A/N: I do not own Harry Potter or anything associated with it.

SHARDS OF A BROKEN FATE

PROLOGUE

Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging

Surrey, United Kingdom

November 1, 1981 ACE

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

Silence descended around Privet Drive, but it was not the silence that one would associate with the dead of the night, for this silence was unnatural in the sense that there was not a single sound echoing around the entire street. It was as if even the insects had decided that it would be in their best interest to remain quiet, as if even the wind had realized that howling was not the path that it wishes to take if it wished to remain in existence.

For a few moments, the light that Professor Dumbledore had released from his silver Put-Outer remained in place, within the glass of the streetlights and looked as if they could burn and provide light till the morning without a problem. Suddenly, the light flickered, but remained in place. For the next few seconds, the light flickered on and off every few moments until it suddenly decided that trying to remain awake is not worth the effort and just died.

Once more, the whole of Privet Drive was encased in darkness. The baby in the bundle of blankets resting in the foyer of number four stirred, as if he could sense the disturbance, but he remained firmly asleep, not even turning as he made small fists with his small hands hidden underneath white mittens.

A low sound came from the direction of one end of the street, the direction where Professor Dumbledore had appeared nearly an hour ago and the direction where he had disappeared after accomplishing the reason he was here in the first place.

Thanks to the darkness, it was very hard to see what was coming from that direction, but the silhouette of the approaching vehicle was just a bit darker than the darkness of the night and a very careful observer can probably see the approaching vehicle.

It was quickly followed by two more vehicles of the same mark and color, approaching from the direction where their leader came from, driving as silently as possible. When the red brake lights of the lead vehicle flashed into existence, it was like a beacon with its brightness, but the red brake lights only flashed for a few seconds before it blinked into non-existence once more as it stopped just in front of the open garage of number four, the big, black body of the four-door Land Rover placing itself between the road and the car of Vernon Dursley.

Two more red beacons – the red brake lights of the two following vehicles – flashed into existence and disappeared into the night in quick succession as they took their position behind the lead Land Rover. Silently, all four doors of the first and last Land Rover opened and four people stepped out from the cab of their vehicles at almost the same time.

These eight men took positions around the front of number four, and each of the eight men took a position that would allow them to see their sectors without any obstacles. Their positions also allowed them to overlap the field of vision of each other in addition to leaving no corner unwatched.

Once the eight men had taken positions – those eight men might not be carrying any weapons of any kind, but they still posses the aura that clearly said that the only ones that can mess with them are those who do not mind dying at the end of the brawl – the second Land Rover finally opened its doors, but unlike the first two, the driver of this vehicle did not even bother to step out. Indeed, he did not even bother to switch off the engine of his vehicle.

Three people stepped down from the second Land Rover – again, none of the three were armed, but two of them possess the same aura as their guards while the last one, a female, carried herself with the grace of a person who knew what to do in order to get what she wants – and quickly made their way exactly where Dumbledore and his entourage were not even thirty minutes ago, their attention focused on the bundle of blankets that the Headmaster of Hogwarts had so carelessly left behind, hoping that the baby inside would be cared for by his muggle relatives.

The apparent leader of this group of men shook his head the moment that he caught sight of the sleeping baby inside the basket before he turned to the other male that was accompanying him and commented, "Albus Dumbledore must be losing his marbles if he would risk leaving this boy in the care of abusive bastards," he said. His companions did not even nod their head in reply – indeed, they did not even seem to acknowledge what he had just said – but the apparent leader did not care.

After receiving a nod from their leader, the only female of the group bent her knees and smiled at the sleeping Harry Potter. Even though he was asleep, a smile came across the face of the baby as she did that. She turned her head toward the apparent leader of the group and nodded.

The apparent leader nodded back before he sighed. At the same time that he did so, the female gently took the basket containing the bundle of blankets covering Harry. She placed it against her body before she engulfed the blanket in an embrace, making sure that it would not fall to the ground.

