Author's Note: I've been re-writing this story, because I realized that I had improved quite a bit from the beginning. I've also decided to change a couple things, making the story AND its characters a bit more darker, colder, and complex. Not much has really changed, but enough for me to rewrite.

(Unfortunately, I've also decided to change the Harry/Daphne relationship because I decided I didn't like the way I wrote Daphne. Don't worry; it's still going to be the main pairing along with Dramione. Just…tweaked a bit.)

Potter Manor [July 31, 1980]

The bead of sweat felt cool against her flushed skin. Lily Potter stared up at the ancient ceiling of Potter Manor, eyes filled with angry tears. She squeezed her husband's hand tighter and tighter, ignoring his distressed squeak. There was blood everywhere, staining the silky white sheets and covers of the bed.

"That's it, Lady Potter. Just one more push, and you're done." The midwife coaxed from her position at the foot of the bed.

With a final, ear-shattering screech, Lily Potter gave birth to her first son. The piercing cries filled the room, and Lily's murderous thoughts vanished at the sound. It was almost musical. She gasped softly, her chest still heaving with pain. Her eyes were closed, but her arms automatically reached for the newborn.

Suddenly, there was a sharp pain in her abdomen, and her mouth dropped open to let out another bloodcurdling scream.

James Potter whimpered.

The midwife quickly handed the babe to another, and turned back to Lily Potter with a surprised expression. Her eyebrows creased, and her features contorted into one of curiosity. She knelt down, and instantly confirmed her suspicions.

She concealed her shock, and in the most soothing voice she could muster she said, "Congratulations Lady Potter, you've been blessed with another son. You're having twins!"


Lily's hair was matted onto her forehead with a thin layer of sweat and her cheeks were covered with a sheer film of tears. Lily Potter clenched the bloodied sheets in her fist, her rage instantaneously multiplying tenfold at the thought of having to relive the torture.

If she survived this, the midwife would be the first to die by her hands.

James Potter sat at his wife's bedside, carefully holding a baby boy in his arms. He gazed down at the newborn almost reverently. He watched in wonder as his son curled his small hand around his large finger. His eyes filled with raw adoration for the boy, and he announced in a smooth, awed whisper, "I think I'll name you Alexander Albus Potter."

The boy in his arms started to cry, the sound of wailing getting louder by the second.

"I don't think he appreciates such a horrid name, James." Lily Potter commented wryly, rocking the other baby boy tiredly. The child stayed silent, staring into his mother's eyes with the same, piercing green eyes.

James Potter frowned. "Didn't we agree that you would get to name one, and I would name the other? Besides, I think it's an impressive name. Who better to name him after, than the most important and powerful man this world has seen?" He adjusted the baby boy–Alexander–in his arms, but such a small movement only seemed to make the cries louder.

"What about You-Know-Who? He's pretty powerful." She pointed out, watching the baby she was holding squirm in her arms.

James snapped his gaze away from Alexander and gave his wife a look of utter disgust. "How can you even say such a thing? Lord–I mean, You-Know-Who– is no match for the power that radiates from our dear Headmaster. And I'd rather not name my child 'Voldemort'."

"Former Headmaster." Lily corrected half-heartedly. She ran her hands through the soft wisps of black hair on her son's head. "I think I'll name this one Harry."

The crying intensified.

"Oh just give Alexander to me." Lily snapped finally, "You hold Harry."

He smiled gratefully at his wife, and passed over the crying newborn without another thought. He plucked the silent Harry out of her arms and curiously looked down at him. His eyes are the exact shade of Avada Kedavra, James mused

Potter Manor [1983]

"Albus, please. You must tell us the entire prophecy." James Potter begged, wringing his hands in his lap. He stared at his former Headmaster across the desk. "I need to know how to keep my family safe from…You-Know-Who."

Albus Dumbledore bore his gaze into the man across from him, blue eyes twinkling with a hidden emotion. He stroked his beard and peered over his half-moon spectacles. "James, my boy, I'm afraid by telling you, I would jeopardize the future of your sons."

"W–What does the prophecy have to do with my sons, Headmaster?" James stuttered, his face quickly turning ashen at the thought of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named after his sons. "Please." He whispered once again.

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and leaned back in the red plush chair. His expression was grave as he explained reluctantly, "One of your sons is involved in a prophecy that implies he has the power to vanquish the Dark Lord. He has unimaginable power, James. Only he can defeat Lord Voldemort."

James flinched.

