HELLO PEOPLE OF THE FANDOM!

I have returned with my first real-proper-people-will-read-and judge-story! No pressure right? Ok, so one day I was google-ing fanfiction to read, when a plot bunny hit me in the face. I have been planning and scheming and hopefully you guys like the result.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything (my first proper disclaimer! *fangirl*)


CHAPTER1

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.

Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. they didn't think they could bare it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs potter was Mrs Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years, in fact, Mrs Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son too, but they had never seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away, they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on a dull, grey Tuesday our 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 picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window. At half past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but 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 in his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn't realise what he had seen- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? it must have been a trick of the light. Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. it stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive- no, looking at the sign, cats can't read maps or sign. Mr Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove towards town, he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn't bare people who dressed in funny clothes- the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all, why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt- these people were obviously collecting for something...yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on, and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings car park , his mind back on drills.

Mr Dursley always sat with his back to his window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't , he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did, they pointed and gazed open mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them has never seen an owl, even at night time. Mr Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted some more. He was in a very good mood until lunch time, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the baker's opposite.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they mage him uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

'The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-'

'-yes and their son Harry-'

Mr Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whispers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. He dashed back across the road , hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone and had almost finished dialling his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his moustache, thinking...no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called potter who had a son named Harry. come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point worrying Mrs Dursley, she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her- if he'd has a sister like that...but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

'Sorry,' he grunted, as the tiny man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Dursley realised that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem all that upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare:' Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!'

And then the old man hugged Mr Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought ha had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried back to his car and set off home, hoping that he'd been imaging things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw-and this 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.

'Shoo!' said Mr Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behaviour, Mr Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs Dursley had had a nice normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learnt a new word (Shan't). Mr Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went to the living room to catch the last report on the evening news.

'And finally, birdwatchers everywhere have reported that the nations owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen during daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Expert are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern.' the news reader allowed himself to grin. 'Most mysterious. And now over to Jim McGuffin for the weather. Going to be anymore showers of owls tonight Jim?'

'Well Ted,' said the weatherman, 'I don't know about that, but its 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 are celebrating Bonfire Night early- its not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight.'

Mrs Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her.

'Er-Petunia, dear-you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?'

As he had suspected, Mrs Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they usually pretended that she didn't have a sister.

'No,' she said sharply. 'Why?'

Mr Dursley explained everything to her. She looked thoughtful and mad, and muttered a goodnight as she walked upstairs


While this was going on, something of greater importance was happening, just outside that very door.

A man appeared on the corner where the cat had been, and was still watching. He was tall, thin and very old judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which was long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which swept the ground as he walked and high heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. Then at last he realised he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him. For some reason, he found this funny, and let out a chuckle and muttered, 'I should have known.'

He pulled something out from inside his cloak, which appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter, held it over his head and clicked. The light from the nearest street lamp went out. He repeated the action until the street was shrouded in darkness. No one looking out from a nearby window would see anything that would be happening on this street tonight.

He strolled over to where the cat was perched and sat down beside it. After a few moments he turned and said, 'Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall,' but where there had been a cat sitting earlier, there was a cat no more. In its place sat a strict looking woman with square glasses, her greying hair pulled back into a tight bun. She, like the man wore a strange (but slightly less colourful) assortment of robes and cloaks.

'How did you know it was me?' she asked, looking a bit put out.

'My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly.'

'You would be stiff too, you know. If you had been sitting on a brick wall all day.' she sniffed

'All day? I take it Hagrid told you.'

'Told me? of course he told me!' she exploded

'Would you like a sherbet lemon?' he asked, offering her a tin.

'A what?'

'Its a muggle sweet that I've grown rather fond of.' he said, unwrapping one.

'Now is hardly the time for a sherbet lemon! We have other thing to discuss.' she exclaimed. She paused, 'Albus... is it true? What they're saying?'

'There are many rumours flying around, you have to be more specific.'

'Well, what they're saying is that last night You-Know-Who-'

'Voldemort, Professor. Fear of a name only increases the fear of thing itself.' he chided.

'That last night Voldemort turned up at Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The first part, is that Lily and James are-are, that they're dead!'

Dumbledore bowed his head.

