A/N: I own nothing, absolutely nothing. This is merely me playing in the playground J.K Rowling built. Also, in this AU Harry is the grandson of Charlus and Dorea to make him the great-grandson of Violetta (although I do like Fleamont and Euphemia too).

1st November 1981

HARRY POTTER "BOY-WHO-LIVED" DEFEATS YOU-KNOW-WHO!

By Special Correspondent Damocles Quill

Last night, the Wizarding World was rocked when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished after an eleven year campaign to spread discourse and terror throughout the country. Aurors responded to Godric's Hollow at around 11:45pm to discover the home of James and Lily Potter destroyed. The bodies of Mr and Mrs Potter (both aged 21) were sadly discovered, but their infant son Harry is believed to have survived the attack and has been moved to safety, though his current whereabouts are unknown.

'Harry is staying with family in an undisclosed location,' commented Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards, recipient of the Order of Merlin First Class and defeater of the Dark wizard Gellert Grindelwald in 1945. 'We ask that the Wizarding community allow little Harry his anonymity during this time.'

According to senior healers at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Harry is the only recorded individual to have survived the Killing Curse. His parents succumbed to it within minutes of each other and professionals have detected a third curse was cast also. However, something happened to ensure Harry's survival and it would also appear that it led to You-Know-Who's downfall.

The Ministry is currently on the hunt for those members of the Knights of Walpurgis who — commonly referred to as 'Death Eaters' by the media — have aided in You-Know-Who's campaign of terror. Several of this individuals are extremely dangerous, even more so without their Master, and the Auror Office has asked that no wizard or witch approaches them if sighted. Instead contact the Ministry's Hit-Wizard Squad immediately.

We still have a long way to go yet, but for now wizards and witches across the country can rejoice — He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone and little Harry Potter "The Boy-Who-Lived" has saved us all. Wherever you are Mister Potter, thank you!

Muggle London

Sirius Pollux Black had his hands in his pockets and the collar of his leather jacket pulled up against the icy wind blowing through the London street. He cut an impressive figure, with his long black hair billowing in the breeze and his storm grey eyes glinting in the sunlight. The street was packed with Muggles, out doing a bit of early morning shopping or trying to catch an early train.

In spite of the hurt he was feeling (James — gone!) and the anger swelling inside him (WORMTAIL YOU RAT!), Sirius couldn't help but smile as he saw the oblivious Muggles streaming past him. If his mother could see him now, in the midst of the "filth" she so despised wearing clothes unbecoming of a son of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black she would — hopefully — die on the spot.

Yet there was something so irresistible about walking amidst the Muggles — Muggles who had no idea that their very existence was saved by a toddler who can't even pronounce his own name properly.

'Don't,' Sirius warned himself. 'Don't think about Harry now!"

Harry who should have been with him instead of that magic-hating bitch and her whale of a husband or, better still, his parents who would still be alive had it not been for the traitorous bastard that —

Sirius stopped himself mid-thought, pulled back into reality as he locked eyes with his quarry. Peter Pettigrew looked terrible, with bags under his bloodshot eyes and wild hair that looked like it hadn't been washed that morning. Peter's clothes were rumpled and mismatched too, like he had gotten dressed in the dark.

Sirius made his way over to Peter slowly, like a tiger stalking its prey. He grasped the handle of his wand in his pocket but made no sudden movements to reach for it.

"Hello Wormy," he said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "I think you and I should have a little chat."

Then all hell broke loose.

Lestrange Manor

The moment the eagle owl landed on the breakfast table, bringing with it a copy of the Daily Prophet with the now infamous headline, Bellatrix Lestrange gave an inhuman howl of rage. Her eyes bulged out of her head in an almost comical fashion and she pulled at locks of her glossy black hair.

It couldn't be true. The Dark Lord, the greatest wizard to ever live, vanquished by the brat of a Blood-traitor and a Mudblood. It had to be a lie, a trick, a gambit by those who would seek to stop him.

"Bella, what is all this commotion? You sound like a common Mudblood."

Bellatrix surveyed her husband with about as much distaste as someone who has just stepped in dung. Their union was not one of love but necessity. The necessity to bring honour to their families. Still, Rodolphus Lestrange was as handsome as she was beautiful, with dark hair that dusted his shoulders and the aura of supreme confidence — though some would say arrogance.

