Chapter Text
The Dursley considered themselves the very definition of normal. A perfectly respectable, completely ordinary family.
Vernon, full name Vernon William Dursley, is the father, and head of the household. Many would describe him as a broad, heavyset man with no neck, thinning brown hair, and a patchy mustache that was almost always decorated with the remnants of his last snack. He favored stiff, gaudy suits that he believed made him look successful and important. Instead, they only highlighted his lack of fashion sense and taste.
His wife, Petunia Rosmary Dursley (Nee Evans), was the complete opposite in terms of appearance. She was thin and bony, a complete opposite to her husband, and carried herself with an air of superiority that never quite matched reality. She spent her days as a housewife, often dressed in floral prints, and had her pale blonde hair cut neatly to her chin. Her lips were almost permanently pursed, as though she caught an air of something unpleasant. The only time that expression ever softened was when she spoke to- or about- her beloved son.
Dudley Douglas Dursley was, in almost every way, a replica of his father. At age 14, he was already large enough that most chairs couldn’t comfortable contain him. he had inherited his fathers appetite, paired with his mums audacity and certainty that he deserved the world. His favorite hobbies included demolishing expensive presents when they no longer entertained him, demanding more food whilst still eating, and making an absolute mess of himself. But above all, Dudley loved tormenting his cousin.
Harry James Potter.
The youngest family member- and the one thing that made the Dursleys anything but ordinary.
Harry had unruly black hair that had recently grown long enough to weigh itself down, being roughly past his collar bones. A jagged scar stretched from the center of his forehead, cutting across his left eye before branching downward like a bolt of lightning splitting through a storm. His right eye was a captivating shade of green, sharp behind a pair of glasses that were round in frame. His left, however, was clouded and pale, but no less captivating, the scar having left him completely blind on that side.
Life with the Dursleys have never been kind.
Hidden away from prying neighbors, Harry wore Dudley’s enormous hand-me-downs, which were dyed into dull, lifeless colors that hung from his thin frame like elephant skins. For ten long years, his bedroom had been the cupboard beneath the stairs- a cramped little space barely fit for storing cleaning supplies, let alone raising a child.
Then, on July 31st, 1991, everything changed.
Harry learned the truth behind his parents deaths, and their origins.
They hadn’t died in a car crash.
They’d been wizards, as was he.
Magic was real.
Over three more years, Harry’s life had transformed into something he’d never dared to imagine. He found friends- real ones- who became the family he’d always wished to have. He gained rivals, uncovered school secrets, and somehow developed a rather unfortunate habit of saving the school every year.
He’d faced mountain trolls, Acromantula nests, a basilisk, an accidental bloodthirsty werewolf, and even soared through the skies on the back of a very proud hippogriff. Danger had become almost routine.
For the first time in his life, he’d had a place to truly belong.
Hogwarts. A School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
The summers, however, never changed. Every June meant returning to Privet Drive. Back to endless chores, cruel remarks, and the Dursleys attempts to pretend they didn’t have a nephew. Still, Harry had learned to endure it. Every finished chore, miserable day, was simply another mark on the calendar- one step closer to returning to his home.
And so, our story begins.
///
Harry was stood at the kitchen sink with his arms elbow-deep in hot, soapy water, scrubbing the breakfast dishes. Saturdays were always the worst. Vernon, Petunia, and Dudley would all be home, which meant twice as many chores and three times as many opportunities for someone to find fault with him and his way of existing.
The only exception was if Dudley decided he wanted to see a film, or spend the day with his best mate, Piers Polkiss. In that case, the entire family would happily pile into the car and leave- everyone except Harry.
From the Sitting room, Vernon’s voice came booming.
“Come on, You useless lump! Punch him!”
Harry didn’t bother to look up. Vernon was watching wrestling again, and somehow, despite years of sitting on his bum in the armchair and cheering them on, he always managed to pick the man who was about to lose.
Upstairs, Dudley had barricaded himself in his bedroom. Ever since Aunt Marge had floated away like an oversized balloon, Dudley wanted absolutely nothing to do with magic, and therefore nothing to do with him. Harry couldn’t entirely blame him though. It had taken an entire team of aurors and nearly half an hour before she was safely back on the ground.
From behind him, the kitchen door swung open.
Petunia entered, carrying the empty bottles from that weeks’ milk delivery, and dropped them on the counter with a loud clatter.
“Freak” she hissed.
Harry glanced up only long enough to acknowledge she was speaking before returning to the dishes. Looking his aunt in the eye rarely ended well for him.
“I want you to put these out by the door.” She said sharply. “the milkman will collect them tomorrow morning, and replace them with new ones.”
