Disclaimer: I don't own any of these characters or ideas, (except the rather less well-written OCs) so don't go getting any ideas.
Author's Note: This is my first fic, so any reviews or comments will be welcome. This first chapter is quite similar to the original, so sorry if I've gone too far- the later chapters will hopefully be a bit more original.
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
However, the Dursleys also had a secret they did not want anyone to find out about. Whilst they never mentioned it to each other, both knew that if anyone ever discovered the existence of Mrs Dursley's sister and her kind, the Dursleys would never live it down. Their young son, Dudley, was blissfully unaware that his mother even had a sister, and the Dursleys intended to keep things that way.
When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday this particular story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Dursley hummed as he read the morning paper and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled Dudley into his high chair. "Never leaves the house, either! One can only imagine what he gets up to in there, and him looking after that boy as well!"
Mr Dursley looked up from his newspaper (Gas leak kills two in unexplained accident), and looked at his wife. "Who are you talking about, Petunia?" He asked, failing to notice a large tawny owl flutter past the window towards the house next door.
"Him at number three," she said gesturing to the house the owl had flown towards. "Raising a child on his own, and never even leaving the house. Unemployed, I would assume."
"Yes, quite right," Mr Dursley murmured, not entirely listening as he picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye and missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.
He had not gone far before he noticed the first of the day's strange occurrences- a cat reading the sign saying Privet Drive. No, he thought to himself, that's not right. The cat was just looking at the sign. Nothing unusual about that, he thought, turning back to face the road. Nothing to be worried about at all. His mind returned to the real world and a large order of drills he was hoping to- THUMP!
Mr Dursley braked suddenly as a man stepped out in front of him. The man fell over, and there was a nasty cracking noise as his head hit the road. Mr Dursley wound down the window. "Watch where you're going!" he yelled, before realising that the man he had hit was not moving. There also appeared to be a rather large dent in the front of his car. Mr Dursley got out of the car and walked over to the stricken man.
"No, no, I'm quite alright," he said, standing up. "No need to worry. I'm just not particularly used to cars yet. Oh, that looks quite nasty," he said, peering at the dent he had caused. "Let me fix that." Mr Dursley tried to protest, but the strange man had already pulled some sort of device from his pocket and waved it at the car.
"Now hold on," exclaimed Mr Dursley indignantly, "that's just a stick! What are you..." The man stepped back to allow Mr Dursley to inspect his now un-dented car. Mr Dursley's protestations faded as he got back into the car.
"I don't think we've met!" shouted the man through the car window, "I'm your neighbour! I live at number three!"
Mr Dursley ignored him and drove off. Looking back over his shoulder, however, he noticed that the man, his neighbour, was wearing some sort of cloak! "Ridiculous," he grumbled to himself. "Absolutely ridiculous."
The rest of Mr Dursley's day went rather well- he yelled at five different people, made several important phone calls and shouted a bit more. On his way back to his car, however, his attention was drawn to a large group of people standing on the corner of the street. Each and every one of them was wearing a cloak similar to that of the Dursleys' unusual neighbour. As he got into his car, he overheard a few words of what they were saying.
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"
"-yes, their son, Harry-"
Mr Dursley hastily shut the door and pulled out of the car park. He was just being stupid, he told himself. There were plenty of people called Potter, it wasn't such an uncommon name, and he wasn't even sure their son was called Harry. It may as well be Harvey, or Harold, or something. He'd never even seen the blasted child. No point in worrying Petunia, he thought, she'll only get upset again.
But at the back of his mind there was a doubt. Having seen that... man fix his car earlier, he couldn't help but wonder if the Potters' lot were involved in this somehow...
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw- and it didn't improve his mood- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.
He was about to shout "Shoo!" at it, when out of the front door of number three came the man he had hit in his car earlier.
"Is he bothering you?" the newcomer asked the cat, which shook its head. Mr Dursley blinked. Looking from the cat-which-had-definitely-not-shaken-its-head to the strangely-dressed-man-who-had-fixed-his-car-with-a-stick, he plucked up the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing him all day.
"What the ruddy hell is going on here?"
The cat smirked and walked off.
The strange man from number three did not answer his question, but instead headed back towards his house. He stopped at the front door and looked back at the quietly fuming Mr Dursley. "My name's David, by the way. David Campbell."
Mr Dursley just about managed to utter "Dursley" before turning sharply and heading inside.
Mrs Dursley had had an ordinary day. Mrs Next Door had problems with her daughter, and Dudley had learnt a new word ("Shan't"). After Dudley had been put to bed, Mr Dursley came back downstairs in time to see the last report on the news.
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have been surprised to see the owl population behaving very unusually today. Despite the fact that owls are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been reports of literally hundreds of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise, and nobody seems to be able to tell why they might have changed their sleeping patterns." The newsreader smiled. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Can you predict any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
Mr Dursley gripped the arm of his chair tightly. He was going to have to say something to Mrs Dursley about this- it was too much to be a coincidence. And the Potters had been mentioned too... No, he was just going to have to come out and say it. "Er- Petunia? Have you... er... spoken to your sister recently?"
