My Name is Barry Potter, and I am the twin brother of Harry Potter : Chapter 1.1 (Patreon)

Commissioned by [Damien Jones]

My Name is Barry Potter, and I am the twin brother of Harry Potter.

Chapter 1.1

His name was Barry Potter. Yes, the twin brother of Harry Potter, the future Boy-Who-Lived. His father, James Potter, had a bad sense of humour, and his mother was hopelessly in love with this dork. So much so that she didn't even protest, even symbolically, when his father named him Barry Potter. 

Sure, on its own, it isn’t so bad. It is a downright decent name, if it were not sitting right next to Harry Potter. It sounded like his father didn’t put any effort into naming. Which was true, judging by the regular ribbing he could hear from Uncle Sirius whenever he came to visit.

He didn’t know what to do about the whole situation, about Uncle Siri going to Azkaban, Uncle Remus having to deal with his stuff on his own, and most importantly, his parents dying, leaving behind two orphans to the tender mercies of a family who hated Lily Potter and all she represented with a passion.

It was not like he could do anything about it. He was only a year and change old. He had just awakened his memories yesterday and was still getting used to getting bursts of information from his surroundings, only for his brain to tire itself out, knocking him out immediately. The difference was immediately noticeable, as he slept a lot more than Harry.

Obviously, he was going to need a lot more rest than Harry, because he was running adult-ish software on baby hardware, and he knew that the only reason it even worked was because of this reality warping energy field known as magic. He could feel it. From the day he awoke, his memories that were sealed, presumably so his baby brain wouldn’t turn to mush, he could feel magic.

For someone who had never felt something like that ever, it was like a shock to the system. It was like a phantom liquid inside his body, flowing all around his body. 

One might ask : How exactly did he know that the only reason he was capable of thinking with his previous life’s memories was magic? It was because he could feel the flow of magic in his body, and most of the time, it surged to his brain, right before he started feeling sleepy.

Good news was that the more that happened, the more his body seemed to build a resistance to it, allowing him to stay awake and think for longer periods of time before his baby body began shutting down, probably to prevent the brain turning to mush scenario from coming true.

Bad news was that the rate of improvement was nowhere near the rate required for him to do something. Judging by how canon went, he had maybe 3-4 months until the snakey face reached their home, betrayed by one of his family's best friends, and killed his parents.

Anger and rage came with the thought of them dying, but the dominant emotion in his mind whenever he thought of that possible future was fear. Fear of death, fear of surviving but in a crippled manner, fear of torture, and more.

Life was scary, more so than death sometimes, he knew that intellectually, but faced with the prospect of dying, his body couldn’t help but cry out at times, scaring James and Lily.

In canon, Lily Potter and her use of some esoteric spell was the only reason Harry survived. A willing sacrifice of a rather powerful witch, coupled with some kind of magic, was the sole reason Voldemort’s Killing Curse rebounded on him. He supposed that Voldemort’s soul being fractured and messed up by his own actions, and Death and Fate meddling in, might have created the perfect scenario for that to happen, resulting in the famed Boy Who Lived.

He didn’t have that luxury. He didn’t have the luxury of knowing that the same future would come true. For all he knew, Lilly Potter’s spell was powerful enough to protect only a single child, and he did not want to find out which one it would be. Or maybe his presence pissed off Fate, and she orchestrated events in such a manner that both he and his brother would die, or maybe the entire Potter Family would die by the hands of Voldemort, and someone else would become the Boy Who Lived.

All the stuff that was possible now, simply because the canon timeline did not have him. Did not have a weak, constantly sick baby, did not have scared parents who were half awake all the time, concerned if one of their children went to sleep and simply did not wake up again.

If a simple wing flap could change a timeline irrevocably, then his birth should have led to an entirely different timeline.

Ugh, it was stuff like this that just made him curse out the ROB who sent him here. Couldn't he have given him something? If not a reality breaking power, then at least some information? Some assurance that things would nominally remain the same as the canon timeline?

But nooo. He had to stumble around, worry in his own head, forced to watch and do nothing but cry or teach towards his parents whenever he was near Peter Pettigrew. He could do nothing else to show his parents that the man was a rat, a literal and metaphorical one.

Man, he was going to regret his actions so much if Peter really turned out to be innocent, wasn’t he? But that was all for later on, when he was alive to feel guilty about treating the man like a villain even before he had taken the final step.

She sure hoped that he was not a Death Eater right now. Hopefully, the protections in the house would call the Dark Mark out. Or, she was being stupid to assume that someone like Voldemort would brand Peter when his value would be far higher as a spy on the inside, with no discernible marks.