Dumbledore continued, "Of course, do not worry James. I will do everything in my power to make sure your son encounters no harm. He will be protected, and I do not expect him to fight the Dark Lord." Dumbledore paused, "Your family is worth much more to me than defeating Voldemort. I will personally keep him safe him at all costs."

Shakily, James Potter shook his head. "If my son is the only one who can defeat the Dark Lord, then I will make sure he is ready. He is our world's only hope, and we must not let it go to waste." He squared his shoulders and said more strongly, "My son will fight the Dark Lord, and he will be the savoir to the Wizarding population."

He looked curiously at Dumbledore, "Do you know which of my sons it is? Surely it cannot be both."

"We have our suspicions." Dumbledore admitted. "Based on magical capability, the Order has decided that Alexander is most suited to be the child of the prophecy. He has shown strong bouts of accidental magic and waves of power."

James sucked in a sharp breath, and his eyes hardened with a new resolve. "Then he will do it. We will train Alexander, and we will make him the strongest wizard the world has seen."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his expression one of faux concern. "Are you absolutely sure of this James? Do not make any rash decisions. Are you truly willing to sacrifice your son for this war?"

James Potter nodded. "If he is the only one who can defeat You-Know-Who, then he will do it. He is our savior."

Hiding a secret smile, Dumbledore agreed solemnly, "It's all for the Greater Good."

Potter Manor [1986]

Harry Potter watched silently as his mother cooed over his brother, Alexander. He noticed her deep green eyes almost seemed to glow with happiness as she twirled him around the spotless marble foyer of Potter Manor.

She never looked at him that way.

He suppressed the bitter thought with an imperceptible shake of the head. It would do no good to think such things. Barely hiding his sullenness, Harry slinked toward the back staircase, escaping through the confines of Potter Manor through a hidden door. His absence went unnoticed.

Harry walked steadily across the manicured lawns of his childhood home, carefully glancing over his shoulder every few seconds. He knew his family wouldn't notice his lack of presence for quite a while, but nevertheless, his hands clenched in paranoia.

He brushed a lock of dark hair away from his eyes. It was getting too long. His expression turned sour as he realized he'd have to remind his parents to get it cut soon. They never remembered anything when it came to him.

And why would they? He wasn't the supposed savoir of the entire Wizarding World.

The entire world revolved around Alexander. He was the one that got private lessons from Mr. Dumbledore. He was the one his parents constantly doted on. He was the one who would have a ball thrown in honor of his sixth birthday, later today.

Their birthday.

Harry rolled his eyes. They were twins for Merlin's sake. It was his birthday too.

As he approached the throng of evergreens that marked the property line, Harry rubbed his wrist in thought. Why was he always ignored? Why did he feel so abandoned in his own home?

Perhaps it was because he had yet to utter a single word. While his brother chattered away, always babbling some nonsense, Harry preferred to stay silent. He liked to observe people and never voiced his thoughts. His parents probably even considered him as mute.

He settled himself onto a large tree stump and rested his chin on his palm thoughtfully. Maybe his parents ignored him because he wasn't as skilled with magic as Alexander. Quickly, he shook off the thought.

It was clear that Alexander had more sparks of accidental magic. But Harry could control his magic. His eyes lit up as he thought of the things he could do with the powerful magic that was always wrapped around him, twisting around his body in an almost suffocating way.

Despite his convincing internal argument, Harry opened his palm and raised it towards the sky. He concentrated intensely, a small crease forming between his eyebrows. He felt it then, the surge of magic shoot through his veins and erupt in green flames that danced in his hand. The flames didn't seem to hurt him; instead they caressed his skin with tingles of warmth.

He smiled, reassured. No, he was definitely stronger than Alexander.


Harry glanced up abruptly, the flame in his hand fizzling out. A wide grin broke out on his face when he turned in the direction of the smooth voice.

"Tom." He breathed, quickly scrambling up to greet the tall man. "I read the book, Tom. I read it all."

The man regarded him amusedly, concealing the impressed look that was threatening to show on his chiseled features. "I can see that. Only a powerful wizard can conjure green flames."

Harry preened under Tom's approving gaze. His smile turned mischievous as he shyly kicked around a small rock on the forest floor and said, "Aren't you forgetting something, Tom?"

The man feigned ignorance. "I don't think so, Harry. I don't usually forget anything. Do you dare to insinuate that I have forgot something?" He raised an eyebrow challengingly, although his tone was light.

Harry stared back defiantly, even crossing his arms so he looked the perfect picture of a petulant child before a tantrum. "To–om." He ground out, gritting his teeth. "You know today is my birthday."

