The morning was heavy with unease in every corner of magical Britain. By dawn, copies of the Daily Prophet were already flying through owl posts across the isles. And on the front page, in bold black letters, the headline screamed:
"Lily Potter and Sirius Black Alive!
Boy-Who-Lived Raised in Secret!"
Beneath the headline was an old moving photograph: Lily, wand in hand, standing on the steps of Hogwarts. And beside her in another picture—Sirius Black, with his shoulder length hair and wearing a formal suit, a photo took at James and Lily's wedding.
At Hogwarts, a storm was brewing.
The Order of the Phoenix members had gathered hastily, copies of the newspaper strewn across the long table.
"This was supposed to be secret!" Moody roared, slamming his fist so hard the table shook. "One of you opened your bloody mouth!"
"I did no such thing!" Minerva snapped, her face pale with anger. "How dare you suggest—"
"Don't look at me," Mundungus Fletcher cut in, raising both hands in protest. "I may deal in dodgy goods, but I know when to keep my trap shut. No profit in this mess!"
The accusations flew back and forth until Remus finally stood, his voice calm but heavy.
"Enough. This… this isn't the work of any of us."
Dumbledore, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke.
"Then it seems the Prophet has other eyes. Perhaps someone else saw more than we intended. Secrets never stay secrets for long in our world."
Meanwhile, across Diagon Alley and beyond, wizards and witches huddled in groups, arguing over the article.
"It's rubbish," scoffed a balding wizard outside Flourish and Blotts. "The Prophet prints nonsense every other week. Sirius Black alive? Lily Potter alive? Next they'll tell us You-Know-Who is selling cauldrons in Knockturn Alley."
But others were less dismissive.
"No, it must be true," a witch insisted, jabbing the picture with her finger. "If she's alive, then maybe she's the one who killed You-Know-Who, not the boy!"
The theory spread like wildfire: that Lily, a brilliant but muggleborn witch, had struck down Voldemort herself.
For decades, the wizarding elite had whispered their disdain for muggleborns, clutching their seats of power in the Wizengamot. But now the story painted Lily as the true savior of the wizarding world—one who went into hiding because she had no political standing to protect herself.
By evening, the Prophet published a follow-up piece, reprinting photographs from curse-breaking expeditions. In them, a young, fierce-eyed witch named Wanda Maximoff appeared in far-off ruins—always with an aura of power, always alone. And the public made the connection.
"Wanda… Lily… the same woman."
The atmosphere in Highlands Manor was tense. Sirius slammed the paper onto the breakfast table.
"Who bloody leaked this?" he demanded, pacing back and forth. "We've just painted a target on Harry's back again. The whole world will be sniffing around now!"
Harry picked up the paper, his green eyes narrowing at the moving picture of his mother. "It's not exactly a lie," he said softly. "They only printed what people already suspected after the Order saw you both."
"That's not the point, pup," Sirius snapped, though not unkindly. "Now everyone knows. The Ministry. The Wizengamot. The old purebloods. They'll all be clawing to take you from us."
Wanda sat calmly at the head of the table, sipping her tea. Her face betrayed nothing, but her magic crackled faintly in the air, like lightning just beneath the surface.
"Let them come," she said coolly. "If they think they can strip my son from me, I will unleash chaos in the magical world."
Sirius muttered under his breath, "Merlin's beard, you sound like you want a fight."
Harry gave a small grin. "Good. Because I'm not going anywhere."
In the halls of the Ministry, the discussion was just as heated.
"This is outrageous!" cried Lord Nott, pounding his cane against the marble floor. "The boy is ours to protect, not theirs to hide away!"
Lady Longbottom raised her chin. "Believe it or not the boy is not yours to manipulate, Nott. You have no control over where Harry Potter should stay."
The chamber erupted in shouts, and even Amelia Bones struggled to maintain order. But one thing was clear: the name Harry Potter was once again the most dangerous word in wizarding Britain.
