In the dead of night on a quiet neighbourhood in England, a cloaked man stood before a plain-looking two-story cottage. He allowed a small, smug grin to grace his lips, his crimson eyes shone in determination as he gazed at his target's house.

The cloaked man whipped out his wand and a stream of red light rocketed towards his target's door, easily obliterating it. He stepped inside the house and felt a magical energy wash over him, alerting his presence to the denizens of the house. His grin became wider and more feral as he felt the three magical presences inside.

Two children... the cloaked man thought, ... and an adult. His plan had worked; the Death Eater he sent had lured the heir of House Potter and his filthy mudblood wife to Diagon Alley. They would be too occupied to notice his attack on the prophesied child.

He climbed up the stairs and noticed a light coming from an open room, the door slightly ajar. The cloaked man blasted the door open with a powerful blasting curse off of its hinges and smiled as he spotted two children and an elderly woman.

Her raven hair was frazzled but it did not affect the intensity of her grey glare. The elderly woman looked unfazed at his arrival. "Voldemort," the elderly woman said.

"Dorea Potter nee Black," the cloaked man – Voldemort – said, a malicious glint in his eyes as he stared at the two children behind Dorea. "Move aside and I'll spare your life; resist and... there's no need for me to continue, is there?"

"Over my dead body!" Her wand was out and Dorea released a cutting dark curse at He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. A surge of orange energy bolted through the space between the two, surprising Voldemort.

Voldemort swayed to the side, letting the orange energy to pass him harmlessly. It was common knowledge the elder Potter woman was a healer, so it had surprised him for Dorea to unleash a dark curse on him. But then again, she was also of the House of Black; underestimating the woman was a blunder he was not allowed to repeat.

Both dark arts users lashed out at each other in a magical frenzy, lighting the room in an array of colours. Spells were countered and repelled by one another, their skills seemingly equal. Little by little, Dorea started to feel tired as she kept on dishing out dark curses, her magical reserves depleting at an astonishing rate.

With a powerful blast from Voldemort, Dorea fell to her knees, unable to withstand his power any longer. Voldemort chuckled, "It seems I've underestimated you, Black. If you had just moved out of the way, you might have lived longer."

Dorea panted, fatigue making her unable to brandish her wand. She glared back at Voldemort in defiance, fury marring her face as she stared at the noseless bastard. "I'd rather die than letting your filthy hands touch my grandchildren!"

"Avada Kedavra!" Green light filled the room, and moments later a heavy thud was heard as the lifeless body of Dorea Potter fell onto the floor. The sound of wailing caught Voldemort's attention; he raised his head to see one of the children crying as the other held the crying child in his arms, glaring at Voldemort with bright green pupils.

This is him, he thought. Staring at the green-eyed boy, Voldemort could feel the large magical core inside of the boy. It was a shame the boy had to die; the boy could've been a great asset to Voldemort's army with the right training. "Pity, I might've made you my apprentice if not for the prophecy

"Avada Kedavra!" Once again, a green stream of magical energy darted towards the defiant boy. Once the boy was dead, there would be no one capable enough of challenging-

The curse rebounded off of the boy and bounced back towards Voldemort. The magical energy was too fast for Voldemort to dodge, hitting him square in the chest; he had not held back when he cast Avada Kedavra. His body writhed in pain, convulsing every so often before it couldn't take his own power anymore. Voldemort's body disintegrated, leaving only the ghostly form of the once most feared Dark Lord.

The sound of an Apparition could be heard outside of the broken in cottage minutes after Voldemort's ghostly form retreated.

Three people arrived in the destroy cottage. A cry of anguish was then heard by one wearing glasses went he spotted the body of his dead mother in their nursery. The other one, a woman, was also shocked seeing the dead body of her mother in law.

It was the oldest one of the trio that walked to the children, fear gripping his heart at seeing another child dying in this war. But to his astonishment, he spotted the two children healthy and, other than the scar on the younger one's face, otherwise unharmed with the elder sibling hugging the younger sibling.

But this brought the question which of the boy that was the chosen one. The wording of the prophecy can be interpreted in many ways. He then started casting a diagnostic charm to both boys. The only thing to be dangerous was a residue of dark magic in the youngest one lightning bolt scar.

It was already a month since the attack at the Potter cottage and the fall of Voldemort. Many of his supporters had been captured and sent to Azkaban but many were also able to escape punishment by using the excuse of being under the imperious curse – whether it was true or not was still unknown. The people of Britain were also shocked when the one-year-old, Thomas Potter, was announced as the defeater of Voldemort and was the only one to survive the killing curse. The public then proclaimed him the boy who lives.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office in Hogwarts waiting for the Potters' arrival. The floo then roared to live signalling the arrival of the Potters. The first one to arrive was James Potter; the heir apparent to House Potter, looking exhausted with bags under his eye his black hair look messier than usual. It seemed what happened in the last month has took a toll on the young man.

