INTRO
"What the hell are we supposed to do now?" A tall, thin woman with deep auburn hair demanded angrily.
"I don't know," sighed her raven haired, bespectacled husband. "This was not part of the plan."
"You had better fix this, James, or I swear to Merlin, you will wish that was you on that floor!" She snapped, pointing at the pile of ashes across the room.
"Lils, this was not my fault!" He said, just as angry. "You think I wanted to keep the blasted beast? Why else would I have made Wormtail the secret keeper? He was supposed to die! That's not my fault!"
"What if we just sent it away?" She asked hopefully. "No one has to know that it lived! We can just say-"
James held up his hand. "Auror or not, I can't go around obliviating the nine bloody people that have seen him! Obliviates can be broken if someone gets suspicious. Besides, you know that Aurors have to undergo regular health screenings, and they will be broken by the goblins."
As the couple debated on what to do about their... problem, their suggestions grew more outlandish and mental than the last. At first, they wanted to send the beast to her awful muggle sister to deal with. That was impossible. If word got out that they sent that one away, then people would begin to talk. From there, things really started veering far away from anything even remotely sane. For a while they debated on killing him outright and replacing him with a golem spelled to look exactly the same. That was only a temporary solution, so it was out. They even considered giving the little freak a slow acting poison over several years so that it would just look like a sickly child, who would eventually die of 'natural causes'. The problem with that would be finding someone they could trust well enough to both make such a thing, as well as a healer to confirm that there was no foul play.
In the end, their tempers settled and they realized that they would have to keep it, but there was nothing in this world that could make them like it.
All the while, a little boy with a full head of black hair and startling green eyes watched them. He didn't understand their words, but he felt their anger. It was scary. They were nice to Jayby, but not nice to Habby. Habby didn't know why.
But he would get used to it.
CHAPTER 1
It took several months of hearing them talk, never to him, to realize that his brothers' name was not Jayby, but Jamie. Mama and dada talked to Jamie all the time. Habby wondered why they didn't talk to him. It hurt Habby, though it didn't seem to bother anyone else.
Then, after a while, Habby wasn't allowed to see Jamie anymore. He didn't really see anyone anymore.
When Boy, no longer Habby, turned three, he was moved from his nursery to his bedroom. Jamie's moving was cause for celebration, because he was a big boy now. Boy was sent to his new room with a cardboard box of bedding and left alone.
Jamie's new big boy room was on the second floor, near his mum and dad's. Boy's room was on the fourth floor where the house elves used to sleep before mum made dad get rid of them.
Mum didn't know that dad still had one, and just kept it a secret. It was how Boy was fed. Once per day, usually, a tray of food would pop into existence, then pop out an hour or so later.
Boy didn't mind not going to the party for Jamie. He didn't like being ignored, and this way he was alone, but not ignored in person. It was better that way.
When Boy turned five, Sir, no longer dad, hit him for the first time. Ma'am, no longer mum, never said a word. She did, however, smirk at the action. They said Boy deserved it. Boy should not be asking for things, especially tutors like Jamie had. Boy would never need to know the things that Jamie did.
Boy began teaching himself to read so Ma'am and Sir were right. He didn't need tutors because he could teach himself.
When Boy was six, he read through every single book in Jamie's room. Jamie's room was very nice. Boy had not been allowed to walk around in any of the bedrooms, even the empty ones. There were a lot of empty ones. Boy was proud of himself for counting them all. There were four empty bedrooms on the second floor and seven on the third floor. That made eleven empty rooms all together. He didn't have to count on his fingers anymore to add little numbers!
There were no other rooms on his floor, which no one ever went near. It was less than half the size of Jamie's room, but that was okay. There were six small beds, made for house elves. They were set up like triple decker bunk beds. As soon as Boy was led up there, five of the mattresses were banished. It was a little bit bigger than the one he had in his nursery, so it was nice, even if it was thin.
Still, when Ma'am and Sir took Jamie to his friend's house for a playdate, Boy snuck down the stairs and searched three doors before he found the right one.
Boy had frozen on the spot. Jamie's room was amazing. He had a really big bed with soft comfy blankies, and more pillows than Boy could count.