"Dear Husband, have you not seen the Prophet? Bellatrix sneered. "Have you not see the slanderous news that causes Mudbloods and blood-traitors to celebrate so?"

Rodolphus scanned the article and, as his dark eyes slid over line after line, his brow furrowed. Bellatrix watched him impatiently, wringing her hands together and muttering under her breath.

"This is unfortunate." Rodolphus said at last. "We'll have to make plans for when the Aurors come."

"The Aurors?" Bellatrix shrieked, jumping to her feet and pacing the dining room floor furiously. "The Aurors are the least of our worries! We have to find Him — restore Him — we have to —"

She was interrupted mid-rant when Rodolphus reached forward and grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Bella," he said softly. "How can we help the Dark Lord if we can't help ourselves first? We have to secure —"

It was his turn to be interrupted now. Bellatrix wrenched out of his grip and drew her wand, a warped strip of walnut that sparked emeralds from the tip.

"NO!" Bellatrix shouted. "Summon the others! Rabastan, Crouch anyone you can. We'll get to the bottom of this one way or another. Mark my words!"

Malfoy Manor

Lucius Abraxas Malfoy was awoken to the screams of his wife. Narcissa was stood at the edge of their bed, wrapped up in a silk dressing gown and clutching their baby son Draco so tightly she was sure to leave bruises.

In one swift motion, Lucius had leapt out of his bed and raised his wand — which was promptly banished from his hand by one of the two figures in the doorway. As they stepped into the light, Lucius' breath caught in his throat and it was only years of service at the Dark Lord's side that kept him from screaming himself.

"Lucius Malfoy," said the shorter of the two Aurors, a middle-aged witch he recognised as Madam Savage. "If you could kindly tell your wife to calm down, we have some very important questions we'd like to ask you at the Auror Office once you're dressed."

Alarm bells started ringing off in Lucius' head. One, the Aurors hadn't sent any warning that they were visiting today. Two, Madam Alfreda Savage — one of the oldest, toughest and most prodigious Aurors in the business — was leading the enquiries herself. Three, they wanted to take him to the Auror Office — they already thought he was guilty.

But of what he didn't know.

"May I ask what these questions are in regards to?" Lucius said smooth as silk.

"Haven't you heard?" Madam Savage asked archly. "He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was vanquished last night in Godric's Hollow by Charlus Potter's grandson. Terrible business for the Potters but at least the bastard's gone for good. I'd have thought you'd be celebrating Mr Malfoy."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lucius saw Narcissa sink a little down the wall. 'Think,' he told himself harshly. 'Think you fool or we'll all be dead.'

"That is such a relief to hear Madam Savage," Lucius replied. "I would, of course, be happy to assist the Ministry in this ah cleaning up process once I've seen to my wife and son. If you'll excuse me."

He gestured to the door as graciously as any man who had been woken up by raiding Aurors could be and, luckily, Savage and her crony took the hint. The minute they left the room, Narcissa collapsed in his arms in quiet sobs.

"Hush, hush," Lucius said. "It's all going to be alright."

Narcissa made a scathing noise in response and Draco only gurgled, oblivious to the chaos around him.

Number 12 Grimmauld Place

Unlike the rest of the Wizarding World, the 1st November was no different for Walburga Black than the 1st October. Once one of the most beautiful witches in Britain, Walburga's looks had gone to seed. She looked older than she should, with greying hair tied in a severe bun and premature wrinkles lining her face. She had lost her figure too and was now fat off wine and rich foods.

Walburga spent her days in perpetual mourning. Clothed in layers of heavy black robes, she wallowed in the deaths of her husband and younger son, and the disappointment the older one had caused her.

All around her, what was once the headquarters of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black was now shabby, desolate and dank.

Even Kreacher, her beloved House-elf, had lost the will to keep the household running. He simply fetched his mistress more wine so she could drink herself half-blind and rant and rave about Mudbloods and Half-breeds to her wretched heart's content.

This was where she was now, on the morning after the Dark Lord's downfall, sat at the head of a dusty table clothed in black and gulping down blood-red wine whilst a House-elf scurried at her feet shrunken and bent — unaware of everything going on around her.

