Disclaimer: I do not own Harry potter. :,( sniffles.

A/N : This is a story that I have come up with suddenly one day. some parts of this chapter is from Harry potter and the philosopher's stone. I do not own those chapters. Anyway, have fun reading! Read, rate and review. The more people who like this story, the faster i will write. Though probably, chapter 2 will be out by tomorrow, or a few hours depending on where you live. Chapter two will be a little short though.

Prologue I

It was a cold and windy Tuesday(or rather Wednesday morning) night. As it was already far past midnight, all the residents of privet drive were already in bed and fast asleep, thus lone figure of a middle aged woman with a crocodile handbag, prowling around like a tiger, looking for a good story was seen by no one. She cut a striking figure, with her blonde hair styled in a tight bun, narrowed eyes which told one that she was a seasoned reporter, and sharp - oh yes, very sharp and perfectly manicured, long nails.

A few minutes ago, she had heard the unmistakable 'pop!' of someone apparating. And Just seconds ago, the lights of the lamps lining the street had mysteriously went out - literally; little balls of white light had floated out of each lamp, all floating towards the same direction - leaving the street in complete darkness. Instinct told her dark streets were breeding grounds for - for lack of a better word - interesting things to happen. deciding to sniff out that story, Rita skeeter, reporter extra ordinar stuck to the shadows and silently crept towards the source attracting the balls o' light.

To her immense surprise and slight displeasure, at the door step of number four privet drive, she found Dumbledore holding the deluminator, in which several balls o' light were entering. No, she was not jealous that the balls o' light were attracted by the old coot; who in his right mind would? Rather, she was disappointed because Dumbledore, was the who she found on the street. Because of his reputation of being the world's greatest light wizard of all time, even if she published some minor suspicious action that he did, not many would believe her.

"Albus would probably say that he was trading socks - of all things - with an eccentric muggle, and of course most of the public would believe him," Rita thought, scowling darkly while doing so.

She would need solid, hard evidence that he was doing something that could be considered slightly evil in the eyes of the public before they would believe her. Unfortunately, she didn't have her camera with her, so 'convicting' Dumbledore would be Impossible, with a capital I. But even then, many were Dumbledore supporters, and were convinced that he was a perfect angel and could do no wrong.

Curious to know what Dumbledore was doing, Rita decided to continue her investigations. She hurriedly ran and hid behind the house. To her shock, the cat sitting the brick wall morphed into a stern old woman wearing a cloak and looking distinctly ruffled.

"Animagus," Rita muttered under her breath, along with a string of curses. She hoped that the cat had not seen her. She had not been very careful in making sure that she was unseen before the crazy old coot with a long beard came. Not wanting to miss a word that he said, she reached into her bag and pulled out a peacock dictator quill and some parchment. She tapped on each of them with her wand and set them to float. Eagerly leaning forward to eavesdrop, Rita cupped a hand behind her ear and listened, while the tip of the quill scratched away.

"How did you know it was me?" The woman asked.

"my dear, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." Albus answered, eyes twinkling merrily.

"you'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," She retorted.

"All day Minerva? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed by a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

'Minerva' sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be more careful, but no - even muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursley's dark living room window.

" I heard it. Flocks of owls... Shooting stars... Well, they were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in kent - Ill bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," Dumbledore said gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.

"I know that," Minerva said irritably."but that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in muggle clothing, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he would tell her something, but being true to his nickname the manipulator, as he was called in later years, he didn't. She went on: " a fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

" It certaintly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"

"A what?"

" A sherbet lemon. Their a kind of muggle sweet that I'm rather fond of," Dumbledore explained.

"No thank you," said Minerva coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for sherbet lemons. And she was absolutely right.

"As I say, even if you-know-who has gone - "

"My dear professor, surely a sensible person like 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."

Rita flinched violently upon hearing this. She had no doubt that this 'Professor Minerva' hussy did too. Dumbledore, who was unsticking two sherbet lemons without a care in the world, seemed not to notice Minerva's reaction.

"It all get 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 Minerva, sounding half exasperated, half admiring." But your different. Everyone knows that your the only one you-know - oh, all right, Voldemort - was afraid of."

"you flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because your too - well - noble to use them."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Rita had heard enough. Whatever they were saying was utter rubbish, anyway. Even with her wonderful fabrication - sorry - writing skills, a juicy story could not be spun out of that innocuous conversation. Furious, Rita hid her dictator quill and parchment, still writing with fervor, behind a bush, in case an interesting topic comes up later on. She reminded herself to come back later to pick them up. Immediately afterwards, she crept to the next house, then turned on her stiletto heels and apparated back to her house. She didn't want anyone to hear the distinct 'pop!' of apparation after all.