Tom ran a hand through his ink black hair carelessly, and–to Harry's growing ire–he shrugged nonchalantly. "I suppose it is." His thin lips peeled back to reveal a small smile, although Harry noted that it didn't seem to reach his eyes. Tom never truly smiled.

"I don't suppose you'll accept this gift as an apology?" He pulled a present wrapped in shiny green paper out of his robes.

Despite his front of annoyance, Harry eyed the present longingly. He bit his lip and begrudgingly accepted the gift when his eagerness to unwrap the present took over.

He neatly unfolded the tasteful green wrapping paper, revealing an old, ancient looking tome in his lap. He glanced up curiously, "It's a book." He scrunched up his eyebrows in confusion as he read the title. "The Toadstool Tales? What is this?"

Tom raised a single brow, "It is a book on fairy tales."

Harry resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. "You've always told me how I have to keep your existence a secret from everyone. I don't think you would risk coming here to give me a book on fairy tales. I want to know what this book actually is."

Tom smirked, sounding pleased. "Clever boy. Only your magic can lift the concealment spell."

Harry smiled and waved his hand over the book, urging his magic to cover the book, wrap around the sharp edges and deactivate the concealment. It took some time, but eventually the strong glamour faded away to reveal the new book in his hands.

The Dark Arts: 5th Edition

Harry stared at the book in shock, his hands shaking as he traced the raised letters on the cover. He was sure that there was a bloodstain on the bottom corner of the massive volume.

"Where did you get this?" He managed to say, eyes still filled with amazement. "I thought it was banned."

Tom scoffed. "I have a personal library at my Manor. I can get any book I want, banned or not."

Harry glanced up and whispered so softly, it was almost inaudible. "I wish I could go with you." When Tom did not respond, he continued louder. "I don't want to go back there, Tom." He gestured back to the white stone walls of Potter Manor.

"Soon, Harry Potter." Was all Tom said in response.

Harry's eye twitched and he snapped angrily, "They ignore me for hours, days even. They don't even know I exist. I'm just a shadow!"

Tom sighed heavily. "Shadows…they are the weapons of darkness. They blend, they observe, they dance around everyone else because they are untouchable. Do not fret, young Potter. For now you must play the part of the shadow, but fate has plans for you. A shadow is a small price to pay."

Harry nodded slowly, brows pursed in deep concentration.

"I'll be back soon, Potter." Tom said curtly. He didn't wait for a response before he vanished into thin air.

Harry tentatively reached his hand to where Tom had stood moments before. All he could feel was air. He retracted his hand, letting it rest on the book of fairy tales. His fingers softly traced the embossed letters. "I'll be waiting." Harry whispered.

Harry curled his hands into a small fist against the side of his black trousers. His hair was neatly combed back, but one particular tuft was quite stubborn and refused to lay flat on his head.

His gaze darted across the expansive ballroom, drinking in the sights and sounds with jealous eyes. He gripped the edge of the balcony until his knuckles turned white. He should have been down there.

From his position above the crowd, he could see exactly where his brother sat on a miniature, child sized throne. Harry snorted. He even had a crown on his perfect little head.

Lily and James Potter stood on either side of the throne, smiling and greeting anyone who approached them. Harry remembered just hours before, how they had given him identical apologetic looks.

"Harry, it's better if you just sit in the balcony during the ball. That way, you won't be accosted by the hordes of photographers and wizarding journalists." James Potter had explained, patting Harry's head like a dog.

Harry hadn't responded, simply inclining his head to the side where Alexander was being fussed over by his mother. Shouldn't he be protected too, then?

His father had swallowed, and shook his head, as if reading Harry's thoughts. "No, Harry. Alexander is the savior of the wizarding world; he's expected to be at the ball."

As Harry peered over the balcony, he rolled his eyes at the unsaid 'He's the Savior, and it's his birthday. He's more important'

He doubted the Wizarding World would even recognize him. No, he was not hidden away and kept in the closet as a secret child. But no one looked past Alexander to even realize a second Potter child existed. And to think, they were twins.

Happy Birthday to me, Harry mused bitterly.

"Gather around everyone, it's time to sing Happy Birthday to our very own, Alexander Potter. Savior of the Wizarding World!"

Harry craned his neck to see it was Dumbledore who had spoken, dressed in garish robes of a bright red colour. He made a face of disgust. There were even gold polka dots.

