Harry Potter and the Melody of Magic

Chapter 1 – Twice Abandoned

Vernon Dursley looked down at the little bundle lying on his doormat and contemplated in how many ways taking it into his home could utterly destroy his life.

Petunia was examining the child as closely as she could while still avoiding contact with it. It was scrawny, unlike her Dudleykins who at the tender age of one had already achieved a healthy bulk of forty pounds, green eyes, eyes the exact copy of her freak sister, a mop of unruly black hair, which just seeing made her eye twitch, and lightning bolt scar which bled faintly. Upon seeing the scar Petunia jumped up right into Vernon.

That thing is downright unnatural, she thought disgustedly to herself, not entirely sure whether she meant the child or the scar.

The child, which had now woken up, looked around seemingly searching for something. Unable to find what it had been looking for it started crying.

Petunia felt the crying stir Vernon, who had been holding the letter which they had found in the child's hand about ten minutes earlier. She looked at Vernon who seemed to have shaken himself out of the reverie he had fallen into after they had finished reading the letter for the fifth time.

"Petunia, make the thing stop before it wakes the neighbors." Vernon, who had never had a hand with children and didn't really want to touch the child, chided.

Petunia reluctantly took the child, held it at an arm's length and placed a dummy in its mouth, she reminded herself to burn it when the child was finished with it. The dummy in combination with feeling being held seemed to comfort the child.

Vernon walked over to living room with Petunia and the child in tow. Petunia placed the child on the coffee table letting go of it as if it were on fire and ran off to the kitchen to disinfect her hands. Vernon placed himself in his favorite chair and stared at the child with contempt until Petunia came back.

"I am not letting this thing live in my house!" Vernon almost yelled at Petunia while pointing at the child. He said it with such steel in his voice that she knew that he had made his mind up, but Petunia was not a cruel woman at heart and did not like the idea of throwing a child, no matter its origin, onto the street.

"Think of what the neighbors would say if we brought one-of-those-sorts into our home!" Petunia, ever conscious to the opinions of her neighbors, flinched but still did not seem sure.

"It would bring all of that filth that his sort dabbles with into our home!" Vernon grew more enraged as he saw that Petunia still didn't take his side.

"Think of what it could do to Dudley!" That shattered all of Petunia's doubts, she would rise to any threat to protect her baby. Vernon had shouted so loudly that the child was now sobbing quietly, it seemed to feel that it wasn't the time for crying.

"We need to get rid of it," Petunia said, nodding and glaring daggers at the little sobbing bundle of blankets. "But what should we do with it?" she asked her husband.

"I'll write a note with its name and drive it over to London, if I'm fast I can do it before the neighbors wake up and Dudley ever gets into contact with it." Vernon said, still a bit red in the face but noticeably pleased that he had convinced Petunia to see sense.

And so he did, Vernon went and grabbed a pen and paper, wrote "Harry Potter, twice unwanted" in big clear letters and gave it to the little child who grabbed and held on to it as if his life depended on it.

Just as Vernon was exiting the house with the little bundle of blankets roughly under one arm he heard Dudley's cries as he awoke, Vernon thought happily to himself of how much pain he would be saving his son by getting rid of the freaky little thing now held under his arm.

Vernon drove to London as fast as he could, staying within the speed limits of course, as was decent. When he arrived he drove around for about an hour looking for a desolate road or alley where no one would see him leave the thing, it would probably start crying after a while and someone would find it, but even if no one did what did it really matter to Vernon?

He eventually found an alley he deemed suitable. He carefully looked around to make sure no one was in the vicinity, when he was sure it was safe he took the accursed child roughly under his arm and placed it gently on the ground of the alley, he didn't want it crying till he was far away. He gave the child, who was looking around the alley, sucking on his dummy and looking a bit afraid, a final glare and left, leaving Harry Potter to fate's whim.

Is that really what I think it is, wondered Bryson Lively, as he stopped playing and started concentrating on making out the faint sound he thought he had heard. A sound which had clashed so horribly with the music he had been weaving forth from his violin. He had only really been playing to lose himself in the comforting movements and sounds playing his violin brought with it, but that sound had crushed his trance.

Now that he was concentrating he could clearly make it out, it was crying, the purest and most horrible type of crying, a child's frightened crying. He debated whether or not to pursue the source of the cries. One of the many things he had learned as a traveling musician was that if you slept outside then you were regarded as homeless whether you agreed with the sentiment or not. He had also learnt that people didn't enjoy being in the presence of homeless people much less having them in the presence of their children. How did he know that this wasn't just some child angry at being denied some ice-cream?

But he knew it wasn't. Another thing he had learnt in his years working so closely with music was how to differentiate small differences in sound and he could hear that sounds were not angry sounds, these were frightened and sad sounds.

And so he decided. He threw his violin and bow into his case, doing his best not to damage his equipment while still being hasty, and ran off, case in hand, towards the source of the sounds.

He found that the sound was coming from an alley not far away from where he had been playing. Walking into the alley he easily distinguished a bundle of white blankets from the grime. The crying had died down as he approached, but when Bryson had bowed down to examine the little bundle it had started up again, so Bryson did what he always did, the thing he did best. He reached into his pocket, brought out his harmonica and started playing a soothing melody. It worked and this time when he bent down he could get a good look at the child that was now looking up at him with big wide green eyes.

Bryson thought that the kid looked cute, his big mop of untamable black hair and his green eyes made him look a bit mischievous, but there was one thing which particularly grabbed Bryson's attention, the lightning bolt scar on its forehead. Bloody hell, that's a freaking awesome scar, he thought.

In the child's hand was a letter but when Bryson attempted to take it, the child fought him and looked like he was about to cry again.

Poor little thing, he thought while sitting himself down on the ground, a little dirt didn't really matter to him since he was always in a constant state of grubbiness anyway. He put the child in his lap and once again played on his harmonica.

After about a minute of playing the child had settled down and relinquished the letter. When Bryson read the letter and was thoroughly disgusted by the contents, in large large clear letters, written as if the writer thought that only an idiot would be reading it, it said:

HARRY POTTER, TWICE UNWANTED

The child seemed restless so Bryson gave him his harmonica and watched idly as the child bit and manhandled Bryson's beloved harmonica. As he watched he thought about what to do.

Should I take the child in as my own? Is that even legal? Not that the legality of his actions had bothered him before, according to him the law existed to protect and if it stopped him from doing the right thing then the law could go to hell for all he cared.

Maybe I should give it to an orphanage? But that didn't feel right, here lay a sweet innocent little thing probably not more than one year old, already abandoned twice and he was considering abandoning it once again. Nope it didn't feel right.

I would have to get a stable job, I have enough money left from my inheritance to get us by until then. But it wasn't that easy, Bryson loved his current occupation, he loved the traveling, leaving whenever it fit him and the feeling of freedom he felt when he had no obligations to anyone but himself. But most of all he loved dedicating his entire being and gambling his life on the thing he loved most in the world, music.

He was brought out of his contemplation by a shrieking note which pierced the silence of the alley. Young Harry Potter had apparently figured out how to make the instrument produce the sounds which had so entranced him a few moments earlier and was now giggling merrily while waving the harmonica in Bryson's face, obviously pleased with himself. It was that which decided it for Bryson. He took a hold of the smiling child, stood up and announced "Well Harry Potter, it seems you'll be coming with me."