"No," replied his wife, sharply, "Why?"
"Well, there's a lot of funny stuff on the news- owls and shooting stars and such, and... this morning, there were a lot of strange people in town, and..."
"So?"
"Well, I just thought it might be... You know, some of her lot."
Mrs Dursley sipped her tea and said nothing. Mr Dursley decided not to tell her that he had heard the name 'Potter' mentioned, instead saying, as casually as he could, "That son of theirs- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," Mrs Dursley replied stiffly.
"What's his name again? Wasn't it Howard, or something?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
Mr Dursley's heart sank. "Yes," he said weakly, "Very common."
He didn't say anything else on the subject as they went to bed, but later that night he couldn't sleep. Creeping out of bed and over to the window, he could see the same cat, still just sitting there- like it was waiting for something. Mr Dursley got back into bed and tried to stop thinking about it. His last thought before he finally managed to fall asleep was that, even if the Potters were involved in this business somehow, there was no reason for them to bring the Dursleys into it.
If he had stayed looking out of the window for a few moments longer, he would have seen the door of number three open and David Campbell walk out and over to the cat. He would have seen David Campbell appear to talk to the cat, and the cat appear to understand him. And then, Mr Dursley would have seen something very strange indeed, something which would have confirmed his very worst suspicions.
Fortunately for Mr Dursley, he was asleep by that time, and so he did not see these things.
Outside, David and the cat both sat on the wall, staring at the same spot on the corner of Privet Drive. Neither of them moved, except when David occasionally looked at the cat as if to say 'are you sure this is right?'
However, at about midnight David looked at his watch and then at the cat, and the cat looked at David and then back at the street corner. At the point they were both staring at, a man appeared, so quickly it appeared he had sprung out of the ground. This man was exactly the kind of person who would have given Mrs Dursley nightmares- he was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver colour of his hair and beard, both of which reached down past his waist. His blue eyes sparkled in the light of the street lamps, and were hidden behind half-moon glasses, and his nose. His name was Albus Dumbledore. He looked around at his audience- the man and the cat- and smiled. "I thought I might see you here, Minerva," he said, but then turning to David, "and, David Campbell, isn't it?"
David nodded.
Dumbledore chuckled. "I haven't seen you since you left Hogwarts," he said. "Do you live here?"
David nodded again. "Number three," he said.
"Well, I will be with you in a moment," Dumbledore replied, pulling from his pocket what appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter and holding it aloft. He flicked it open and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again, and the same happened to the next one. Another ten clicks, and the whole street was dark. He slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and walked over to where David and the tabby cat sat.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall," he said to the cat.
"Exactly what I said," said David. "She's been here all day."
The cat frowned at him, then looked over at the opposite side of the street. Dumbledore and David turned to look, but there was nothing there. When they looked back, the cat was gone, and instead there was a rather severe-looking woman wearing square glasses exactly the same shape as the markings around the cat's eyes. Like David and Dumbledore, she wore a cloak, although hers was emerald green. Her hair was drawn into a tight bun, and she looked distinctly ruffled.
"Yes, I meant to ask," she said to David, "how did you know it was me?"
"You showed us in Transfiguration in my third year," he replied.
Dumbledore chucked to himself again. "Well, that rather spoils the mystique of it, doesn't it, my dear Professor? And now I think of it, what are you doing here, when you could be celebrating? I must have passed at least a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. "Oh, yes, everyone's celebrating all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' house. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being careless, out in the street in broad daylight and not even wearing Muggle clothes," she glanced meaningfully at David, "and nobody even seems to know what actually happened." Both she and David looked over at Dumbledore, as if hoping he was going to say something, but when he didn't, she continued. "And a fine thing it would be if, on the day it seems You-Know-Who may have finally disappeared for good, the Muggles found out about us. I..." she looked across again at David, enquiring whether she should continue. Dumbledore nodded slightly. "I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?" she said.
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you like a sherbet lemon?"
"A what?"
"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons, but David accepted and grinned as Dumbledore passed him a sticky yellow sweet. McGonagall frowned. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone-"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person such as yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched and David nearly fell off the wall, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons, appeared not to have noticed. "It gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who'. I have never seen any reason to be frightened of Voldemort's name."
"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding slightly exasperated, But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort- was ever afraid of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly, "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
David, who had remained silent as he watched the more experienced wizards talk, could not contain himself any longer. "Then how did he die? If he was even stronger than you are, what was it that finally finished him off?" He caught McGonagall's eye and looked a little embarrassed at his outburst. Dumbledore, however, was not at all offended. "Well?" David continued, encouraged, "what was it?"
Dumbledore remained silent for a moment, and McGonagall continued for David. "You know what everyone's saying? About what finally stopped him?"
It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she and David had been waiting for. She fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare that David was surprised that he did not flinch. Dumbledore, however, did not seem to have noticed, busy as he was choosing another sherbet lemon.
