AN: Hello everyone. Firstly, I appreciate that you took the time to actually read the story, and I will warn you now this is my first fic. Flames are not welcome, and you will realize I have been influenced by many stories. Constructive criticism is welcome though, as well as reviews saying you love the story.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter
The moon was at its full glory, the brilliant white light shining down on the quiet Muggle suburb of Little Whinging, Surrey.
It was, to the casual observer, a normal neighborhood with no particular distinction to it, the night quiet except for the occasional chirping of the odd cricket.
However, today was no normal night by any means.
Albus Dumbledore sighed heavily as he carried the comatose, sleeping form of a three year old, walking awkwardly to accommodate the extra weight. It was a pity that he had to commit such a crime, abandoning a child that remembered his blood parents and force him to leave the place he knew as home. Dumbledore knew that this action would weigh heavily on his conscience.
Yet it was for the greater good. Dumbledore felt a pang of guilt rip through him and he nearly tripped when the thought entered his mind. He knew that it was manipulative to think that way.
Yet still...still Dumbledore felt that it was for the better. For if he left the young boy with his immediate family, he knew that the boy would be neglected, ignored, and deprived of the love that he needed. Dumbledore shook his head with a grimace. The foolishness of the Potters irked him, the pride they had when they realized that their son, not the one he carried right now, but the other one, the younger one, the one with dark red hair and hazel eyes, was the Boy-Who-Lived. And they insisted on the fact that they would not be able to properly care for Harry if he stayed.
But he knew that the Boy-Who-Lived must grow up with the proper doting and love in order for him to succeed against his fight against Voldemort.
Yet, as another thought crossed his mind, wouldn't leaving Adam Potter with his parents lead to a constant fawning and doting? Make him arrogant, pretentious, and expecting? Demanding others to worship him? Dumbledore shuddered at the thought of a returned Voldemort with the Boy-Who-Lived with such traits.
The wizened wizard shook his head sadly. Yet there was no choice. He could only hope that in the future, the choice he had made would better benefit young Harry Potter more so than forcing him to stay with a loveless family. He could only hope that the Muggle family, the Dursleys if he recalled correctly, would treat him with more care than his magical family.
Dumbledore shook himself out of his reverie when he realized he was approaching his destination. A house, one Number 4 Privet Drive, flashed blue for an instant as powerful wards were set up with a few flicks of a wand, the intricate movements flowing smoothly from one the other.
Dumbledore's mouth twisted in a sad smile as remembered how fast his long gone friend could put up such wards with his wand. And how the very same wand failed to work for him.
Alas, such a wand was never meant for him, Dumbledore thought wistfully. It was never meant to be.
The old wizard walked up slowly to the front porch, laying the small boy he carried down on the cold concrete. With regret, Dumbledore transfigured a thick blanket to combat the vicious autumn night and wrapped the child snugly, finally placing a letter next to the sleeping form.
It was a pity that this was forced to happen. He almost wished he could take him in himself.
Even at this young age Dumbledore could feel the raw, aching, pulsating power lying hidden in young Harry's core. Alas, the Potters had forced his hand.
With a twinge of sadness, the vanquisher of Grindelwald turned his back on the house, looked back for a moment, and then continued.
A quiet pop echoing throughout the neighborhood a few seconds later signified that the intrusion on the peace and quiet of Little Whinging was gone.
Only the occasional chirping of the crickets broke the silence once more. In the distance, a dim gong signified the end of midnight and the passing of demons.
And on the front porch of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, a still form lay, chest moving slowly up and down, unaware of his abandonment, still believing that he was at home, safe, and in a warm and comforting bed.
Yet he was not alone. A being of extraordinary power, invisible on the mortal plane, smiled. No, Harry Potter, you will far overshadow the miserable being of your brother.
AN: So...drop a review or just follow the darn story. There will be quite a bit of profanity, believe me, and maybe some adult references in the future, so it'll be M for that reason.
I'm aiming for once every week updates, but the figure is more likely 1.5 or 2 weeks.
Thanks for reading,
Paperfist55