The floo roared one again this time Lily Potter arrived with the children in her arm. She too looked tired, an indication that the events had affected her same it did for her husband. After the defeat of Voldemort and the declaration of the youngest potter, the entire magical Britain had hounded the Potters to see their saviour. It was only Albus' intervention that stopped the more eager ones from discovering the Potters' whereabouts.

"James, Lily, thank you for coming," Albus said, "I had hoped we would meet under better circumstances."

"What do you mean, Professor?" asked James. "Voldemort is defeated and his followers are hiding or being sent to Azkaban."

"Yes my boy, Voldemort has been defeated and many of his followers are pressured into hiding," – a sigh escaped Albus' lips who seemed to have aged by many years in the span of a second – "but I believe that one day he will return again."

"What do you mean, Professor? How can Voldemort return?" asked Lily, bewilderment clearly written on her face. As far as she knew, resurrection was an impossible act even for wizards and witches. "Wasn't he destroyed?"

"I don't know how, my dear, but I believe that he will return. I have gone to the Hall of Prophecy and the prophecy still exists." Albus' eyelids narrowed and his brows furrowed as he stared at the young parents in front of him, his face grave. "The scar on Thomas' forehead is proof that he is the chosen one."

"Well that's great then!" Smiles appeared on the Potter couple's face, yet Albus' expression remained the same.

"That's not the only reason I asked you to come here." Albus watched as the smiles slipped from the Potters' face, an expression of seriousness overriding their previous elation. "I'm afraid the attack on your children is only the beginning. In order to ensure the childrens' safety, I propose that we seperate them."

Anger and shock was an understatement; James and Lily were furious at the implication. To seperate the sibling at such a young age, with Harry being unable to meet his birth parents and younger brother for an indefinite amount of time, was too much! Lily opened her mouth to yell at Hogwart's headmaster for even suggesting that, but she was stopped by a hand holding her wrist. Lily looked back at her husband in anger, but one look from James stopped her from whatever she wanted to do.

James Potter was a logical man; he could see why Albus had wanted to seperate them. Thomas was the Chosen One, someone who was destined for greatness and adored by the public, a nearly impossible target with how famous he was; Harry, on the other hand, was just a child – a Potter child, but still a child. None of the Potters' enemies would hesitate to kidnap or attack the weakest link of the Potter family to lure the Chosen One into a trap; it was better for the world to not know of the existence of Harry Potter.

Lily understood the implications too, and could only grit her teeth and clench her fist in resignation.

The Potters and Albus didn't realise that Harry had been looking at them both with fury in his eyes when he realised that both of them are talking about abandoning him.

"Who'll take care of Harry?" James asked through gritted teeth, his downtrodden visage very visible to Albus which caused him to sigh. Albus didn't want this either, but he could see no other alternative.

"I have already contacted your father."

The floo lit up once again, and an aged man appeared as the light died down into nothing. The aged man, Charles Potter, was the current head of House Potter; his gaze scanned the room before it landed on the eldest Potter child. He walked a few steps towards the boy, crouching to see the boy eye to eye before asking, "Do you know who I am, Child?"

"You're my grandpa." Harry's eyes shined with hope – hope that the elderly man in front of him would be the one taking care of him for the foreseeable future.

A smile graced Charles' lips; so young yet so intelligent, and his son wanted to abandon him? Foolish. "What is your name, Child?"

''Harry Potter, Sir."

"A Muggle name. No, now your name is Hadrian Potter; a name fitting for the heir apparent to House Potter." Charles said, earning bewildered looks from the occupants of the room.

"Father, what do you mean by 'heir apparent to House Potter'?"

"It means what it's supposed to mean," Charles glared at his son, standing at his full height over a head taller than James. James shrunk back at the intensity of Charles' glare, his expression showing shame. "You would choose to abandon your own son at the suggestion of a meddling old fool rather than guard his life with yours?"

"It's for Harry's own safety." James winced; even in his own ears, James felt his reason was only an excuse to abandon Harry.

Charles scoffed at James' reply, not believing it for a second. His lips were downturned into a scowl, fiercely glaring at his son for even thinking of abandoning Harry. "After what my wife, your mother, had done to protect your children, you still had the audacity to abandon one of them!" Fury laced Charles voice as the room shook under the might the head of House Potter was exerting. "I thank whatever deities that she already dead or she would have killed you herself.

"You are no son of mine, James Potter. You, who abandoned a son of Potter in favor of a meddling old man's idea, have no right to become an heir of House Potter." In a flash, Charles cast an Apparition, leaving the room with Hadrian in tow.

In a mansion in the russian empire, a short pale humanoid being stood at attention in what looked to be a study, his large bulging eyes trained at the empty space in front of him. The floor of the study lit up in a bright light before dimming to reveal the forms of Charles and Hadrian Potter. The house-elf bowed in greeting, "Welcome back, Master Charles." The elf noticed the boy in his master's arms, holding his master like a lifeline. "Is this the Young Master?"

Charles glanced at the elf, before turning his gaze back to his grandchild. "Prepare a warm bath for Hadrian, Molby. And make sure his room is clean and prepped before he's done washing."

"Of course, Master."

THIS FANFIC WAS CO-WRITEN WITH JUNIOR2001