The Daily Prophet had always been a tool of influence, shaping the opinions of magical Britain through propaganda, rumor, and carefully spun truths. But never before had a single article caused such a storm.
The notion that Lily Potter had been the one to defeat Voldemort was spreading like Fiendfyre through the streets, igniting conversations in every corner of the wizarding world.
At the Malfoy Manor, Lucius Malfoy slammed his cane against the marble floor hard enough to echo through the hall.
"This is dangerous," he hissed to Narcissa, his face pale beneath his golden hair. "If the rabble believes this nonsense, it will undo centuries of tradition."
Narcissa, ever composed, raised a brow. "It is not nonsense, Lucius. If Lily Potter is alive, if she truly the one who killed the Dark Lord…"
Lucius rounded on her, voice trembling with suppressed fury. "She was a mudblood. A mudblood who outmatched the greatest dark wizard of our time? Do you not see what this means? If the masses begin to believe that blood does not determine magical strength, our entire structure collapses. The Wizengamot, the Sacred Twenty-Eight… all of it will unravel."
In the corner, young Draco listened, eyes wide. For the first time, doubt flickered in him—not about his father's words, but about the absolute truth of pureblood supremacy.
Meanwhile, in Hogsmead, groups of muggleborn students gathered, copies of the Prophet clutched tightly in their hands.
A young witch, barely fourteen, whispered to her friends, "If Lily Potter could do it… if she killed You Know Who… then we're no different from them. No matter what the Slytherins say."
Her friend nodded eagerly. "Exactly! They called us weak. They mocked us. But if the most powerful witch of all time is muggleborn—then it's them who should be afraid."
The murmurs of hope spread quickly. Muggleborns in Hogwarts, long used to whispers of "mudblood" behind their backs, now looked at themselves differently. Pride began to replace shame.
The chamber of the Wizengamot was in uproar.
"This is absurd!" Lord Parkinson shouted, his cane rattling against the polished floor. "If we allow this idea to take root, the very foundation of our world will crumble. Order must be maintained!"
"Order?" Lady Longbottom rose, her voice sharp as steel. "You mean the illusion of order, bought with lies and oppression. If Lily Potter lives, then perhaps the truth we have been fed these past ten years is false."
Rufus Scrimgeour, leaning forward with his leonine scowl, growled, "The real question is not bloodlines, but security. If Lily Potter survived, if she deceived us all, what else has she hidden? What other powers does she wield?"
The arguments raged, but beneath the surface, everyone felt the same gnawing fear: that the system they had built on the illusion of pureblood superiority was fragile—and about to collapse.
"They buried her body!" someone argued in the chamber, echoing the words many had repeated across Britain.
But a calm voice silenced the hall. Amelia Bones, standing tall and resolute, spoke with authority.
"And they buried a body of Sirius Black too, did they not? Yet he is also alive. If Sirius could be replaced with a decoy, why not Lily Potter?"
The chamber erupted again, but the seed was planted.
If Lily had been clever enough to fake her death once, perhaps she had done it before.
Inside Highlands Manor, Harry sat with Sirius and Wanda as they listened to the crackling wireless, which repeated the Prophet's breaking story.
"They're tearing themselves apart," Sirius said with a grim smile. "All their lies, their propaganda, it's crumbling. The idea that blood makes one stronger has always been their greatest weapon. And now… now it's slipping through their fingers."
Harry leaned forward, eyes bright. "So the muggleborns… they're starting to believe they're equal?"
Wanda reached out, brushing a hand through his hair. "Not starting, Harry. They always were. They only needed someone to show them. And right now, that someone is me."
Harry grinned. "Then let's make them afraid. Let's give the world a reason to stop underestimating us."
Sirius chuckled darkly. "Merlin help the purebloods when they realize they're outnumbered eight to one."
And for the first time, the pureblood foundation—built on centuries of lies—was trembling.