"What they're saying," she continued, "is that last night... he turned up in Godric's Hollow. He was going to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are- are-"
David looked across at Dumbledore, who bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
"Are you sure, Dumbledore?" David asked. "They're really... gone?"
"Yes," said Dumbledore softly, patting Professor McGonagall on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "and they're saying... They're saying that he tried to kill the Potters' son, Harry. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. Nobody knows why, or how, but they're saying that... that that's why he's gone."
Dumbledore nodded glumly.
"It's true?" exclaimed David. "After everything he did, he couldn't kill Lily and James' son? But... but how? How on earth did Harry survive?"
"We can only guess," said Dumbledore, "We may never know." He looked around sadly as he pulled a golden watch from his inside pocket and examined it. David could not see what it said, but evidently Dumbledore understood because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?" he asked Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," she replied. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here of all places?"
"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."
"No!" David shouted, glancing immediately around at the houses to see if he had been heard. "Not here?" he asked, a little more quietly. "Not to number four? They're... they're just..."
"You couldn't find two people less like us," Professor McGonagall continued for him, "and they've got a son- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"
"I'll take him," said David hopefully. "He can come and live with me. Anywhere but there, Dumbledore. Please."
"It will be the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he is old enough. I've written them a letter."
"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting next to David on the wall again. "You could never hope to explain all of this in a letter. These people will never understand him! He'll be famous in our world- there will be books written about him- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in future- every child will know his name!"
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all of that until he's ready to take it?"
Professor McGonagall hesitated for a moment, but changed her mind and said, "Yes- yes, you're right, of course. But..."
David was less accepting. "No, Dumbledore. Please, you can't. These people, these Muggles- they're horrible! At least let me tell him. When he's older, I want to be the one to tell him. They'd never do it, never accept him for what he is. I can keep an eye on him, Dumbledore. I'm begging you."
Dumbledore looked hard at David, as if appraising him. "Whatever you do, it is not my business to dictate. However, I must ask you to wait a little longer. He must be allowed his childhood, at least. Let us not deprive him of that."
David looked as if he was going to object, then nodded slowly.
"Good," said Dumbledore. "Hagrid should be here in a minute."
"Do you think it- wise- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" Professor McGonagall asked Dumbledore.
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," he replied.
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to-"
"Wait a minute- what's that?" David interrupted.
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence in the deserted street. It grew louder and louder as both Professor McGonagall and David looked around to see where it was coming from. Dumbledore sucked on another sherbet lemon. The sound swelled to a roar as they looked up at the sky- and a huge motorbike fell out of the sky and landed in front of them.
If the motorbike was huge, it was nothing compared to the man riding it. He was almost twice as tall as David and at least four times as wide. David, who had not seen him in a number of years, stepped back in shock at how wild he looked, with his tangles of bushy black hair and the beard that hid the majority of his face. In his immense arms he held a small bundle of blankets.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, "at last. Where did you get that motorbike?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing off of the motorbike. "Young Sirius Black gave it to me."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir- house was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep over Bristol."
All four of them bent over the bundle of blankets. Inside, barely visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. On his forehead was a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that-" David began.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, "he'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall asked.
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I have one myself above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well- give him here, Hagrid- we'd better get this over with."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys' house.
"Could I- could I say goodbye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid.
He bent over Harry and made a noise that David guessed must have been a rather whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "You'll wake someone up!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, burying his face in an enormous spotted handkerchief. "I just c-c-can't stand it- they're dead- an' Harry going ter live with Muggles-"
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, as David patted Hagrid gingerly on the arm and Dumbledore headed over to the Dursleys' front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and then came back to the other three. For about a minute they all stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid sobbed quietly, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have dimmed. David's thoughts turned to the future and he resolved to look after the little boy, whether Dumbledore wanted him to or not.
"Well," Dumbledore said finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"You're welcome to come in," offered David, but Professor McGonagall and Dumbledore declined.
"I'd better get this bike away," said Hagrid in a rather muffled voice. "G'night."
He mounted the motorbike again and with a roar it rose into the air and away.
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her as she left too. He turned and walked back down the street. When he reached the corner, he reached inside his robe and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it and the twelve balls of light he had taken from the streetlamps sped back to their original positions. David saw a tabby cat slinking round the corner at the other end of the street. "Good luck, Harry," murmured Dumbledore, and with one last nod goodbye in David's direction, he turned in the air and disappeared.
David pulled his cloak around himself as he walked back inside his house and into the kitchen to get himself a drink. Once he had done that, he crept upstairs to the second bedroom. In a cot in one corner slept a baby boy, only a little larger than the bundle that even now slept on the doorstep of number four.
"Everything changed tonight, you know, Luke," whispered David to his son. "And you won't even remember how things used to be." He smiled and raised his glass. "To Harry Potter- the boy who lived!"
Sorry if it was a bit too similar to the original, I will try and change more in future chapters.
Thanks to PB Headless, who beta read this for me, and who persuaded me to write in the first place.
Updates will probably be quite slow but hopefully will actually happen- I'm starting 6th form in a week so might be a bit busy. I'll try and get one more chapter in before then.