Harry Potter and Nico di Angelo

Chapter I

«3rd Person POV»
DING DONG!

"Were you expecting anyone?" Mr. Dursley grumbled, folding his newspaper up.

"No." Mrs. Dursley stood and went to the door. She opened it and nearly shrieked at the sight. Two baby boys, practically identical, sleeping soundly on the Dursley's front step.

One had a lightning bolt-shaped scar, the other just a few nicks and scratches. They both had nametags: the former being Harry Potter and the latter Nicolas di Angelo.

Nicolas woke up, revealing manic black eyes, wide open and full of innocence. He didn't start crying or anything. He just stared up at Mrs. Dursley with curiosity.

"Petunia, what is it?" Mr. Dursley appeared behind his wife. "What?!"

"We can't just leave them, Vernon!" Mrs. Dursley exclaimed. There was a nagging voice in the back of her mind saying don't let them go.

"But that one's--!"

"I'm well aware, Vernon, but they're barely a year old!"

"Oh, all right," Mr. Dursley grumbled. "Put them in the cupboard under the stairs."

"Vernon--"

"Now!" he barked. Mrs. Dursley sighed defeatedly and gathered up the two boys, carrying them into the house.

"Good night," she whispered, placing them on a cot in the small closet underneath the staircase.

Even if she hated her sister with all her heart, Mrs. Dursley wasn't going to let these children die.

Outside, a man cloaked in darkness and shadows asked a woman in a sparkling robe,

"Are you sure this was a good idea?"

"The only way." The woman nodded. "We must go. You will be able to help your son along, Hades. He just can't know who you are or that someone is helping him."

The man, Hades, nodded and the pair left.

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«Nico's POV»
"Nic, wake up!" Harry jumped on top of me.

"Agh! Get off!" I exclaimed, my subtle Italian accent mangling my words a bit. It was always thicker in the morning for some reason, or whenever I woke up for that matter. I had no idea why.

And Harry was the only one allowed to call me Nic, or my full name Nicolas. Everyone else called me Nico, and not even by my own choice.

"It's Dudley's birthday, we have to make breakfast," Harry said. I groaned.

"Fine."

I pulled on an old pair of Dudley's oversized jeans and a plaid shirt and we walked into the kitchen.

Harry and I were practically twins. We acted alike, dressed alike, and even looked alike. The only differences were that I had olive-toned Italian skin and Harry had pale English skin, and my eyes were an obsidian colour while Harry's were emerald.

"Boys! Snap to it!" Uncle Vernon bellowed. Harry and I nodded, rushing to the kitchen. I put a pan on the burner and turned on the stove while Harry started setting the table.

When Harry was done, I was already cooking bacon. Harry pulled another pan from the cupboard and scrambled some eggs.

We finished and dished everyone their breakfast, making sure Dudley got the most and ourselves the least. The last time we didn't do that, Uncle Vernon beat us with his newspaper.