Title: Know the Differences

Author: SweetlyDesolated

Rating: K+ because of mentions of death

Summary: Harry James and Harrison Brien – both boys were eleven, at least which is what Minerva McGonagall thought. What with these tragedies, who is who, and why is there a family of Potters living next to the Dursley house?

Disclaimer: I do not own J. K. Rowling or her creations. The plot and the original characters are mine.

McGonagall grumbled as she stepped off the Knight Bus and out in front of Number Four, Privet Drive, with Harry's letter in her grasp. She marched up the slightly decrepit front walk and went to ring the door bell. She waited for a moment and repeated the gesture when no one came to answer.

A motor vehicle pulled up at the foot of the driveway and the window lowered. "Who are you looking for, Ma'am?" the young man behind the wheel called out.

McGonagall gave one last glance to the door and turned, heading down the walk to the road side. "Harry Potter, do you know where I can find him?" she asked.

The man had shrunken back at her intimidating approach, but when she mentioned the name, the man flinched. He stuck a hand out the window and pointed behind him at the house to the right of the Dursleys. "One lives there," the man told her and quickly drove off, not bothering with raising the window.

Minerva stood there for a moment, shrugged her shoulders, and walked to the next house over. She could have sworn the letter read 'Number Four," not "Number Six" (odd houses on one side of the street, even on the other). Number Six appeared to be in better order than Four, McGonagall noted as she passed blooming flower beds. She thought she faintly remembered watching house Four when Harry was to be dropped off, but she supposed she could have made a mistake. She was, after all, aging.

She extended a fist and knocked on the new door, waiting a minute before repeating the gesture. Again, no one answered. McGonagall peered around the stoop and noted there weren't any vehicles parked on the drive. Maybe they were out?

