles.
Lily Potter was also smiling and laughing along with her family, however underneath that laughter, she felt a sense of worry and doubt mixing a sense of impending doom. However, she ignored, confident in the protective charms surrounding the house and their secret keeper, Peter Pettigrew.
However, she realized that if Peter were caught, he wouldn't be able to stand torture for any significant amount of time. Despite being a Gryffindor, Peter lacked bravery – something the rest of the Marauders seemed blind towards – and while she knew that their previous secret keeper, Sirius Black, would rather die than give them away. She doubted that their current one would be capable of mustering the courage to last more than thirty minutes – if even that – against their enemy, the Dark Lord Voldemort You-Know-Who or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
As if summoned by her thoughts, a large explosion blew up the wall in front of them, sending her and James flying through the air while Harry and William floated down to the ground in an impressive display of accidental magic from the two of them.
Threw the dust kicked up by the explosion a figure appeared, wearing a dark black robe and an equally dark black cloak, he had a chalk white face that resembled a skull, a skeletally thin body and dark scarlet eyes with cat-like slits for pupils, snake-like slits for nostrils.
In his long thin hand, held casually between unnaturally long fingers with long, sharp, pale blue finger nails, was a wooden stick, yew and thirteen and a half inches – his wand.
The wand was pointed in the direction of the older Potters, who were still dazed from their impact with the wall and stunned them without a sound.
The two twins, who were know sitting on the ground and observing the man, started crying desperately hoping for their parents to come and rescue them from the sinister, dark man in front of them.
The Man – Voldemort – reveled in the fear and desperation displayed by the twins and almost playfully lifted his wand towards the dark haired brother.
"Avada Kedavra," the Dark Lord intoned in a soft mocking voice, before a green light speed from his wand and impacted the child in his forehead.
Before Voldemort could comprehend what had happened, the child began screaming as a scar appeared on his forehead, in the shape of a lightning bolt – a curse mark – and the green light rebounded and impacted the dark lord.
Due to the instability of the curse after it being rebounded, instead of a clean, painless death without a mark on the body, the spell exploded into Voldemort's body, causing a large explosion to take place.
The explosion shattered the roof above into small hot pieces that raining down on the twins. Curiously, Harry never got hit by any of it – perhaps more accidental magic – William however was only hit once, by a curiously shaped piece of rubble, that left behind a permanent S-shaped Scar, half covered by his dark unruly red hair.
After the explosion was over, in the place were Voldemort stood, there stood a tiny pile of ash that was covered by the robes and cloak that Voldemort was wearing.
Next to them, on the floor was the Dark Lords wand. The wand that slayed thousands of muggles and wizards alike.
In the corner of the room a small rat observed the chaos that was the Potter household. The two adults lay unconscious in one corner, and their two children laying in the middle, crying their eyes out – probably due to the pain and fear.
The rat darted forward and scooped the wand, which was twice its size, in its mouth and darted away transformed into a portly wizard who was extremely short – no longer that the average thirteen-year-old wizard– grubby skin, small watery eyes and a pointed nose, all lingering attributes from his rat form, as well as his squeaky voice. He also had mousy brown hair.
Then disappeared with a loud pop.
A cat sat on the fence of a house – Number 4 Privet Drive – it's eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't quiver at all when a car door slammed in the next street, or when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight by the time the cat moved at all.
A man appeared at the corner the cat had been watching, silently and quietly as though he'd popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eye's narrowed.
The man was tall, thin and very old, as evidenced by his silver hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkled behind his half-moon spectacles.
The man's name was Albus Dumbledore. He didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived on a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome – or perhaps he knew but didn't care. He did however realize that he was being watched, despite being busy rummaging through his cloak, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."
He had found what he was looking for inside his pocket, a silver cigarette lighter, he flicked it open, held it up in the air and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a pop. He clicked it again – the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve more times and the street was completely shrouded in darkness.
Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer in his pocket and set out towards number four, where he sat next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He turned towards the cat but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the marking the cat had around it's eye's. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one and her hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly"
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no – even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was in their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls … shooting stars … Well they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent – I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably, "But that is no reason to lose out heads. People are being downright careless, out on the street in broad daylight, not even dressed in muggle clothes, swapping rumors."
She threw a sharp sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on: "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have finally disappeared at last, the muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone Dumbledore?"
"It Certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"
"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. "As I was saying, even if You-Know-Who has gone –"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this "You-Know-Who" non-sense – for eleven years I've been trying to persuade people to call him by his name: Voldemort."
Professor McGonagall flinched but Dumbledore, who was unsticking to sherbet lemons, seemed not to notice.
"It all gets so confusing if we keep saying "You-Know-Who". I've never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sound half-exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know – oh, all right, Voldemort – was afraid of."
