What if, while Hagrid was flying with little Harry on that fateful night, he dropped him? What if Harry Potter was spotted by one Estelle Lovegood while she was out stargazing, and saved just in time? How will Harry's life change, with two loving parents and a sister from a very…different family? How will his first year be now?
In this story, I have placed Godric's Hollow in Cornwall, since in cannon we don't know where it is, only that is somewhere in the west. Cornwall is really southwest, but oh well; it's necessary for the plot. Also, since in cannon we do not know Luna's birthdate, I have declared it to be August 31, 1980, which would usually be too late to start Hogwarts in the same year as Harry and the others (thus why, in my headcannon, she was a year later) but she wanted to start in the same year as her "twin", so Dumbledore made an exception. If you don't like this, I'm sorry. Review if you like. Picture links on my profile.
Saves The Sorcerer's Stone
Forward by Almond Olea Vigour
I was asked to write this some time ago, but with no idea how to start, the details started to get dusty and old, and I put it off more and more. I thought to myself, there is plenty of time to do this. It was a cold winter morning, the day before my brother was to stop by, when I shot out of bed and realised all at once that someone had to tell this story as soon as possible, and I was the perfect one – the only one, I suppose – to do it. So, I got out a Pensieve, a quill, several bottles of ink, and plenty of parchments.
First I hammered out the details: tiny things like what we ate, what we wore, what our rooms were like, and what we all looked like at varying ages, because after all, the story is in the details. That's what brings it to life, not the Dark wizards and wands and castles and Thestrals and battles and magical objects. Imagine that this story is a tulip, and the details are water and soil and pruning and lighting and care during winter – the stuff that you easily overlook if you're not a skilled plant-caretaker. The big thing, the main story, is like the sun, but without the water, soil, and protection, the plants would almost certainly not make it. And vice versa: all the water, fertilizer, and sheets during wintertime won't grow a tulip without light.
Therefore, in this tulip of a story, I will have to, I think, split it into seven parts. This is the accounting of the first part, involving a shooting star, a letter, a stone, a Dark Lord, and the wonderful matter of friendships.
As for who I am, well, I am not sure that is relevant. He would say it is – and they would as well, perhaps – but at this moment, I don't believe it is. Perhaps you can guess my identity, though I am trying not to use any key phrases, but otherwise, I will tell you at the end of this series.
The books will be called as follows: (Unless they must change for some reason)
Harry Lovegood: Saves the Sorcerer's Stone
Harry Lovegood: Discovers a Secret Chamber
Harry Lovegood: Helps to Free an Innocent Man
Harry Lovegood: Becomes a Scorched Name
Harry Lovegood: Learns of a Secret Society
Harry Lovegood: Reads a Strange Potions Book
Harry Lovegood: Has a Very Different Year
Now, I suppose we should begin our story…
Chapter One: A Shooting Star
October 31, 1981: 12:02am – 12:03am
The quiet night was interrupted by a loud rumble, and over the quiet, sleeping county of Devon shot a huge, flying, motorbike.
"Oh, I just can' believe it!" wailed the man who rested atop it. If the bike was huge, it was nothing compared to the man who rode it. If he were standing, he would easily reach twelve feet tall and half that wide. The man had a kind face hidden beneath a scraggly black beard and hair, and periodically wiped his eyes and blew his nose with a sound like a foghorn.
"Lily an' James Potter, dead!" he cried, wiping his eyes. He turned to the bundle in his arms. "An' you, yeh poor thing, off ter live with some Muggles!" A tiny face peeked out, staring with wide green eyes. A tuft of black hair adorned his little head, and a still-bleeding scar on his forehead was shaped curiously like a lightning bolt.
"Aw, little Harry, I wish I could jus' take yeh with me and you'd never haff ter see those dratted Muggles…" the man sobbed loudly. "Ah, blast these goggles," he said, pulling them off his head and wiping them on a large handkerchief.
"Uh oh!" a blast of strong wind caught the bike, and Hagrid was forced to swerve wildly to avoid a flock of geese also blown off-course. Finally, he managed to right the bike with a murmured curse and continued on his trajectory.
Unbeknownst to the half-giant, the bundle in his arms was now rather without a child. Far below, right over a small, half-Muggle, half-Wizard village, little Harry soared through the air, giggling happily, with no idea that he was falling towards certain death.