"Are you sure about this?" the apparent leader asked, her question directed toward the only female in their group. He could understand maternal instinct and all that, but for this woman – his partner in everything – to volunteer herself to take care of this boy whose choices would determine the fate of more than just the people alive today, he could not understand that, and no matter how he try to convince his partner, she would not tell him why she volunteered herself for this operation. Still, it does not mean that he cannot attempt – even if it was just one more futile attempt – to convince her to leave young Harry Potter in the hands of people who were trained to take care of children, "Emma, this is not one of those little cats that you are so fond of raising against my objections"

For a reply, she smiled at him, "Alex, I'm sure about this," she assured him. For a few moments, they were silent, before she added, "You would be there as well," and with a slight smile, she inclined her head slightly toward the direction of their apparent leader and added in a whisper, "My Lord"

The apparent leader smiled in response to the postscript. He did look hesitant for a few moments before he nodded, "Very well, Little Kitten," he replied with a smile. She smiled back at him before she turned her back toward the two men and started to walk back toward the Land Rover that she came from, making cute faces at the baby that she was holding even though the baby was still asleep.

For a few moments, Alex and the other man watched her, but once she was out of earshot, the two men turned toward each other, with the other man saying, "I don't like it,"

"You don't have to," Alex replied in a tone that suggested that he really does not care. There was also a hint of haughtiness and disregard in his tone.

For a few moments, an uncomfortable silence descended on the two before Alex turned his attention toward the house. An angry snort escaped from his lips before he shrugged and turned toward his companion, "You win on that one," he said.

His companion smiled, taking the little victory that he had been given without asking for more. Alex, however, snorted as he explained his reasoning for his sudden decision not to burn number four while the Dursley's are still inside, "Dumbledore's actions this evening proves that he is not going to check up on Harry, anyway, not that he would now that he is sure that young Michael Potter is the so-called boy-who-lived," he said, and there was a tone of irritation in his voice as he said that.

He sighed before he turned his back toward the front door of the Dursley house, his companion following after him a few moments later when he started to walk back toward the waiting vehicles, "besides, if I burn their house now, I would be killing a little child," he smiled as he shook his head, "The boy is going to be his father, but not even death is certain, my friend, I prefer to give him a chance to try to change that which he is meant to be."

To himself, the leader of this group added, 'besides, just because I do not burn them alive today does not mean that I would not burn them alive tomorrow'

"Of course, My Lord," the other man replied. There was a frown on his face, but he still inclined his head politely toward his superior and acknowledged his instruction.

A few moments later found everyone back inside the cab of their transports, little Harry still sleeping in his basket in the rear row, his new mother figure still making faces at him even if he was still asleep.

After the three Land Rovers pulled out of the street – without even bothering to turn the lights back on like Dumbledore did – Alex – who was also seated at the rear row of the second Land Rover – turned toward the girl who was seated at the other side, "Give it a rest, Emma," he said, "He can't see you"

She frowned at him, "You may as well grow to like him, Alex," she replied, and with a smile she added, "He's going to be your son."

ONE

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Scotland, United Kingdom

June 24, 1995 ACE

Minerva McGonagall loved her job, and though most students would most likely label her as one of the more strict professors in the premier magical school of the United Kingdom, they would also not hesitate to label her as one of the better professors at the same school.

In addition to being the resident transfiguration mistress of the castle that is Hogwarts School, Minerva is also the Head of Gryffindor, one of the four houses of Hogwarts as well as Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, and in that position, she assists the running of the school in conjunction with the Headmaster – who, in her opinion, was not doing anything as head administrator of Hogwarts, though she was willing to cut him some slack considering that Albus Dumbledore have a lot of other positions that he must see to, including some of the most important positions of their world – and the Board of Governors.

The work that she was doing that morning was in conjunction with her position as Deputy Headmistress, and though she knew that it was supposed to be the work of the Headmaster to check the names for the coming school year, she had decided to take this job because Albus Dumbledore had not done it since the moment that he became Headmaster.

A soft sigh escaped from the lips of Minerva as she considered the position that the Headmaster of Hogwarts is in, and that sigh on her face was just a prologue to the frown that quickly appeared after the sigh.

The events of the last year had taken a toll on the school, the Headmaster, and the Boy-who-Lived, Michael Sirius Potter. An imposter of a professor – and here, Minerva snorted as she still found it difficult to imagine Albus failing to detect that Alastor Moody, one of his oldest friends, was being impersonated by a follower of the Dark Lord – had managed to sneak the fourth year Gyrffindor – Michael Potter – into a tournament that was reserved for adults. More importantly, he was able to sneak Michael Potter as the fourth contender in a competition that was supposed to have only three contenders.

These events culminated with a kidnapping that saw the contender of Hogwarts dead and Michael Potter loudly proclaiming that Lord Voldemort is back, something that Minerva had no trouble believing, though from the news that she had been reading from the Daily Prophet, she knew that the Ministry was digging their foot.