"You flatter," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're – we'll – to noble to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another sherbet lemon and didn't answer.
What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up at Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are – are – that they're dead."
Dumbledore shook his head, to indicate a negative response.
Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James are alive? Thank Merlin … I didn't want to believe it," said McGonagall, her voice clearly betraying how shocked she was at that revelation.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on.
"That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' son, William. But – he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how but they're saying that when he couldn't kill William Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke – that's why he's gone."
"It's – it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done … all the people he's killed … he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding … of all the things to stop him … but how by the name of heaven did William survive?"
"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. " We may never know."
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles – clearly remembering all the people killed by Voldemort.
Dumbledore pulled out a gold watch from his pocket. It was an odd watch, it had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall, "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"
"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the people he'll be staying with till he begins Hogwarts."
"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.
"Dumbledore – you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son – I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he is older, except his family – he'll be told they're dead. I've left a letter for them."
"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him – or any other wizard – He's brother will be famous – a legend – I wouldn't be surprised if today became known as William Potter Day – there will be books written about William – every child will know Will's name, and consequently, Harry's name. Why doesn't he just grow up with his family?"
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk or talk! Famous for something his brother had done… something he can't even remember! Can't you see how much better of he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it? If he isn't arrogant, then he might become Jealous of his brother. "
Professor McGonagall wasn't convinced however, "It's the parents job to make sure he doesn't become arrogant or Jealous – Lily and James' job… As Will's and Harry's parents. Besides… Why is Will not being sent here…? If anything, he'll be even more arrogant than Harry could be."
"As the Boy-Who-Lived, he will need to familiarizing himself with magic earlier, so that he could defend himself from any supporter or sympathizer of the Dark Lord's."
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes – yes, you're right of course – about Will. But I won't agree with sending Harry to live with Muggles."
"It was his parents' decision."
"W-w-what!" she began, stuttering horribly from shock, "but they were so happy to have children… I can't believe they would abandon him – they were so happy to be having children! They were ecstatic to be having twins! And how is the boy getting here… anyway." She eyed his cloak as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing him – and like I said… he is late."
"You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to – what was that?"
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky – and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.
If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild – long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hand the size of dustbin lids and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins.
In his vast muscular arms, he was holding a bundle of blankets
"Hagrid," said Professor Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorbike?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, Sir," said the giant, climbing carefully of the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir – picked 'im up from 'is parents and we flew 'ere. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore bent over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"What is that?" whispered Professor McGonagall, wary of waking the slumbering child.
"A scar he somehow got during the attack – probably was hit by a piece of rubble. He'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you – or Poppy – do something about it."
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself – above my left knee – which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well – give him here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned to the Dursleys' house. Dumbledore steeped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. Under Hagrid's sad gaze and McGonagall's stern reprimanding one he laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets.
For a full minute the three of them stood in silence and watched the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulder shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to had gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well join the celebrations.
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice. "I'd best get this bike back to Sirius Black. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacked sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," sand Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall gave him a glare in reply, before disappearing.
Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stooped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange. Dumbledore could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good Luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heels and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky, moonlit sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing his brother was famous, not knowing he would be woken up in a few hours' time by Mrs. Petunia Dursley's scream as she opened the front doors to put out the ink bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being poked, prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley… He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To William Potter – The Boy Who Lived!"
The Daily Prophet
William Potter Saves Us All
The Boy- Who Lived!
Yesterday at 9 o'clock, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacked the Potter's home in Godric's Hollow. He easily stunning William parents before turning it on the one-year-old child. A quick killing curse later, and anyone else would have been dead. However, by some miracle, the boy survived.
No one has ever been known to block or survive the killing curse. Still, Will survived, destroying all expectations, and You-Know-Who with them.
You-Know-Who has terrorized our glorious country for years. No one was safe from his reign of terror, Witches or Wizards, Muggles, Muggleborns, Half-Bloods, Pure-Bloods and even his own followers were known to die by his hand.
So it was with great relief, and contentment that meet the news of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Even as you read this, his remaining followers are being rounded up by the aurors, and the innocent victims of the Imperius Curse are being released. One of the most notable examples are Lucius Malfoy, Walden McNair, Theodore Nott Sr., Gregory Goyle Sr. and Vincent Crabbe Sr.
So the Potter's are alive... But they've sent Harry to live with the Dursleys, how this will affect their relationship when Harry rejoins the Wizarding World? Would they even want a relationship with their oldest son?
William Evans Potter: Born July 31st 11:58pm 3 minutes after his older brother. His home was attacked by Voldemort on Halloween Night at the end of August. 1 Year and 1 Month after his birth. More on his personality next chapter
Hope You Enjoyed!
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