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Chapter Text

The sound of babies crying pierced the cool, Halloween night air, erupting from the ruins of a home on Godric’s Hollow that had not been visible previously. Several of the neighbors stood a little way off to the side, clutching night robes to their chests or pointing at the second story, where it looked like an explosion had gone off and demolished parts of the wall, allowing for the cries to reach them. None of them dared move towards the crumbling little cottage.

None of them noticed the soft ‘pop’ from down the street. None of them noticed as an elderly man in bright purple robes and half-moon spectacles made his way calmly to the ruined house, as if he were only stopping by for a visit. The only indication in his stature that anything was wrong was the way he had drawn a thin stick from his robes and held it tightly in his hand.

He moved swiftly up to the front door, which had been blown off of its hinges and lay in a dozen pieces in the foyer.

Not too far from the door, close to the stairs, a body lay sprawled on the ground: a young man, barely in his twenties. There was blood trickling down the side of his face from a gash on the side of his head, and more blood stained the clothes that he wore, evidence of an injury hidden under the garments.

The elderly man paid him no mind, striding up the stairs two at a time. He moved, a bit quicker now, into a nursery, the thin stick raised threateningly in front of him.

Another body, that of a young woman with fiery red hair and freckled skin, was sprawled out in front of a crib, where two babies just over a year old were crying loudly. A pile of ash nearby had another thin stick laying on top of it, and the elderly man knelt down to pluck it off the floor.

“It can’t have been that easy,” the man muttered to himself. He sat the piece of wood back in the ash and turned his attention to the children, an easy smile on his face. He stepped over the woman, paying her no mind, “Hello, little ones. Don’t cry.”

The two little boys in the crib were nearly identical, small and chubby with tufts of black hair on their heads. The only difference between the two were the eyes – and their wounds, or lack-thereof.

The uninjured boy hiccupped, reaching up at the man with one hand as he wailed, the other hand firmly clutching onto his brother’s shirt. His brown eyes were shiny with tears.

The other child was clearly injured. Blood leaked from a peculiar shaped cut on his forehead, trailing down his face. Watery green eyes surrounded by blood peered at the man as he sobbed, but he was pointing down at the woman in front of the crib.

“Mummy,” he was crying, “Mummy.”

“This is quite unfortunate,” the man said calmly. He waved the stick in front of the injured child, and the blood disappeared from his face, though the wound still leaked fresh blood. Another wave of the stick and the wound closed up, leaving behind a striking lightning-shaped scar along his forehead. The man reached out and touched it, causing the child to wail even louder, “He will mark him as his equal,” the man muttered under his breath, to himself, “So it’s you. Harry Potter.”

“Mummy!’ Harry cried. He pried himself away from his brother to pull himself up in the crib, pointing almost frantically at the woman.

“I am terribly sorry for your loss, my boys,” the man said simply, “I will take you to your mother’s family. You will be safe there.”

Harry seemed to be on the verge of scaling the crib in his desperation, so the man lifted the child out. The moment he was in his arms, though, he was squirming to be let down, and then he was toddling towards the body.

The body that was very distinctively still breathing.

“Oh,” the man said, surprised by this revelation. He watched as Harry threw his little body onto the woman’s stomach, clutching at her shirt and crying, “Well, this could be a problem. I did not think they would survive. My plans will have to be adjusted. Won’t they, Jack?”

He lifted the other child out of the crib, this one preferring to simply clutch onto his robes and cry.

“No, this won’t do at all,” the man sighed and shook his head and then, softly, as if quoting something, he muttered, “Either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives.”

“Dada,” Jack mumbled against the man’s robes.

“Ah,” the man shook his head lightly as he looked down at the boys, “Your parents won’t raise a martyr, will they?”

Neither of the babies responded.

“For the greater good,” he said to himself, a determined look appearing in his mind. He sat Jack back down in the crib, the child wailing the moment he was abandoned. Then he plucked Harry off the unconscious woman. The child wailed, squirming in the man’s arms as he was taken away from his mother, “I am sorry for this, boys.”

Clutching the child in one arm, he pulled out the stick with the other.

“Expecto patronum,” he said calmly.

A majestic bird made up of white wisps of smoke erupted from the piece of wood. It flew around the room a few times, causing the cries of the boys to cease, before it settled in front of Dumbledore.

“Send a message to the Order,” he said, voice clear and calm, “The Potters have been attacked. James and Lily are injured but alive. Young Jack…” he paused briefly, eyes flicking to the child in the crib, “It appears that Voldemort cast the killing curse at young Jack, but it rebounded on himself. Jack is alive. I am afraid that the same cannot be said for young Harry.”

The bird flew out of the room, off to deliver its message.

“They should be arriving soon,” the man said to the child in the crib, as if the boy understood exactly what was going on, “I will return once I settle Harry into his new home.”

Without another word, he left the house, one twin clutched tightly in his arms as he whisked him away from his family.

By the time he arrived after leaving Harry James Potter on the doorstep of Vernon and Petunia Dursley’s house, spelled asleep in a basket with only a short letter explaining to the couple that they had to take Harry in, the papers had already heard of the story.

“ VOLDEMORT VANQUISHED ,” the title read, “ JACK POTTER IS THE BOY-WHO-LIVED.”

When James and Lily awoke from their injuries, it was to news of one son’s survival and fame, and the other son’s unfortunate demise. 

Chapter Text

Harry was pretty sure that his Uncle Vernon had lost his mind, which didn’t bode well for him. The shack that the man had holed the family up in to avoid the influx of letters addressed to Harry was small and surprisingly cold for the summer time. It was surrounded on all sides by water, but Vernon had seemed almost manic as he camped out by the window with his shotgun, shooting any bird that flew nearby with a few hysterical cries of glee.

Harry had been glad when the man finally tucked in for the night, joining his wife, who had been waiting for him for hours, in the bed upstairs. Dudley had already fallen asleep on the couch, though he had woken up with a start whenever a gunshot went off. Harry, however, could not sleep with his uncle’s presence in the room, and spent the time curled up in his corner on the dusty floor, with the thread-bare blanket that he had been offered wrapped tightly around his shoulders, watching his uncle warily.

The letters had, at the very least, shifted the man’s attention from Harry’s many, many failures that he often found. While Vernon was very obviously furious at Harry for apparently daring someone to write to him, he hadn’t been on his case about his chores not being completed correctly or his messy hair. He had even given Harry Dudley’s second bedroom.

However, the longer this went on, the more Harry was starting to worry that the man was going to snap and use that shotgun of his to get rid of the problem all together.

The clock on the wall showed that it was nearing midnight, closing in on Harry’s birthday. He grinned to himself, using his finger to draw a birthday cake in the dust on the floor. The Dursley’s had never made a big deal about his birthday, usually ignoring the day entirely or, almost in spite, giving him a clothes hanger or single toothpick.

Despite this, there was something about turning a year older that always excited him.

He watched the clock closely, waiting for the hand to tick to twelve, and he grinned when it did.

“Harry birthday, Harry,” he whispered softly under his breath, wary of waking Dudley, and blew the dust away.

A sudden knocking at the door, gentle but persistent, made him jump. He scrambled to his feet, staring at the door with wide eyes.

Who would be knocking on the door of this shack at midnight?

When no one answered, the knocking resumed.

Vernon came rushing down the steps, face red and clutching the shotgun in his hands. Petunia hurried after him, pale and frantic.

“Who’s it?” Dudley slurred, half-asleep.

Neither Vernon nor Petunia answered their son’s question. Instead, Petunia lingered at the bottom of the steps while Vernon stomped towards the door. He hesitated at the doorknob, but when another round of calm knocking occurred he wrenched open the door and aimed the shotgun at the visitor’s face.

An elderly man in long blue robes stood on the other end of the door. He had a long white beard and twinkling blue eyes hidden behind half-moon spectacles. He did not seem fazed by the weapon thrust into his face, simply smiling serenely. He seemed to radiate power, and impossibly, Uncle Vernon looked scared. 

“Ah, Mr. Dursley,” the man said, “Is this necessary? I assure you that I mean your family no harm.”

“Who are you?” Vernon grunted, the gun still pointed threateningly. His face was tomato red, and there were veins protruding from his neck, “You’re one of them , aren’t you?”

“We haven’t met personally, but I believe you received a letter from me about ten years ago,” the man said. He stepped past Vernon into the house as if the gun did not even faze him, “I am here to collect Harry.”

Twinkling blue eyes scanned the room before falling down onto Harry, and the smile widened on the man’s face. Harry returned the stare, wide green eyes attempting to understand what was happening. This man was here to collect him?

From the side, Harry heard Petunia gasp.

“You’re Dumbeldore,” she said.

“You can’t have him,” Vernon added hastily, “He won’t be going to that freak school. We swore that we would stamp out that nonsense.”

He jutted the gun into the man’s, Dumbledore’s, back, but Dumbledore simply sighed, drew out a thin piece of wood from his robes, and waved it silently. Harry watched bewildered as the barrel of the gun twisted in on itself like a pretzel.

Vernon yelped and dropped the newly ruined gun.

“How did you do that?” Dudley, now wide awake, demanded. Petunia shushed him, moving so that her thin body was standing in front of his large one.

Dumbledore turned towards Harry, the calm smile returning to his face.

“Hello, Harry,” he said. He took a few steps forward and held out his hand, “My name is Albus Dumbledore, and I am the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I am here to deliver your letter.”

His free hand pulled out a letter from his robes. It looked almost identical to the others, with the intricate seal and everything, except for the address.

Harry took the letter from the man’s hand, but he did not say anything, instead staring up at the man with wide and uncertain eyes.

He thought Vernon was losing his mind, but it was clear that this man had lost his long ago.

“Have your aunt and uncle told you about magic, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

Finding his voice, Harry shook his head. He glanced at his aunt and uncle behind the bizarre man. Vernon looked furious, glaring at Harry as if all of this was his fault. Petunia, however, looked absolutely terrified.

“No, sir,” he answered, “Magic doesn’t exist.”

 Dumbledore did not seem to be upset by this answer, but he gave a soft hum.

“Well, I’m afraid they weren’t quite truthful with you, then,” he said, “You see, magic does exist. Hogwarts is a school that teaches young witches and wizards as yourself how to perform it. How do you think I spelled your uncle’s weapon?”

He pulled out the stick once more, waved it, and bubbles erupted from the tip. Harry stared with wide eyes as the man changed spells and the tip began to glow brightly.

“You’re a wizard, Harry.”

“I’m a what?” he said, before clamping down his mouth shut. That wasn’t polite or proper, and it was a question , which was not allowed. He hoped Petunia didn’t get angry at him. She didn’t seem to like the man, so hopefully she wouldn’t mind.

“A wizard,” Dumbledore said. He did not seem to mind the question, and instead watched Harry with twinkling eyes, “You come from a family of wizards, actually. See, Harry, have you ever done anything that you couldn’t explain?”

Harry paused for a moment, staring at the man with wide eyes. He had, in fact, done many things that could not be explained. Like the time he turned his teacher’s hair blue when she accused him of copying Dudley’s homework, even though it was the other way around. Or the time he was running from Dudley and his friends and suddenly found himself up on the roof. Or the time Aunt Petunia had cut his hair and it had grown back overnight.

Or the time he had gone to bed in his cupboard with an arm that was broken without-a-doubt, and woke up to it completely healed.

Instead of giving a verbal answer, he nodded shortly.

Dumbledore gave a pleased smile.

“Magic,” he said.

“Now,” Vernon spoke up furiously, “I won’t be having you put such nonsense in the boy’s head.”

“You’re just going to take him to be blown up just like his parents!” Petunia shrieked.

Blown up? He opened his mouth to question that despite knowing that it would certainly lead to punishment, but Dumbledore beat him to it.

“I assure you that James and Lily are alive,” Dumbledore said, “In fact, now that he is old enough to attend Hogwarts, I will be returning Harry to his parents.”

Harry’s mind went blank. His mouth dropped open as he stared at the man, unable to comprehend what he was hearing. Magic he could believe. Schools that taught children witchcraft, sure. But his parents being alive? Impossible.

“My parents died in a car crash,” he said, voice low and confused.

No one seemed to hear him, as Petunia erupted in shrieks.

“Lily is alive!?” she cried, “Your letter-“

“I simply informed you that you would need to take in young Harry,” Dumbledore cut in.

“Why else would we need to watch the brat if his parents were alive? We assumed-“

“I’m afraid James and Lily were in a place where they could not ensure Harry’s safety,” Dumbledore explained calmly, “At the time, I believed Harry to be a squib – a non-magical child born to magical parents. It would have been dangerous for him. I believed he would be safer with a muggle family as yourself.”

“A muggle family-“ Vernon cut himself off, huffing furiously, “You didn’t want the freak, so you threw him at us? Is that right?”

He stormed towards Harry before Dumbledore could respond, and Harry flinched back, biting back the urge to flee. He grabbed his arm in a tight, bruising grip and thrust him towards Dumbledore, “I can assure you that the freak isn’t normal like us,” he spat, “Take him, then. We don’t want him. And when his parents inevitably want to throw him out again, find some other family to take in the brat. I don’t want to see him again.

“Now, Mr. Dursley,” Dumbledore said disapprovingly, frowning at the man.

“I don’t care,” Vernon growled, “Get out, and take the boy with you. We took him in out of the goodness of our hearts because we thought he had nowhere else to go, but instead your lot just didn’t want to deal with him. Well, we don’t either.”

Harry’s heart was pounding. His thoughts were racing. He couldn’t make sense of what was happening. This man was a wizard. He was a wizard. His parents were wizards, and they were alive , but they thought that Harry wasn’t a wizard, so they sent him to the Dursley’s?

“Very well,” Dumbledore said with a heavy-hearted sigh. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, causing him to jump, but he squeezed it gently, “Harry, why don’t you grab your things and we’ll get going?”

Harry had imagined this day for a long time. As a child, he would dream of someone coming to rescue him from the Dursley’s, or for his parents to turn out to be alive due to some misunderstanding. Now, though, he just felt numb, staring back at the Dursley’s, who had taken him in and raised him when his parents didn’t, who had never loved him and made him sleep in the cupboard, but who had never kicked him out.

Until now, that is.

“I don’t have anything, sir,” he said, forcing his mouth to form words.

“All for the best, I suppose,” Dumbledore said, smiling once more, “Hold my hand. We are going to travel using a form of magic called apparition. It might be a little jarring at first, but it is the safest way to get off this rock.”