“Yes, Aunt Petunia,” Harry replied automatically.
She sniffed in satisfaction before leaving the kitchen.
Harry finished up the dishes, dried his hands on a tea towel, and picked up the basket of empty bottles.
On the way to the front door, he slowed.
The cupboard.
Even after three years, he couldn’t quite walk past it without feeling his stomach tighten.
I’m not in there anymore
He took a slow breath
I have a room now.
It wasn’t much- a tiny bedroom with peeling wallpaper, and half-broken furniture, but it had a window. A Bed. A door with a lock on the inside.
I’m not in there anymore.
Repeating the words like a mantra, Harry forced himself onward.
He opened the front door.
And Froze.
There was a little baby, lying on the doorstep. Harry’s eyes widened. The basket nearly slipped from his hands, but he managed to lower it carefully before crouching beside the tiny little bundle.
She couldn’t have been more than a week or two old.
Soft brown curls poked out from beneath a pink blanket, and a lavender dummy rested in her mouth. She slept peacefully, completely unaware that she’d been dropped off at Number Four, privet drive.
Harry stared.
“… Blimey.”
His heart began to race.
Ok Harry. Don’t panic. Just figure out how to hide… this.
He glanced over his shoulder toward the house. “Um… Aunt Petunia?” he called, trying to sound as casual as possible. “I’m going for a walk!”
There was a pregnancy pause.
“Whatever!” came his aunts irritated reply from inside. Harry let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.
He carefully lifted the swaddled baby into his arms, unfolding the blanket, only to pause at the envelope that slipped from inside it.
It was addressed very simply.
To whoever Finds This Child.
Harry unfolded the letter carefully.
To Whoever Finds This,
My name is Lian. I’m so sorry, but I cannot raise this girl that I birthed. I am eighteen years old. She was not conceived through love, but through force.
She’s two weeks old. I didn’t give her a name, because I feared to grow attacked to a child I cannot, will not, keep.
For both her safety, and mine, I’ve concealed my surname. Please don’t attempt to find me. please don’t seek me out when she is older.
Perhaps, in another life, I could love her as she deserves. But I cannot. I cant look at her and bring myself to feel anything but hatred. Remaining with me would only put her in danger. I know I am asking a great deal of whoever lives in this house, but please… take care of her.
Her Birthdate is the 24th of June, 1994. I am a witch from Finland, and sensed magic in this neighborhood, and only hope she can be found by a witch or wizard. If she’s inherited magic, she will need guidance from someone who understands who she is. Good luck.
And if it’s any consolation… I am sorry.
Harry swallowed hard. the words blurred on the page for a moment before he folded up the letter once more. The infant was now fully unswaddled, and remained fast asleep. She wore a small yellow sleep suit covered in embroidered ducks, her dummy bobbing gently as she breathed.
Harry looked around to make sure no body was watching, and noticed something tucked near a nearby hedge.
A nappy bag.
Keeping on arm around the baby, Harry retrieved it, and unzipped the top.
Inside, everything an infant could need was in there.
Several clean nappies.
Baby wipes.
A changing mat.
Spare sleepsuits.
A fresh blanket.
A carrier wrap.
And a birth certificate.
Harry unfolded the last item, seeing that the space for both parents names had been magically erased.
Only one line remained:
Female Infant.
Date of Birth: 24 June 1994.
Harry frowned. Whoever Lian was, she’d planned this carefully.
She hadn’t simply abandoned the baby, but made sure whoever found her had items necessary to care for her until they could grab their own supplies.
It was certainly more preparation than Harry himself had been given when Professor Dumbledore had left him on a doorstep thirteen years earlier.
At the bottom of the bag lay a final object.
A length of shimmery golden ribbon. Attacked to it was a note.
This ribbon is a Portkey. Hold it and say ‘Gringotts’, and it will teleport you to the nearest branch, where arrangements can be made for the child’s documentation and placement.
“A portkey…” Harry murmured, reading the note twice. He’d heard of them before, but had never seen one. Well…
There was a first time for everything.
“Ok.” He whispered to himself. “Ok, I can do this. I just have to keep her away from the Dursleys.” He whispered.
He tied the golden ribbon securely around his wrist before unfolding the carrier.
It took several awkward attempts- and more than a little guessing, but eventually he managed to fasten the baby girl snugly against his chest. She hardly stirred.
Satisfied, Harry slipped the re-packed nappy bag onto his back.
He looked down at the ribbon on his wrist.
“Gringotts”
The world lurched violently. An invisible hook seemed to catch behind his navel and yank him forward with impossible force.
The garden, the House, and Privet Drive vanished in an instant.