The lively chatter and music that had filled the Weasley household came to an abrupt halt. Everyone turned toward Lily Potter, who was clutching Harry tightly, her sobs racking her body. Harry stood frozen, feeling both confused and panicked as she wept into his shoulder, calling him her son.

  Molly Weasley, sensing the awkward tension, was the first to approach them. Her face was filled with concern as she watched Harry, who looked utterly uncomfortable under the attention. She pced a gentle hand on Lily's arm, trying to calm the situation.

  "Lily, I think you’re looking for Charlie," Molly said softly, trying to redirect Lily’s emotions. "Charlie’s over there." She nodded toward where Charlie Potter was ughing and talking with the other children, oblivious to the growing drama. "This is my son, Harry Weasley."

  But Lily shook her head vehemently, her grip tightening around Harry. "No, no, Molly, this is not Harry Weasley," she sobbed harder, her voice shaking with emotion. "This is my son—Harry Potter."

  The room went still, the gravity of her words sinking in like a stone dropped into a pond. Every eye turned to Harry, who stood rooted to the spot, his confusion growing by the second. He stepped back from Lily, shaking his head.

  “No,” he said, his voice shaking slightly. “My name is Harry Weasley. Molly is my mum. I don’t know what you’re talking about. I’m Harry Weasley.”

  But Lily's tear-filled gaze didn’t falter. She looked at him with such raw emotion that Harry felt his stomach twist. “No, you are my Harry,” she said softly, almost pleading. “My son… you have to be.”

  Harry’s heart raced. His mind was reeling. How could this be? Molly’s gentle but firm voice cut through the confusion.

  "Lily, please," Molly said, her tone a little sharper. "This is my son, Harry Weasley. He’s been with us since he was a baby. We raised him as our own. He's not... He's not your son."

  Lily seemed to stagger under the weight of Molly’s words. Her face crumpled in disbelief, and she turned to Remus Lupin for guidance, who stood at the edge of the crowd, looking equally confused and concerned. James Potter and Sirius Bck had both approached, sensing the tension that had built in the room. Sirius was speaking quietly but urgently with Remus.

  James stepped forward, his voice calm but firm, trying to help Lily regain her composure. “Lily, love, we need to go,” he said, his voice steady but filled with concern. “You can’t take Harry. He’s not our Harry.”

  “But James,” Lily protested, looking as if her heart was breaking. “He’s my son. I know it. I just know it.” Her voice cracked with emotion. "I can feel it."

  Sirius joined them then, his face serious but understanding. “Lily, listen to us. We’ve all been through a lot. I know this is hard, but Harry is a squib.”

  It took James and Sirius several minutes to talk to Lily, soothing her, expining that what she was feeling was real, but that Harry couldn’t just be taken back with them. The Potters were strangers to Harry, and no matter how much Lily believed it, the truth was that he had grown up with Molly and Arthur, with the Weasley children, as one of their own. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Lily wiped her tears and nodded reluctantly.

  “Alright,” she said softly, though her eyes remained filled with sadness. “But I need to know. I need to understand why he looks so much like me…” Her voice trailed off, her words barely above a whisper.

  James wrapped his arms around his wife, leading her away. “We’ll figure this out, Lily. We’ll get answers. But not tonight.”

  The party had been completely derailed by the emotional exchange, and the guests, still processing the encounter, began to quietly file out. The Weasley children lingered, exchanging confused and concerned looks, while Arthur and Molly stood together, trying to comfort Harry, whose mind was still racing with questions.

  Ron approached Harry, pcing a hand on his shoulder. “You alright, mate?”

  Harry nodded, though he still felt numb from everything that had just happened. “I don’t know what to think anymore, Ron. I’m not… I’m not their son, but why did she say that? Why did she look at me like that?”

  “I don’t know,” Ron said quietly, his voice filled with concern for his friend. “But whatever happens, you’re a Weasley, Harry. You always will be.”

  Harry gave a small, grateful smile but still felt a weight on his chest. There were more questions than answers, and as the night drew to a close, he realized that the mystery of his past might be much bigger than he'd ever imagined.

  The news of Charlie Potter having a twin brother, a squib no less, spread like wildfire through the wizarding world, causing shockwaves across the entire community. Whispers filled every corner of Diagon Alley, and the media had a field day. The revetions of Charlie being not only the Boy Who Lived but also having a twin who was abandoned by the Potters became one of the most talked-about subjects in the magical world. It seemed everyone had an opinion, and soon the rumors became impossible to ignore.

  James and Lily Potter, devastated by the events at the Weasley party, were now faced with the reality of their past choices. The truth they had long buried—about Charlie’s twin, the squib they had left behind—was now coming to light. But for all the shock and the heartache, there was one thing they had to do: find their son. Find Charlie’s twin.

  After much deliberation, James and Lily made the decision to visit the Dursleys. Even though Petunia had never been a kind retive, the fact remained that Harry had been living there, and they had to confront the reality of the situation. Petunia had always been secretive and resentful of anything reted to the magical world, but she had, after all, been the one to care for Harry all these years, though Lily’s heart still burned with the thought that it was her sister who had taken her son from her.

  Lily took a deep breath as she and James arrived at the Dursleys' private drive. The house in front of them was as unremarkable as any Muggle home, a stark contrast to the vishness they’d grown accustomed to, but it held a weight that neither of them could ignore. Their son—Harry—had lived here. Petunia, for all her faults, had raised him in her own way.