Everyone gathered under the gaudy crystal chandelier, circling around the massive seven-tier cake that was enchanted to flash red and gold every second.

Harry growled under his breath as the chorus of the dreaded 'Happy Birthday' song began, his anger growing quickly like an untamed fire.


"Happy Birthday to You!" They sang, eyes twinkling with bright happiness.

Harry held his palm in front of his body, concentrating deeply and visualizing the flames forming from the middle of his palm.

"Happy Birthday to You!"

He focused intently on his magic, letting it course through his body. He channeled his rage and jealousy, watched them swirl around and merge into a small wisp of green fire.

"Happy Birthday, dear Alexander"

His brows furrowed in frustration as the flame flickered in his hand, nearly vanishing into the air. He hissed. Closing his eyes, he released the hold over his emotions, letting their intensity force his magic to surge from his hands and into green flames. In a split second, Harry turned his hands towards the guests under the chandelier.

"Happy Birthday to You–"

The seven-tier cake exploded into green fire, and the chunks of rich chocolate cake flew everywhere, coating the lavishly dressed guests in flames and dessert.

In a couple seconds, the grand ballroom of Potter Manor was filled with emerald fire, spreading across every inch of the dance floor and licking up the luxurious drapery. The guests screamed bloody murder as they ran around the ballroom, looking for any exit.

Harry's eyes filled with a brief panic for a split second. Then, he smiled.

The flames danced around him, consuming everything around his body instead. How long will it take for them to notice I'm still up here? He wondered idly. Judging from the way his parents were preoccupied with ushering Alexander to safety and containing the endless fire, he expected it would be quite some time.

He stood there and watched with a small feeling of awe in his eyes as the flames turned the ballroom of his home into ashes and charred debris. He had done that. He had made the room nearly collapse on itself, all with a bit of concentration.

A pleasant shiver ran up his spine. This–This feeling was indescribable. It was so powerful, filling him with a strong sense of pride. It left him almost elated, in a sense. He felt unstoppable.

From his infrequent talks with Tom, he knew exactly what it was. This was pure magic, unleashed and untamed. Raw power. It left him satisfied, but tempted him with the knowledge of becoming so much more.

There was a sudden spark of life in his usually empty eyes, refusing to disappear even after Dumbledore had trapped and vanished the fire back to the depths of hell.

Harry looked over the destruction and damage his fire had caused to the ballroom, a warm feeling settling down in his stomach.

There was a piercing cry, and he involuntarily turned his head towards the direction of the noise.

Lily Potter had sunk to her knees dropping her head in her hands. Fat tears ran down her delicately shaped features, her thin fingers making no effort to wipe them away. "He's gone." She wailed miserably, ignoring the shards of glass scattered around her feet. "It's too late."

Harry watched curiously as his father wrapped an arm around his wife and said soothingly, "He's alright, Lily, dear. Alexander is safe and being taken care of, right as we speak."

His words seemed to have a calming effect, for Lily Potter slowly stopped her sobbing. She carefully raised her head from her hands and let out a visible sigh of relief. Harry watched as she raised her head to survey the damage.

Suddenly, she stilled.

"James…" She paused, tightening her grip on her the arm of her husband. "Where is Harry?"

James Potter scratched his head for a second, his eyes widening in a panic. "Oh shit."

Harry watched from the balcony, surprised they had even noticed his absence. A vicious smile played at his lips as he considered the idea of deliberately hiding and increasing their anxiety.

He quickly dismissed the thought. He was lucky his parents even remembered him; he doubted hiding would increase their concern.

He leaned against the shadows, a positively vile glint appearing in his eyes as he watched his parents wildly run around, racing through the doors and up the steps that led to the ancient balcony.

The doors were flung open, and Lily Potter rushed inside. Her arms automatically reached out for her child, oblivious to the way he stiffened when her fingertips grazed his cheek.

She dropped down to his height, burrowing his head into her shoulder and choking down loud sobs. Her shaking hand reached out to stroke her son's hair in a small rhythmic motion. Eventually, James Potter dragged the crying mother away, and led his son down to the parlor where his other son, Alexander Potter was being tended.

It was Albus Dumbledore who lingered on the balcony after everyone had left. Years of heavy loss and war had resulted in the shrewdly calculating gaze of his. The keen blue eyes–not twinkling, for once–swept across the damage done to the balcony. He assessed the small, pristine circle on the floor that had been left untouched by the soot and ashes.

His eyes hardened.