And that would be Walburga Black for the rest of her life.

A Different Part of Muggle London (Close by)

Every month since Marius Black had left the Wizarding World, he would take a limo down to Carnaby Street at 10:30 and slip into a little café that everyone else seemed to ignore called The Spell Counter. It was a chic little establishment run by a lovely little witch called Wanetta Fenwick, who had opened the café as a little sanctuary for witches, wizards, squibs and all kinds of people touched by the magical world but didn't have the protection of the Ministry.

There he would meet Violetta Black, his now elderly mother who had risked her own social standing when she helped him escape the prejudices of both his family and the greater Pureblood society when he failed to produce any magic. Typically, squibs like him were supposed to be quietly retired in some sort of accident when they showed no signs of magic and removed from all records, but Violetta would not stand for it.

After a tremendous row with his ghastly father, the late Cygnus Black II, and a few well-aimed curses, Violetta enrolled Marius into Eton College, where he would spend the next few years mixing with the wealthiest and most elite Muggles in the country. Yet, every month he and his mother would catch up over tea and share news from their respective worlds as every mother and son tends to do.

Which was why he was absolutely flabbergasted by the group of people huddled in the corner booth, shooting nervous looks at the equally stupefied patrons around them.

In the middle sat his mother. Despite being in her 90s, Violetta Black (née Bulstrode) was a woman who looked as if she had been very beautiful. She was short and stout with dark hair streaked with silver and her hazel eyes were framed with glasses. Usually clad in brightly coloured coats and dresses when in Muggle London, Violetta was dressed head to toe in black and was dabbing at her red eyes with a silk handkerchief.

Something was very wrong.

Made worse by the trio sat around her. Marius' eldest brother, Pollux Black, had his arm on his mother's back and looked only slightly uncomfortable about his surroundings. He was a stocky man, who had started to recede about a decade before but was still in denial about losing his dark hair, and was clad in a crisp Muggle three-piece suit — also black. On his other side sat Marius' older sister Cassiopeia Black, a slim woman with dark hair done in an upsweep and a gloved hand holding a cigarette with casual familiarity. Rounding off the group was Pollux' wife Irma Black (née Crabbe), another fading beauty with greying blonde hair and a formidable disposition. Both Irma and Cassiopeia were dressed in black couture and Marius felt like he was encroaching upon a funeral he wasn't invited to.

The moment his mother saw him she leapt out of her chair and trotted over to him.

"Maman," Marius said, giving her a kiss on her powdery cheek. "What's happened?"

Violetta dabbed at her eyes again, looking older than he had ever seen her. "L-Last night, Y-Y-You-Know-W-W-Who went to Godric's H-Hollow and attacked James and L-Lily."

It wasn't a secret within the family that, out of all of Violetta's grandchildren, James Potter was her favourite. She had always held a soft spot for the son of Marius' late sister Dorea and her husband Charlus, even though he was a Gryffindor and a rebel. Then again, Violetta always was a non-conformist herself and raised her children to be the same — though some (him) were much better than others (Pollux).

"Maman, tell me everything," he said gently and he guided his mother back to her seat.

For the next half-hour Violetta spoke none stop about how James had married the Muggle-born Lily Evans just before Dorea's untimely death. How they and Sirius — Pollux and Irma's wayward grandson — had started to drift more and more closer to Albus Dumbledore. Her voice shook when she told them about the impact of Charlus Potter's murder by Death Eaters, and how she had helped James plan the funeral. She spoke about Harry, their son and her great-grandson, and how not long after his birth they went into hiding from the Dark Lord.

"Every month James would send me a letter to let me know they were safe and sometimes Sirius would drop in for a cup of tea," Violetta admitted with an apologetic glance at Pollux. "But last night I knew something was wrong. I was staying in Black Manor for a bridge night with some of the ladies in the family and Arcturus' Melania was hosting. As you know, Arcturus moved the Great Tapestry there once Walburga started blasting people off the tree at Grimmauld Place. But, Arcturus modified this one so it self updates and — around 11:30 — your Aunt Lysandra noticed that the tree ha-had…"

Her breath caught, but Cassiopeia smoothly finished for her. "Had self-updated."