It wasn’t like Harry had the choice to refuse. He glanced back at his aunt one last time, desperate to see some kind of remorse or regret, but he saw nothing except hard, angry eyes tinged with relief to see him gone.

He nodded shortly and grabbed Dumbledore’s hand.

They disappeared with a ‘pop’.

They reappeared on the outskirts of a little town, quiet save for a few voices ringing from a nearby pub.

Harry stumbled as his feet touched the hard ground. His vision blurred, and his stomach rolled, and he found himself bending over to wretch onto the ground.

“Ah, yes,” Dumbledore said, rubbing Harry’s back as he expelled the measly dinner that he had eaten several hours before, “That is quite alright. Many people, particularly children, get sick the first time they apparate. It is normal.”

It didn’t feel normal. It felt… horrible. His entire body shook as he recovered from the feeling of his entire body being squeezed through a tube, of his eyes and eardrums being shoved farther into the back of his head, of his breath being pulled out of his body.

When he opened his eyes, he found the ground bare and spotless. He glanced up at Dumbledore as he sheathed his wand.

Magic.

“Hogwarts has anti-apparition wards surrounding it,” Dumbledore explained, walking towards what seemed to be a carriage without a horse. Harry hurried to keep up with him, “We’ll have to take the carriage up to the castle. Climb in, my boy.”

Harry eyed the front of the carriage suspiciously, but he did as the man said, following him in.

The moment he sat down, the carriage began to move. He jumped, eyes widening.

“Don’t be alarmed,” Dumbledore said, placing a steadying hand on his arm, “The carriages are pulled by thestrals. They’re wonderful creatures, but they are invisible to you unless you’ve seen death.”

“Death,” Harry repeated numbly.

“They’re harmless,” he promised, “You will be safe at Hogwarts. Now, I imagine that you have a lot of questions.”

Harry did. Of course, he did. He had just found out that his whole life was a lie, had been kicked out of the only family he had ever known, and found out his parents were alive. Oh, and magic was real. 

It was a lot, and Harry wasn’t sure if he could even formulate words to ask what he wanted to know.

He was not supposed to ask questions, anyway. Aunt Petunia did not allow it. He was not sure if Dumbledore did.

Instead, he just nodded.

“We have a few minutes until we get to the castle,” Dumbledore said, “Why don’t I explain a few things over the ride?”

And he did, but the whole story left Harry with more questions.

He told him about a dark wizard named Voldemort who had risen to power, who had a group of followers known as Death Eaters. He told him that Voldemort had attacked his family one Halloween night, when he was only fifteen months old. He told him about how Voldemort had tried to kill his twin brother, Jack, with something called a killing curse, only for the curse to rebound and kill him instead.

“Your brother is known as the Boy-Who-Lived,” Dumbledore said with a smile, “No one has ever survived a killing curse before him. Your parents survived too, but Voldemort didn’t hit them with that particular curse.”

He had a brother. Not only were his parents alive, so was his twin brother that he never knew existed.

“I was the first one on the scene,” Dumbledore continued, “When I realized that Voldemort was dead, I cast a charm on you and your brother to see your vitals and make sure you were alright. This charm allowed me to see your magical core. Your brother’s core was flourishing and strong. It had to be, to defeat Voldemort. Yours, however, was much weaker, barely there. Naturally, I assumed you to be a squib.”

Dimly, Harry remembered Dumbledore mentioning that back at the shack. A squib was a normal child born to magical parents.

It made sense, he supposed, that his brother was much more powerful than he was. Harry wasn’t special, after all. He was just Harry. 

“You have to understand, Harry,” Dumbledore said, sounding suddenly serious. Harry looked up at the man, briefly catching his eyes before looking away, “Your family may have survived Voldemort’s attack, but that did not mean that all was well. His followers, the Death-Eaters, were still out there, and some still are. They were a target. The Death Eater’s wanted revenge, and they wanted your brother dead. I knew that it would be dangerous for you to stay with them. As a squib, you would not be able to defend yourself like the rest of the family. You would have been killed. More than that, though, your parents would not have been able to properly defend your brother if they were worried about you as well. Letting you live in the muggle world was the best option for both of you.”

Harry nodded as the man spoke. He supposed that it made sense. It was like what Aunt Petunia had always said when he asked, before the no questions rule had been drilled into his head, why Dudley got new things and Harry didn’t. Harry wasn’t special, and Dudley was. If they were to give them to Harry, then Dudley wouldn’t get as much, and that wasn’t fair. 

Harry wasn’t special. He wasn’t the Boy-Who-Lived. His brother needed to be protected, and Harry, weak, burdensome Harry, would jeopardize that. He understood. He would have felt guilty if he had caused his brother to get hurt.

“But I’m not a-a squib,” he pointed out, the word sounding foreign on his tongue, “You said I’m a wizard.”

“Yes, you are,” Dumbledore said, “Sometimes, magical cores can expand through childhood, so as you grew older, your magic grew as well, allowing you to be strong enough to go to Hogwarts. I did not realize this had happened until I saw that you had a letter. You see, they are penned magically, so until I noticed that a letter was not being received, I did not know you would be attending next year.”

Harry let the information roll around in his mind for a moment. He was a wizard, but he was probably not very strong, at least not as strong as his brother. They thought he was a squib, but he wasn’t, and they had sent him away for his safety and, more importantly, his brother’s safety. He could understand that, but it still stung a little to realize that, like always, Harry was unimportant.

“I understand,” he said. He fiddled with a string in the baggy shirt he was wearing and glanced out of the carriage at a beautiful lake that they were passing. Soft, twinkling lights glittered on the dark water.

“I’m glad, my boy,” Dumbledore said, “I’m afraid your parents will probably not be as understanding as you are.”

He turned back to the man, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What did that mean?

“Sometimes, men like myself have to make difficult decisions,” Dumbledore said. He was no longer looking at Harry, but instead gazing out at the water wistfully, “Your parents loved you, so much so that I knew they would not make the hard decision to send you somewhere safe. I knew that if they knew you had survived the attack, they would have done everything in their power to protect both you and Jack, but it would not have been enough. It was too dangerous. So, I made the hard choice, the correct choice. I took you to your aunt and uncle while your parents were still unconscious from the attack, and then I told them you died.”

His stomach twisted at the new information. He stared at the man in front of him, grappling with the fact that while he thought his parents were dead, his parents thought he was gone, too. And this man had lied to both of them.

But it was to keep them safe. That’s what he said, and Harry knew that what he said made sense. 

“Oh,” he said.

“The Greater Good is sometimes paved with bad actions,” Dumbledore said with a soft sigh. He turned back to Harry, a soft smile resting on his lips, “But everything turned out for the best, didn’t it? Your brother is alive and well because your parents were able to focus on protecting him, and you are alive and well, because you were hidden in the muggle world. Now that you’re older and ready to start learning magic, you can be reunited with your family. No harm, no foul.”

Harry swallowed and nodded before looking down at his hands. 

He was tired, overwhelmed, and terrified . 

“Oh, Harry. Look ahead. The castle.”

He forced himself to look up, tearing his eyes away from his palms, and his jaw dropped at the magnificent building that they were approaching. He had never seen anything like it, and the sight itself was almost enough to make him forget the life-changing news that he had just been told.

Almost.

Dumbledore led Harry through the vast and empty halls of Hogwarts, talking calmly about the moving portraits and real live ghosts and moving staircases. Harry was much too overwhelmed and much too tired by all of the new information to question it or even really comprehend what he was being told, but he nodded politely anyway.

When they reached a portrait of a fat lady, Dumbledore stopped.

“It is late,” he said, “Much too late for me to summon your parents to Hogwarts. I will send them a message in the morning. Until then, you should get some rest. This is the Gryffindor common room.”

He gestured at the portrait, and smiled at the confused expression on Harry’s face.

“Patronus.”

Harry jumped back as the portrait suddenly swung open.

“Every common room is accessible with some type of password, something that only the students of that house know,” Dumbledore explained. He gestured for Harry to follow him as he made his way in.

The Gryffindor Common Room was amazing: large and warm and cozy, but completely empty. A fire was lit in the fireplace despite that, illuminating the red and gold room. 

Dumbledore gave him a quick rundown of the room before leading him up the stairs, towards the first year dorms.

“You can sleep here tonight,” he said, “When you wake up, call for Kinsy. She is a house elf that works for Hogwarts. She will hear you wherever you are and come to you. I have already given her instructions to show you to the kitchens for breakfast.”

He smiled at Harry, who did his best to smile back, but he was pretty sure it came off as more of a grimace. His hands shook at his sides, and he gripped his shirt to calm them.

“Get some sleep,” Dumbledore said, squeezing his shoulder, “I will see you in the morning.”

With that, he left, leaving Harry alone in an unfamiliar room, trapped with his thoughts.

Chapter Text

James and Lily Potter stepped through the floo into Dumbledore’s office bright and early the next morning. Dumbledore regarded the couple with a serene smile on his face. He had seen them every year on July 31st, never one to miss young Jack’s birthday party, and he recognized the conflicting emotions that graced their features every year: the excitement over their surviving child’s birthday, and the grief over their deceased child’s birthday.

“Morning, Professor,” James said, an overly cheery smile painted on his face to mask any other emotions, “I hope this won’t take long. We’ve got a party to prepare for.”

“Please, sit,” Dumbledore said, gesturing to the chairs in front of his desk, “I’m afraid this might take longer than you would like, but I promise you that it is of utmost importance.”

The smile on James’ face waned nervously.

“Is something wrong?” Lily asked as she took her seat, “Are Jack and Violet safe?”

“Yes, of course,” Dumbledore said. He picked up one of the letters that had been addressed to Harry in the smallest bedroom and handed it to Lily, “I was notified of a surprising name appearing on the lists of Hogwarts letters this year.”

Lily took the letter, frowning at it as James arched his neck to see what she was looking at.

“Mr. H. Potter,” James read, brown eyes darting back up to Dumbledore, “Another Potter? I thought we were the last ones.”

“Oh, Professor, you couldn’t be more tactful about the address? The smallest bedroom. Honestly,” Lily shook her head, fingers gently gliding across the name.

Dumbledore hummed lightly.

“Ah, please remember, Lily, that I do not address the letters,” he said, “I was not expecting this letter, and it appears that I need to confess something to you.”

Neither Lily nor James said anything, waiting patiently, trustfully. 

“Ten years ago, on Halloween night,” Dumbledore began, and Lily sucked in a breath at the mention of that dreaded night, “I made a choice. It was a hard choice, I assure you, but a necessary one. You see, I left something out when I relayed to you the events of what occurred when I arrived at your house that night.”

That Halloween night was not an event that they discussed often. Despite journalists always trying to pry information out about what happened that night, James and Lily never talked about it. It was too difficult to discuss the night their son died. 

“What are you talking about, Professor?” James asked.

“As I mentioned, when I first arrived I assumed you two to be dead. Voldemort didn’t often leave survivors, after all. I could hear crying though, so I rushed upstairs, believing myself to have arrived before Voldemort could kill your sons, but when I arrived, Voldemort was already dead.”

Lily swallowed thickly and looked down at her hands, giving a short nod. James reached over to squeeze her hand. 

“This is where things divert from what I told you,” Dumbledore explained carefully, “I found Jack in his crib, crying. Young Harry was next to him, covered in blood, but alive.”

Lily’s head shot up, green eyes wide. James reared back as if Dumbledore had just slapped him.

“You told us he died instantly,” James strangled out, “You told us his body was reduced to ashes, like… like Voldemort’s.”

Dumbledore was quiet for a moment, before he nodded gravely. 

“I am afraid that I wanted to spare you any more pain,” he said, voice soft and gentle, “Harry was alive when I arrived. I cast a diagnostic spell on each of the boys immediately to check for injuries. As you know, Jack was physically untouched, having survived the killing curse. Harry was not so lucky. Much like yourselves, I believe Voldemort did not start with the killing curse. He was overly confident in his abilities, and as he believed he could kill the two of you afterwards, I believe he did the same with Harry. He tortured the boy.”

Lily choked out a sob before burying her face into James’ shoulder. The man quickly wrapped his arms around the wife, but there were tears welling up in his own.

“He suffered,” James whispered, “You told us he didn’t. You told us he didn’t feel a thing.”

“I am truly sorry,” Dumbledore replied, “But there is more.”

He waited for a moment, giving the couple time to pull themselves together, before he continued.

“When I performed the diagnostic spell, I noticed that Harry’s magical core was empty, much like a squib’s would be. Looking back, I believe that this must have been caused by either the torture or the backlash that occurred when Jack did not die. However, at the time, I believed that this meant that young Harry was a squib. I knew, if he survived, it would be dangerous for him to live in our world. I-”

“What are you talking about?” Lily asked, incredulous, “Plenty of squibs live in the magical world.”

“And my son was not a squib. He was performing magic at six months old. He was always floating his toys over to himself, or causing food he didn’t like to fly across the room, or turning on lights around the house to wake us up when he wanted us. He was just as magical as Jack!” James added.

Dumbledore knew this to be true. When the twins were babies, James told anyone he came across about the accidental magic they did, intensely proud of how young they were when they began. This, however, was not something he could tell them.

“Again, I am sorry. I was not aware,” he said, “And Lily, please understand that I don’t mean that it is dangerous for any squib to live in the magical world. However, Harry, if a squib, would be in constant danger as the brother to the Boy-Who-Lived. Surely, you can understand that with as close-calls as your family has had. Why, young Violet’s accidental magic saved her that one time in Diagon Alley. Remember?”

There was a flicker of something in Lily’s eyes, and Dumbledore knew that she was starting to piece it together. She glanced down at the letter, hand shaking as she slid her fingers across the name. 

“I was able to heal Harry when I arrived.”

James shot to his feet, eyes wide and confused.

“What?”

“Harry is alive.”

“What?”

“Professor,” Lily whimpered suddenly. Her eyes were teary as she looked at him, horrified, “You didn’t.”

“I did what I had to do to keep him safe,” he said calmly, “I gave him a life in the muggle world, where he did not need to worry about Death Eaters and could grow up peacefully as a muggle.”

James did not appear to be breathing, staring at the man in front of him as if he had never seen him before. He took a step back, nearly falling into the chair, and tore his eyes away.

“Harry’s alive,” he said dully, mind trying to wrap around the impossible truth. He continued, voice rising with every word, “My son is alive and you-you kidnapped him. You took our baby and told us he was dead. You let us grieve. You… You spoke at his funeral!”

