Henri Laveau

In the most ordinary place imaginable, a number of odd things had happened, a cat that could read had been spotted, along with strange folk that wore robes and capes, and there were owls and shooting stars.

And on the doorstep of a house with the address of Number 4 Privet Drive was a baby in a basket with a note.

The child was sleeping peacefully with a scar in the shape of a lightning bolt on his forehead, partly covered by a crop of messy black hair.

It was in his slumber that he was found by someone even stranger than the ones who had left him here.

She was beautiful and exotic, her caramel skin seemed to glow in the streetlights, her dark robes blended into the shadows, and her chocolate brown eyes shined with an inner fire.

She spoke with an accent that many in Britain would mistake for French, in truth it was Creole.

"Sweet child," she said to the slumbering infant, "Albus was a fool to leave you here, your parents told him not to do it."

She made a hissing sound before picking up the basket, the warding charms placed around it by the most powerful wizard alive fell apart at the slightest flicker of her hands.

The letter dissolved into dust a mere moment later.

"I apologize for this," she said to the child before a wand emerged from her wrist and into her free hand.

She whispered something that wouldn't recognize as a spell by most Old World wizards and a single drop of blood appeared out of thin air.

A flick of her wand sent the blood drop flying; it landed on the door and was absorbed into the wood without protest.

"That should fool the fool," she whispered with a hint of a grin at her word play before turning from the house, "At least for a little while."

As she walked down the empty road, she sighed and spoke to seeming thin air, "Bonjou Mister and Misses Potter, I found him so don't fret none."

She made a turn into a small abandoned lot and her gaze focused on the ground at a broken blue bottle, she checked her watch and muttered, "I hope my idiot nephew remembered to set the Portkey right this time."

She then turned to her right and spoke to the empty space, "Don't be so glum, once he's older and I've shown him the Art, he'll be able to see and speak to you again."

The bottle glowed for a brief second and she touched it with her foot and vanished from the alley, never to return.

Meanwhile as Wizarding Britain celebrated the demise of the Dark Lord and the one who had defeated him, the boy who had done so was no longer even on the European continent.

By the time Albus Dumbledore realized that one Harry James Potter had never been found by his muggle relatives, it was too late.

The large white plantation shimmered with the haze of the midday sun and the blanket of magic that guarded it and the surrounding lands around it from unwanted intrusion.

The doors and windows were large, letting in the sunshine that rained down on the other side of the world, the child began to stir, but a simple charm cloaked him in shadows once more.

The boy needed his rest after all.

In time he would discover the wonders of this place, all the hidden nooks and crannies, the chili peppers that were still grown here, the seemingly endless gardens, and the quirks of the nearby bayou and the creatures both natural and magical that dwelt there.

But for now as soon as she stepped through the threshold there were two pops, a small house elf with large eyes like tennis balls and a young man with dark skin and a large dopey grin now stood at attention on the foot of the large staircase in the entrance hall.

"Does Mistress be needing anything?" the house elf squeaked.

"Is the child's room prepared, Trixie?" the woman asked briskly even as she walked up the stairs.

"Of course Mistress."

"Good, now leave us for now."

With a pop the creature disappeared.

"Auntie Marie," her nephew said with curiosity, "Why did you go and bring this child here?"

Marie stopped her movement on the stark white staircase and paused to look at him, "Because Jean, the spirits told me many things, and this child is at the center of most of it."

"Oh." Jean breathed with a slight flush, and then asked if she would need anything else of him.

"No, not today my little barnacle." She informed him with warmth, using her nickname for the last living member of her family.

He grinned before vanishing with a pop.

As she resumed her trek, she caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror and couldn't help but think with a hint of vanity, 'Not bad lookin' for almost two hundred.'

She passed by several richly appointed rooms on the second floor before reaching her destination, the new nursery.

Like the rest of the house the walls were pure white, decorated with expensive paintings of fantastical landscapes and strange creatures, all of whom moved about and waved at their current Mistress, who ignored them.

A beautiful chandelier would give light at night along with several ever-lasting candles nearby, toys were already available in a beautiful oak box in a corner on the floor.

In the center of the room was a varnished and gleaming ebony cradle with silver and white silk sheets and pillows.

She placed the infant inside and with a flick of her wand changed his clothes and diaper, now he wore a much nicer set of blood red pajamas.

"Rest for now child," she whispered before kissing him softly and departing, "I have things to do for you."

She walked out of the door, wards clicking into place behind her, once it was shut she noticed that the small golden plaque she had ordered for his room had been left blank.

"I guess Trixie didn't know what his name would be." Marie said to herself with a sigh and waved her wand once more before walking away.

Gleaming in the light of the sun filtering down from a nearby window a new set of words were as plain as day for all to see.

'This is the Room of Henri Jacques Laveau'

Notes: The intro is short, but it sets things up properly. Oh and the usual disclaimers apply. And I fixed the format and some typos.