The man, who was called Hagrid, zoomed on through Devon, then Somerset, then Dorset, then Wiltshire, then Hampshire, and finally to his destination in Surrey.
He had no idea that the little boy he had been carrying was falling through the air at that very moment, surely to die upon impact.
October 31, 1981: 12:03am – 3:00am
In the pale October moonlight, a beautiful woman lay on a hill. She had lovely silvery blue eyes to compliment her very long jet-black hair, and was dressed in a silver cloak. Hanging from her ears were what looked like tiny radishes, and around her neck was a charm that shone like starlight.
She was plotting constellations at this time of year in order to chart the reactions of the Dirigible Plums to different levels of starlight. Besides the moon, the only light around came from a house on another, smaller, hill next to hers. As the woman plotted Cassias, she noticed something strange in the sky over the small forest in front of her. It looked like a large bird – a blue bird. Something about this rung strange to the woman, so she picked up a pair of Omnioculars from the ground beside her and focused on the shape, only to scream at what she saw.
It wasn't a bird at all, but a little boy of around fourteen months. He was falling rapidly to the earth, twisting and turning every which way as the wind blew him.
The woman's wand was in her hand in an instant, quickly casting a featherlight charm in the boy's direction even as she ran into the forest.
"Oh dear," she said to herself, lighting her wand and looking around wildly. Usually, she was cool under pressure, but this was a child, and he could very well be dead before she found him. What if the charm hadn't reached him in time?
No, wait…what was that? In the distance, something odd was hanging from a tree. The woman approached carefully, turned her light upon it, and saw that it was the little boy. He was hanging by his nightclothes almost twenty feet in the air, looking rather frightened.
As soon as he spotted her, the boy cried, "Help! Fall! Stuck!" and wriggled slightly as if to prove his words.
"It's alright dear," the woman said, coming closer. "I'll get you right down…"
She quickly cast Wingardium Leviosa, and guided her wand so the boy rose up slightly off of the branch he was stuck on, then slowly lowered him to her arms.
He laughed and clapped happily, and she beamed, noting how cold the boy felt and starting back towards her home to warm him up.
"Now, what were you doing, falling from the sky?" she said. "Where are your parents, hmm?"
The boy furrowed his brow, and she noticed that he had a little scar on his forehead, perhaps from the trees.
"Bad man." He finally said. "Green light. Mummy fall down. Hairy guy on big bike."
She nodded, understanding a bit. She had her own child just a bit younger, and that made it easier to understand the small boy. He was obviously making an effort to talk clearly.
"Did the bad man have a wand?" she asked cautiously. Green light – that sounded like the Killing Curse. He could be a wizard's child…
"Yes!" Harry said triumphantly. "Had wand. Used green light on Harry's mummy."
Ah, so he was a little wizard then. No doubt the 'bad man' was a Death Eater. But wait…
"Harry?" she repeated. "Is your name Harry Potter, dear?"
"Yep!" he said cheerfully, playing with a lock of her hair. They were almost to the house now.
"Oh my…" the woman said. She had received a birth announcement from James and Lily Potter the previous July, saying they now had a little boy, and come to think of it, Harry did look very much like his parents – he had James's hair, chin, and ears, but Lily's pale skin, small nose, and green eyes. No one had seen the Potter child because James and Lily had been in hiding since last May. The Dark Lord had targeted them, and now, she supposed, he had…taken care of them.
She found herself tearing up slightly, but pushed back the tears for now. She would morn James and Lily later; for now, she needed to take care of their son.
Finally she was at her house, and before she could begin to open it, it burst open of its own accord and her husband came flying towards her, his hair more dishevelled than usual and his robes askew.
"There you are, my dear! You will not believe the news: the Dark Lord is gone! I've just gotten about twenty different letters, not to mention a special Prophet addition, saying that he attacked the Potters house – Lily and James Potter, oh, of course it's horrible and we really shouldn't be celebrating, but their son, little Harvey, defeated the Dark Lord! No one knows how, but he went to kill the boy and the curse backfired! They're rounding up Death Eaters as we speak! And Filius said – what do you have there?"
She couldn't hold back her smile at her husband's scatterbrained way of speaking. Imagine not noticing the woman in front of you was holding a baby!
"Speaking of Harry Potter," she said, stepping inside and closing the door. She grabbed a blanket from the sofa and wrapped the poor boy up; he was starting to shiver. "Guess what fell from the sky?"