“It was for the greater good,” Dumbledore said, unfazed in the face of a father’s wrath.

“The greater good?” James repeated, “How? How is this good? You lied to us. You stole our child, all because you thought he was a squib. You know it would not have mattered to us if he was one, professor . He’s our son .”

“And he’s not a squib,” Lily added in, voice soft but no less angry. She turned fiery green eyes on the man, clutching the letter tightly in her hand, “He got a letter to Hogwarts, just like Jack. You did this for nothing . Would you have let us grieve the rest of our lives?”

“I assure you I meant no harm. This was for the safety of your children. Please understand that.”

“ How ,” James spit out, “does that work?”

Dumbledore waved a hand, staying impossibly calm, as if James and Lily were nothing more than two unruly students.

“If Death Eaters attacked your family, you would have had to protect both Harry and Jack. Harry, as a squib, would never be able to learn ways to defend himself against them. You would be forced to protect him even when the boys were old enough that Jack could protect himself, and this could have resulted in Jack or Harry dying against them. The safest option, for both of your boys, would be for Harry to grow up where he did not need to worry about that danger. You understand that, don’t you?”

“No, professor. I don’t. We can protect our children,” Lily cried. She shoved herself to her feet, coming to stand beside James, “We have protected them. We have two children. We have protected both of them equally. What was not protecting them was sending them away where we couldn’t.”

“My dear girl, please remember the dangers that squibs have faced in the past, and still face, and align that with the dangers that your family faces. Protecting a squib child would be much more difficult than a magical one. Violet protected herself when that wizard grabbed her, after all.”

He knew that what he said hit them hard, but it wasn’t hard enough to convince them. He knew it would be harder to make them see reason than it was Harry, but he was sure they would come around.

“You could have at least told us,” Lily whispered furiously.

“If I had told you, would you have left Harry there?”

“Of course not!” James shouted.

“Ah” Dumbledore smiled, “My point exactly.”

Lily gave a strangled sound, clutching the letter purposefully in her hands. 

“I want to see my son, Albus,” she said, “Where is my son?”

House elves were curious little creatures. Harry followed Kinsy through the halls of Hogwarts with wide, fascinated eyes. He hadn’t gotten a lick of sleep the night before, too caught up in his racing thoughts, but he had been awake and alert the moment he had called out the house elf’s name and found a little, green creature appearing in front of him. 

As Dumbledore had mentioned, Kinsy had orders to take him to the kitchens, and she followed those orders with every bit of excitement and enthusiasm as a child given their first bit of a responsibility.

“Kinsy will show Mr. Potter to the kitchens,” she exclaimed, bouncing along the halls, glancing back every now and then to make sure Harry was still following, “Kinsy will make you a most wonderful breakfast. Bacon and eggs and black pudding and toast and pumpkin juice.”

It sounded good, though Harry wasn’t too sure about pumpkin juice. His stomach rumbled at the thought of such a meal. He very rarely ever got more than a slice or two of toast for breakfast.

The kitchens were just as magical as the rest of the castle, and Harry was nearly floored by the aroma that flooded his senses as he stepped in. Kinsy ushered him towards a small table nearby.

“I can help,” he said, “I know how to cook.”

“Oh, no, no, no,” Kinsy shook her head frantically, large, over-sized ears flopping, “Kinsy will make the Mr. Potter breakfast. Mr. Potter will sit here.”

She pointed down at the chair and he took it reluctantly, unsure of how he felt about someone else cooking for him. He had been cooking at the Dursleys with Aunt Petunia since he was four, and alone since he was seven.

Kinsy smiled at him before disappearing, and Harry jumped, but did not say anything, having resigned himself not to question anything that happened in his life from here on out.

Not even two minutes later, Kinsy reappeared, holding a hot plate of food and looking immensely proud of herself. She placed it in front of Harry, and he stared at it for a moment, eyes wide.

When he did not immediately start to eat, Kinsy looked worried.

“Does the Mr. Potter not like his breakfast?” she asked, “Kinsy can make Mr. Potter a new one!”

“No, no. It’s great, Kinsy,” he said quickly before she could take the food away, grasping at the plate, “I’m just not used to so much food. Thank you.”

He grabbed the fork and took a small bite of the eggs, before a wide smile appeared on his face at the taste.

“This is very good.”

“Kinsy is glad!” the house-elf chirped, clapping her hands, “Kinsy will leave Mr. Potter to eat. Mr. Potter will call Kinsy when he is done.”

She disappeared before he could respond, and he stared at the spot where she was for a brief moment before pulling his eyes back down to his food.

It really was a lot of food. Almost as much as the first plates that Dudley would get whenever they ate. And it was for Harry .

A lot had changed in the last twenty-four hours, and a lot of it Harry wasn’t too sure about, but if the food was like this? He could probably handle it.

He had just begun to dig into the food when the doors to the kitchen swung open once more, and a young child came bouncing in. She looked a little younger than Harry, maybe nine or ten, with red hair pulled back in a single braid and dark brown eyes. Her face was covered in freckles, and she was dressed in a red dress and black dress shoes. 

“Ozzy!” she called out, chipper and carefree, “Dizzy! Razzle! I’m here!”

He wondered who she was calling for. Perhaps it was other house elves, like Kinsy, but he had not seen any.

Her eyes trailed through the kitchens before landing on him, and there was a brief moment of surprise that passed through her before it settled.

“Oh, hello!” she said, skipping over to him, “I thought you were my brother for a second. You look a lot like him. I’m Violet. My mum and dad got called to Dumbledore’s office, so my Uncle Padfoot decided to bring Jack and I to have breakfast in the kitchens. The house elves make such good food! What’s your name?”

Harry blinked at her, letting his fork rest on his plate. He wasn’t used to other children talking to him. Usually, Dudley scared them all away.

“My name is Harry,” he answered, “They do make good food.”

“I had a brother named Harry. He’s dead,” Violet stated with all the carefree wonder that could only come from a child discussing someone they had never met. Harry was used to it. He had been the same way about his parents, “You want to be my new brother? I bet you would be better than Jack. He stole my broom last week because he didn’t want me to fly with him.”

Harry nodded along as if he knew what the girl was talking about, but then he stopped, realizing that he actually did know what she was talking about.

A dead brother named Harry. A brother named Jack. Oh. Had his parents had another child? Dumbledore had only mentioned the one.

“What’s your last name?” he asked.

An odd look passed over the girl’s face, and her smile fell. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively.

“Why?” she asked, “You want to know if my brother is the Boy-Who-Lived, don’t you? Well, he’s a real prat. You don’t want to meet him, anyway.”

“Am not!” a voice called from the kitchen door, and Harry looked up to see a boy making his way in.

Harry stared at him, mouth dropping open in surprise, because the boy in front of him was a near replica of himself: black hair that stuck up at every angle, thin face, freckles across his cheek. He looked to be a little taller than Harry, a little more filled out, and his eyes were a deep brown instead of a striking green, but there was no doubt that they were related.

Jack did not appear to notice the resemblance, though. 

This was his brother and, apparently, his sister. 

“Wotcher,” he said chipperly to Harry, “I’m Jack.”

“Great,” Violet mumbled, sounding dejected, “Another fan.”

Realizing that he was staring, Harry drew his eyes away from the boy and back to Violet.

“Sorry,” he said to her, “Uh, I’m Harry. I’m just eating breakfast. Do you want to join me?”

He expected them to say no but, surprisingly, they nodded and slid into the seats beside him. Within seconds, identical meals to Harry’s appeared in front of them, and they began to dig in.

“So, Harry. What year are you in?” Jack asked, “I’m going to be a first year student this year. Dad says I’m a shoe-in for Gryffindor.”

“Uh, I’ll be a first-year as well,” he said, “I just learned about Hogwarts yesterday.”

Or would it be today? It was after midnight, after all.

“Oh, are you a muggle-born?” Violet asked.

“A what?”

“A witch or wizard born to non-magical parents,” Jack explained, “Our mum was a muggleborn.”

Muggle-born. That was a new term, and he quickly realized that it was the opposite of a squib. It didn’t fit him, though.

“No, my parents were wizards. I just never met them,” he said with a shrug, “I grew up with my aunt and uncle. They’re muggles.”

“Oh,” Jack said, sounding sad all of the sudden, though Harry wasn’t sure why.

The door to the kitchens opened for a third time, and this time a man walked through. Tall and lean with neat black hair and startling grey eyes, the man sauntered into the room with an easy smile on his face and a, “Didn’t I say to wait for me?” leaving his lips, before he froze at the sight in front of him. His eyes went straight to Harry, staring at him as if he had seen a ghost (which Harry supposed was possible, since he had seen several the night before). 

“Uncle Pads!” Violet exclaimed, “This is Harry. He’s going to Hogwarts this year.”

Uncle. Was this one of his parent’s brothers? He supposed he could sort of see the resemblance if he squinted. 

“Harry,” the man repeated, as if the word brought him physical pain.

Jack’s eyes widened, and he sent a panicked look at Harry, mouthing “sorry” to him before leaping up from his seat.

This was… unexpected. Harry watched, confused and surprised, as Jack grasped Padfoot's hand and pulled him to the table. He was pretty sure that the resemblance that Jack seemed to have missed, and that Violet had briefly skipped over, was not lost on the man in front of him. 

“Hello,” he greeted politely, unsure of how to proceed. How does one say that they were believed to be dead for the last ten years, and that they were actually their long-lost… nephew?

“Hi,” the man said, eyebrows furrowing in a conglomeration of confusion and pain. He swallowed, “I’m Sirius. Sirius Black. I hope these two haven’t bothered you too much.”

“No, they’re fine,” he answered honestly, “We’re having breakfast. Would you like some?”

Sirius nodded, and a fourth plate of food appeared on the table directly across from Harry. 

Harry didn’t know how to say who he was, so instead, he looked up at Jack, suddenly remembering what day it was.

“Happy birthday.”

The boy grinned widely at him.

“Thanks.”

The breakfast that followed was quite possibly the most pleasant and most awkward meal that Harry had ever eaten. Jack and Violet tried to keep the conversation going, rambling to Harry about the upcoming Hogwarts sorting and magical bands that Harry had never heard of and something called Quidditch, and while Sirius attempted to join in on the conversation a few times, Harry kept catching him staring at him. From the looks on Jack and Violet’s faces, this was not common.

It wasn’t until Harry had finished his meal (or, rather, Harry had finished half of his meal and could not eat another bite), that the doors flew open for a fourth time.

This time, two people stood on the other end: a man with messy black hair and deep brown eyes and frantic expression on his face, and a pretty woman with long, flowing red hair and bright green eyes that matched Harry’s own and shined with unshed tears. 

Sirius leaped from his seat, a startled expression flying across his face.

“Prongs, Lils,” he said, almost placatingly, “How did your talk go with-”

“Harry,” the woman said brokenly. 

Harry glanced at Jack and Violet before looking back at the couple, coming to the sudden, startling realization that he was looking at his parents. His very alive parents, who seemed to have been informed of Harry’s similar state.

“Lily, this is-”

The woman, Lily, did not listen to a word coming out of Sirius’ mouth. She stumbled forward until she reached the table and threw her arms around Harry, pulling him close to her chest.

He flinched back in surprise and stiffened in the woman’s hold, mind going blank at the realization that this woman, his mother , was hugging him.

How did one hug? He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had hugged him. 

She pulled away before he had the chance to figure out how exactly to return the hug, holding onto his shoulders and letting her eyes travel across his face, as if trying to memorize its features. A watery smile was on her face, and a sob escaped her lips.

“Mum?” Jack spoke up, sounding confused and concerned, “Uh, mum, this is Harry. He’s going to be going to Hogwarts with me this year.”

“He is,” the man spoke up, positively beaming at the sight in front of him, and Harry was startled to see that there were tears in his eyes as well. He placed a hand on Harry’s shoulder, squeezing it, and then Harry found himself pulled into a second hug. 

It was nice, Harry decided as he was pressed up against the man’s chest. He had always dreamed of being hugged by his parents. He blinked back tears of his own.

“I don’t understand,” Sirius muttered, “James, you should probably let the poor kid-”

“It’s Harry, Sirius,” James said, fire in his voice suddenly. He did not let Harry go, and this hug lasted long enough for him to figure out his arms and awkwardly wrap them around the man as well, “It’s- Merlin, Pads. Dumbledore lied .”

Oh. Dumbledore mentioned that his parents might not take the news well. He sounded… he sounded angry.

“What are you talking about, dad?” Jack asked, “Mum, what’s he talking about? Dumbledore doesn’t lie.”

“He did,” she whispered, just out of sight from Harry, still pressed into his father’s shoulder as if the man was afraid to let go, “Jack, Violet. This is your brother: Harry. He’s alive .”

“What?” a trio of voices said.

Finally, James peeled himself away from Harry, who found himself suddenly at the center of attention in the kitchens, five pairs of eyes fixed on him as if they couldn’t quite believe what they were saying. He flushed and looked down at his feet, unsure of what to do. 

“Hi,” he said when he finally found his voice. He looked back up at the two newest arrivals, his parents, and said, “Do you want to join us for breakfast?”

Chapter Text

As it turned out, James and Lily did want to join them for breakfast. Sirius, however, no longer seemed to want to. His jaw was clenched, and there was fire in his eyes. He had drawn his wand as he set his sights on the door, moving towards it swiftly. He would have made it, too, if James hadn’t grabbed him by the arm while Harry watched nervously.

“Where are you going?” James asked.

“To have a talk with Dumbledore,” Siriuis said, spitting out the man’s name as if it were poison, “Find out where my godson has been all these years.”

Godson? 

“Later,” James hissed, voice so low that Harry could barely hear him, “I’ll go with you.”

The fire didn’t leave the man’s eyes, but he gave a stiff nod. He was angry, extremely angry, and Harry found it hard to believe that it was over him. 

“Harry,” Violet said suddenly, tearing his attention away from the two, angry men and looking completely unbothered by the tension in the room, “So you are my brother? What Quidditch teams do you like? Jack likes Puddlemere United, but I like the Holyhead Harpies, so please have better taste than Jack.”

She grinned teasingly at Jack, but the other boy was pale, staring at Harry with wide eyes.

Harry grimaced and fiddled with his fork. He really didn’t want to let down his little sister when he barely knew her, but he had no idea what she was talking about.

“Uh, I’m not sure,” he mumbled, “What teams are there?”