Minerva shook her head and told herself that now is not the time for her to worry about these things. Even as she told herself that, she returned her attention to the pile of papers in front of her. It was customary for the Headmaster to review the names of the incoming first years every year, if only to make sure that the school would be well-equipped to handle their arrival.

As the Magical World is relatively small, everyone knows almost everyone and it was not surprising to Minerva that in the many years that she had been Deputy Headmistress, she had not read a name from the list that was magically provided by the magic of the school that she had not recognized the parents of.

Another sigh escaped from the lips of Minerva as she was confronted by an event that had happened in her past and directly related to the task that she is doing right now. It was in this same room and in this exact same chair that she learned – nearly five years ago – that Harry James Potter would not be joining the premier magical school in England. She had rushed to Albus to inform him of the news, certain that the Headmaster would drop anything that he was doing in order to check on the young boy, but to her surprise, the Headmaster merely nodded and after confirming that Michael Potter is on the list, the Headmaster informed her that Harry Potter is a squib.

Minerva grimaced as she remembered the shock that permeated her system at that news. Albus had to call her name half a dozen times before she would respond. In hindsight, it was probably better that she did not respond because the moment she did, the Headmaster shot down her suggestion that they visit Number Four for the reason that the two worlds – the magical and the muggle world – are not supposed to have contact anymore than necessary.

Five years after the fact, Minerva still has not forgiven Albus for that, and her anger at him over that matter increased – if that was even possible – when she spoke with Michael Potter – during the one on one interview she had with him as his Head of House – and asked if the young lad knew Harry.

Michael Potter, who was raised in the Weasley household, was not joking when he replied that he does not know anyone named Potter other than himself, before the vain lad went on to proclaim that he is the only Potter left. Minerva dismissed him soon after that.

Without warning, a great white snowy owl suddenly entered the chambers of the Deputy Headmistress, surprising Minerva. A frown made its way on her face as she the owl approached her before it showed her its leg where a package was tried securely.

Minerva stared at the package, wondering who it was sent from and what is in it. This time of war, it pays to be suspicious of anything that is sent to her, and at this juncture, she turned her attention to the magnificent creature that brought the package. It was her first time seeing this owl, which only served to make her more suspicious, but after a few moments, she gave the owl a nod of respectful greeting which, to her surprise, the owl returned, before she took the package and indicated to the owl that she may rest at the Owlery on one of the many towers of the school before she make the journey back to wherever she it is that she came from.

Once the snowy owl was gone, Minerva turned her attention on the package. She reminded herself that if the contents of the package were dangerous, the wards of Hogwarts would not have allowed it to enter the premises of the school, she opened the package and found herself staring at a letter.

A frown made its way across her face once more as she opened the letter. The first thing she noticed was that the letter was written using not a quill – as is the case of students and anyone who grew up in the magical world – but with something else. The neat figures that the letters formed, Minerva knew, could not be done if the writer was using a quill.

The surprise that she felt at realizing that, however, was nothing compared to the shock that she felt when she read the letter. Even though she was not facing a mirror, Minerva knew that she had gone white the moment that she read the signature at the bottom of the paper. She stood up quickly, carrying the letter between her two hands as if it was the most precious thing that she had ever seen in her life, and made her way to the fireplace of her office.

She quickly threw some green powder into the fire burning, and the red fire reacted almost instantly, turning green the moment that the green powder made contact with it. Once she was sure that the fire is burning green, she struck her head inside the fireplace and called, "Headmaster, are you there?"

The naturally joyous voice of the Headmaster responded almost the moment that the last syllable had left the mouth of Minerva, "Minerva," the Headmaster of Hogwarts acknowledged his Deputy, before he quickly added, "Come in, come in"

With a quick nod to herself, Minerva stepped through the fireplace and found herself inside the spacious office of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. As usual, the Headmaster was seated behind his desk, poring over some parchment that Minerva was sure contains one kind of report or another.

The Headmaster, however, removed his gaze from his paperwork the moment that Minerva stepped into the room. He offered her a smile before he indicated the ever present bowl full of muggle candy that he is so fond of to Minerva, asking her, "Lemon Drop?"

Minerva shook her head and managed, barely, to avoid the look of disapproval that she was sure was etching itself on her face when she heard Albus offering her the muggle contraption. She was also pretty sure that no one had ever taken the Headmaster up on that offer, but somehow, it had not stopped him from offering.