Now that she knew where the boy lived, McGonagall decided she'd leave and return later, maybe around supper time. At the foot of the drive way, she extended her wand, and the Knight Bus popped out of the air. The doors opened and the bus leaned to one side as the cat-Animagus woman boarded. She paid her fee and sat daintily on the wooden chair towards the back of the bus.

~~~ooo~~~

The thin woman left the bus behind as she stood again at the bottom of the drive way to Number Six. This time, a car was parked on the pavement, a good sign that Harry Potter was at this location. She walked with purpose up to the front door and knocked on the wooden obstacle.

Before she needed to repeat the gesture, McGonagall heard the patter of feet on the floor and watched as the curtains were pulled aside, displaying the young face of a small boy, his forehead dusted with dark bangs. She smiled happily at her first sight of Harry. The curtains fell into place and she heard a voice call, "Mum, someone's at the door!"

"Well why don't you answer it?" a woman's voice called back. Mum? McGonagall thought. Wouldn't it be Aunt? Dumbledore had left Harry with his Muggle aunt and uncle; the boy's parents were dead. Her small smile turned into a grin; well, it seems like the boy had been raised right.

"I don't know who it is!" was the kid's remark.

More footsteps sounded, and the curtains were pulled once again, displaying a pretty, heart shaped face of a young woman. Her dark eyes glinted once before the door was unlocked multiple times and pulled open part way. The full opening was blocked with a gold-colored chain placed just above the woman's forehead. Harry's face peaked from under her elbow. "How can I help you?"

McGonagall responded evenly, "My name is Minerva McGonagall. I'm here to discuss your nephew, Harry Potter, Mrs. Dursley." Upon hearing the name of the child, the woman's eye brow rose. She glanced down at her nephew and gently pushed his face from the door. The wood met the frame and McGonagall heard the scrape as the chain block was removed. The front door opened again, this time all the way. Harry was shuffling away down the hallway, occasionally glancing back at the woman and the stranger. He was gestured to continue by the woman, Petunia if McGonagall remembered correctly.

"Go get your father, Harrison," the woman told the boy.

He rolled his eyes at the use of his full name and scampered off, turning down a hallway. Minerva's sharp ears picked up the sound of descending steps as the woman invited her into the house. The door closed behind the cat-woman, who glanced at the pictures lining the hall. Pictures from baby-hood to youth of Harry, along with the woman following Minerva and a man about her age with raven hair, mounted the walls. The man wasn't pudgy at all, which spiked Minerva's curiosity. She acutely remembered Vernon Dursley as a porky man, his wife horse-like. And where were the pictures of their son, the one about Harry's age? Had something happened to him?

"Please sit," Petunia told McGonagall, flapping her hands at an armchair in the family room. "Would you like anything to drink?" She offered, "We have tea, milk, and water."

"Tea will suffice," the woman replied flatly.

The dark haired woman left the room and Minerva heard the sound of a kettle filling with water. It was set on the stove as clinks were heard. When the pot was whistling, more footsteps were heard coming up the stairs – those of Vernon and Harry, McGonagall guessed. Sure enough, the thin boy and older man appeared. Petunia carried a tray with the tea fixings with her as she followed behind the males.

The three arrivals sat on one couch, Harry in the middle of his family. "How may we help you, Madame McGonagall," the man began.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley," Minerva started. Again, the people seemed surprised by the name.

"Who are you trying to find again?" Mrs. Dursley asked.

"Harry Potter," she replied. At the man's wave to continue, she replied, "Harry James Potter."

A sad expression crossed the boy's face and he hid his face in the woman's lap. Both the man and woman visibly flinched as their hands rose to stroke down Harry's spine. "Harry James Potter is dead," the woman stated. The form in her lap shook with silent tears and her other hand came up to tangle in the messy hair.

Minerva's eyebrows disappeared in her hair line, her surprise so great. "But he's right there!" she exclaimed.

The man nodded at her. "Yes, this is our son, Harrison Brien Potter. Harry James lived next door; he died when he was eight."

McGonagall fell back into the cushions, grateful she wasn't holding tea. One of her hands rose over her chest. "Who are you, if that is the case?"

"I'm Brian Potter, and this is my wife Delaney Potter nee. O'Brien. Harrison was best of friends with Harry," he explained. "Take Harrison upstairs, he shouldn't need to hear this again, not so soon." Delaney nodded and gathered her son in her arms, easily carrying the frail frame even though she was thin herself.

"How did he die?" the woman asked. Her fingers twisted nervously in her lap.

Brian's expression grew even more pained. He waited a few minutes for his wife to return. She entered the room with a cat cradled in her arms. A few tears fell over her cheeks to the animal's pelt and made the pale grey fur glisten. "He's in his room with the door closed. We'll know if he tries to come down," the woman responded to her husband's glance.

He told Minerva, "His uncle did something, that's all we know. One day in the middle of the summer two years ago, someone came knocking on our door, dressed formally. They carried the funeral notice; it was closed-coffin, so we couldn't even see the child. Harrison was devastated; we all were, and still are."

"Was there an investigation?"

Delaney nodded. "They found nothing, and the Dursleys reported him to have gone missing a few weeks prior. We didn't learn of this until the Dursley family died a few weeks after the funeral in a car accident, otherwise we would have spoken up about the poor boy having been to our house the night before his disappearance." Her fingers brushed through the feline's fur; the animal arched its back into her touch and Minerva could hear its purr of pleasure.

"Oh my," Minerva said, pressing her hand harder into her chest. Harry Potter, the boy Savior, was dead? How did Albus not know of this? "Do you have proof Harrison is your biological son?" she wondered. McGonagall knew it was cruel to ask the parents of the boy, but she was never sure. Maybe they adopted Harry James and had the Dursleys killed. If that was so, Harrison – Harry – would be coming with her.

Brian tilted his head to the side. "Why do you need proof?"

"I – There were people monitoring Harry and no one has contacted us about his disappearance. I need to know if you are telling the truth."

Delaney's eyes hardened. "Very well," she said frigidly. McGonagall shivered as the woman stood, forcing the cat from her lap, and left the room. A few minutes later, she returned with some papers and a disk, which she loaded into the some Muggle machination beneath the black box. Minerva had no idea what the woman was doing, but figured it was proof of some sort.

