The wizarding world loved a neat story.
Stories with clean endings. Clear villains. Proper heroes.
So when Lord Voldemort fell and did not rise again, they wrapped the night in celebration and called it done.
At the center of it all stood Aries Potter.
He was a beautiful child.
Golden-haired, bright-eyed, with Lily Potter's smile and James Potter's reckless confidence already blooming in his tiny expressions. When he cried, people rushed to soothe him. When he laughed, rooms seemed warmer for it.
He bore a lightning-shaped scar upon his forehead.
It was small.
It was faint.
And it was not supposed to be there.
---
James Potter watched his son sleep, fingers trembling slightly as he brushed a hand through Aries's hair.
"Look at him," James whispered, voice thick with awe. "He's perfect."
Lily stood in the doorway, arms folded tight around herself.
"Yes," she said.
She did not move closer.
Aries stirred, green eyes fluttering open. He smiled, reaching toward his father.
James laughed softly, lifting him without hesitation.
"There's my brave boy," he murmured. "You stopped him. You saved us."
Lily's breath caught.
Saved us.
The words echoed too loudly in her mind.
She turned away.
---
The Prophet printed it in letters so large they distorted the truth beneath them:
**THE BOY WHO LIVED**
Pictures followed—Aries in James's arms, Aries asleep in his cradle, Aries crying, Aries smiling. The scar was circled in ink again and again, proof of destiny fulfilled.
No one asked where the other child was.
When they did—rarely—it was waved away.
"Oh, the twins were separated for safety."
"He's with family."
"He'll be fine."
Lies were comfortable things.
---
Lily wrote letters she never sent.
They piled in a drawer beside her bed, addressed to *Harry*, each one folded and unfolded until the creases wore thin.
*I'm sorry.*
*It was supposed to protect you.*
*We thought—*
She stopped writing after that. Some thoughts could not be finished.
She dreamed of green eyes watching her from the dark.
---
Albus Dumbledore visited often.
He peered over half-moon spectacles, smiled gently, and spoke of wards and prophecies and the necessity of sacrifice.
"The world needs symbols," he said kindly. "And Aries is one."
Lily flinched.
"A child is not a symbol," she said sharply.
Dumbledore's smile did not waver. "All children are," he replied. "Whether we wish it or not."
James did not hear the difference.
---
Aries grew.
Loved.
Protected.
Watched.
By age two, he knew how to wave at cameras. By age three, he recognized applause. By age four, he could recite his own story with only minimal prompting.
"I beat the bad man," he said proudly one evening.
James beamed. "That's right, Prongslet."
Lily turned away.
Aries frowned, confusion flickering briefly across his face.
Sometimes—rarely—he cried without reason.
Sometimes he dreamed of falling.
Sometimes he woke with the strange certainty that someone was missing.
---
Far away, in a place no map could find, Harry Potter laughed at a teacup arguing with a spoon.
Back in England, Aries Potter screamed as his scar burned.
The magic between them pulsed—thin, frayed, incomplete.
Dumbledore felt it one night and paused mid-step.
"That's odd," he murmured.
---
On the eve of Aries's fifth birthday, a visiting witch commented lightly, "Funny thing. The wards don't quite… settle around him, do they?"
Dumbledore's eyes sharpened.
"They will," he said firmly. "They must."
---
In Wonderland, the Mad Hatter woke with a start, heart pounding.
Harry slept peacefully beside him, utterly unconcerned.
The Hatter stared at the child for a long moment.
"Something's pulling," he said quietly.
Harry sighed in his sleep.
The Cheshire Cat's grin flickered into existence near the ceiling.
"Yes," Cheshire purred. "The other half is growing."
The Hatter's jaw tightened.
"Well," he said softly, adjusting Harry's blanket, "they'd best be careful."
Harry Potter dreamed of a boy with his face, crowned in gold and expectation.
Aries Potter dreamed of a shadow laughing without fear.
Two paths diverged.
Only one of them was free.