The walls were pale gold and he had thick, fluffy carpets in crimson. There were piles and piles of toys all over the place. On the far wall, there was a bookcase as tall as Boy! There were so many books that Boy guessed it must be a bajillion! And they all looked brand new, even if they were covered in dust.
Settling his nerves, Boy took a deep breath. He carefully reached out and paused, just centimeters from his aim, tensing. He was sure to be caught if he touched anything of Jamie's and he would surely be punished.
Rather than taking as many as his thin arms could carry, which he desperately wanted to do, Boy took two of the skinniest books he could find so that there wouldn't be any gaps in the shelves. Boy couldn't let them know he'd left the fourth floor.
Boy ran so fast that he could barely breathe by the time he hurriedly shut his door.
It only took about eight months of sneaking to read all of Jamie's books.
By the time Boy was seven, he had figured out how to wipe away the spider web-like tendrils of magic surrounding the massive wooden doors to the Potter family library. Much like his escapades to Jamie's room, these trips had to be done in secret.
Twice that year, Boy was caught. Thankfully, he'd been caught on his way to the library, rather than on his way back. If Sir found out that he was reading, Boy would be in a lot of trouble. As it was, Boy was whipped across his back and bottom for sneaking off the fourth floor. For two days, Boy was unable to sit, or move much at all. That was normal for Boy these days.
It was that year that Jamie found out that he had a twin. Sir and ma'am didn't want Jamie to know about Boy, but Jamie had been wandering around the house just as Boy was making his way down the rickety stairs to use the toilet.
It was odd, seeing as Jamie never ventured onto the third floor.
Jamie took Boy's arm and dragged him down the stairs, all the while yelling for 'mum and dad'.
He proceeded to yell about how some street child had wandered into their property and needed to be removed immediately. Jamie was not used to seeing other children in his house, because Sir and Ma'am always had his playdates at his friend's houses.
So, they had to tell Jamie the truth. Boy was his brother, but he was kept away from the family for safety reasons. Boy was diseased and not to be seen or heard by anyone.
Throughout the entire conversation, Boy had not said a word. Jamie did not understand why, but neither Sir nor Ma'am thought to tell him that Boy hadn't spoken since they were five.
Boy didn't see a reason to break that line of thinking. It was easier for all of them to have a reason to hate him.
By the time Boy was nine, he had finished reading everything in the library, many of them two or three times.
Jamie had asked about Boy exactly four times since he found out about the strange skinny little kid that lived in their attic. Each time, he was distracted by some new gift or activity and Boy was forgotten just as quickly.
Each time this happened, Boy seemed to be forgotten by Ma'am and Sir as well. He didn't eat for a few days after those questions popped up.
When he was eventually remembered, it wasn't a good thing. Sir was always mad at Boy, despite the fact that Boy did what he was told and had never once talked back, or at all.
One thing Boy learned was to listen. It didn't matter what the conversations were about, just that he heard them. It was the only reason he was able to speak at all. He heard a lot of strange things and a lot of boring things, but in those moments, Boy pretended that he was a part of the world and that they were talking to him.
Until one day when he decided to never listen to Sir and Ma'am again.
Boy was tucked away in the library one day and hadn't heard Sir, Ma'am and Jamie return from visiting someone. They were coming up the stairs and Boy had no way of sneaking back to his room without being caught.
He wedged himself between two freestanding shelves near the door and made sure that the spider webs of magic were back in place.
Sir and Ma'am were gushing over how wonderful their baby was. Boy didn't mind. He'd grown up hearing that and it had stopped bothering him years ago.
What made him break was what they were calling Jamie. Good Boy. Smart Boy. Wonderful Boy. Bestest Boy they could ever ask for.
Jamie wasn't Boy. It didn't matter what kind of boy, but it wasn't Jamie.
Just like that, they gave away the only thing Boy had. His name.
Boy decided that they were not his family. They were Jamie's family. It might seem odd that their comments were what broke the last bit of hope he had held onto all these years, but it did. Boy hated himself, but couldn't bring himself to truly hate Ma'am, Sir or Jamie. It wasn't their fault that Boy was diseased. Boy had no idea what his disease was, but it had to be really bad for them to dislike him so much.
