We're With You Whatever Happens

By Lily Rae

Full Summary: "Evangeline Orpington, daughter of two respected Aurors who fought in the First Wizarding War, starts Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry on 1 September 1991—the same year as Harry Potter, Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. Evy immediately befriends Harry and Ron, and soon Hermione, and they become the infamous Quartet. Follow them through every school year, every exam, every relationship and every battle. However, the Orpington family holds a dark secret from their past and Evy discovers this during her school years; will it affect Harry's life as well as her own?"

Genres: Friendship, adventure, humour, drama and romance.

Warnings: Mild swearing, violence, mild sexual scenes.

Looking for: Anybody into art? I would looove some fanart/banners/book cover kinda thing if anyone is interested in helping me out? :)

Disclaimer: It's all JK Rowling's.

Chapter One – The Boy Who Lived: Part One

Alexandra Orpington bent down over her two year old daughter, Evy, and kissed her forehead softly. The sleeping girl stirred slightly but did not awaken; Alexandra brushed her daughter's jet black locks behind the girl's ear gently.

She smiled and stood. The room was dark; save for a dancing light over Evy's little bed, a simple charm for a child. Alexandra was glad that Evy and her brother Gideon, himself soon to be three years old, did not understand or know what was happening in the Wizarding World right now. She was glad Evy and Gideon didn't feel fear, panic, and chaos. She was glad they didn't have any worries on who was working for whom, who was alive and who wasn't, if the Ministry had fallen into Voldemort's hands or not.

Mrs. Orpington herself had a black eye, a cut lip and a tired and trembling body. This latest battle tonight was relentless—there were more Death Eaters than Alexandra had ever seen. There were Giants, and even a few werewolves. This battle needed all of Alexandra's skills she learnt to qualify as an Auror; nonverbal spells and even wandless magic easily saved her life during a duel. Her head hurt; the constant Legilimency attacks meant Alexandra's shields were constantly on high alert over her mind.

Of course her children were not stupid, they knew something was wrong. That something was happening. The frenzied whispers, the hiding of the newspapers and all of the other signs. They were never allowed out much, and definitely not outside the boundaries of the protective enchantments. Alexandra and her husband, Christian, has yet to take their children to Diagon Alley for their first visit.

Alexandra left her daughter's bedroom, and proceeded into her son's room. He too was asleep, but atop his covers. Alexandra moved him as gently as she could under his covers, and tucked Gideon in. He did not wake. Something of which Alexandra was glad; she needed to fix her bruises and cuts before she saw her children in the morning.

She left her son's room, and returned downstairs. Christian's mother had fallen asleep on the sofa, and was snoozing in front of the fire, her shadow reflecting on the old walls. The house in which they were in was a temporary base during the war—a big cottage in the middle of nowhere in England, with old great beams, vine travelling upwards on the outside walls and oak flooring. It was a gorgeous cottage, but the family longed for a move back to Ackerley, in Dorset.

The fireplace suddenly erupted into green flames and Christian Orpington emerged from them. He had been at the Ministry, confirming deaths of Allies. Alexandra ran forward, her cloak billowing out behind her, and clutched her husband tightly, who returned the gesture. He pulled away and examined her bruised and bloodied face.

"Let's get you cleaned up," Christian told her quietly, leading her to the kitchen, where they sat down at the wooden table. Alexandra could have laughed, as he wasn't looking to pretty himself. He waved his wand, and muttered a few spells. Alexandra reached for an ointment of some sort, and rubbed it on Christian's bruises.

"We should take Gideon and Evy to see Harry sometime soon," Alexandra suggested. "Gideon has been asking after him...well, so has Evy in her own way, but of course she can barely talk yet. And it'll give them something to do. I bet Harry's gotten bigger since we last saw Lily and James."

"Good idea," Christian agreed, putting down his wand. "We should have asked James and Lily tonight, though I think the Death Eaters would have wanted in on the visit."

Alexandra laughed slightly. "Harry and Evy get on well, don't they?" she remarked, thinking back to the last time. "They had a whale of a time on that toy broomstick Sirius bought for Harry's birthday."

"And do you remember when Harry fell off it, and Evy tried to take care of him?" Christian grinned.

"And when Evy almost got into a fight with their cat and Harry was trying to help her? It's really cute," Alexandra chuckled. "They're clever toddlers, you know. I just hope this war ends soon, so we can all be a normal family."

Christian nodded. He glanced at the Daily Prophet, lying on the table, full of horror stories. "Look, it's Halloween soon. I bet nobody's celebrating again this year."

"You've been sitting on a brick wall all day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here," said Professor Dumbledore to his companion, Professor McGonagall.

Dumbledore was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground and high—heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half—moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked. Professor McGonagall was a rather severe—looking woman who was wearing square glasses. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. Nothing like these people had ever been seen in Privet Drive.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no—even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news. Shooting stars down in Kent—I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

After turning down an offer for a sherbet lemon from Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold hard wall all day. "Are you aware of the rumours that are flying around? About why Voldemort's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

Dumbledore was choosing another sherbet lemon for himself and did not answer.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are—are—that they're—dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James...I can't believe it...I didn't want to believe it...Oh, Albus..."

"I know...I know..." Dumbledore said heavily, reaching out and patting her on the shoulder.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' son, Harry. But—he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke—and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's—it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done...all the people he's killed...he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding...of all the things to stop him...but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess. We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff.

"I wonder where Hagrid has got too," Dumbledore said. "I suppose it is he who told you I'd be here, by the way?" The professor nodded. "I'm here because I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean—you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore—you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known was Harry Potter Day in future—there will be books written about Harry—every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed and then said, "Yes—yes, you're right, of course—what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky—and a huge motorbike fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild—long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get the motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorbike as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"What kept you?" asked Dumbledore kindly, as Hagrid approached them.

"Well first, Sirius Black needed comfortin'. He wanted ter take Harry, bu' I said no, 'cause I'm on yer orders. And then the Orpingtons' showed up—o' course, as they're Aurors, they found out wha' 'ad happened an' said they'd take Harry in."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet—black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where—?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well—give him here, Hagrid—we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys' house. Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice. "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on to the motorbike and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you back at school, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone. A tabby cat disappeared around the corner of Privet Drive and out of sight.

At that moment, as little Harry Potter turned in his blankets, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushes voices: "To Harry Potter—the boy who lived!"

A/N: Well, thank you very much for reading! So tell me, what do you think? My inspiration for this, actually, was to create a character in the amazing universe of Potter and play around with her, see what I can do and where I can go with it. As you can tell, it'll follow the books but with some plot changes and some Evy POV. Hope you enjoyed. :)