"What can I do for you today, Minerva?" Albus asked, his mood jovial, but then again, Minerva told herself, the times that Albus had been anything but jovial could probably be counted on her hands with fingers to spare. The man appeared to be perpetually smiling, though Minerva – and the rest of the magical world – knew just how dangerous Albus could be, after all, he was – and now that he is back, is – the only one that the Dark Lord Voldemort ever truly feared.

Minerva did not answer the question of the Headmaster. Instead, she merely placed the letter that she had received, as gently as she can in order to avoid her from cursing the Headmaster in her native tongue, on the surface in front of the Headmaster.

She wished that she could just shove the letter – and the paperwork that the Headmaster was dealing with – toward the Headmaster, but the man was still her superior, no matter how pissed off she is of him right now.

The Headmaster seemed amused that his Deputy did not answer his question, having chosen to express her concern via action instead. He watched as she gently placed the letter that she was holding on the surface in front of him, aware that the overly grand gesture was resorted to by his Deputy because she was trying – and to a certain extent, she was succeeding – to control herself.

An invisible sigh escaped from the lips of the Headmaster of Hogwarts. Since the time nearly five years ago when he told her that Harry Potter was a squib, he and Minerva had not seen eye to eye. They had managed – or rather, Minerva had managed – to maintain a strictly professional relationship – and Albus knew that it was not that hard for her – and had managed to forestall their other colleagues from realizing that the two highest administrators of the school are not in good terms.

As he thought about that, Albus asked himself if not informing Minerva the first moment that he got that Harry Potter had been turned into a squib was the right thing to do. Even the decision to leave Harry in the hands of his muggle relatives was made because there was no way that the Weasley's – or any magical family for that matter – would take on Harry as he is a squib. Albus told himself that his decision to leave Harry on the muggle world was for the good of everyone involved.

The voice of Minerva brought him out of his reverie and back to the present, "This was delivered to my office not ten minutes ago, Headmaster," Minerva replied, deliberately ignoring the flinch that the Headmaster made when he realized that she still refused to call him by name. It was fortunate that the other professors still think that the reason that Minerva refuse to call him by name was because she was being respectful.

Albus acknowledged the introduction with a nod. He mentally sighed as he told himself to ignore the fact that Minerva still refused to cal him by name, and instead, he turned his attention on the letter in front of him.

His visage did not change as read the letter, leading Minerva to believe that the Headmaster was aware of this, yet, had not seen fit to inform his Deputy Headmistress of these changes. She was about to launch into a broadside against the Headmaster for what she was a deliberate oversight on the part of the Headmaster, but before she can open her mouth, she saw the jaw of the Headmaster drop in surprise.

Minerva had to call on years of self-discipline not to smile at the gob-smacked expression on the face of her superior. She knew that he had just read the purported sender of the letter.

"Well, Albus, what can you tell me?" Minerva suddenly asked. She chose to use his name rather than his title at this time because she knew that it would stung the Headmaster more than the use of the title, after all, by using his first name, Minerva was insinuating that this was the personal fault of the great Albus Dumbledore.

To her surprise, the Headmaster of Hogwarts merely nodded, "This was expected," he said, nodding again toward Minerva, who looked as if she had swallowed a fly whole.

The Deputy Headmistress blinked once as she realized that the Headmaster had just admitted that he knew that this was coming, but before she can say anything about it, the Headmaster cut her off, "I had been informed before I was ousted as Chief Warlock that a student from across the pond would be coming to Hogwarts this year in order to check on our curriculum, and said student would be staying with us for the rest of the year in order to acclimate himself to how we do things over here"

Minerva blinked as she told herself that that had never happened before. Generally, the different magical learning institutions across the globe ignore each other, unless, of course, it was time to boast of their accomplishments. For a few moments, the fact that it was a Harry James Potter who wrote the letter was forgotten as Minerva was confronted by a serious breach in educational tradition.

She almost missed what the Headmaster said next, "It was a political maneuver in the part of our Minster," the Headmaster said, and even the great Albus Dumbledore had trouble keeping the venom out of his voice when he said that, "Having failed to impress the French and the Bulgarians, he is now turning on the Americans, and while I cannot be certain, I believe that the Americans had taken this opportunity to see if the Minister is as bad as they have been led to believe"

Minerva was not interested in the political by-play, however, and she had no problem showing that to the Headmaster, "Headmaster," she said, her voice took a more urgent tone that even the Headmaster of Hogwarts would chose to ignore in his peril, "I'm not interested in that," she declared, "I am more interested in the purported author of that letter"

Albus Dumbledore nodded as he unconsciously returned his gaze at the signature at the end of the letter. He knew that whoever it is that the Americans are sending, they would be sending someone magical, for there is no point in sending a muggle or even a squib to the school. In the case of the former, he would not even see the castle, while in the case of the latter, there would be no point since he would not be able to join the classes anyway.