That was the first time Boy hurt himself. It scared him, but it also made him feel better. Boy decided that he would keep scratching his arms, but only when he needed to.
When the scratches healed by morning, Boy was sad the marks were gone. He should have known that he couldn't do it right. So he tried again. And again. But every morning was the same. His scratched up arms would only be faintly pink and irritated.
It was the first time in years that Boy cried.
By the time Boy was ten, he sported a constant glamour to hide his arms and the fact that Sir was forgetting to feed him more often than ever and that Sir began visiting Boy regularly. Before, Boy had only seen Sir a few times per month, if that. Now, Sir was visiting him at least twice a week! Sir didn't talk much to him, but he did talk to himself around Boy. Boy pretended that he was having his first conversation ever. Maybe he was still part of the family.
Despite the fact that Sir only visited when he had bad days at work and needed to vent his frustration with his fists, and a few vicious comments, Boy was somewhat pleased that he was spending time with Sir. It was okay because, in those moments, he was being acknowledged, and that made all the cuts and bruises worth it.
"BOY!"
Boy didn't answer, too shocked that he was being called, but he did go to the bottom of the stairs, just in case Sir called again.
"Bloody useless bastard," Sir was muttering. "Boy, get down here now!"
Scrambling down to the second floor, Boy hesitated. Was he going to be allowed to go to the first floor? Why? Was it a trick so he would break the rules?
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!" Sir shouted from the bottom of the stairs.
Boy was really expected to go to the second floor?
"I said, get down here!"
Boy hurried to comply, knowing what would happen if he disobeyed. He stopped several feet away and looked at the floor. They always said that he was not allowed to look them in the eye, but at the floor.
Two envelopes were thrust under his downturned nose. Boy didn't even attempt to ask what it was about or read it. His brow knit in confusion. Sir had never given him anything, and he was becoming more and more suspicious that this was all a trick.
"Take the fucking letters, already!"
It was a letter? Boy reached out a shaky hand and held the letters at his side. There were two! Sir didn't know he could read, so he would do that later, when he was in the safety of his room.
Boy fell abruptly forward on the faux marble flooring when something struck his head from behind. It was Ma'am.
"Get up!" She demanded.
Slowly and dizzily, Boy did as instructed.
"Look at me, boy."
It was really bright down here. Boy wasn't used to so much light. Even so, he squinted up at Ma'am. She was blurry.
"Now, you are going to listen." She said viciously. "You are going to go to the Ministry for testing. We already know you'll fail."
Boy was confused. He was going to leave the house? Why? What had he done wrong? Why were they kicking him out? Were they going to the Ministry to disown him fully?
That was in one of the books he'd read. Proper disownment had to be completed there or at Gringotts, since so many important documents were kept there for legal reasons.
"As soon as they find out how stupid you are, you won't ever leave the attic again. Do you hear me?"
Boy nodded in relief. He wasn't being kicked out. The letters must be something official, as they had been handed to him directly. Official mail had to be opened by the recipient, or whoever kept track of those things would be notified that their mail was never sent. From there, they would keep being sent until one was finally handled by the proper recipient.
He had never gotten mail before!
"Get back upstairs." Sir growled, cuffing him sharply.
With that said, Boy bolted up the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. There were a lot of stairs. He was panting as he reached the third floor, and gasping as he closed his door.
He stared at the letters in confusion. One was addressed to Mr. H. E. Potter, fourth floor elf quarters, Potter Manor. The second was addressed to Mr. Harry Potter, Potter Manor.
H. E. Potter. Harry Potter. What did the 'E' stand for? Was that Boy? That wasn't Boy. There was only one way to find out. Boy had to try to open one of them, but which one?
Taking a deep breath, Boy opened the one that said Harry Potter on it. To his immense shock, the wax seal broke easily. He was Harry Potter after all. No, he was Boy. That was the name Sir and Ma'am gave him, and he was Boy.