Warily, the esteemed wizard picked up his robes, not letting them graze the floors where the traces of dark magic still swirled. He descended down the stairs, shivering involuntarily at the dark rain that trailed leisurely down the floor to ceiling windows. He nearly snorted at the irony of a storm raging just outside.

The lightening flashed, illuminating the haunted secrets that lay behind the hollowed shadows of his eyes.

His mind was reeling, going over the possibilities and imagining endless scenarios. He stiffened as he approached the Potter family. But he forced a pleasant façade to ghost over his troubled expression, carefully concealing the cold steel with the ever-present twinkling.

"It's You-Know-Who. It's definitely him. It's starting. It's already begun." James Potter was repeating, over and over again, tugging on errant strands of his jet-black hair.

Lily looked up from dabbing at the open wound that was bleeding profusely on Alexander's forehead. She noticed the growing tears in her son's eyes, and she winced, "James, you're scaring him."

Harry barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

There was a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, and he looked up abruptly to see Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkling down at him. Harry morphed his features into one of disinterest, ignoring the cold, and calculating look that the old coot was bestowing upon him.

Finally, Dumbledore smiled at Harry, and turned his attention back to Alexander.

He may have only been six years of age, but Harry was no fool. The thin, practiced smile of Albus Dumbledore had him instantly stiffening with unease.

There was a hard edge to Dumbledore's voice when he announced, "It does seem to be the work of Voldemort, himself." He raised his wand to heal Alexander, musing quietly, "Green flames."

Harry watched as the bleeding slowly stopped, then, the pale skin inched closer together and puckered over the gash to form a thin white scar. His eyes widened at the curious shape.

A lightening bolt? How peculiar.

His inner ponderings were interrupted by the sound of Dumbledore addressing his father.

"James, a word, if you would."

Harry tried to look nonchalant as he observed the plethora of expressions that came over his father's face in a matter of minutes. He and Dumbledore had only exchanged a couple words, and yet James Potter sat back down as if he had heard the gravest news.

Finally, his father spoke, his voice soft and full of promise, "Heya, Harry. I've got a surprise waiting outside for you. Do you want to go see it?"

Harry glanced up from his position on the chair, nose wrinkling at the all too sugary sweet tone coming from his father. His sharp eyes saw his mother stiffen almost imperceptibly.

"It's a special surprise, Harry, dear. Even Alexander can't see it." Lily Potter pitched in, her voice breaking slightly. "Come along, darling." She held out a hand, waiting for her son to take it.

Harry narrowed his eyes for the briefest of seconds, but when he felt the same, heavy gaze of Albus Dumbledore, he reluctantly placed his small hand in hers.

Lily grasped his hand almost painfully tight as she led him out the massive doors of Potter Manor. She patted his head in a tender way before walking with him to the edge of the lawns, James Potter trailing not far behind.

A smooth black car was parked on the magical boundary of the estate, the headlights shining brightly against the dark backdrop of the night sky. James opened the door, helping his wife and son inside.

And they drove. It seemed almost endless.

Eventually, Harry fell asleep with his head resting in Lily Potter's lap. He did not notice her pale face and taut expression. Her hands continued their steady stroking through his hair. One by one, each strand of silky hair, so dark it was almost classified as black, fell from her fingers.

He was woken up several hours later, when his father ushered him out of the car and onto a dimly lit street. It was a muggle street. Harry noticed drowsily.

Even through the thick haze of sleep, he walked up the steps to one of the many houses, leaning against his mother's side. She knelt down to his height for the last time, avoiding his questioning green eyes.

It was only then he noticed a small traitorous tear slip down her cheek. Harry swiped a small hand across her face, wiping away the lone tear. He frowned.

"Harry," James cleared his throat and looked anywhere but the hauntingly empty green eyes, "This is your new home."

Harry curled his fingers into a small fist, growing tighter and tighter with each treacherous word that tumbled out of his parents' mouths:

"Alexander cannot have any distractions."

"He's the savior, Harry. He needs to train to save our entire world."

"Without him, we're doomed."

"We need you to stay here, with Auntie Petunia and Uncle Vernon. Just for the time being."

His mother rose up and ruffled his hair one last time. "Goodbye, Harry, dear. I'll always love you."

Harry stood still as he watched them go with a frosted glare. His nails dug little crescent shaped moons into his palm, and he gnashed his teeth together when they turned to look back at him one last time. Their hands were already on the car door, but Harry knew they could hear him. With an expression of utmost betrayal on his face and an eerily soulless gaze, he cruelly whispered the only words he had ever spoken to them. "Now you've done it."