“Violet, your brother has been living with muggles. He doesn’t know much about Quidditch yet,” Lily spoke up. While Violet seemed a little put off by this, Harry noticed that Lily seemed completely nonplussed. Dimly, Harry remembered that they had mentioned their mother being a muggleborn, and he brightened a bit. She, at least, seemed to understand his confusion.

“Muggles?” Sirius repeated. 

Lily nodded, giving the man a sharp look, before turning back to Harry was an easy smile.

“You must have a lot of questions,” she said, “I know that I did when I first found out about magic.”

“Dumbledore explained a lot to me,” he said, nodding briefly, though he didn’t mention that Dumbledore had also given him a lot more questions, “I didn’t know magic existed until last night. Aunt Petunia always said magic wasn’t real.”

He must have said something wrong, because all three adults in the room froze. The smile on Lily’s face dropped, replaced by a look of horror.

“Petunia,” she choked out, “You were living with Petunia. My sister?”

He bit his lip and nodded, unsure of what to say. He hadn’t realized that Dumbledore hadn’t told him where he was. Apparently, Lily didn’t like Petunia as much as Petunia didn’t like Lily.

Harry wasn’t his aunt’s biggest fan either, but he wasn’t used to other people not liking her.

“And my Uncle Vernon and cousin Dudley,” he answered dutifully.

“Merlin,” James breathed out, “And they didn’t think to contact us?”

Harry didn’t like the Dursley’s, but that wasn’t exactly their fault.

“In their defense, they thought you were dead,” he said, “Dumbledore left them a letter, and there were some misunderstandings. They told me you died in a car crash when I was a baby.”

“A car crash,” Lily repeated numbly, “And did they… do they treat you okay?”

Was that a trick question? Harry blinked at her for a moment, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. If he said no, she would think he was ungrateful, and he had been taught early on not to complain. 

So, instead of answering honestly, he smiled.

“They treat me alright,” he said, before a bit of panic set in. What if they wanted to send him back? They had made it clear he couldn’t go back, “Uh, but when they found out you were still alive, they told Dumbledore they aren’t going to house me anymore, so I-uh-I need somewhere to live.”

“You’ll live with us, of course,” James said quickly, a forced smile on his face, “We’ll set the guest room up for you, and we’ll take a trip to Diagon Alley so you can decorate it however you want.”

Harry blinked. His own bedroom that he could decorate? That sounded too good to be true.

They fell into a stilted but surprisingly pleasant conversation after that. Violet asked a lot of questions, wanting to know what Harry’s favorite subject was and his favorite color and his favorite animal, and Lily and James seemed to prod more and more about what his life was like with the Dursleys. Sirius, conversely, opened up once his anger had waned and told Harry grand stories of his job as an auror, which Harry was quick to learn was a type of wizard policeman.

Jack stayed silent. 

Kinsy reappeared once everyone had finished eating.

“Did Mr. Potter enjoy his meal?” she asked Harry.

“I did, Kinsy. It was very good,” he said with a smile. He felt guilty for not being able to finish all of the food, “You did a very good job.”

She beamed at him and snapped her fingers, causing the plates in front of them to disappear.

“Ah, the boy has manners. You were right, James. He did take after Lily,” Sirius said, a teasing grin on his face.

“At least one of them did,” Lily responded.

Violet pouted, but she didn’t seem to be upset by it. She hopped out of her seat and grabbed Harry’s hand to drag him out of the kitchens.

“Can we show Harry the whomping willow, Mum?”

“Not today,” Lily said, “We need to get home and get Harry settled in and - Oh, the party!”

A party? Oh, right, it was Jack’s birthday. Harry’s too, but Jack was the Boy-Who-Lived, so he was probably having a birthday party today. If it was anything like Dudley’s, it would be grand, and James and Lily probably had a bunch of decorations to hang up. 

“I can help set up,” Harry said. He had a lot of experience setting up decorations for Dudley, and he was quite good at making a birthday cake. 

“Nonsense, Harry. It’s your birthday, too,” Sirius said. He slung an arm over Harry’s shoulder and frowned at the flinch that shuddered through Harry’s body at the action, “Leave the party planning to us,” he glanced up at James, grinning, “We’ll have to make some last-minute changes.”

“Maybe we should reschedule,” Lily said worriedly, glancing over at Harry, “Figure everything out first.”

Harry glanced at Jack, panicked. He didn’t want to be the reason that Jack couldn’t have his party on his birthday. He didn’t seem to hate Harry yet, and Harry wanted to keep it that way. He didn’t feel like dealing with another Dudley situation.

“No, you shouldn’t do that,” he said quickly, before cringing. He was being very rude today. Aunt Petunia would not be happy, “Uh, I mean, I’m fine. I’ll stay out of the way. You can just pretend that everything is normal.”

Lily and James did not pretend like everything was normal.

They brought Harry back to their home by something called the floo, which required Harry to step into the fireplace, throw green powder onto the ground, and say “Potter Manor,” and this resulted in the bizarre sensation of being thrown back and forth before he practically rolled out of another fireplace and into a cozy living room, covered in soot.

It was better than apparition, at least. He never wanted to do that again.

He would have been embarrassed about his arrival, since Lily walked out of the floo effortlessly, but Jack stumbled out of it as well, nearly crashing to the floor. 

“He’s flooed a million times, but he still hasn’t figured it out,” Lily told Harry with a light grin. She tapped his nose with her wand, and he suddenly felt squeaky clean. He stared down at his hands with wide eyes, noting that the soot and ash was gone.

Once the rest of them had exited the fireplace, Lily was jumping to work.

“Alright, I’ll go make some calls and… alert people to the situation. Sirius, can you modify the decorations? And James, how about you show Harry his room?”

It wasn’t really a question, and she disappeared from the room before anyone could answer. 

Violet was quick to decide that James needed help showing Harry his room, as she grabbed Harry’s hand and started to drag him away.

“It’s over here,” she said cheerily, “It’s technically the guest room, but no one really sleeps there, because Moony and Padfoot have their own rooms even though they don’t live here, and Neville sleeps in Jack’s room when he comes over. Oh, Neville’s our godbrother. He’s great. You’ll like him. You’ll meet him today! His birthday was yesterday.”

The guest room that she dragged him to was absolutely incredible. It was so much bigger than the room that the Dursley’s had grudgingly given him not too long ago, and a million times bigger than his cupboard. There was a large, queen-sized bed with a soft, red and gold quilt. Unlike the sickly peach color that adorned the walls of the bedroom at Privet Drive, this room’s walls were a gentle tan color, with a large window that overlooked a large backyard. There was a desk and a wardrobe and a large bookcase with many well-used books, unlike the dusty ones in his old bedroom.

“Wow,” he said, staring at the room.

“We’ll definitely have to do some customizing,” James said from behind Harry, a grin on his face, “I’ll owl Dumbledore and ask him to send over your things.”

“Oh, I haven’t got any things,” Harry said. 

The smile fell off of James’ face. He frowned.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, I suppose I have some things at Privet Drive,” Harry responded hastily. He did have things at the Dursley’s anyway, even if it was only some more of Dudley’s hand-me-downs like what he was wearing, “Dumbledore picked me up from this shack that we were staying at, though. I think Uncle Vernon was scared of the letters, so he was trying to get to where they would stop coming. I didn’t get to bring anything with me, so you don’t need to worry about fetching anything from Hogwarts.”

This didn’t seem to reassure James like Harry thought, but he didn’t say anything about it. Instead, his eyes flicked over the overly-large clothes that Harry wore, and he gave a sharp nod.

“Okay, well, I’ll find some of Jack’s clothes for you to wear, and then tomorrow we’ll go shopping at Diagon Alley. We were waiting until after Jack’s birthday to get his Hogwarts supplies, anyway, and we’ll need to do the same for you.”

“You don’t have to,” Harry said, before pausing. He hadn’t had a chance to really look at the letter. He probably did need supplies, and he had no money of his own. 

“‘Course I do, Harry. You’re my son,” James said with a soft frown. He placed a hand on his shoulder, much more hesitantly than before, and Harry found himself leaning into the man, “Besides, I want to. Every day since you… since we thought you died, I’ve wanted to have you home. Every birthday and holiday and celebration, I’ve wanted to buy you a gift alongside Jack and Violet. I’ve missed you so much. More than anything.”

Harry smiled back shakily, surprised to find tears springing to his eyes. He turned away, quickly brushing them away before he could see. 

“I missed you, too,” Harry whispered, “I used to dream about my parents being alive. I never thought it would actually happen.”

“Neither did I,” James said, “And I promise you that Dumbledore is going to regret ever taking you away from us.”

Harry frowned at that and pulled away lightly.

“He said he did to protect-”

“It’s our job to protect you, Harry. Mine and Lily and Sirius, as your godfather. Not his. What he did was wrong, and I’m so sorry that we never noticed.”

“It’s not your fault,” he said, “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“Jeez, kid,” James laughed, a light grin on his face. He ruffled Harry’s hair, “You’re much more forgiving than Jack. Here, I’ll go find you some clothes and let you look around a bit.”

He slipped from the room, with Violet following with a skip in her step, and Harry let out a breath that he hadn’t realized he had been holding. 

He was tired. Really tired. He had barely slept the night before, and with everything that had happened, he felt like he could sleep for a week. Nighttime couldn’t come soon enough.

He eyed the bed and gently sat on it, smiling at the feeling of the soft mattress underneath him, and leaned back. His head rested on the pillows, and he looked up at the ceiling, letting out a soft sigh.

When James returned to the room, Harry was already asleep. James smiled at the sight and moved to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. He brought his hand out, gently brushing hair from Harry’s face, before pausing.

There was a scar on his forehead: three jagged lines in the shape of a lightning bolt. It was obviously an old scar, long-since healed, but it stood out sharply against the skin. His stomach jolted at the realization of what it was.

“James,” Lily said softly from the door. He glanced back at her, noting the soft smile on her face as she observed her sleeping son, whom she had thought for so long was dead, “I ordered a few gifts for Harry. They should be here in time for the party. And I sent messages to everyone giving them a heads-up, too.”

James nodded gently, but he couldn’t find it in himself to respond. His eyes drew back to the scar on his child’s head, the horrible reminder of the attack.

“What’s wrong?” Lily asked. She stepped into the room and paused a few feet from the bed, noting the scar, “Oh.”

Both Lily and James had scars from that night, but they were faded and barely visible from the dutiful work of the healers who had attended to them the days following the attack. Jack had escaped unscathed. This scar, though… it had obviously not been tended to. James was pretty sure that Dumbledore had healed it and been done, not taking the time to apply any scar cream to make it fade.

And it wasn’t just any old scar, either.

“That’s a curse scar,” Lily whispered. She brushed her thumb against the skin, “He was hurt. He was probably scared, and Dumbledore just left him with… with Petunia.”

“He’s here now,” James said, “We aren’t going to let anything happen to him ever again.”

Harry wasn’t woken up until the guests had begun to arrive, and Lily gently called his name until he was pulled awake. It was odd, being woken up that way. Aunt Petunia only ever shouted and banged on his cupboard.

After he changed into the clothes that James had left for him (which fit him wildly better than Dudley’s ever did), he lingered by his door, hearing the sounds of people talking from the living room.

He probably would have stayed there all day if Violet hadn’t appeared, flanked by another girl with wild blonde hair and startling blue eyes that smiled calmly at him.

“Harry, this is Luna,” Violet exclaimed cheerfully, “She’s my godsister. Yours too, I think. Well, actually I’m not sure. Her mother was my godmother, but yours was Neville’s mum, so-”

“Hello, Harry,” Luna said airily, “Did you know that you have nargles flying around your head?”

Nargles? Harry waved his hand lightly around his head, but he felt nothing. Violet giggled.

“Come on, Harry. You need to meet Hagrid,” Violet said, bouncing along down the hall. 

Harry had no choice but to follow her.

Hagrid, as it turned out, was a half-giant that left Harry staring above him to see his face. He was friendly, though, and nearly burst into tears at the sight of him.

“I can’ believe it,” he cried, pulling Harry into a bone-crushing hug, “I knew you when you were just a wee baby. When yer mum called, I didn’ believe her. But look at you! You look like your dad, but you got your mum’s eyes.”

Apparently, when Hagrid got the news, he had rushed to Diagon Alley to find Harry the perfect birthday gift, which is how Harry found himself staring at the first real gift he had ever received: a beautiful snowy owl.

“Every first year needs a good owl,” Hagrid boomed proudly, “I got yer brother one last year. Have you met Blinky yet? Fine owl, that one is. Wonderful creature.”

Harry decided that he liked Hagrid. He also liked his owl, and he spent a good twenty minutes figuring out from Hagrid what kind of food owls ate and how to care for her before promising to pick a good name.

There were other people there, too. Harry was introduced to a strict-looking woman who introduced herself as Professor McGonagall and told him that she looked forward to teaching him in Transfiguration, a severe-looking elderly woman named Augusta Longbottom who critiqued Harry’s hair, and a red-headed couple known as Molly and Arthur Weasley who had seven children all roaming around Potter Manor. James took great pride in introducing Harry to a man named Remus Lupin, though James told him to call him Uncle Moony, and Lily did the same with a scary looking man named Severus Snape who, despite his appearances, nodded politely at Harry.

He was surprised to find that the decorations at the party read “Happy Birthday Jack and Harry.” He wasn’t sure how they had changed them so quickly, but he supposed that he shouldn’t question things with magic involved.

It was nice, but it was a lot. He was finding it hard to think when Violet dragged him to a rather large pile of presents and cheerfully informed Harry which were his.

How did they have time to get him anything? It had only been a few hours since they found out he was alive.

Jack had more presents than Harry, but that was to be expected since he was sure many of the people had already bought the presents before finding out about Harry’s miraculous return from the dead, and Jack was the Boy-Who-Lived. Still, Harry had a small pile for himself, including a few outfits from his parents, a book entitled Hogwarts: A History from Remus Lupin, an assortment of Wizarding candy from the Weasley’s, a miniature Quidditch pitch from Sirius (who claimed he would use it to teach Harry about the sport), and a pair of dragon-hide gloves from Snape (which would apparently be necessary in Snape’s potions class at Hogwarts). 

By the end of it, Harry found that he now owned more than he ever had in his life. Much more than he deserved at least, and his parents had already made it clear that they would be buying more the following day.

He did not want to seem ungrateful, because he wasn’t, but shortly after presents had been opened, Harry found himself slipping away from the party to the quiet solitude of his bedroom. 

He was startled to find himself crying.