Mr. Potter,
It has come to the attention of the Educational Department that you may have been enrolled in your first year at Hogwarts under false pretenses. Please report to the Ministry at nine o'clock on the morning of July 21st for competency testing to address these concerns.
Sincerely,
Lord Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, Board of Education
Boy's shoulders dropped. Sir worked at the Ministry. Sir told them he was too stupid to attend school.
He knew what the second letter was without having opened it. Still, he opened it anyway. It was his acceptance letter, just as he thought. Wait. Hogwarts starts at age eleven. Was he eleven? He must be, if he was receiving an acceptance.
Glossing over the book list on the second page, Boy frowned. He had read all of those years ago. Did they already know that he was stupid, and decide to give him easier work? They didn't have to do that. At least, not until he was tested. He knew that information already.
Honestly, Boy was afraid of going. Boy had never left the house before, and Ma'am and Sir were often talking about various functions and parties that they went to, and how they saw a lot of people. Boy had read a handful of books on manners and whatnot, but he had never dealt with people before. He knew how to in theory, but that was it. Theory and practice were two very different things.
How far away was July 21st? He knew it was summer already, but he wasn't sure beyond that.
He had read a lot about Hogwarts, but did he want to go? It sounded amazing, but could he handle it? The professors would talk to him. Was he allowed to talk to them as well? Was he even smart enough to get in?
Yes, Boy finally decided. He had to go. He had to do his very best on the tests, no matter what.
Boy paled. He was going to have to write properly for the tests, wasn't he? He only knew how in theory. He used his fingers to write in the dust, but he had never used a quill and ink. There were some books on calligraphy that he'd read, but he wasn't able to actually try to do it.
Boy was going to fail, just like they thought.
Pulling up the baggy sleeves of his shirt, Boy started scratching. After a few minutes, Boy began to cry as he held a broken piece of the triple decker bunk bed in his hand. It wasn't very often that he resorted to this method, but every once in a while, scratching just didn't do enough. Boy focused on the bit of wood until he felt it change. The wood became a flat piece of metal with a sharp side. He was very careful not to make the whole thing sharp, so he didn't cut up his hands.
When all was said and done, and the bleeding slowed, Boy felt calm.
Boy gasped. If he could turn the wood into metal, surely he could make it into a quill! He would have time to practice after all! Boy picked up a slightly bigger piece and focused with all his might on a picture he'd seen a long time ago, of a pretty tan quill with white spots. He nearly cried when it worked. It was just like the picture, but he was too tired to celebrate. It was always like that when Boy did a lot of magic. Magic without a wand like he'd read about, was much harder to control, therefore making the caster tire easily.
Was Boy struggling too much? Was he supposed to be this tired? Was he as bad as Sir and Ma'am always told him?
Curling up into a tight ball, Boy fell asleep.
For five days, Boy practiced with the quill, picking open his scabs for something to write with in lieu of ink. He started by just writing the alphabet and numbers. The first day alone was dedicated to figuring out how to hold the quill without breaking the nib or making his fingers cramp up by squeezing too tightly or pressing too hard.
On the sixth day, Boy was jolted awake by a loud banging. He sat up, heart hammering in his chest. What was that?
"Get the hell up!" Sir shouted through the closed door. "Move it!"
Boy raced to comply. Halfway down the long flight of stairs, the pounding started again. Boy was so startled, he lost his footing and tumbled the rest of the way down. His right hand was bent awkwardly under his back and his face exploded in pain.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me." Sir said, sounding angry.
The door wrenched open and Boy toppled into the hall.
Sir yanked Boy from the floor and looked him over. "Fucking idiot. Episky! Now, move it. You need to be clean and dressed in ten minutes."
Boy saw stars when his nose was magically set into place, but he went to the loo and wiped down as quickly as he could. Boy used a towel to hide as much of himself as possible, even wrapping it around his arms. It was lucky he was so small, otherwise he might not have been able to cover himself fully.
He knew it hadn't been ten minutes yet, but he still had to dress. In the ministry, people wore robes. Boy didn't have robes. Boy had some clothes that were already worn out before he got them. He had one pair of trousers and two shirts. They were too big. What was he going to do?