'Oh Albus, no!' she wiped her eyes with a handkerchief.

'There is a second part,' he nodded for her to continue

'The second part, is that he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry. But-he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows how, or why, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow, broke- that's why he's gone' she looked at him quizzically.

He nodded heavily, as though weighed down by grief.

'Is You- Voldemort- really gone then?'

'I don't think he died. To die you have to be mortal, he has too much dark magic inside him to still be mortal. He might never be truly gone.'

'Who has been looking after the boy for the last day?' she enquired.

'Why, me. And I have grown fond of Harry Potter. He is a rather bright child.' he allowed himself a small smile.

'And who, may I ask, shall be the child's permanent caretaker? He has no more living relatives.'

'That is not entirely true. We are here to leave the Harry with his aunt and uncle, from his mother's side.' he gestured towards the prim and proper house that was number four Privet Drive.

'You mean those Muggles? I've been watching them all day, they have a son and he's as spoilt and rotten as his parents! Can't you consider another option?' she pleaded.

'Its not like there are other options Minerva! He needs a home where he wouldn't be hounded by the press and the media. Not to mention the fans or Voldemort's followers seeking revenge. If there was any other option, believe me, I would take it.' he responded.

'What about his godfather? Young Sirius Black, why can't he take the boy?' she drilled

'Sirius Black is currently in a holding cell in the depths of the Ministry of Magic, awaiting trial for betraying the Potters to Voldemort! He is innocent, of course. I did manage to get through to him. he told me that he couldn't raise a child and teach them about life, when he is still young and unsure, still finding his place in the world. He doesn't want to burden a child with the way he was raised, the only way he knows how to do! He is insecure, but a certain werewolf is helping him back on his feet.'

There was a moment of silence, both parties deep in thought, trying to find a solution to this problem.

Suddenly, McGonagall whispered something. Something that will change the course of history.

'Pardon?' asked Dumbledore, who was sure he had misheard.

'Hogwarts! The safest place on earth. No one can access it without you knowing. He can be tutored ahead and trained! He can live with a teacher, but who?' she fell back into deep thought.

Dumbledore considered this, thought over every possible reason or problem. 'He wouldn't be able to attend as a student then. If we tutor him ahead, then he would be ahead of his age group and we can't put him in a higher year because the school board would simply not allow a seven year old in a class of eleven year olds! All the teachers are in class all day. Who would find enough time to keep up with work and a child.'

'Who is bringing Harry here? Why didn't you bring him yourself?' she ventured, slightly off topic.

'Hagrid is bringing him. I apparated here, which has a bad effect on young children.' he mentioned idly.

Professor McGonagall then had her second brainwave of the night. 'Hagrid! He can raise Harry, we will all help of course, but Hagrid could be Harry's father figure. And he can teach him to help on the grounds.'

Dumbledore slowly started to smile, 'I'll inform him straight away! He'll be thrilled!


Meanwhile, in Hagrid's hut at the edge of the Forbidden Forest...

Hagrid hummed to himself as he pulled on his goggles and prepared to take off on a flying motorcycle. This motorcycle in particular, belonged to Sirius Black, who had lent it to Hagrid a week ago. Hagrid was just strapping Harry in, when a small burst of flames appeared in front of him. A letter fell from the flames. Hagrid, who had been expecting this, expertly caught the letter and ripped it open. Inside was written,

Hagrid,

There has been a change of plans. I have decided that the Dursley household would not, in fact, be the best place to place Harry. Harry will be staying at Hogwarts, but will not attend classes as he will be tutored ahead of his year. All the teachers shall help with the raising of Harry Potter, but the duty of a father figure has fallen to you. He shall live in your hut and you may teach him about your duties and the surrounding world.

Albus Dumbledore.


AND... DONE!

You have no IDEA how frustrating this was to type. The first part is directly from the book, but some parts are edited or cut to help this make sense.I will update as soon as possible because our term is nearly done (yay!) please review, follow or favourite.

USELESS FACT OF THE DAY: my Best friend also writes fanfiction, so if you like WBWL fanfiction, go check out her story! its *Don't forget me by SolangeloShipper 14 23* I am her unofficial beta and am forcing her to update against her will. :) BTW chapters will get longer!