He wasn’t supposed to cry. Once, when he was four, he had accidentally burned breakfast and Aunt Petunia had hit him with the frying pan. He’d had quite the lump on the back of his head and had cried, and Aunt Petunia had locked him in his cupboard for nearly two days straight because of it. He had learned to cry only when he couldn’t be seen, which was usually his nights in the cupboard, but the older he had gotten, the less he had subjected himself to nightly cries.

He brushed the tears from his eyes, smearing them across his cheeks, and took several, deep breaths. 

There was no reason to cry . He wasn’t even hurt. Lily and James had been nothing but kind to Harry, and he had his own room with his own bed, and two siblings who seemed nicer than Dudley. 

And he was away from the Dursleys. He should be happy.

So why was he crying?

His new owl hooted from her cage, which had been placed nearby his bed. She was watching him closely, an intelligence behind her eyes that he had never seen before on an animal. 

“Hello,” he said softly, moving onto his bed where he could see her better, “I still need to name you, don’t I? What about Snowball?”

She looked affronted, giving a rather loud hoot, and he gave a watery grin.

“Yeah, I don’t like it either.”

“Harry?”

He jumped and quickly looked away from the owl to the door, where Remus Lupin was standing, looking concerned. 

Remus was an odd-looking man, littered with many scars that criss-crossed across his face and arms. Dimly, Harry thought about his own scar, the one hidden behind his hair on his forehead, that Dudley had always called freakish. 

“Hey, I saw you heading out. I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Remus said, lingering at the door, “You’ve had an… eventful day.”

That was putting things lightly. Meeting Dumbledore felt like eons ago, despite it being less than twenty-four hours.

“Sorry, sir. I just wanted to…” he trailed off. What did he want to do? He wasn’t sure.

“You wanted to get away from the crowd. No harm in that,” Remus said, “That’s a lovely owl.”

Harry turned back to the owl and stuck his fingers in the cage, gently stroking her feathers. She preened under the attention.

“I’m trying to think of a name for her.”

“Important work,” Remus said. He took a step inside, almost hesitant, and then picked up the copy of Hogwarts: A History that he had bought him, “When I got my first owl, I picked out a name from my textbook. Maybe you could do the same.”

That didn’t sound like a bad idea. He had never had a pet to name before, so he really wasn’t sure what kind of name would be best. 

After a pause, he took the offered book, sat on his bed, and started to flip through the pages. It didn’t take him long until he settled on a name that he thought fit the owl very much.

“Hedwig,” he said, and she hooted happily.

“That’s a very fitting name,” Remus said with a warm smile, “She likes it.”

“I’ve never had a pet before,” Harry said, and he distantly realized that he was no longer crying, “Dudley has a tortoise, though.”

“Your cousin?”

“Yeah. He’s not very nice to it, though. He threw it through a window the other day because he was mad.”

An odd look passed over Remus’ face, and the man pursed his lips.

“Well, that’s not a nice way to treat an animal at all.”

“Dudley’s not very nice,” Harry admitted. It felt weird to say out loud, even though he had always thought it. Speaking badly of Dudley was never allowed at the Dursleys. 

For a moment, he was sure that the man was going to berate him for saying that about his cousin, but he simply hummed in agreement.

It felt like a start.

It was shortly after Harry talked with Remus that he heard shouting coming from the living room. Remus had just left, stating that he needed to talk with James about something, and Harry had decided to read some more of Hogwarts: A History instead of stepping out to face the group of people.

(It was easier to stay in his room and not be seen, after all. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had drilled that into his head).

When the shouting started, fierce and angry, he couldn’t help but slip out of his room to see what was going on. He stayed by the wall, memorizing the path back to his room if he needed to escape.

He ran into Violet in the hallway with Luna, peeking out around the corner into the living room.

“Dumbledore’s here,” Violet whispered to Harry when she saw him, “Mum and dad aren’t happy with him.”

Dumbledore was standing by the fireplace, holding two colorful gift bags in his hand. He stood calmly, despite the fact that Lily had her wand in his face and was shouting angrily at him. James, also standing nearby, had Jack practically pushed behind him, out of sight of the professor. 

“The nerve!” Lily was shouting, hand shaking furiously in anger, “To show up here after-after everything you did!”

Harry glanced around, certain that one of the other adults would interrupt, but aside from a few tense shoulders and gentle calls for “Lily, take a deep breath,” no one interrupted. In fact, Sirius looked like he was ready to turn into a cheerleader if his cheering Lily on said anything.

“Dear girl, I assure you that I mean no harm. I am simply here to bring Harry and Jack their gifts,” Dumbledore said.

“They don’t need your gifts,” Lily growled, though Jack made a noise of protest at that, “Get out of my house before I do something I’ll regret.”

“Oi, you won’t regret it, Lils. Slug him!” Sirius called from the sidelines.

“Lily, don’t be irrational,” Dumbledore said.

“Furnunculus,” Lily hissed, waving her wand.

Harry jumped back when painful-looking boils erupted along Dumbledore’s face. 

Mrs. Weasley seemed to take this as her cue to start rounding kids up. She ushered her children and Jack from the room, towards where Harry and Violet were watching the scene. Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, Harry quickly darted away from the doorway.

He was back in his room before Mrs. Weasley had rounded the corner.

Harry did not return to the party, but he was visited by a few different people as the night went on. Remus hung out with him for a while, and then Sirius slipped in with the Quidditch set he had gotten him, insisting on teaching him the rules. James and Lily had popped in a few times, too, to check up on him, seeming to not like him out of their sight. Violet swung by a few times with Luna or Ginny, another friend of hers who stared wide-eyed at Harry, and Neville, who she excitedly introduced him as their godbrother.

Jack never came by, but Violet mentioned that he was off with his friends, and Harry was okay with it, since he really didn’t know what to make of Jack yet. 

On one hand, Harry had a twin. An actual twin. He was fascinated and amazed at this new development, and he wanted to know everything about the boy.

On the other hand… It wasn't hard to make comparisons to Dudley. Sure, Jack didn’t seem nearly as rude or cruel as Harry’s cousin, but there wasn’t a doubt in Harry’s mind that the Boy-Who-Lived was more powerful and smarter and, most likely, better than Harry. 

He also had not said a word to Harry since finding out he was his brother, so he was pretty sure the boy hated him.

Which was entirely unfair, but also entirely expected.

What was unexpected, however, was Jack knocking on his door after all of the guests had left and Harry had spent a good twenty minutes promising James and Lily that he had enough blankets and the bed was comfortable and he had brushed his teeth.

“Hey,” Jack said after Harry opened the door. He shifted uncomfortably in front of him, looking as if he wasn’t quite sure how to speak to Harry, “Can we talk?”

Harry nodded and stepped aside.

“Right. I just- uh,” Jack mumbled, almost soft enough that Harry couldn’t understand what he was saying, before he cleared his throat, “Sorry, this is just weird. I mean, having a brother. Having a twin.”

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” Harry said with a hesitant smile.

“It’s always been Violet and I,” Jack rubbed his neck and sat on the edge of Harry’s bed, looking decidedly out of place, even though this was his home, “I knew about you. Of course I knew about you. Mum and dad have pictures from when we were babies, and they talk about you, and the newspapers love to talk about you.”

The last part was said almost bitterly, and Harry’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Why would they talk about me?”

“They love the… uh, mum says the juxtaposition,” he said, “I’m the Boy-Who-Lived. You’re the Boy-Who-Died. They love it. Mum and dad hate it.”

Harry winced at that. He really hoped that wasn’t a title that stuck.

“Mum and dad really took your death hard,” Jack said, before frowning, “Or, your fake death, I guess. I know they tried to hide it, but I could always tell that my birthday was hard for them, because it was, or it is, your birthday, too.”

There was a moment where Jack didn’t speak, and Harry frowned, trying to figure out how he was supposed to respond to that, but then Jack continued.

“I just want to say sorry.”

“Sorry?”

“I guess I don’t need to now, but I always said that if I could talk to you, I would apologize,” Jack said quietly, looking down at his hands, “We never really knew for sure what happened that night, because mum and dad were unconscious, but Dumbledore always said that… that your body was disintegrated, like Voldemort’s, by whatever backlash happened when he tried to kill me. And… and Dumbledore said that Voldemort probably had already killed you, but I just… I never knew if it was my fault or not. Like, what if whatever I did killed you.”

“But I’m alive,” Harry said with a frown.

“I know that now,” Jack stressed. He looked up suddenly, and Harry’s eyes widened at the sight of him crying, “But I always wondered...and now you’re alive, and I don’t even know what to think anymore.”

Harry didn’t respond for a moment. He sat down next to Jack on the bed, frowning, trying to wrap his head around what he was being told. Guilt had not been a thing that Dudley had even possessed, and here Jack was feeling guilty over something that hadn’t even happened.

“Even if you had,” Harry finally said, “That wouldn’t have been your fault. You were a baby, right? You couldn’t control what happened.”

“You sound like mum,” Jack mumbled.

“I understand, though,” Harry said, “My aunt- er, I guess our aunt - always said my parents died in a car accident, and I-”

“What?”

“Yeah, they did. And Dudley, our cousin, he used to tease me about it. He would say that I probably caused the accident.”

“That’s dumb,” Jack frowned, “You were a baby. And a car crash wouldn’t kill mum and dad!”

“Exactly,” Harry arched an eyebrow at him, causing Jack to huff.

“Why did they say it was a car crash?” Jack asked curiously.

Harry shrugged. He hadn’t really thought about that, too caught up with the million other things that he had to think about recently.

“Well, they hated magic, apparently, so they were probably trying to think of something believable, and they were under the impression that they were dead. I guess they figured a car accident would explain my scar.”

He lifted up his fringe, and Jack’s jaw dropped, staring at his forehead in wonder.

“No fair,” Jack whined, “I want a cool scar!”

Harry laughed, loud and light, and Jack beamed at him.

Definitely not Dudley.

While Jack and Harry were talking in Harry’s room, Lily and James were having a conversation of their own behind a privacy charm in their room.

“I want him dead, James.”

“I know, Lils. I do, too.”

“He took our baby.”

“I know.”

“He lied. He told us he was dead. We grieved for nearly ten years.”

“We did.”

“Sirius nearly went crazy with grief! He was in Azkaban for three days after he went after Pettigrew before we got him out! All because he thought Harry had died!”

“He’s better now.”

“And Dumbledore left Harry with Petunia. Petunia! I just know she mistreated him, James. I can tell.”

“I know.”

It wasn’t hard to figure out. James had seen the way Harry had flinched when someone touched him or moved too quickly. He had seen the rags the boy was wearing, and he could tell that he was skinny and malnourished underneath his clothes. And he knew what Petunia thought of them. Dumbledore did, too.

“We’re going to figure this out,” James said softly to his wife, catching her arm as she paced in front of him. She stopped and turned to him with fire in her green eyes, “As much as I want to go to Hogwarts right now and kill him, you know we can’t. It’s Dumbledore.”

“He kidnapped our son.”

“Yes, but he’s also extremely powerful and influential,” James reminded her softly, “Trying to kill him would either end with us dead or in Azkaban, and I doubt we could defeat him in any kind of legal battle since he is Head of the Wizengemot.”

“So what do we do? Nothing?” Lily demanded.

“‘Course not. But we have to do this rationally. And that’s where I need your help, because you know I’m not rational,” he said with a wry grin.

There was a pause, and then Lily deflated. She slumped down on the bed beside him and buried her head into his shoulder. Her body trembled, and he wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close.

“You’re right. When did that happen?”

“I have my moments,” he said, “Really, I’m more surprised that you admitted it.”

She rolled her eyes and shoved his shoulder slightly before holding his hand and squeezing.

“Wasn’t it me who used to have to talk you down from acting recklessly?”

“That was before I became an auror and got responsibility.”

“Oh, is that what you got?”

“Hardy-har-har,” James smirked before continuing, “But seriously, Lils. We’ve got to do something, but we have to make sure that whatever we do doesn’t lead to more problems down the road.”

“We have to act a little less like a Gryffindor, and a little more like a Slytherin,” Lily mumbled.

James wrinkled his nose at such a suggestion, but he didn’t deny it.

“And in the meantime, we need to focus on the kids,” he said, “Especially Harry. Which reminds me. We need to set up an appointment with a healer for a check-up for him.”

“I want that scar looked at,” Lily agreed quietly, “I don’t… I can’t stop thinking about it.”

“You think it could be causing him problems?”

“No. Well, maybe,” Lily frowned, “We should probably pay attention to that. But… I don’t trust Dumbledore, and I want to make sure that it is nothing to worry about.”

The look on her face said that there was more to it, but James didn’t push.

“He’s going to be okay, Lils,” James said, “He’s home. He’s safe.”

Lily hummed in agreement, but she didn’t seem so sure.

Chapter Text

Had Harry not been so exhausted, he doubted he would have been able to fall asleep in the unfamiliar room. As it was, he had fallen asleep shortly after his talk with Jack and slept through the night.

He woke up early the next morning, as always. The clock on the wall read 5:35. Harry wasn’t sure when James and Lily woke up, but he figured he should make sure breakfast was ready before they did.

He made his way to the kitchen quietly, careful not to wake anyone up. Once he arrived, he took a few moments to familiarize himself with the kitchen before pulling out the ingredients to make pancakes. 

He was only halfway done when he heard a voice from behind him.

“What’re you doing?”

He jumped, nearly spilling the flour, and spun around to see Violet in lilac pajamas standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching him with confused eyes.

“Making breakfast,” Harry answered cautiously, “Sorry. I thought I would be done before anyone woke up.”

“We’re going to Diagon Alley today. I couldn’t sleep,” Violet answered. She hopped up into a stool by the counter, peering at the bowl of pancake mix, “I’m not allowed to cook unless mum or dad is in here with me.”

Harry frowned, but he supposed it made sense. Dudley was never allowed to cook without Petunia, either, though Dudley never wanted to cook anyway.

“It’s my job,” he said with a shrug, “I make breakfast. You like pancakes, right?”

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded, swinging her feet, “With strawberries. Can I help?”

Harry paused, looking over at her with wide green eyes. She didn’t seem like she had asked anything odd, but Harry was having trouble wrapping his head around the request. No one had ever helped Harry with cooking. Not since he was five and Petunia decided he could do it by himself without burning the house down. If Petunia cooked something herself, which was rarer and rarer the older he got, he was not to bother her.

Cooking was a solitary activity, one that he had long-since learned to enjoy, at least when he had the kitchen to himself.