"Aren't you done yet?" Sir yelled, banging on the door.
Boy held the towel in place with his injured hand and opened the door with the other, tucking it back in the towel straight away.
"Put this on, and you'd better be quick, boy." The threatening tone in Sir's voice was not necessary. Boy knew better than to disobey.
It took a few tries, but eventually Boy figured out how to put the robes on. They were huge, pooling at his feet. He didn't think they were supposed to be that long.
He opened the door again, and stared at the floor.
"Of course you don't even grow properly. Hold your arms out at your sides." Sir demanded, growing impatient. He whipped out his wand- so that what they look like in real life- and waved it around, muttering in Latin.
To Boy's surprise, he recognized most of what was being chanted, as his robes shrunk.
"Go."
Boy went down to the second floor, but hesitated before feeling something jab him in the ribs. He hurried down the rest of the way.
Boy had read about floo-ing but never thought he'd experience it. He didn't like it. Sir tugged him away from the floo as soon as he stepped out, and ushered him into a corner.
Sir knelt down, shocking Boy. "All right, look at me, you little shit." Sir had a kind smile on his face as he spoke quietly. "They're going to either call you Mr. Potter or Harry, understand? Don't you dare look surprised when they do. They'll call you in and you'll do whatever the fuck they tell you to do. You will not talk about your homelife. While we're here, if you have to talk to me, you will call me father, otherwise, you keep your bloody mouth shut."
Boy looked at the floor and gave a slight nod. He couldn't look at Sir when he smiled. It wasn't right. Before today, he'd only seen it when Sir looked at Ma'am or Jamie. Having it done to him was terrifying.
"Then let's go, already. It's almost nine."
"Mr. Potter," said a tall, blond man. "Come with me, please."
Boy was terrified. There were so many people walking around, and some of them got really close to him because there wasn't room for everyone. He had nearly fainted when they had to get onto the lift. There were thirteen people, other than Sir and himself, crammed into the small space. It jerked and bounced around and changed direction at the drop of a hat! Why did he leave the house?
Boy took a fortifying breath as he stood to follow the tall man.
"Do you understand why you've been brought here today?" The man asked.
Boy nodded.
"Do you understand what will be expected of you?"
He shook his head.
"Do you speak at all?" The man drawled, sounding exasperated.
Nod.
"This is going to be a long day."
Boy didn't respond. He was led to a large room without windows. There were two tables. One was relatively small and only had one seat. The second was much longer and had five seats all on one side, facing the small table. Four of the five seats were occupied. He didn't dare move to take the open seat. He didn't dare do anything without express permission. This was the first time he'd seen so many people at once, and they were all watching him.
"Mr. Potter?" Someone asked. It was the blond man.
Boy looked up from the floor, wondering why he was being talked to again. Wasn't he just supposed to take a test and leave?
"Have your parents discussed this meeting with you?"
Nod.
"Verbal responses only, please."
"Yes, sir," he croaked. It had been a while since the last time Boy spoke.
"What reason were you given, regarding this testing?"
Uh... "They're not sure I'm ready for Hogwarts, sir." His voice was hoarse from disuse. He should have practiced for this! Stupid stupid stupid st-
"And did they explain why?" An older witch asked from the left side of the table. There was a stuffed pheasant on her hat!
Head shake. "No ma'am." It didn't crack that time! Progress.
"Very well," another witch said from the right side. "Take your seat and as soon as you feel comfortable, you may begin. There is no time limit, just do your best."
Nod. He went to the small table and flipped over the parchment.
An hour and a half later, he was handed another test. This one was several pages longer than the first, which had only been three pages. It was going to take him too long. They were going to fail him for being stupid! His eyes squeezed shut and his grip on the quill- a real quill!- tightened. The quill snapped. No! He closed his fist around the break and focused, ignoring the heartbeat pounding in his ears. It was okay. The quill wasn't broken anymore. He let out a relieved sigh and went back to his work.
After that, there was a third test, and it was even longer! His hand was cramping up. He shook out his fingers, hoping to ease the cramping.