With a snap of her handbag, Cassiopeia fished out a copy of (he realised with a start) the Daily Prophet and tossed it to him. Marius read the article with furrowed eyebrows, sadness filling him up as he read about his nephew and niece's deaths.

"Harry's alive," he noted quietly.

"Yes," Pollux agreed and the two brothers looked at each other for the first time in years; it was startling how similar they looked despite the five year age difference. "Dumbledore has undoubtedly whisked him off to live with his Muggle relatives but it is Mother's wish that Harry be brought to her and raised by us."

"It is only right," Irma agreed sharply. "He might be a Potter by name but Black blood flows through his veins too."

"What do you want me to do?" Marius said.

It was Cassiopeia who answered. "If Mother's appeal to Dumbledore fails and we fail to win the support of the Wizengamot, we'll have to find Harry through Muggle ways and Mother is always going on about how influential you are in the Muggle world."

"Help us find him and bring him home," Violetta beseeched. "For Dorea."

"For Dorea," Marius muttered and he drew himself up to his highest height. "Alright I'll do it, but give me at least a week and we'll meet back here same time."

With a kiss to his mother and sisters and a sharp nod to his brother, Marius was off. The quartet, three witches one wizard, relaxed slightly in their seats and got up to leave. They were going to walk to the nearest Apparition point and go to Black Manor to talk to Arcturus. As the current Head of the House of Black, Arcturus would have some sway in the politics of the Wizengamot and might be able to convince some of the more influential members to return Harry to his family. The only problem: Arcturus has been a cantankerous bastard since 1952.

"You think this will work Violetta?" Irma asked as she helped her mother-in-law down the steps of The Spell Counter. "I've always liked Marius but this is wizard's work and Marius is a Squib; do you really think him up to the task?"

Violetta snorted. "Though my younger son lacks any magical ability, he is more than capable of charming people in other ways."

Irma gave a little hmph but was otherwise silent. Despite coming from one of the most bigoted Pureblood families in Magical Britain, who prided themselves on their lineage but lacked really great magical power, Irma had thankfully not inherited much from her Crabbe relatives. She was an extremely adept duellist and one of the more politically-minded Pureblood witches ('a dying breed,' Violetta used to think). Pollux and Irma's marriage had been passionate and full of arguments and debates, which had opened her mind to the possibilities that Muggle-borns were not scum, though some of her old prejudices against Squibs and Muggles still lingered every once and a while.

"It doesn't matter whether Marius can find Harry or not," interjected Cassiopeia. "If we cannot gain any support from those gargoyles at the Wizengamot, then Harry will be stuck with those ghastly Muggles anyway."

"Indeed," Pollux agreed. "Our best bet is Arcturus, if we can convince him to help us Harry'll be back with us in no time."

They turned a corner onto a new street. It was darker and the buildings were more imposing and shabby. There were about fifteen people on the street, thirteen of which were as unremarkable to the Blacks as most Muggles are, but the two men that seemed to be in mid-argument made the little group stop stock-still.

The first was short and stocky, with unkempt hair and watery-eyes. He was not unattractive per se but his shabby clothes and all-round untrustworthy appearance did not endear him to the Blacks. The second however was tall and lithe, with shoulder-length black hair and stormy grey eyes. Devastatingly handsome, he carried himself with the same casual haughtiness that his ancestors had. He was well-bred and he knew it.

"Sirius!" Irma gasped when she locked eyes with her wayward grandson. "What in Merlin's name are you doing here?"

The moment Sirius saw his grandparents, great-grandmother and great-aunt, his eyes widened and he seemed, for one shining moment, lost in time.

That was all the distraction Peter Pettigrew needed. The short man raised his wand and screamed at the top of his voice "LILY AND JAMES SIRIUS! HOW COULD YOU, YOU TRAITOR!"

The people in the street stopped to look at the bizarre scene in front of them. Sirius turned sharply to face Pettigrew and the rest of the Blacks watched, confused. Then, there was an all mighty BOOM and the Blacks were forced backwards by the after-wave.

Then the whole world went dark.

A/N

And there's the first chapter! Please read and review