“Didn’t you say you aren’t allowed to cook without your mum or dad in here?”

“Oh, you’re right,” Violet said. She hopped off the stool, “I’ll be right back.”

She took off down the hall. Harry watched, stomach clenching in panic.

“Wait!” he hissed, but he was too late. Violet was already down the hall, undoubtedly going to wake up either James or Lily… or both.

He was going to be in so much trouble. They wouldn’t like being woken up so early.

He shouldn’t have said anything. He should have just let Violet join him and not told James and Lily. But then, they would have been mad that he broke a rule. He probably would have gotten in trouble for that, too. He would have to get up earlier here than the Dursley’s, if he wanted to get his chores done without a problem.

It didn’t take long until Violet returned, skipping down the hallway with a very confused Lily behind her.

“I’m sorry,” he said immediately, “I didn’t want to wake you.”

“We’re making pancakes,” Violet simply chirped, hopping back up on the stool, “But we’re not allowed to cook without you or dad, so…”

She trailed off, and Harry furrowed his eyebrows at her for a moment, confused at his inclusion in that statement.

“It looks like you got started without me,” Lily said. She didn’t seem mad, simply confused. Her eyes scanned across the kitchen table, from the ingredients to Violet and finally to Harry himself, “You know how to make pancakes.”

He gave a timid nod and shoved his hands in his pockets to hide the fact that they were shaking. 

“You know, if you were hungry, you could have come and gotten me, Harry,” Lily said gently.

Okay, now he was really confused. 

“I wanted to finish breakfast by the time you woke up,” he said, “So you didn’t have to wait.”

Realization flooded onto Lily’s face, and Harry frowned. Did she not realize that Harry was going to make breakfast? Oh, she probably didn’t. She had no way of knowing what chores were Harry’s. He should have realized that.

“Oh, making breakfast is my job,” he said helpfully, “One of my chores. Is it… is it someone else’s job here?”

“Well, usually mine,” Lily said in a strained voice before coughing. Her voice sounded much more relaxed when she continued, “I probably should have gone over chores with you yesterday. I didn’t even think about it. Well, here, we are big on cleaning up after ourselves, so that means keeping your room clean, washing your dishes, and picking up after yourselves.”

“That’s it?” Harry frowned.

“You might get asked to help your father or me with something, like laundry or other cleaning around the house, or even cooking, but those aren’t set chores, and I prefer cooking to be done with an adult present,” Lily said, “What kind of chores did you do with your aunt and uncle?”

Harry didn’t answer right away, trying to figure out if it was a trick question or not. He wasn’t sure how they kept their house clean if all Harry was supposed to do was keep his own space clean. Their house definitely looked clean, even if it wasn’t as pristine as Harry kept the Dursley’s.

“Um, I cook breakfast and lunch every day,” Harry finally answered, deciding that it was best to be honest, “Dinner, too, but only if we don’t have company over. Aunt Petunia cooks, then. Oh, and I do dishes, of course. I also clean the living room, kitchen, and bathroom every day. I clean Dudley’s rooms once a week, but I’m not allowed in Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon’s room, so Aunt Petunia cleans it. I also weed the garden and clean Uncle Vernon’s car twice a week. And I do the laundry on Wednesdays. Oh, and… ironing…”

He trailed off, noting that Lily was looking particularly pale the longer he went on.

“And what does your cousin do?” Lily asked, sounding choked.

“Dudley? Why would he have chores?” Harry frowned, “Uh, he does his homework. I used to do it for him, but our teacher recognized my handwriting when we were eight, so I don’t do that anymore.”

“I see,” Lily said evenly, “And why do you have to do all those chores?”

“I have to earn my keep,” he said, as if it was obvious, “I don’t have any money, you see, so I can’t pay rent.”

“Oh, dear Merlin,” Lily breathed out. She closed her eyes, looking like she was near tears. 

Harry looked over at Violet, alarmed, but the girl was frowning at him, as if she couldn’t quite figure him out.

“Harry,” Lily finally said, calming herself down, “You don’t have to earn your keep. You’re a child. Helping around the house is nice, but it certainly is not a prerequisite for you to live somewhere. And certainly not that amount of chores. Merlin, Harry, you’re not a house elf.”

“Like Kinsy?” he perked up at that, recognizing the word.

She gave a small nod and placed a hand on his shoulder, squeezing it.

“What Petunia and her husband did was wrong,” she whispered, “It was not your job to be their servant, okay? And we will not treat you like that. Your job is to be a kid. We’re supposed to take care of you, not the other way around. Do you understand?”

He frowned and nodded, even though he wasn’t sure he did. This was a weird family.

Lily relaxed, but she still didn’t seem happy. Regardless, she forced a smile on her face and beckoned both Harry and Violet forward to the pancake mix.

“Well, why don’t we make breakfast together?”

Breakfast with his family was an odd and frankly awkward affair. Harry had picked at his pancakes nervously, tense and worried, unsure of what he was or wasn’t allowed to do or say. He had been surprised by the amount of pancakes that he had been allowed, and was feeling quite stuffed not even halfway through the plate, despite refusing the many different toppings that Lily had offered.

Violet had no such qualms and absolutely covered her food in strawberries. Jack, when he finally rolled out of bed and stumbled to the breakfast table with even worse bed hair than Harry, topped his similarly. While Violet talked cheerfully with Lily and James, Jack didn’t speak, preferring to stare at his food with glazed eyes as he ate, leaving Harry unsure what was expected of him.

It wasn’t until about an hour after breakfast, when Jack seemed to cheer up a bit, that Lily leaned over to whisper to Harry that Jack wasn’t a morning person.

Shortly afterwards, Harry, along with Jack and Violet, was instructed to get ready to go shopping. It took him all of five minutes to change into one of his new outfits that he had gotten the night before and brush his teeth, and he spent the next thirty waiting on everyone else.

Before they left, though, James pulled him aside and held out what looked to be a locket with several odd markings along the gold exterior.

“I would like you to wear this while we’re out, Harry,” James said, “Jack and Violet have one as well. This has several protection charms on it to keep you safe. It also has a tracking spell on it, so we can find you if we get separated.”

“Is that likely?” Harry frowned.

“Well, no,” James hesitated, “I’m not sure how much Dumbledore told you about us, Harry, but you know that your brother is…” he trailed off.

“The Boy-Who-Lived,” Harry said, echoing the phrase he had heard.

James grimaced, as if he hated that phrase. Now that Harry thought about it, it probably wasn’t a nice name to give to a child whose twin just died. 

And I’m the Boy-Who-Died, Harry thought, almost bitterly.

He blinked at the thought, surprised, and quickly reminded himself that he shouldn’t appear ungrateful. It was a miracle that he even had a family. He wasn’t going to ruin it.

“Yes, well, that,” James said, “Jack, and the whole family by association, is kind of a celebrity. It’s almost a given that we’ll be recognized, so just in case.”

He thought about that dark wizard that Dumbledore had mentioned. What was his name again? Moldy-wart? He had wanted to hurt his family, to kill them. It stood to reason that others would do the same.

Diagon Alley suddenly seemed less attractive.

“But you don’t need to worry about that,” James said quickly, noticing the look on his face, “Your mother and I will be by your side the entire time.”

Harry was quick to find out that James had not been kidding. They used the fireplace again to travel, which Harry still found bizarre, but this time, they were much more careful about it. James travelled through first, calling out the words “The Leaky Cauldron,” and Lily refused to let any of them follow until she received a message from James that it was clear.

The message ended up being a brilliant white stag that appeared in the room and spoke in James’ voice.

“All clear. Send them through.”

As Jack hopped into the fireplace, Harry stared at the space where the stag had disappeared, eyes wide in fascination.

“Patronus,” Violet chirped helpfully, “Beautiful spell, isn’t it? Mum and dad use it a lot to communicate.” 

He nodded, a bit dazed. It seemed like there was a never-ending catalogue of new things to find out.

When it was his turn to use the floo, he almost panicked, but he refused to disappoint Lily. So, instead of backing out at the last minute, he clenched his chin, threw down the powder, and shouted, “The Leaky Cauldron.”

He knew what to expect now, but it didn’t make it any easier. He stumbled out of the fireplace and nearly fell flat on his face once more, dizzy and disoriented. When strong arms attempted to steady him, he pulled away quickly.

“There you go, Harry,” James said, an odd note to his voice. He didn’t attempt to touch Harry again, but he hovered nearby nervously, “Feeling nauseous? Flooring can be a chore the first few times.”

He shook his head, even though he did feel a bit queasy. Instead, he forced himself to look around the pub that they had appeared in, ignoring the feeling until it went away.

At first glance, the pub looked normal, if a bit dark and shabby. Besides the fireplace that spit people out, there didn’t seem to be anything… freaky about the place. It wasn’t until his eyes drifted onto the pub’s occupants that the magical aspect of the pub became clear. He could see an elderly man seeming to stir his tea by waving his wand around it, and a young woman was reading a newspaper with moving pictures on it. 

BOY-WHO-DIED ALIVE , the newspaper title read, showing a moving picture of two twin babies that he suddenly realized must be himself and Jack.

Well, Jack hadn’t been wrong about the name. The Wizarding World really wasn’t creative.  

“Well, I’ll be,” an elderly man from behind a counter said from nearby, catching Harrys’ attention, “The papers weren’t lying this time. Were they, James?”

“The papers?” James said, a dark undertone in his voice. He gestured them forward as he approached the man, “You know I don’t read the Daily Prophet anymore, Tom. What’re they saying?”

Tom pushed a copy of the paper over the counter towards James.

“I didn’t quite believe it myself,” he said, his gaze falling over to Harry, “Couldn’t believe you would send away your son like that.”

“We didn’t,” James growled, glaring down at the paper like it personally offended him.

The floo flared up again, and Harry glanced back to see Lily step out, rounding out the group. She frowned at the sight of James’ face and seemed to glide across the pub’s floor to the newspaper. One look at it had anger flooding across her face.

“Well, I never-” she cut herself off, eyes skimming the article rapidly, “Should have known Dumbledore would try something like this.”

“Dumbledore?” Tom asked.

“Running to the press to twist things his way, as always,” Lily scathed, but she seemed to calm down when Violet tugged at her robes, looking confused, “Never mind, though. It’s not important. What’s important is that Harry is home. Harry, this is Tom. He’s the innkeeper here at the Leaky Cauldron.”

Harry timidly held out his hand to shake, muttering a quiet, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.” 

“Ah, manners!” Tom said, glancing up at James with a grin, “I can see that you didn’t raise this one.”

Harry glanced up at James, confused, but the man simply grimaced.

“Dad,” Jack tugged on James’ robes impatiently, “Dad, come on. I want to get my wand.”

“Okay, Jack. Just hold on a second,” James said, turning back to Tom. He topped the newspaper in front of him, “Mind letting people you see know not to believe everything they read in this thing? Harry is alive, but I promise you that if we had known that, he would have been with us.”

Once Tom had agreed, though Harry could tell he wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to, Violet grabbed onto Harry’s arm and practically yanked him over to a nearby wall.

“Come on, mum. Do the thing,” she cried excitedly.

For as many times as Violet told Harry they had been to Diagon Alley, they definitely seemed much more excited to go than he was. He was already squirming in his shoes just at the way the few nearby people were watching them.

Violet pointed at the bricks on the wall as Lily tapped them in an intricate order.

He jumped back as the wall opened up, revealing a most colorful and magical alleyway on the inside.

“Come on,” Violet exclaimed, tugging Harry on through it. He stopped only to make sure his parents and Jack were following before continuing along with her.

Diagon Alley was simply amazing. As Harry was dragged along, he found his eyes drinking in the multitude of shops selling everything from potion cauldrons to robes to actual broomsticks. Violet, who seemed to have donned herself Harry’s personal encyclopedia on all things wizards, rambled about each of the shops they passed with such enthusiasm that he couldn’t even keep up.

So enraptured by the sight, it took him a while to realize how many people were staring at them as they passed. Nearly every eye swivelled to meet them, and a few people even called out greetings, though no one dared approach. If he strained his hearing, he could hear some whispers erupting from those nearby.

“Can you believe he’s alive?”

“Heard his parents abandoned him ‘cause they thought he was a squib.”

“Imagine being the brother to the Boy-Who-Lived! I’m not sure whether to envy him or pity him.”

He grimaced and pulled closer to his parents. When he had realized that Jack was so famous, he hadn’t realized that he would get any attention. He supposed coming back from the dead would do that, but he hoped that it went away soon.

“Ollivander’s first,” Jack practically demanded, pointing up at the shop ahead. At Lily’s look, he corrected himself, somewhat impishly, “Please?”

“But I want to go see the cats,” Violet whined.

Oh, this would be difficult. Harry frowned, fiddling nervously with the hem of his shirt as his eyes flicked between Jack and Violet. Growing up with Dudley, he was used to his cousin always getting his way, and Harry never dared counter it. It only made sense that Jack would get his way, since he was the Boy-Who-Lived, but Violet definitely seemed to believe she had some sway as well. He hoped Violet didn’t get into too much trouble.

To Harry’s surprise, neither James nor Lily looked angry about it. Instead, he watched closely as James grimaced and glanced over at Lily.

“How about you take the boys to get their wands?” He said to her, “I’ll occupy Violet. I wanted to do some… shopping anyway.”

He glanced at Harry when he said that, but Harry couldn’t figure out what he meant by that. Regardless, hearing the suggestion that he would be able to go get his wand had his hands shaking. He stuffed them in his pockets to hide them and looked away.

He couldn’t help but think about what Dumbledore had said. He was basically a squib. What if the wands didn’t work for him? Would James and Lily kick him out for not having magic?

He licked his lips and tried not to think too much about that as Lily gestured for him and Jack to follow her towards a nearby store.

Ollivander’s was more amazing than Harry could ever imagine. He stared with wide eyes at the multitude of brightly-colored little boxes that seemed to cover every square inch of the walls. An elderly man with pale, silvery eyes approached them, his eyes scanning from Jack to Harry with not an ounce of surprise.

"Ah yes. Yes, yes. I thought I’d be seeing the two of you soon. Jack and Harry Potter. You have your mother’s eyes, Harry. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work,” Ollivander said, a serene smile on his face, as if he had been waiting for just this moment, “And Jack. Spitting image of your father. Eleven inches, pliable, made of Mahogany. Excellent wand for transfiguration. Will Mr. Potter be joining us today?”