"Would you like to take a break, Mr. Potter?" One wizard asked from between the blond man in the middle and the witch on the left.
Boy shook his head, even though he needed the loo. It could wait. He had to do well on this test. Over the past few days, Boy realized just how much he really wanted to go to Hogwarts. He might make a friend. That was reason enough for him. He wanted nothing more than a friend. For years, he held hope that Ma'am and Sir might come to like him, but had given it up. Just because that hope was impossible didn't mean that making a friend was too, so that's what he would focus on.
"Before you begin, Mr. Potter," the blond man said, looking up from Boy's second test with something akin to wonder on his face. "I must ask, have you ever used a wand?"
Boy blinked, then shook his head. How would he have ever gotten his hands on a wand?
The blond man lifted his brow.
"No, sir," Boy said quickly, remembering that they wanted verbal answers.
He passed the pages to the others.
"But you are educated in these spells."
"In theory, sir." It was strange calling these people 'sir' and 'ma'am', but at the same time, natural.
The blond man rose from his seat and approached Boy. "This is not a part of your testing, but humor me. Try to cast a levitation charm on this."
He placed his pocket watch on the table.
Quick to obey, Boy focused on lifting the watch. He didn't notice that the blond man was holding out his wand, handle first, toward him.
When Boy opened his eyes, he was relieved to see that it had worked. Then he noticed that all five of the people were staring at him, jaws dropped. The watch clattered to the table.
Boy gasped when the hinge broke. He immediately picked it up and focused on fixing it. This could fail him! He wasn't supposed to break anything, just take a test! "I'm so sorry, sir!" He said vehemently, checking the hinge. Oh, thank Merlin. It was fixed!
The blond man looked at his watch, then the other people in stunned silence. Eventually, he cleared his throat. "I would like you to try that again, but this time, I ask that you attempt to use my wand."
This time, it was Boy whose jaw dropped. Using someone else's wand was a huge deal. It was like... like... well, it was supposed to be really disrespectful. "I couldn't!"
"With permission," he began gently, holding out the wand again. "It is a perfectly respectable practice."
"Lucius, perhaps Mr. Potter would feel more comfortable trying with his father's wand?" The witch on the right suggested. "It might be better matched, since they are so closely related."
"Would that be agreeable to you, Mr. Potter?" The blond man, Lucius, asked.
No! He couldn't ask for his father's wand! Calm. Calm down. Breathe, before you get into trouble, you bloody idiot! "Um, that's... that's all right, sir. I could try yours."
Lucius smiled a bit. Unlike when sir smiled at him, Lucius' smile seemed genuine. "Go ahead," he said encouragingly.
Boy was floored. This man actually wanted him to do well. Why? Boy shook his head. It didn't matter. If someone wanted him to do well, then he would. No one had ever wanted that before, and he wasn't going to let Lucius down.
"Wingardium Leviosa!" Boy said clearly, giving the borrowed wand a swish and flick motion, just like the book said.
The watch lifted slowly, and Boy found it more difficult than without a wand. Still, he held firm in his concentration, not willing to let it fall. He guided the watch through some slightly less than elegant patterns before letting it land in its owners' hand.
"Tell me, Mr. Potter," Lucius said, kneeling next to Boy. "What was the most difficult spell you've attempted?"
Boy had to think about it for a moment. He pointed the wand at his own pocket. "Ignoretur Crescere!"
Their eyes widened.
Lucius pointed at the pocket. "Could you demonstrate?"
Boy carefully set the wand on the table and reached into his pocket. He reached further and further until he was up to his shoulder. He had done it! His undetectable expansion charm worked! Boy was thrilled! But tired. He yawned.
"Should I continue my test, sir?" Boy asked, surprised at himself. He couldn't remember ever speaking without being prompted to, and that was only today! Before that, he had only ever spoken when he was alone. Maybe leaving the house was a good thing!
"Are you going to be able to stay awake for it?" The witch on the right asked playfully.
Boy nodded vigorously. He was tired, but he felt so exhilarated at the same time! "Yes, ma'am!"
Lucius chuckled, picking up his wand. "In that case, you may begin."