The street known as Privet Drive was utterly normal all throughout the night of October 31st. This was not odd, as the people who lived on Privet Drive prided themselves on their normality, competing within themselves for the unofficial title of First among Normals.
At 9 o'clock, the occupants of Number 1 did nothing to show that they knew a friend had recently bought his own life with the life of others. They were safe within their beds, dreaming restful dreams, their windows dark.
At 10 o'clock, the occupants of Number 2 did nothing to indicate that they knew an evil man had set out on a mission he thought would remove any threat to his power. They were safe within their beds, dreaming pleasant dreams, their windows dark.
At 11 o'clock, the occupants of Number 3 did nothing to suggest that they knew aforementioned evil man had been defeated by an odd combination of arrogance, incaution, and bad luck. They were safe in their beds, and although one of them was having a nightmare, their windows, too, were dark.
At 12:59, the inhabitants of Number 4, Privet Drive, did nothing to demonstrate they knew their house would be the site of an important drama in quite a short time.
The Dursley's (for that was the name of the husband, wife, and small child that lived in Number 4) house was painted a boring, muted yellow color. It had little to distinguish itself from the other houses on the street, which was of course just what its oppupants wanted.
The street was completely quiet at the new day approached. No sounds from small insects could be heard A few scattered streetlamps barely held back the gloom and silence of midnight. Only feet away from them, the street was totally dark.
10 second left.
Silence.
5 seconds.
4.
3
2
1
Pop! The soft sound that broke the stillness of Privet Drive was nothing next to the figure that now stood on the sidewalk in front of Number 4, staring at the house with a look of concern on his face.
This mysterious man wore clothes that seemed to have been specially chosen to offend the silent houses and their owners as much as possible. He wore dark green robes that fit loosely around his body, with a yellow sash tied around his middle that clashed horribly with his robes.
A lined face attested to the man's old age. Bright blue eyes peered out of his face, staring out at the house of Number 4.
The most interesting thing about the man that had apparently appeared out of nowhere was what he was carrying in the crook of his arm Wrapped in heavy wool blankets was a young toddler with messy black hair and green eyes. Not that you could see his eyes, for this young child was currently asleep.
Seemingly reaching a decision, the mysterious man walked up to the door of the Dursley's. When he reached the overhung doorway, he hesitated briefly once more before bending down and putting the baby on the doorstep.
Stepping back, the man reached into his robes. He had just extracted an envelope when suddenly, he looked up sharply.
His head rose from its contemplation of the young boy and his gaze swept the street. A sudden hardness to his eyes and the tightness of his mouth made him appear much more threatening than he had before as he swept the street with his eyes.
The letter in his hand had disappeared, replaced by a short thin piece of wood (if an ordinary person had been looking at him, the spectacle of an old man holding a short stick as if it might protect him would be odd, and if American, the person would probably think that the man was trained in a extra-deadly Asian martial art.) The tension all throughout the street increased, as if the very street itself was aware of some great power ready to be unleashed.
As suddenly as it had appeared, the piece of wood disappeared, the tension broke, and a smile lit the man's face. Looking at the tree that he had passed on his way through the yard of Number 4, he called out, "Good evening, Nicholas."
There was a small, almost inaudible crunch, and the dark outline of another man could suddenly be seen through the early morning darkness, standing next to the tree on the Dursley's front lawn. He stepped forward, revealing a man who looked even older than the first man.
"And a pleasant evening to you too, Albus." Nicholas walked towards Albus, stopping next to him. He looked down at the child still asleep on the doorstep and frowned slightly. "So this is where he will live?"
"You know this is the only other place I can leave him," Albus said, following Nicholas' eyes. His voice was gently reproving. "His parents' will left the matter to me, with the understanding that he would be kept safe."
Nicholas looked up briefly before letting his gaze sink back to the child. "Satisfying the parents' will is not the only reason, is it, my old friend?"
"It is necessary he be kept safe." A non-answer.
"Surely there must be others you can trust to care for him?"
"I know a great deal of people, true, but few would be able to protect him from a determined attempt to harm him, and those that can are exhausted from the war. It would be unfair to ask this burden of them." Albus paused, then said, "I would have preferred that he be raised with an understanding of magic, but this," he gestured around the dark and silent street, "this is my last option."
Nicholas sighed, still looking down at the sleeping child. "Unless I take him, you mean."
"You have considered my proposal?" Albus' voice sounded hopeful.
"Yes."
"You will raise him?"
"Yes, Albus. I will." Nicholas said.
Albus smiled. "Excellent." He sounded very pleased, as if leaving the boy at Number 4 had been a choice he had not wanted to make. "I am sure that you will raise him to excellent standards. And – think of it as one last task to accomplish before you stop drinking it."
"You know?" Nicholas said, resignedly.
"I understand, as much as it is possible for me to." Albus replied.
Nicholas bent down and scooped up the young boy into his arms. He shifted the boy into a more comfortable position as he reached into his robes and extracted a small pyramid made of shiny black metal. Albus retrieved the envelope he had had before and handed it to Nicholas.
"Inside you will find all his documentation. I trust you will be able to obtain all other paperwork needed as he grows up. I would like for him to be able to integrate into the Mundane world with a minimum of difficulty once he grows up."
"Yes." Nicholas took a deep breath. He slipped the envelope into his robes. "You will come and visit, of course? He'll grow lonely with only me for company."
"Of course." Ablus' eyes twinkled as he said "I look forward to it."
"Excellent." Nicholas made a show of looking around him as if to make sure he did not forget anything.
Apparently satisfied, he said, "I'm off, then." He stuck his hand out.
Albus shook it warmly, and said, "Thank you my friend – and good luck."
"Think nothing of it, Albus. Give my regards to the old girl."
With that Nicholas stepped onto the lawn of Number 4, Privet Drive, looked around, made sure he was holding the young boy securely, held out the black pyramid, and said sharply, "Initiate!"
SWISH!
He was gone, leaving the man known as Albus standing on the porch of Number 4, Privet Drive. Albus looked up, into the sky, and smiled softly.
"Good luck, Harry Potter. Until we meet again."
Pop!
At 1:10 on the morning of November 1st, not one occupant of the houses of Privet Drive knew that an evil man had been defeated, two lives had been lost, and that a young boy known as Harry Potter was no longer on Earth. They were safe in their beds, dreaming dreams, their windows dark.
Privet Drive was silent, and dark.