“He is off with Violet,” Lily said. Unlike the stern glares she had sent at the few people Harry had seen attempting to approach them, she had a warm smile for Ollivander. She seemed to be expecting his dialogue, even though the specifics were startling to Harry.

“Ah, very well. I suppose that is for the best. She still has two more years until she receives her own wand, correct?”

Lily nodded.

“Well, which one would like to go first?” Ollivander asked Harry and Jack.

Harry licked his lips and glanced over at Jack, but the boy wasn’t even looking at him. A wide grin spread across his face as he jumped forward.

“Ooh, me!” he exclaimed. He puffed out his chest, looking every bit as confident as Harry wasn’t, “Give me your best.”

Ollivander nodded, an almost-amused look on his face as he moved away.

“Now, remember. The wand chooses the wizard… it’s not always clear why.”

Harry glanced uncertainly up at Lily, not quite sure what that meant, but she was watching Jack eagerly. A measuring tape was now floating in the air, and Ollivander was watching carefully as he measured the length of Jack’s arms.

“Now, let’s try this one,” Ollivander said, handing Jack a wand, “Twelve inches, made of Ebony wood and a unicorn hair core. Good for dueling.”

The moment Jack’s hand touched the wand, a bit of an explosion erupted from behind them. Harry jumped back, spinning around to see that several wands had been knocked off the shelf. Shaking his head, Ollivander quickly plucked the wand out of Jack’s hand.

“No, no. Not that one,” he muttered to himself, silver eyes scanning the wall quickly, “Try this one. Nine and half inches, made of cypress wood and phoenix feather core.”

Another, smaller explosion seemed to knock Harry and Lily back a few feet. Lily grasped onto Harry’s shoulders, but she was laughing good-naturedly. Obviously, this was not unexpected.

“Ah, no, definitely not,” Ollivander said with a shake of his head. He hummed softly to himself, obviously deep in thought. Harry wondered, briefly, what exactly went into the decision he was making. 

Ollivander brandished another one, this one long and slender.

“Ah, let’s try this one here. Twelve inches long, made of dogwood, and containing a dragon heartstring core. Relatively springy, too, and good for charms.”

The moment Jack’s hand touched the wand, brilliant red and gold sparks flew from the tip. The grin that appeared on his brother’s face told Harry all he needed to know. This was the one for him.

“Ah, yes!” Ollivander said with a grin on his face, “I always love pairing a dogwood wand. It doesn’t happen often, but the owners do make for the most entertaining witches and wizards I’ve ever met. It isn’t the type of wand I was expecting to pair you with when you walked through the door, but it is a good wand nonetheless.”

Jack held the wand in the air excitedly, waving it to show Lily.

“Look, mum! Look! Just like Uncle Sirius!”

“I see,” she said with a beaming smile, looking incredibly proud, “You’ll have to show him when he gets off work later.”

Ollivander’s eyes had drifted over to Harry, and he squirmed with nervous anticipation. He doubted he could do anything like what Jack had done, and he was unsure that any wand in this shop would even work for him. He was probably barely a wizard, after all.

He stepped forward and stood rigidly as Ollivander performed several measurements on him as well. He kept searching out Lily with his eyes, and despite her attention continuously being drawn to Jack and his wand, she was obviously paying attention.

HIs hands shook as Ollivander handed him the first wand. 

BANG! Harry jumped as, similar to Jack, several wands flew off the shelf. He stared wide-eyed at the sight, barely reacting as Ollivander plucked the wand from his hand.

“Certainly not,” the man muttered, “Try this one.”

The second wand was plucked from his hand moments later, and then the third, then the fourth. Harry’s excitement over being able to do any sort of magic was quickly dwindling the longer it went on. It seemed like every wand handed over to Harry didn’t work right, seeming to wreck Ollivander’s shop with each little explosion.

“Difficult. Very difficult,” Ollivander said softly. Unlike Harry, though, he didn’t seem discouraged in the slightest.

What if there wasn’t a wand for him? Would he be able to go to Hogwarts without a wand? He doubted it.

“Don’t worry, Harry,” Lily said softly, placing a firm, reassuring hand on his shoulder. She must have noticed the nervous look on his face, “You’ll find it.”

Harry gave a short nod and let his eyes trail back over to Ollivander, who was pondering over a wand.

“Hmm,” he said, glancing back at him with quizzical eyes, “Let’s try this one.”

The wand he held out was eleven inches, made of holly, and contained a phoenix feather for the core. The moment Harry’s fingers wrapped around it, a flurry of beautiful red sparks flew out of the tip, and a warm feeling spread throughout his body. He grinned, somehow knowing that this was his wand. 

From the side, he heard Lily clapping, and he looked at her with a grin.

“Ah, I dare say you’ve found your match,” Ollivander said, but there was an odd look in his eye as he stared at the wand, “Curious.”

Harry glanced back at him.

“What’s curious?” he found himself asking.

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander said, watching him closely, “It so happens that the phoenix whose tailfeather resides in your wand gave another feather... just one other. It is curious that you should be destined for this wand when its brother gave you that scar.”

His eyes had darted up to Harry’s forehead, and he used his wand to gently move some of the hair out of the way to see it. 

Startled, Harry took a step back and quickly flattened his hair down over the scar. 

“Mr. Ollivander,” Lily said sharply, quickly placing a hand on Harry’s shoulder. He jumped and looked up at her with wide eyes, trying to figure out exactly what it meant that his wand contained the brother core to the man who had tried to kill his family.

“Curious indeed how these things happen,” Ollivander continued, ignoring Lily’s obvious attempt to quiet him, “The wand chooses the wizard, remember...I think we must expect great things from you, Mr. Potter... After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.”

“That’s quite enough,” Lily said, moving to step in front of Harry, “I would like to pay now.”

She was angry; that much was certain. He wasn’t sure why, but he glanced at Jack, searching for answers. His brother seemed oblivious to it, though, and instead was craning his neck to get a good look at Harry’s wand.

“Wicked,” he breathed out when Harry held it out so he could see. He brandished his own, silently comparing them.

It didn’t take long for Lily to pay, and then the two of them were quickly ushered out of the shop.

“Don’t pay that man any mind, Harry,” Lily said as they walked, “He can be a bit oblivious. He should know better than to bring such things up. Besides, the core of your wand says nothing as to what type of wizard you will be, just that you will be powerful, which we already knew.”

She said it so casually, as if it was a given, and Harry looked up at her with furrowed eyebrows.

“How do you know that?” he asked curiously, following in place beside her with Jack just up ahead, leading them to the nearby bookstore, “Dumbledore thought I was a squib.”

Lily’s face twisted at the mention of Dumbledore. She shook her head.

“I don’t know what was going through that man’s head,” she said, “You and Jack were doing accidental magic by the time you were ten months old, which is quite early for children. Your father and I always knew that the two of you were going to be great.”

She stopped then, turning so that she could look into his eyes. 

“And even if you were a squib, that wouldn’t have changed anything. I hope you understand that. If we had known what Dumbledore did, we would have stopped at nothing to bring you home.”

There was nothing else for him to do except nod as a flush graced his cheeks. The intensity in her voice told Harry all he needed to know. She was telling the truth.

The rest of the trip was nowhere near as eventful as getting their wands, but it was still fascinating. He stuck close to Lily, purposefully avoiding the stares, as they bought school textbooks and other strange equipment like cauldrons and telescopes. Harry was, at first, worried about how they were supposed to carry everything, but Lily used a spell to shrink it all down and place it in a little bag that she carried.

“Handy,” he said, watching as the multitude of textbooks that he and Jack had to buy slipped into her bag.

Shopping for robes was fascinating, as well. Harry was used to getting Dudley’s hand-me-downs, so he was surprised when the witch started doing measurements on him to get the right size.

“Oh, ugh,” Jack grimaced from beside Harry. He gestured with his arm towards the door, leading to the witch to chastise him for moving while she was taking measurements, “Malfoy. I can’t believe he’s going to be in our year.”

Harry glanced over to see a tall, pale man with long blonde hair and elegant green and black robes enter the store. At his side, a boy about their age, looking every bit a carbon-copy of his father, entered with him. The man sneered at the sight of them, though the boy didn’t seem to notice them yet. 

“Now, Jack,” Lily said, her voice soft enough that only they could hear her, “Remember what we talked about. No judging students based on their families. Remember your Uncle Sirius?”

“That’s different. I met Malfoy when I was at Uncle Severus’,” Jack argued, “He’s a right git.”

Uncle Severus. Harry strained his memory of the night before and connected that name with the dark, imposing man who had given him the dragon hide gloves. 

“Mind your manners, Jack,” Lily frowned.

The man and his son seemed to be approaching them. Harry didn’t miss the way Lily tensed, her hand flicking towards her wand.

“Mrs. Potter,” the man nodded at Lily stiffly, “I see the rumors are true.”

“Not all of them, Mr. Malfoy,” she said, her tone forcibly polite, “But they did have a bit of truth.”

The boy was watching them now. He regarded Harry curiously, but his eyes were sharp and calculating, and Harry got the distinct impression that the boy was assessing his worth.

“Ah, so it seems,” the man spared a glance toward Harry before looking back up at Lily, “Your family is full of miracles .”

He sneered the last word, looking like he wished to say a million different words in that place.

“So it is,” Lily said coolly.

“I believe your son- Ah, pardon me, sons- will be at Hogwarts this year. Am I correct?”

Lily nodded.

“Same year as my Draco,” Mr. Malfoy nodded down at his son, who seemed to preen under his attention. He squeezed the boy’s shoulder, “I do hope they won’t be strangers.”

Harry was pretty sure that statement was meant more for Draco than them. He watched as the boy’s face twisted lightly before settling. He nodded.

From beside him, Jack scoffed.

“Something wrong, Mr. Potter?” Mr. Malfoy’s eyes turned to Jack.

Jack looked as if he was about to say something, but at the sharp look Lily sent his way, he shook his head.

“Just something caught in my throat, sir.”

“Hmm,” Mr. Malfoy turned, “Well, I can see that they are busy here at the moment. Draco, come.”

Busy seemed to be an overstatement, as Jack and Harry were the only two getting robes fitted at the moment, but he was all too glad when they walked out.

“Oh, that Malfoy is going to be a pain,” Jack growled once the two were gone, “Did you see the look on his face? Arrogant prat.”

Lily sighed, but she did not say anything to rebuke Jack this time.

Personally, Harry thought it was hard to really know for certain what kind of character this Malfoy kid was when he hadn’t even spoken, but he hadn’t liked the way he had looked at him. It was like Harry was a bug under a microscope.

“Not so talkative around his father, too,” Jack muttered angrily. He stuck out his chin, “You’ll know what I mean when you meet him at Hogwarts, but take my word for it and don’t trust a word he says.”

It didn’t take long for the witches to have their school uniforms tailored and ready to go. Once everything was ordered, shrunken, and tucked away in Lily’s bag, the three of them made their way out of the alley and back towards the Leaky Cauldron, where they met James and Violet for lunch. 

Harry had never eaten in a restaurant before. The Dursley’s often went out to eat, but Harry was left at home when they did. He never minded, particularly if his cupboard was left unlocked, as it gave him some time alone, but he had always wondered what it would be like to go with them.

Not entirely sure how to pick what meal he wanted out of the list, he followed Jack’s example and ordered fish and chips, as well as a glass of something called pumpkin juice.

As it turned out, pumpkin juice was delicious.

By the time they got home, Harry was brimming with elation. He had a wand. He actually could do magic. Dumbledore really had just made a mistake when Harry was a baby. He wasn’t a squib.

He was a wizard.

“When do we go to Hogwarts?” he asked Jack while James and Lily worked on unshrinking the items they bought.

“September 1st,” Jack answered, “One month from today.”

“No fair,” Violet pouted, crossing her arms over her chest, “I want to go to Hogwarts.”

“Just two more years, Vi,” James spoke up from nearby. He was enlarging what looked to be a trunk.

“Two more years!” she cried.

“You can still visit us whenever you want,” Jack insisted.

“Yeah, I’m sure Jack and Harry will come to my quarters every now and then,” Lily added.

At Harry’s confused look, Jack quickly piped up.

“Mum teaches Muggle Studies at Hogwarts. We actually live at Hogwarts a lot of the time, but not in the summer or over the holidays. So Violet still gets to go to Hogwarts,” he said pointedly to their sister, “So she doesn’t need to complain.”

“It’s not the same and you know it!” Violet stomped her foot, “I can’t even ride the train with you!”

“Ginny and Luna can’t even come to Hogwarts until next year. They have to wait until they’re eleven,” Jack pointed out, an annoyed scowl on his face, “Stop being a baby.”

“Jack Evan Potter. You know how hard it was for you staying at Hogwarts and not being able to actually attend. Be good,” Lily chastised.

Harry’s mouth dropped open in surprised, green eyes flicking from the pout on Jack’s face to Lily’s stern expression. Dudley would have never gotten lectured if he was being mean. Maybe he was wrong about who the favorite was.

But no, Violet wasn’t the favorite either.

“And you need to remember that just as Jack and Harry waited until they were eleven to attend Hogwarts, so can you,” Lily said to Violet. 

She nodded petulantly, but she didn’t argue back as Dudley would.

Huh.

“Good,” Lily nodded, “Now, why don’t you two show Harry the backyard? I’m sure your father will be out in a few minutes to go flying with you.”

She glanced at James, who perked up at the mention of flying. He nodded and started to enlarge his items quicker than before.

Jack grabbed Harry’s hand and dragged him outside.

As it turned out, flying meant flying on broomsticks. Jack definitely already had tons of practice, as the moment James was outside with the brooms, he had taken his and took off, flying around the backyard.

“These are trainer brooms,” James explained to Harry, holding one out to him, “You’ll learn to fly on a real broom at Hogwarts, but these will do for now. You can’t go higher than three meters in the air on them, and you can fly much faster on a real broom.”

He taught Harry how to call the broom into his hand, and then he cheered for a good minute when the broom hopped up the moment Harry said “up.”

They stayed outside for several hours, with James coaching Harry through how to properly ride a broom while Jack flew circles around them and Violet chased frogs in the garden.

Flying was… exhilarating. James said that he was a natural, and it certainly felt natural to fly around the backyard and feel the wind in his face. When he watched James fly up much higher than his broom would allow and whip around the yard at much faster speeds, he couldn’t help but yearn to already be at Hogwarts where he could learn to do just that.

He was disappointed when Lily called them inside for dinner, but the disappointment didn’t last long. 

Sirius was sitting at the table, and at his feet sat a multitude of presents piled almost as high as him.