The man gaped at her, then at Harry. "Y-You don't mean –"
"Yes, sure as Nargles love mistletoe. I swear on Rowena's Diadem, I saw something strange in the distance, over the forest, so I used the Omnioculars to take a closer look, and there was a baby, falling from the sky."
The man gasped, stumbling backwards onto a chair.
"I used a featherlight charm, then went into the forest to find him, and lo and behold there was a little boy hanging from a tree. He told me that a Bad Man came with a wand and used a green light to kill his mum and dad."
"Goodness me," he said, a hand over his heart. "The poor little thing… What should we do?"
"Well, I suppose we should –"
But her next words were cut short by a silver form that shot through the window. They both recognised it as a Patronus – a phoenix, to be exact. It immediately began speaking in a familiar but hurried voice.
"Witches and wizards of the Wizarding World," Albus Dumbledore said, "you are all aware of the horrible, and yet triumphant, events of this day. However, the person of the hour, so to speak, young Harry Potter, has gone missing. He was being flown from his family's home in Godric's Hollow, Cornwall, to the home of relatives in Little Whinging, Surrey. Somewhere between, he was blown from his caretaker's arms. We need every wand at the ready to find the boy – he could very well still be alive. Search everywhere you can, and don't pass over it just because you believe he couldn't have survived there; the magic of a scared little boy should not be underestimated. If anyone should find him, immediately contact myself, the Ministry, or anyone in authority that you can; take him to Diagon Alley or the Ministry of Magic if you are able. Someone will be there to assist you. Do not worry, my fellow witches and wizards – little Harry will be found."
The Patronus disappeared, and the couple stared at each other. Harry stared at them.
"It seems we have no choice," the man said. "We should Floo to the ministry –"
But the woman's eyes had rolled back in her head, causing her husband to break off and race to her side. He knew this was the telltale signs of a premonition; she had Seer in her blood; not enough to make a prophecy, but enough to see glimpses of the present and future occasionally.
And what she saw that day decided the fate of the entire Wizarding World
The cupboard was tiny, and yet the small boy lived there among the spiders and dust, with no-one to change his nappy in the middle of the night, no-one to hug him, and not a single toy.
He cooked for the faceless family, cleaned for them, and did it all very well for such as small child. His hands and feet were callused and bloody in a way no child's body should be. When he dropped a cup because his thirst made him too dizzy to keep his balance, he was beaten with a belt until he had welts. When he burned breakfast, his little hands were forced onto the hot pan. When his eyesight was discovered to be bad, he was given glasses that made him nauseous and caused the world to be a blur. He was slapped often, beaten with the belt frequently – often for no reason at all – and occasionally fed rotten food, burned, or denied water until near-death. If he spoke of strange things, he was beaten. If he did something wrong, even on accident, he was beaten. If he broke something, he was beaten.
And yet, inside the boy stayed good. He didn't love his relatives and he certainly didn't like them, but the most harm he wished upon them was sickness or a sprained leg. He was a loving child through it all, but a broken child as well.
Even before she saw the scar on his face, right near the very end, she knew who this boy was.
She gasped as the vision ended, finding tears streaming down her face, her husband leaning over with concern, and little Harry held close to her chest. He was whimpering, but she wasn't holding his very tight; she had the strange feeling that the boy was just worried about her.
"I'm okay." She told them both shakily. "I just…I think I just saw Harry's life with his relatives – the one the Patronus said he was to be taken to."
Her husband nodded eagerly. "And?" he prompted. "Do they adore him, or do they not know what he's done? Is he spoiled or well-cared for?"
She shook her head, hardly believing it herself. "No. None of the above. They were Muggles, I think – I never saw their faces. But they…"
She began to sob again, and the man's eyes grew wide.
"What is it? Were they killed as well? Was Harry found and attacked?"
She took a shaky breath and slowly told him what she had seen, sparing no details. His face showed horror and disgust, rather than his usually slightly-mad jolliness. By the end, they were both crying, and Harry reached out to pat their hands comfortingly.
"So that…that is his future, if we give him back." He finally said. "That horrible life with those awful Muggles, being beaten and starved and living in a cupboard…"
She simply nodded.
"And there's no way to convince Dumbledore of this," she continued. "He thinks we're mad, and doesn't trust visions. Or, if he does, he'll just warn the Muggles and send Harry there regardless. Our hands are tied."