She glanced down at the papers that had been handed to her. The first was a birth certificate, completely filled out. A murmured spell, her wand hidden in her sleeve, read that the certificate was in order, legal and real. The next papers were photos. Some were distorted, of what looked like a deformed shape, all shadows. The rest were in a Muggle hospital, of a younger Delaney and Brian holding a baby wrapped in a blue blanket. The parents had ecstatic expressions. A close-up of the blanket showed a delicate baby with the same features of the child she had seen earlier, a light dusting of black hair covering his head.

A few flipped pictures later showed the same couple, with an older baby. A miniature cake held two candles, which were blown out by the parents, to the child's amusement. There was no scar upon his forehead, and even now, Minerva couldn't remember seeing one on Harrison's brow.

Minerva returned her attention to the Muggles; Delaney held something in her hand and pressed a button; the black box flared to life. McGonagall was captivated as she watched a recording of the young couple, fresh from birth. Of course, the video didn't have a young Mrs. Potter giving birth, but it had the first few minutes of their time spent with their new son.

The naming ceremony and certification passed within that time frame and Minerva sighed, settling back into the couch. Now all she had to do was find out what happened with Harry James Potter. Regardless, it didn't seem like this couple had anything to do with his disappearance, and the sudden arrival of Harrison Brien.

Minerva spent a few seconds gathering her emotions as the show ended. She stood calmly and held her hand out to the Muggles, even though the woman had resumed her stroking of the cat. "I thank you for taking the time to clear any misconceptions about your son. We won't be in touch about the missing Harry James; it is obvious he is not here any longer."

Delaney passed the grey creature off to her husband and stood, accepting the woman's hand and her apology. "I would do the same thing if I were you," she assured the woman. "Though, if you do not mind my asking, why were you looking for Harry?"

McGonagall smiled wryly and released the other's hand. "Before his own parents passed, they insured he would be inserted into the attendance book of the school I instruct. He has been down in our logs, nearly since his birth, as his parents were alumni's. It is a shame the Potter legacy shall not continue on." Minerva sighed and started making her way to the door.

Brian exchanged an amused, slightly pain-filled glance with his wife as Delaney followed the stranger. "This is goodbye then," Delaney said as she held the door open.

McGonagall eyed her warily but finally left; the harsh closing of the door behind her had the woman jumping slightly. The multiple locks sliding into place added insult to injury, but Minerva was quick to disappear, deciding not to ponder over the mysterious Potter family any longer. Dumbledore would not be happy, she thought as she called the Knight Bus, a pensive expression crossing her worn features.

When Delaney was sure the elder woman had finally left for good, she clapped her hands impatiently. The cat rocketed from the living room and paused before her momentarily. It then seemed to grow up into a small child with a smirking countenance. "Well, get, you've still got to back for school!" Delaney told him, shooing at the boy with slightly excited hands.

Harrison grinned up at the woman and spun around, taking the stairs two at a time. Brian, still in the kitchen, rolled his eyes in amusement at the woman and gathered all the proof from the living room. If he was pained at the memories, he let nothing cross his features. The death of their son, Harrison Brien, had been a long time ago, but the memories were still fresh in his mind. The man was only relieved he had taken in Harry James before the child was murdered by his own relatives.

Now – now, he and Delaney considered Harry their own. They still had wounds from their own son, but they were slowly healing. Brian glanced around him at the furnished home and pouted. With a movement not even Albus Dumbledore could have guessed, he pulled a well-worn wand from his shirt sleeve and cast a packing charm; outlets neatly came unplugged as cords wrapped around their appliance. Objects shrank and floated into a specially prepared bag, spelled for transporting delicate belongings.

Delaney headed upstairs after her son, flicking her own wand to gather the pictures hanging on the walls. The images were a mixture of her own son and the one she adopted; Delaney was happy for once that the two boys looked enough alike as to pass as the same person, even if Muggle make-up was necessary to cover Harry's scarred forehead. "Your term starts earlier than Hogwarts, Harrison! We still need to shop for the rest of your belongings, but that will have to happen on the continent; everything is much easier to purchase with the lack of dark restrictions," she told the boy as he flew passed her in a flurry of movements.

Mrs. Potter grinned at the muffled, "Durmstrang, Durmstrang, Durmstrang," chanting Harry released as he collected what he wanted for the school year. Though belongings could be sent to the students, it was easier if they had everything before leaving their homes. Delaney and Brian were moving out of Great Britain now their son was going to school, and it would take time to go through everything for something the boy had misplaced or lost.

She ruffled his hair fondly as he flew passed her, eventually stepping in her own room to gather Brian's and her belongings. The bed shrunk and flew into her own pouch; its abandoned home on the floor revealed a metal box secured in the floorboards. Delaney knelt at its side as objects floated around her; she tapped at the box's lid with her wand, releasing the enchantments that held it in place, and shrunk the heavy thing. Inside it, known only to Delaney, Harry, and Brian, was the adoption papers, legitimatized secretly in both the Wizarding and Muggle worlds.

The woman tucked the cube into a pouch around her neck, protected against thieves, and stood, casting an assessing eye over the suddenly bare room. Now, it was time to leave, and time to start a new life in the north. Yes, the woman dreaded moving to the bitter cold, but Durmstrang Institute was the best place for her son to learn. To mention that it was the furthest school from Dumbledore's overextended reach would have been nattering.

"Are you finished?" Brian yelled up from the main floor, fingers tapping at the railing.

"Yes dear," Delaney replied as she exited the room, closing the door softly behind her, and descending the stairs.

Harry charged passed her, falling into Brian's waiting arms with a grin. The boy regained his feet and bounced in place, extending one hand for the probable portkey. "Let's go! I still need to brush up on the language; my Russian is getting rusty!"

Brian laughed and smoothed his hair back fondly before hooking elbows with his wife and grasping tightly to the oddly shaped handlebar of a portkey. "All set?" he asked once each was touching the metal. Harry nodded, excited, and Delaney returned the gesture with more poise. A final glance later, and the trio was gone.

From the HP Lexicon, Durmstrang is located in the north. I do not know what language is spoken there, only that (and this is what I learned) it is something Slavic. Russian is the language that popped to mind (and that's probably not right either). If someone living in Northern Europe would like to have the language-input for this fic, leave a review!

Wow, I'm finally finished! I'm not sure how I like the ending of this fic, but my muse is too irksome to bother with. Here it is! Please review.

~Deso