“Whoa,” Jack breathed out at the sight. 

Sirius stood, a wide grin on his face.

“I wasn’t able to get many presents yesterday with everything going on, so I thought I’d come by with them,” he announced. He picked up a few from the top, “These are yours Jack. I had already gotten them several days ago, and I had meant to grab them from my flat before the party.”

Jack grabbed the gifts and quickly took a seat at the table. Harry looked at the pile that remained. It was huge.

Sirius looked nervous.

“I missed nine birthdays and Christmases,” he said to Harry, “So I hope this makes up for it.”

The pile probably had as many presents in it as Dudley got for his birthday. His feet felt stuck to the floor as he stared at the man, shocked. Those were for Harry?

Just two days ago, he thought that the most he would get for his birthday was some dirty socks. This… this was too much.

“You’re going to spoil the lad, Padfoot,” James said, but there was a grin on his face. He ruffled Harry’s hair and gave him a gentle shove towards the gifts.

“That’s the plan, mate. I had ten years to spoil Jack and nine to spoil Violet. Gotta make up for it.”

Harry stepped forward, unsure as to what to say. His stomach twisted with uncertainty. Surely this was a trick. There was no way someone had bought that many gifts for him . 

But apparently, they had.

“Come here, Harry,” Sirius said, gesturing him forward, “Which one do you want to open first?”

Harry stared at the presents. There were so many. He wasn’t sure how he was supposed to choose. He cleared his throat.

“These are really mine?”

“Of course,” Sirius said, “For yesterday, and for all of the birthdays and holidays that I’ve missed.”

“You really didn’t have to do that,” he said weakly.

“If you knew how many gifts he gives Jack and Violet, you would disagree,” Lily said.

Harry swallowed before taking one of the gifts and sliding down into the seat beside Jack. He peeled the paper off and found himself looking at a book called Quidditch Through the Ages. 

Now that Harry had an inkling of an idea of what Quidditch was, and especially now that he knew how fun it was to ride a broom, he was eager to learn more about it. He flipped through the first few pages, but then he remembered how many other gifts he still needed to open, so he set it to the side.

“Thank you,” he said honestly, offering the man a grin.

“There’s more where that came from,” Sirius said, handing him another gift.

This one turned out to be a penknife with several attachments on it that could apparently open any lock. Sirius grinned at Harry when he opened it, saying that it would be useful at Hogwarts, which led to Lily lecturing Sirius about corrupting her children.

The presents kept coming, though. By the time he finished, Harry owned a remembrall, which apparently glowed red if he forgot something, a practice snitch that was apparently used in Quidditch, a box of treats from a store called HoneyDukes, several books about the wizarding word, a hippogriff figurine that actually moved, something called a sneakoscope that could warn him of danger (which Jack already owned, and apparently kept on him at all times), and a pair of dress robes. Sirius had also bought him several prank items, such as something called dungbombs, but these had caused Sirius to get another lecture, so Harry wasn’t sure he would use them. 

By the time he finished opening presents, he was exhausted, but of course James decided to mention that he had bought some stuff while he and Violet had been off in Diagon Alley. That trunk Harry had seen was for him to take to Hogwarts, and he also gave him some treats for Hedwig, a book on how to care for owls, and a bottle of Sleakeazy , which apparently was the only thing he had ever found that would tame the Potter hair. 

“Should be up to date now on belongings,” James said with a warm grin. He ruffled his hair and grinned even wider when Harry didn’t pull away, “At least on your necessities.”

Harry almost said that this was a lot more than necessities, but he decided not to. Instead, he just gave out another shaky, “Thank you.”

He hesitated for a moment before leaning into Sirius to give him a hug. Unlike with James and Lily, he hadn’t hugged his godfather yet.

The man jumped but let out a pleased sound and quickly hugged him back. 

“I am so happy to be your godfather,” he whispered into his ear.

“Me too,” Harry murmured back.

Chapter Text

Harry had never been to the doctor before. He had been to the nurse at school a few times when he was sick or hurt after Dudley had caught him on the playground, but that was as far into medical care that he ever got. He was usually told to toughen up when he was sick and continue about his day or, if it was really bad and Petunia and Vernon didn’t want Dudley to catch it, he was locked in his cupboard until he was better. 

The idea of a check-up was simply preposterous. Check-ups were something that children like Dudley got. Not Harry. 

The Wizarding World must do things differently, because not even two weeks after Harry moved in with his parents, he was following them into a small, quaint little building that, according to James, was invisible to muggles. 

Jack and Violet had been sent off to spend the day with Neville, as they both had check-ups recently, which meant that Harry was alone with his parents for the first time since he found out about them. This was already nerve-wracking, since he had quickly found his parents more likely to pry into life with the Dursley’s when Jack and Violet weren’t around, but adding the doctor on top of it? 

“Madame Richardson is a healer, Harry. Not a doctor,” Lily reminded him as they walked up the steps, “And you don’t need to be scared. Madame Richardson is very nice.”

Madame Richardson certainly didn’t look nice at first glance. She was a short and stubby elderly woman with several scars across her face, including one that cut across a glassy, unseeing eye. She was frowning at a piece of parchment when they entered, and when Harry grew closer, he could see his name on it.

Her expression changed when she saw them, though. She smiled, the action pulling at her scars, and gestured them over.

“Oh, come in, come in. I was just looking over the information you sent over about young Harry here. No other medical records?”

“As far as we’ve been able to find, he doesn’t have any besides from when he was with us,” Lily answered, placing a reassuring hand on Harry’s shoulder, “So he’ll need a full diagnostic scan.”

“Certainly, certainly. Come over here, Harry,” Madame Richardson said, gesturing towards a nearby bed. 

He slipped onto it and sat, hands gripping the bottom of his shirt nervously. James and Lily took nearby seats as Madame Richardson began to gather her things together.

“We’re going to start with a simple spell, Harry,” she explained calmly, “It won’t hurt, but you may feel a tingling sensation. It will tell me your heart rate, blood pressure, weight, blood oxygen level, and so on. Is that alright?”

He gave a short nod and forced himself to stand his ground as the woman tapped her wand against the top of his head. Like she said, an odd, tingling sensation spread over his body, sliding down from his head to his toes like water. He squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable, until the feeling passed.

A piece of parchment appeared in front of her, and Harry watched as her eye scanned the lines that had appeared before giving a short nod.

“As I suspected,” she said, mostly to herself, her lips pursed in disapproval. She glanced over at Lily and James, “He’s showing definite signs of malnourishment. We will need to get him started on some nutrient potions and a meal plan.”

Malnourishment? Harry wasn’t exactly sure what that meant, but his parents seemed to understand, as they nodded along. He could see an odd look in his mother’s eyes, and James squeezed her shoulder.

Madame Richardson turned back towards him, smiling as she jotted a few things down on a different piece of paper.

“Did you not eat much where you were, Harry?”

“At the Dursleys?” he asked. She nodded, and he continued, “I ate enough.”

“How much is enough?” she countered.

“I got three meals a day if I was good,” he said with a shrug, “I couldn’t have seconds, though. That food was for Dudley.”

She pursed her lips. Evidently, she didn’t like something that he said, but he couldn’t figure out what it was. He looked over at his parents for help, but they looked just as displeased. 

“And if you were in trouble? What happened then? Did they withhold food from you?” she pushed.

“Depends,” he answered honestly, “Sometimes I was sent to my cupboard without dinner. Or I had to finish my extra chores before I could eat. If I was really bad, they would lock me in my cupboard for a few days without food, but I could get water from the sink when I was let out to use the loo, so it wasn’t that bad.”

“Wasn’t that bad?” James made a choking noise, and Harry furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. Lily looked like she was near tears. What did he say?

Madame Richardson stayed calm, though.

“Were you in trouble a lot?”

“When I did magic, usually,” he answered hesitantly, still not completely used to the whole magic idea, “But also when I fought with Dudley, or when Dudley said I did something that I didn’t do. Or if I didn’t finish my chores correctly or fast enough.” 

He was in trouble a lot, but he didn’t think he should say that. He really didn’t want his parents to think he was a bad kid. Wanting to clarify it, he quickly added:

“Once, I accidentally made the glass at the zoo disappear when Dudley was annoying me, and a big snake got out. I didn’t mean to. Honest! But Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon weren’t very happy about that, so I was locked in the cupboard for a few weeks.”

“A few weeks?” Lily gasped.

“Aunt Petunia brought me food sometimes,” he was quick to add, “So I wasn’t starving or anything.”

“That doesn’t-” Lily cut herself off and looked away. Harry was dismayed to see a tear sliding down her cheek.

“Harry, what your guardians did was wrong,” Madame Richardson said firmly, “And it has caused some malnourishment, which can be dangerous if left unchecked. You are rather underweight for your age, and your blood pressure is lower than I would like, which is often a symptom. The nutrient potions that we’re going to put you on should help, but I would also like for you to make sure you’re eating at every meal. Can you make sure you do that for me?”

He nodded. He always ate if food was given to him. He wasn’t dumb.

“Okay, good. Now, what’s this about a cupboard?”

Oh, had he said that? He wasn’t supposed to talk about his cupboard, but no one usually asked. Whenever he slipped up about it at school, his teachers never brought it back up. He had been lucky so far.

Then again, he wasn’t with the Dursleys. It wasn’t like they could punish him.

“It’s where I sleep. Or, where I slept,” he corrected himself, “The cupboard under the stairs. I slept there until we started getting the Hogwarts letters, and then Uncle Vernon moved me to Dudley’s second bedroom.”

“Hmm,” was Madame Richardson’s only response, “Okay, I’m going to do another spell that will catalogue any injuries you may have.”

He nodded and closed his eyes as she tapped his head once more and another tingling sensation spread through his body. She hummed approvingly at the results.

“Ah, good, good. No current injuries aside from the usual bumps and scrapes I would expect from a boy your age. Nothing that I need to heal. How long have you been with your parents again?”

“Two weeks,” he answered.

She hummed to herself and nodded. 

The appointment was much more extensive than he expected. Spell after spell trickled across him, though luckily none seemed to cause her as much distress as the first one that categorized him as malnourished. She finished by casting a few vaccine spells, which apparently were meant to protect him from both muggle and wizarding illnesses. 

Before she could send them on their way, though, Lily spoke up.

“Madame Richardson, can you check on something for me?” She moved so that she was sitting next to Harry, and he watched her, confused, as she brushed his fringe back to reveal the scar, “He got this during the attack on Halloween. It looks like a curse scar to me, and I want to make sure it’s harmless.”

The healed hummed, beady eyes glued to the scar with interest. She moved a little closer to see it.

“It definitely looks like a curse scar,” she agreed, “Those are tricky. There isn’t much I can do to heal it, and it doesn’t show up on diagnostic spells. Does it cause you any problems, Harry?”

He shook his head, eyebrows furrowed. He self-consciously smoothed his hair back down over it.

“It’s just a scar. Why would it cause problems?”

“Ah, curse scars are a little different,” Madame Richardson said, “But if it hasn’t hurt you in ten years, it’s probably harmless. Let me cast a few spells to check, though.”

Lily moved back enough to give her room, and she lightly tapped her wand against his forehead, muttering something under her breath. There was no tingling sensation like before, but instead sudden pain erupted in his head, stabbing into his scar.

He cried out, pulling away and pressing his palm over the scar. 

“Harry!” James and Lily were both quickly by his side, “What was that?”

“Oh dear. I didn’t expect that to happen,” Madame Richardson muttered. Harry blinked open his eyes as the pain faded away, enough that he could catch the concern painted on the woman’s face, “I’ve never seen that before.”

“What is it?” Lily demanded. She had her arms wrapped around Harry now, pulling him protectively against her, as if she was suddenly worried that Madame Richardson was a threat.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, “There is powerful dark magic embedded into the scar. It is definitely a curse scar, but it’s unlike anything I’ve ever seen. It’s like.. Like the curse is still inside of him.”

Harry turned to his mother with wide eyes. He didn’t know much too much about magic yet, and he certainly didn’t know anything about curses. It sounded bad, though.

“What do we do about it?” James asked.

There was a moment where no one spoke. Harry peered back to Madame Richardson, watching as she frowned and scribbled several long sentences down on a piece of parchment. She looked, for the first time since Harry had walked in, completely stumped. Whatever she had seen had obviously scared her.

“Madame Richardson,” Lily said sharply.

“I don’t know,” she admitted, letting the quill drop as she turned to them, “This is far beyond my area of expertise. I’ve never seen a curse scar like this, and one that is located on the mind… I am going to get in touch with a mind healer and a curse breaker, but I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information at the moment. I promise that the moment I know more, I will be in touch.”

“But what if it causes him problems before then?”

“It shouldn’t,” she said, and Harry could tell that she wasn’t sure about it, “If it hasn’t yet, it shouldn’t cause him problems in the time it takes me to find out more information. I wish I could help more, but I promise you that I will do everything I can to figure out what it is.”

Harry tentatively brought his hand to his forehead, touching his scar. All of his life, he had thought it was simply the result of a car accident. He had always assumed it to be caused by glass or metal scratching against his skin: painful at the time, but harmless once it scarred. When he found out that it was from magic, he had not had reason to believe it was any less harmless. Now, though, the lightning bolt embedded in his forehead felt malicious.

He felt Lily squeeze his shoulders gently. He glanced back at her, watching as she closed her eyes and took a few slow, deep breaths, before giving a short nod.

“Okay. Okay, I trust you,” she said, “Is there anything else you need today?”

“What? Lily, we need more-”

“James,” she said sharply, eyes drilling into him before pointedly looking over at Harry. She didn’t say anything else, but whatever she was trying to communicate, James understood. 

Madame Richardson grabbed a few of the parchment papers that she had been writing on, tapped them with her wand to create a copy, and then handed the copies over.

“This is the prescription for the nutrition potion,” she said, pointing to one, “And here’s a referral to a wizarding optometrist if you want to see about some self-adjusting glasses. Here are the copies of his scans, too. I will owl you as soon as I have more information about his scar.”

Harry felt Lily pull him to his feet. He rubbed his scar and then stuffed his hands in his pockets to keep from doing it again. Any reassurances that he had gotten from the start of the visit had vanished, leaving him shaky and feeling just a bit ill. 

For the first time since he had learned about it, magic no longer felt fun and exciting.

He barely noticed as his parents said his goodbyes and ushered him out of the office. His mind wandered from lightning bolts to broomsticks to an old nightmare of cackling laughter and bright green lights.