  Lily rang the doorbell. There was a long pause, and then the door creaked open to reveal an elderly couple, their faces filled with surprise at the sight of the Potters standing on their doorstep.

  “Can we help you?” the old woman asked, her voice wary.

  James and Lily exchanged a gnce, the weight of their unspoken questions hanging between them. They had come all this way, and they had to confront whatever truths y inside this house.

  “Is Petunia Dursley here?” Lily asked, her voice steady but filled with a quiet urgency.

  The elderly woman looked them up and down, as if sizing them up. After a moment of hesitation, she said, motioning for them to enter. " Petunia is in Prison.”

  “Petunia and Vernon Dursley... they’re in prison?” Lily whispered, her voice trembling as she tried to digest the information.

  The old woman nodded slowly, her eyes clouded with a mixture of sympathy and sorrow. “Yes. The truth about their nephew came to light recently. The abuse... the neglect... it was worse than anyone could have imagined. And when the accident happened... the truth finally came out.”

  Lily staggered back, her breath catching in her throat. She felt her knees buckle slightly, but she quickly caught herself on the doorframe. The world around her seemed to blur, her mind struggling to make sense of the horror that was unfolding.

  “Accident? What do you mean?” Lily choked out, her voice breaking under the weight of her disbelief. “The nephew ... Harry... he’s—he’s alive?”

  The old woman’s eyes softened with sorrow. “No, no, dear. Harry... he didn’t survive the abuse. He died. The Dursleys—Petunia, Vernon... they locked him away. Under the stairs. For years. They kept him hidden from the world. But the truth came to light when the boy didn’t make it.”

  Lily’s head swam with the impossible realization that the sister she had once loved, the woman she had trusted, had subjected Harry to such cruelty. The Harry she had given birth to, the one she had hoped would live a long and happy life, had been locked away, ignored, and ultimately taken from her by the very people who were supposed to protect him.

  Her breath came in short, shallow gasps, and her chest tightened with grief. “I... I can’t believe this. How could they do this? How could Petunia do this to him?” Her voice cracked with anguish as the tears began to spill from her eyes.

  The old woman’s face grew even more somber. “It’s a tragedy, truly. No one could have ever imagined the depth of it. The boy... Harry... he was kept in that cupboard for years. The Dursleys treated him as though he wasn’t even human. They never let him see the light of day, and when the truth came out, it was too te.”

  Lily’s stomach churned. Her vision swam, and her legs felt weak beneath her. She had to clutch onto the doorframe for support, her body shaking with the shock of it all. Harry—her Harry—was gone. Gone before she could even hold him in her arms, before she could protect him from the horrors of the world.

  It had been a long, emotional day for the Potters, and especially for Lily. After hearing the shocking news about Harry, she had been through a whirlwind of emotions. She had always feared that something might have gone wrong in the world she had once known, but this was beyond anything she could have imagined.

  Meanwhile, Harry was fighting his own battle—a battle not just with the confusing swirl of identities, but with his own heart. He sat quietly in his room, staring out the window. The moon hung high above the rolling hills that surrounded the Weasley estate, the same hills that had cradled him since he was a child. Yet, his thoughts were consumed with a name he could hardly bear to think of: Potter.

  Harry had always known, in the back of his mind, that there was something peculiar about his past. The memories came in fshes—snippets of things that felt more like dreams than real life. He had once been Harry Potter. Or at least, that was what he remembered, before all the confusion, before the Weasleys took him in. He had long buried the idea that he might be anything other than a Weasley. After all, they were his family. They had given him love and protection when no one else had. But now, the truth came crashing down on him, in the form of Lily Potter's tear-filled eyes.

  What did it mean to be a Potter? Was he truly one of them, or was his name merely a strange coincidence, a link to a past he didn't understand? The Potters had seemed like a well-respected family, honorable, loving, even heroic—everything that Harry had imagined, yet they had abandoned him. They had left him with the Dursleys, without so much as a second thought. No one had come to save him, no one had cared

  How could they have done that? Harry thought bitterly. How could they have left me to suffer like that?

  And that thought only solidified his resolve. He was Harry Weasley, and he wasn't going to abandon the family that had raised him. The Weasleys—Arthur, Molly, and all of his brothers and sister—had taken him in when no one else had. They had given him a home when the Potters hadn't. The Weasleys had never asked for anything in return but his love and loyalty, and in turn, they had loved him fiercely, like their own son. How could he ever turn his back on them, especially now, when they had shown him more care than he could have ever imagined?

  For the first time, Harry realized how much the Weasleys meant to him. They had been the light in his life, the ones who had shown him warmth and care when everything else was dark. He had been happy as Harry Weasley, and he knew in his heart that no matter what the truth about his past was, the Weasleys were his true family.

  As Harry stood up, moving toward the door, he gnced at the small mirror hanging on the wall. He couldn't help but stare at his reflection, wondering who he truly was. Was he Harry Potter or Harry Weasley? Could he be both? Could he ever reconcile the two halves of his identity? The question gnawed at him, but he knew one thing for sure—he had no intention of abandoning the life he had built with the Weasleys.

  That night, Harry y in his bed, staring up at the ceiling, and though his mind was filled with confusion, one thought echoed in his heart: I am Harry Weasley, and I belong here with them. The Potters... they can keep their legacy. I have my family now, and I will never leave them behind.