It stands to reason, therefore, that the student that the Americans would send is magical in every aspect, and that was where the Headmaster of Hogwarts was having a problem. His thoughts flashed back to the time immediately following the first demise of his student Tom at Godric's Hallow, in the hands of the boy-who-lived.

That Michael Potter is the Boy-who-Live, Albus had no doubt, for it was obvious that it was the older twin that had been marked – the signature lightning-shaped scar on his forehead – by the Dark Lord in accordance with the prophecy. The Headmaster was more certain that he had made the right choice when he was informed by the then Matron of the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts that while Michael Potter was magically powerful – and here, a ghost of a smile appeared on the face of the Headmaster as he remembered the baby summoning different instruments much to the irritation of the then matron – Harry Potter was not showing any signs of magic, and, in fact, the baby had been silent, not having once woke up.

Albus, assured that Harry Potter was a squib, decided to leave him in the care of his muggle relatives while sending Michael Potter to the care of one of the houses loyal to his cause, the Weasley family. When the Headmaster walked out Number Four that evening so many years ago, he was reasonably confident that that would be the last time he would be hearing the name of Harry James Potter.

Returning his attention on the paper – it was paper instead of parchment – in front of him, the Headmaster visibly fought the sigh that threatened to come out of his mouth as he realized that he was wrong on that account.

Still, the possibility exist that this lad now named Harry James Potter and coming to them was just named after the lad. The student who purportedly wrote this letter did not indicate his age, and that gave the Headmaster the opening that he needed in order to get Minerva – and he knew that his Deputy was after him – to back off, even for just a few minutes.

"Minerva," the Headmaster began in his most placating tone. It was probably a mistake since he realized that that had never worked on her before, but since he had already committed himself into using that tone, there was little that he could do, "I am sure you are wondering if this Harry Potter is the same Harry Potter that was left to be raised by his muggle relatives," and the fact that Minerva inclined her head toward the Headmaster told Albus that Minerva really believed that, "I can assure you that this is not that Harry Potter."

"Headmaster…," Minerva began.

Albus cut her off before she can continue, "the name, I admit, is incredibly suspect, but I do believe that the person who wrote this was trying to catch us off guard by using that name," he excused, "but even if that would not be the case, the age of the student was not indicated in this letter, making it quite possible that this 'Harry Potter' that would be coming to Hogwarts is just named after the real Harry Potter."

Albus caught his Deputy biting her lip, no doubt in order to stop herself from continuing this conversation. The mental shields of Minerva prevented Albus from having a cursory glance at what she was thinking, but at this juncture, Albus does not need his powerful Legilimancy in order to know what Minerva was thinking.

The Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts wanted to point out the fact that Albus had never told Michael Potter about this younger sibling, but in the past conversations that the two had over this topic, Albus had successfully convinced Minerva – even if it was just barely and even if she needed convincing every now and then – that it would be in the best interest of everyone that Michael not be informed.

A few moments of silence descended between the two highest administrators of the premier magical school of Britain, but after a few moments, the Headmaster broke that silence, "We should prepare for the arrival of Mr. Potter, if that is truly his name, to Hogwarts," he said, "As he would only be staying for a year, perhaps assigning him an empty dorm of his own would be the better option rather than placing him in one of the houses?"

It was phased as a suggestion, but Minerva knew better. She can only manage a nod as she acknowledged the instruction, biting her lip in order to prevent her from making the claim that the Headmaster was trying to ensure that Harry and Michael Potter would have no contact with each other, "If that would be all then?" she asked.

"Of course," Albus replied, he gave her one of his grandfatherly smiles, but Minerva ignored the expression, "Thank you for bringing this to my attention, Minerva"

Albus watched as his Deputy Headmistress walked out of his office, utilizing the same method that she used to get in, the fireplace. Once the flames on the fireplace returned to red, Albus finally allowed his visage to collapse as he returned his attention on the letter in front of him.

A flicker of worry crossed the face of the Headmaster but even though he was alone – figuratively since the portraits of the former Headmasters are still here, and despite the fact that they are magically prevented from betraying the confidence of the Headmaster to anyone, they are also compelled to help the Headmaster whoever he is, and Albus has no illusions that he would be Headmaster forever – he schooled his features. He scanned the letter one more time, trying, in vain, to find more clues about this Harry Potter that is now coming to Hogwarts.