It was silent in the house for nearly two minutes. Suddenly, it was like a fire was lit in her husband's grey eyes. "Then we shan't give him back."
She gasped. "Are – are you mad?"
"No, listen, dear," he said, his eyes sparkling as he talked quickly, "We can blood-adopt him, change his name a bit, and tell the world that he is our daughter's brother, but was sickly at a young age, and we didn't want to bring him out in the open until he was stronger."
Now, very often his schemes and ideas were just short of insane, but this…this made sense.
"But – but we can't just tell everyone that!" she cried. "We can't let them believe the boy is dead! What will happen when he starts at Hogwarts, hmm? They'll know what we've done, and we'll be arrested!"
"That's the genius of it," the man implored. "We simply tell them that we never got the Patronus and thought he should be raised normally, so that's why we changed his name and made him to be someone else! And as long as the boy is healthy and happy, there's no way they will arrest the saviours of the Boy-Who-Lived."
Actually, she thought, that was rather genius.
There was only once choice.
The man woke his daughter, and the woman went about finding the right dagger, the right basin, and the right spell book.
"Yes, love," he said, bringing the little girl back into the living room where her mother was setting up all they needed and flipping to the correct page. The little girl had long hair for a child so young, and was about three months younger than Harry, if that. "We found a brother for you!"
"Brudder!" she squealed, clapping her hands.
"But first, dear, we have to do a little spell," the woman said, kneeling down on the floor. The man held his daughter, and the woman held Harry. "We have to do a little bit of blood, each of us, and then we'll say a spell and little Harry will be your real brother!"
"Yay!" the girl said, and held out her hand. It wasn't actually a tiny bit of blood; the spell called for about a tablespoon from each person, but the little girl only whined and winced a bit as her mother deftly cut her hand on the back under her thumb. She held her hand over the bowl until her mother said it was enough, then her father wrapped it with a bandage.
Harry looked scared.
"You be my mummy?" he asked the woman nervously. She nodded, smiling kindly. "And dadda?" the man nodded as well. "And a…a stister?" he looked at the little girl, and she beamed back.
"Okay den…" he said, and offered his hand, crying slightly as it was cut as well in the same place. While the man did the same to his own hand, the woman cooed to Harry, telling him how brave he was as she wrapped his hand delicately, using a tiny spark of magic to make it close up and ease the pain. She did the same to her daughter, then took the knife and cut herself as well.
"Alright, everyone hold hands," she commanded, and they did so. "Don't move until the spell is over, and try to be very quiet."
She began to chant.
"Sed in omni gente sanguine
Mutatio in nobis adduxi
Et unum nos facere"
And that is the story of how Estelle and Xenophilius Lovegood saved Harry Potter and began to raise him as their own.
October 31, 1981: 12:57am – 1:15am
"But he's better off growing up away from all that…until he's ready."
The conversation taking place on a darkened Muggle street was cut short by the loud rumble of an engine, and a huge motorbike landed in the middle of the street. A giant of a man stepped off, saying politely, "Professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall."
His huge hands were gentle as they cradled a small white bundle.
"Ah, Hagrid," said Dumbledore. "Everything went well, I expect?"
"Yes sir," Hagrid answered crisply. "Little tyke fell asleep awhile ago. Not heard a peep since."
"Alright, well I suppose we should get on with it," Dumbledore said somewhat reluctantly. He reached out for the baby, and Hagrid handed him the bundle.
"Hmm…" Dumbledore said contemplatively. "He must be a tiny thing. Very light…"
Dumbledore pushed the blankets aside to look at Harry properly before he would disappear for ten years, and gasped.
"Oh my – oh goodness, no!" the man said in a rare panic. He pushed and pulled at the blankets. He must be just missing him – he must. Harry was in here somewhere…
"What is it, Albus?" Minerva McGonagall asked urgently. "Is the boy hurt?"
"He looked alrigh' ter me, save for tha' lil scar –"
Dumbledore dropped the blankets to the ground, and Minerva shrieked when she saw that they were utterly without a little boy.
"Oh no," Hagrid said in a hoarse whisper. "No, Harry – where'd he go?"
Albus ignored both of them, conjuring his Patronus and speaking to it in a hopefully-calm voice before sending it off quickly.
"Hagrid, Minerva, send word to the Ministry." Dumbledore said in a commanding voice. "And every witch, wizard, and squib you can find. Have someone alert the Muggles as well. Tell them that Harry Potter is missing."