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The Years After	By : Araea Swiftwind Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male Views: 2598 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I make any money off the writing of this piece of fiction. The views expressed herein do not in any way reflect the views of J.K. Rowling or Warner Bros. and their affiliates.

Chapter List
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Part 2 – Prologue Part 2 – Nov. 1, 1981

It was late and the street was dark. Convincing Sirius Black and Remus Lupin to take their friends to a secure hospital on the continent had taken much longer than he had thought it would. They were full of tears and questions. But a few carefully chosen answers had them seeing reason. Before they departed they asked one more uncomfortable question, to which Albus gave another well-chosen answer. “Harry?” They had asked. “Dead and removed for your benefit,” he had replied. Accepting that as the truth and sparing themselves more pain by not probing deeper, they departed, friends in tow.

And now, in the middle of a Muggle development, Dumbledore was able to do what he felt must be done to insure the defeat of the Dark side. It was a tenuous situation, and if not handled in the right way, they would gain the upper hand and win. He could trust no one to follow his orders in this, trust no one to see how this would play out. So he was alone. He remembered a Muggle phrase that he had always felt rang true: “It's lonely at the top.”

Shaking his head to dispel the thoughts crowding it, he turned his attention to the bundle in his arms. Little Harry Potter was still sound asleep, thanks to his spell. His face was perfectly smooth in sleep, his cheeks faintly rosy, his eyelashes fluttering softly. It was a pity this child's destiny was so big. He would probably buckle under it, though hopefully not before he did what must be done. Running a gnarled finger through the babe's fringe he took one last look at the child savior before turning his face away to look at the house in front of him.

It was a normal house; two floors, four bedrooms, nice lawn. It looked the same as every other house on the block, aside from the color of the paint on its siding. If it were any other family living in this house, the Potter boy would grow up in a nice normal family and have a nice normal childhood. But it wasn't any other family living here. Number 4 Privet Drive was inhabited by a very special family of Muggles. They were related to a very famous witch. And they hated magic. For what Albus had planned, it was the perfect place to leave the son of said witch. He would be kept in check, and learn to keep his head down and his nose clean, always obeying the commands given him. And when the time came for him to fulfill his destiny, he would be ready.

Dumbledore left the child on the cold stoop tucked in a fuzzy blue blanket, sound asleep. It would be some time before the Muggles opened the door and found the child there, but it was a necessary precaution. If someone were to see him leaving the child, especially someone in this neighborhood, things might go off track. Better to do it in the dead of night when all would be asleep. The child would be safe enough until morning.

Bending down, he tucked a note into the child's blanket explaining why he was set on their doorstep. He was the son of the witch that they knew but pretended they didn't. He must be guided with a firm hand. No better people to raise him. If they followed the rules and kept him—alive—they would be compensated monthly for this inconvenience. He was to be another member of their family, not someone special that they had to cater to. No one need know the reason he was there. As long as they didn't do something outrageous, there would never be another person like him arriving at their door.

Albus was sure that the Dursleys would follow his instructions. They hated those people who lived such an abnormal life, and would do anything to avoid having to deal with them. And to make sure that he didn't have to worry about someone else coming in and ruining his plans, before he left Dumbledore made the house and the street unplottable. No one should be able to find the house if they hadn't already been there. No magic would be able to point it out, and no one could find it on a map. Normally, he would have posted a guard to make sure that things went along as they were supposed to. However, he didn't trust anyone but himself to do it, and it would be suspicious if he was found in the middle of a Muggle neighborhood, so he accepted that all would have to be well until he came again.

O_O_O_O_O_O_O_O

When Mrs. Dursley opened the door several hours later to put out the milk bottles, she very nearly screamed. On her doorstep was a small wriggling bundle. At first she thought it was someone's cruel idea of a prank—which she quite abhorred as in her mind, pranks were done by the worst sort of people and required far more imagination than she approved of. However, upon closer inspection she discovered it was not, in fact, some defenseless animal someone had bundled up, but an infant.

She took a step back and turned to look into the house. She was the only one up at this time of the morning, and she wasn't sure if this was a situation worth waking her husband early. The child fussed a bit more, his face finally peeking out of the blanket. He looked up at her with brilliant green eyes, his messy black hair poking out as well. Something about the baby struck her as familiar, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. The whole situation seemed much stranger than she liked.

Seeing as the woman standing above him wasn't going to give him attention or food, the infant began to caterwaul. His little eyes scrunched closed and his mouth opened wide. He threw his hands from side to side in a perfect temper tantrum. Not wanting the child to cause a scene, she made up her mind. She'd take him in for the moment, but as soon as he was quiet, he was going to an orphanage. The Dursleys already had one child, they did not need another one.

As she picked up the boy, she felt something with an edge poke her arm. She pulled back the edge of the blanket and saw an envelope. Her interest peaked, she pulled it free so that she could read it once they were inside. Kicking the door closed behind her, milk bottles forgotten, she took the child into the lounge.

The envelope was a think sort of paper, something not found in your ordinary stationary shop. It was sealed with wax, an imprint of a coat of arms in the middle. Quite strange. Throwing caution to the wind for a moment—Vernon wasn't there to tell her not to—she slipped the envelope open. Similar creamy parchment was to be found inside, folded neatly once. She pulled it out and eased it opened to read the looping scrawl. Her face crumpled into a scowl as she read the damning words.

“No,” she said. “I won't do it.”

“Won't do what, Pet?” Her husband asked as he came down the stairs, already dressed for work in a suit and tie.

“Some...freak...left this child on the doorstep. He was squalling and making a scene, I had to bring him in. And then there was this letter. It says we have to keep him, at least if we don't want more of his kind showing up. He says he'll pay us as long as we keep him—alive.” Petunia looked very cross.

And if she looked cross, it was nothing next to the murderous expression on her husband's face. “No, I will not have a freak living in this house. No.”

“Exactly my thoughts, dear. Let's put him out with the trash. Let the rubbish collectors have him.”

“What would the neighbor's think? Leaving an infant in the bin? No, no. We should put him in a box and take him to an orphanage, we should. Leave him there anonymously.”

“Oh, but we can't do it during the day, they'll know it was us. And if that get's back to Mrs. Next-Door, I'll never hear the end of it. We'll go tonight, when it's dark.”

“But what will we do with the freak until then?” Vernon didn't like the thought of leaving something so disgraceful in their home.

“We'll put him in the cupboard. I suppose I can spare something to feed him with so that he stays quiet.”

“But, that food's for Dudley. This little freak doesn't deserve it.”

“Is it better to let him scream the house down?”

“Oh, I suppose not. Fine, but as soon as night falls, he's gone.”

“Agreed.”

If only the Dursleys realized that it wasn't going to be so easy to get rid of the child. Perhaps then, Petunia would have left him on the stoop, damn what the neighbors had to say. But she didn't, and they had put the child in the cupboard, and it couldn't be undone now. They left him there, doing their best to ignore him, and went about their day. And that night, when they tried to get rid of them like they had agreed on, they found they couldn't take him past the doorway to the cupboard. No matter how much they tried, how hard they pulled, the boy refused to budge. So finally, in defeat, they decided that he would stay. But they swore to themselves it wouldn't be a comfortable ride for him, not by a long shot.
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The Years After