A sigh escaped from his lips as he turned his attention on his collection of silver instruments on the far end of his office. Every now and then, some of them would emit puffs of smoke indicating to the Headmaster that everything is alright with the lad that they are monitoring.

Albus pushed himself off of his chair and walked the small distance between his desk and the largest window in his office, the one that was positioned on the lake side of the castle, allowing him to view the lake from his vantage point. As the school was empty for the time being, the grounds around the lake was empty as well, which gave Albus a sense of peace that he knew he needed at that time.

He knew that he did not make a mistake in choosing Michael Potter as the Boy-who-Lived, and the events during the past four years that Michael Potter had been at Hogwarts vindicated his choice.

It was, after all, Michael Potter and not Harry Potter whom Lord Voldemort kidnapped in order to return to a physical body. If Lord Voldemort had been trying to eliminate Harry Potter, he would not have bothered with Michael. Albus shook his head as he returned his attention toward the silver instruments on the far end of his office, assuring himself that he made the right decision in choosing the Boy-who-Lived.

As he returned his attention to the lake below him, however, the Headmaster of Hogwarts cannot help but be worried, for his instincts are telling him that Harry Potter coming to Hogwarts would change everything, and he knew not if that change would be for the better or for the worse.

Heathrow International Airport

London, United Kingdom

June 26, 1995

The chaos of six thousand people arriving at almost the same time hardly mattered to the well-trained staff of one of the busiest airports in the world.

With a smile, the young man who just finished his turn at immigration told himself that if this were the magical world, the chaos would be more pronounced and uglier, but the non-magical world had progressed to the point that it can handle millions – or even tens of millions – of people travelling every day.

The young man walked pass the duty-free shops that were broadcasting their wares with passive advertisements on their walls, and as he did so, he passed by a mirror. He paused long enough in order to check his appearance, and a smile came across his face as he told himself that his appearance was proper.

The young man was not that tall, probably just four or five inches over five feet, but despite the fact that his passport proclaimed that he was already eighteen years old – it was hell for minors to travel – Harry James Potter was just a few months – actually just a few days – short of his fifteenth birthday.

Unconsciously, his left hand found itself on top of his head as Harry tried, in vain, to flatten his hair. It was unfortunate, but according to his aunt, there was no way that Harry's hair would flatten, as it appeared that his father had the same affliction.

A smile came across the face of the young man as he resumed walking to the exit of the airport. The two people who raised him, his aunt and uncle, Harry knew had no relation to his real parents. The two of them, however, are called aunt and uncle by Harry out of respect and because they are that, in every sense of that word.

The voice of the immigration agent asking, politely, for his gate pass brought Harry out of his reverie and he quickly handed the man the requested piece of paper. The agent looked over at Harry once – no doubt to remark that he does not look eighteen – but since his colleague over at the immigration desk had cleared him, there was little that he could do and allowed Harry to pass him.

It was not that hard for Harry to find the man that was sent to fetch him, for the man was holding a big card with his name on it. A smile came across the face of Harry as he approached the man who was uniformed as a chauffeur and said, "I'm Harry."

Evidently, the other man already knew that and gave him a respectful nod, "Mr. Potter," he said, giving him another nod, "We're this way, sir," he said, indicating the direction before he moved to take charge of Harry's baggage – just two bags fortunately, he was assured that other necessities can be acquired here – and added, "Your uncle also sent a letter," before he handed Harry a sealed envelope.

Harry flipped the envelope and noticed the wax seal as well as the pattern embossed on the red wax. His uncle could be old fashioned that way, and that his uncle had sent this letter, there could be no doubt, given that the embossed pattern on the wax was his uncle's personal seal.

The presence of that seal, Harry knew, prevented anyone who knew what that seal means from opening it, but since the letter was for him, Harry had no problem breaking the wax in order to access the letter within.

The uniformed chauffeur led Harry to the parking area of the airport while dragging his luggage, leaving Harry the time to read the letter. A frown made its way across his face as he finished reading the letter, but at the same time, they reached the car. Harry opened the door himself, much to the confusion of the chauffeur, though not as confused as the chauffeur became when Harry added with a smile, "You know," he said, "Sometimes, I wished my uncle would trust me not to get into trouble,"

PROJECT 13A812 OPERATION HERMIONE Page 17