The snakey snake face could resist the slight loss of control over one of his pawns if he became vastly more useful and probably the sole spy who could get as close to the Potters.

Man, it would have been so great if he could just sense magic outside his body, but nope, nothing of that sort happened, even if he spent many an hour trying to do so. It would seem that his ability to sense magic remained confined to inside his body, something he hoped to improve upon later on, when he had, you know, motor control.

And also pee control.

With that disturbing and embarrassing thought that he was never going to share with anyone, he felt himself lose the fight against sleep.

__xx___

He awoke to happy sounds. The kind of happy sounds that were always present in a house with small kids and happy parents. The sound of parents doting on their kids, laughing at the silliest things, and drawing happiness from their baby, even blinking at them. The phase where the baby doing anything was cute, even soiling themselves.

As he was lifted by his mother, who noticed that he was awake, the only thought going through his head.

I will miss her.

Because that’s what was going to happen. By the rate of things, and by the laws of the universe, he was never going to gain enough power or motor control or even credibility to warn them of an impending attack, to warn them to get away from the cottage. Hell, his suggestion to get out of this supposed safe haven might just end up getting all of them killed. There was no winning here, not when he was utterly powerless, which is why he did the only thing that he could.

He worked on his magic.

He withdrew from the outside world, or he tried to at the very least. It was difficult to enter his solitary, edgy emo phase when his diapers had to be changed regularly, he had to be fed regularly, and there were two people who had apparently made it their life’s mission to keep him in their line of sight at all times and to materialise whenever his facial expression moved even a little bit. The Potters were really good people, and they were going to die to save him or his brother.

He didn’t know who, and for the brief moment, he hoped that he was the one who was chosen, he was the one who would become all powerful, he was the one who would end up becoming the Boy Who Lived, except an uber powerful, uber right and utterly magnificent bastard of a wizard. Then, that moment was gone, and all that was left was the overwhelming sense of shame and disgust at himself for even thinking like that.

That intense emotion somehow drained all the battery his brain had when it came to his advanced thinking, and he felt himself succumbing to the sweet release of sleep. He didn’t even fight it this time, as he needed to get himself away from the thoughts his mind was spewing.

___xx__

Just like that, months passed. He woke up, thought a great many things in his baby brain, inadvertently forcing his magic to work harder to keep his brain in a not mush state, and then once that battery was drained, went back to sleep. His behavior definitely alerted his parents because he was not like a normal baby.

Worse, he used to act like a normal baby, and now, suddenly he didn't. That was bound to raise their suspicion. He didn't make a fuss, didn’t cry without a reason, and only moved or made a noise whenever he needed something, like sustenance or had to get his clothes changed.

Which is why, while he was somewhat alarmed, he was not surprised to find Albus Freaking Dumbledore in his vision, along with his parents, when one fine day, he opened his eyes. Predictably, he freaked out and no matter how mature his software was, his hardware was completely baby, and the baby began doing the one thing that babies do when they feel any emotion intensely, let alone fear.

He began bawling. Not crying, just bawling, until his throat hurt, eyes hurt, and his head hurt as well. He had never cried this hard, at least not until his memories were unsealed. He frankly had zero idea what Dumbledore did while he was asleep, but after waking up from what was clearly magic induced sleep, he found nothing amiss in his parents’ expressions.

Sure, he was not some expert at reading body language, but he was also just a baby, and adults, no matter how alert, would not bother hiding everything from a baby they thought couldn’t understand anything.

Hoping that Dumbledore did not find anything wrong, he moved on with his life, training his magic in the only way he knew how. Keeping himself awake, thinking as much as he could, subjecting his baby brain to stress that his magic was forced to address before going back to sleep. A stupid strategy, he would freely admit, but he would dare anyone to spend weeks doing nothing but drink, shit, and wiggle about, without latching onto the first thing that gave him some feedback. It didn’t matter, it could be risky, but after weeks of doing it, if his parents didn’t show any concern, then he was not going to think anymore of that.

___xx__

Just like that, another couple of months passed or so he hoped, he was only counting days based on how many times he passed out and woke up, and by this point, he was happy to report that his magic had grown by leaps and bounds, he could maintain his line of thinking for hours on end without feeling discomfort and he had begun gaining control over his limbs.

Not only could he wiggle them with ease, he could use them to hold onto stuff and keep himself upright. Walking by himself was still out of the picture, but he wagered that even that was not too far away. Any day now, he was going to gain the confidence to do so. A few weeks back, after his brain had become sufficiently reinforced to hold on to his thoughts, he had noticed that the magic he had in his body could be used to other effects as well.