Sirius stood at the doorway of their chamber, arms folded, watching as Wanda adjusted the folds of her modern Muggle dress. It was elegant, flowing, and unlike anything that the wizarding world would expect from "Lily Potter." She smoothed the fabric over her hips, her reflection glowing in the polished mirror.
"Are you really going to do this?" Sirius asked, his tone half disbelief, half admiration.
Wanda only hummed softly in reply, tilting her head to examine herself from another angle.
Sirius sighed, tugging at the deep navy wizarding robes he'd chosen. The robes had silver trims and a crest of the Black family embroidered faintly on the collar, but with a subtle modern cut. "You know," he continued, "if you step out there like this, there's no turning back. No more hiding. Every eye in the magical world will be on you."
"I know," Wanda replied, her voice steady. She turned and met his gaze with a quiet fire burning in her own. "If the world insists on talking about us, then let them see us. Let them see him."
When they walked into the living room, Harry was already waiting. He had chosen a curious blend of styles: a crisp white shirt beneath a light black cloak that shimmered faintly with runes, dark trousers tailored like Muggle dress pants, and polished boots. His messy black hair fell over his forehead, and for today, he had deliberately shaped his lightning-bolt scar to be sharply visible, almost glowing faintly beneath the light. His green eyes behind the glasses carried a strange mix of pride and challenge.
"You look sharp, kid," Sirius said, grinning.
Harry smirked. "Not bad yourself. Trying to look respectable for once?"
Sirius barked a laugh. "Just enough to shock the hypocrites."
From the corner, America leaned lazily against the wall, her leather jacket slung over her shoulder. She raised a brow. "So, are you sure you don't want me tagging along? If anyone tries something stupid, I can knock 'em through my portal."
Wanda shook her head firmly. "Not today. This has to be subtle… well, as subtle as we can manage." She gave America a knowing glance. "But another time, maybe. For now, stay here."
America rolled her eyes but smirked. "Fine. But if anyone writes about it, tell them they're missing the cool one."
Sirius clapped Harry on the shoulder. "Ready, pup?"
Harry nodded. "Let's give them something they won't forget."
Together, the three stepped outside onto the manor grounds. Wanda raised her hand, scarlet energy coiling between her fingers, and with a deliberate motion she tore open the air itself. A brilliant, star-shaped portal shimmered to life, dazzling with colors.
The world on the other side opened to Diagon Alley.
It was mid-morning, and the cobblestone streets were alive with chatter. Witches haggled over potion ingredients, children pressed their noses against broom displays, and a queue wound out of Flourish and Blotts for Gildoroy Lockheart's latest book publishing.
Then, in an instant, the air above the cobbles warped. A massive, radiant star blossomed into existence, humming with power. Wizards stumbled backward, witches gasped, and every head turned toward the spectacle.
Three figures stepped through.
At the center: a boy with the messy black hair of James Potter and the striking green eyes of Lily Evans. His faint but distinct lightning-bolt scar gleamed under the sun. At his side: a woman, elegant, radiant, unmistakably Lily Potter, alive and walking. And beside her, Sirius Black himself—tall, roguish, and very much alive, his Black family robes confirming his identity.
For a moment, there was silence. Then the crowd erupted.
"It's them!" someone shouted.
"It's Harry Potter!" cried a shopkeeper, nearly dropping his tray of butterbeer.
"Yes—look—Lily Potter—its true, she's alive!"
A chorus of voices rose, frantic and disbelieving. People rushed forward, trying to get closer. Children pointed, whispering. Old witches clutched their chests, murmuring greetings.
Even those who had doubted the Daily Prophet's recent sensational articles could not deny the living, breathing evidence before their eyes.
Harry glanced at Sirius, whispering, "This is madness."
Sirius smirked, tugging his robes into place. "Welcome to fame, pup. Get used to it."
And Wanda, standing tall and calm despite the chaos, thought only one thing: Let them look. Let them all see.
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