Like reinforcing his body. Yes, he could use magic in a way that was never shown in canon, at least not as far as he could remember it.

But he could do it. Sure, his base strength being as puny as a baby meant that even with the reinforcement from magic, he couldn’t do much, but throwing himself or throwing someone else out of the way shouldn't be too hard. For obvious reasons, he couldn’t actually practice the ability, what with the entire family now sleeping, living, and eating in the same room at all times.

Something had spooked the Potters into making sure that their kids remained with them. Earlier, while they were cautious and kept them in their line of sight, right now they refused to keep him and Harry out of arm’s reach. 

He felt an ugly feeling settle in his mind, as he watched their exhausted faces as they tried to hide the tension in their bodies, holding onto each other as if trying to reassure themselves. He knew that things were going to be bad towards the end, but seeing it himself was an entirely different feeling. The thing was that the Potters knew that Voldemort was hunting for them.

A wizard comparable to the strongest wizard in the country was hunting them down. Someone who had more than half the nobility in the country in his pockets, no, beneath his boot. People with power who tripped all over themselves to fulfil his orders, and on the other side, they had Dumbledore and whatever contacts he had, which were vast, but with the old man’s unwillingness to resort to lethal methods, those contacts held very little meaning.

It boiled down to two uber powerful wizards, with one side running a motley order who were ordered to fight with one hand tied behind their back and who continued to sustain avoidable casualties, and the other side full of trained wizards who were thrilled to kill the wizards on their opposite side.

This tension was inevitable, as the Death Eaters mowed down the Order, reducing their numbers, and increasing their powers. With James and Lily both out of the fighting ring, the Order must have had an even harder time defending themselves against the Death Eaters.

He sighed internally, looking at his parents, as if trying to memorise their faces in his memory, fighting the urge to sleep until the last moment, as his eyes closed.

….

..

The next time he opened his eyes, it was to the muffled sounds of yelling and things breaking, and Harry right next to him, sitting uneasily in his sleep. The particularly recognisable sound of something heavy hitting the steps made him flinch as he sighed, tried to ignore the cold feeling of death approaching, and sat upright in the crib, looking around the room he and Harry were stuffed in. 

It was the attic bedroom, something that hadn’t been used in weeks, because all four of them slept in the large master bedroom downstairs since their parents did not want them out of their sight. Their presence here meant that Voldemort had arrived.

He stood up on trembling legs, looking towards the door. He couldn’t know if the trembling was due to his baby body being weak or his mind just deathly afraid of whatever was headed their way.

He felt more than heard Lily arrive in the hallway between the stairs and his room, her form somehow exuding magic in a way that was visible to even him. What was she doing?

The muffled sounds increased once more, but this time, they were much fainter for some reason, even as the magic he could feel increased in intensity. He could feel his body shivering a bit at that.

He didn’t know what happened outside, but one moment, that vast magic was outside, and the next, it was snuffed out, completely disappearing from his senses. His eyes stung as he realised what had happened. He resisted the urge to cry, as the door to his nursery was opened gently, almost as if the monster coming through cared about the kids inside.

And there it was, because Voldemort didn’t deserve to be humanised. He was not a human anymore, both in terms of mentality and even in terms of his body. The lack of a nose, the serpentine eyes, the gangly limbs and body. All of it painted a picture for him, and in that picture, the thing in front of him was not a human.

“Ah, the Potter Twins,” The monster said, looking at him with narrowed eyes, or more specifically, his placement. He had placed himself in front of the sleeping form of Harry. He maintained eye contact with the monster, but his trembling limbs conveyed the fear he was feeling at the moment quite well, no matter how hard he tried to suppress the sobs.

“Know this, Potter,” The Monster said as his wand was raised towards him, the tip of it glowing not red but a sickly red for some reason, “I take no pleasure in this, though rejoice! For you are the first wizard to witness my genius. Behold! A new and improved Killing Curse!”

He disregarded the speech as his eyes were locked onto the red ball that gathered on the tip of the wand, his gut telling him that there was no surviving that spell. It was perhaps beyond even the ability of the spell his mother undoubtedly cast on them before her death, not that he could feel that magic.

Tears rolled down his cheek as the realisation that not only was he going to die, but the entire family might be dead after today, broke him, as he only remained standing by holding onto the crib, his legs giving out under him. He lowered his gaze, accepting the fate as he heard the monster speak, the air crackling around them as the spell must have become ready to be fired.

“Finis Anima”

After that, there was only heat, a flash of red before he knew no more. He couldn’t even see if Lily’s spell worked or not, or if Harry survived or if Voldemort died properly or not.

Word Count - 3140

A/N - “Finis Anima” is ‘end of soul’.