I hope you enjoy my story; everything you don't recognise I own. Sadly I am not J.K. Rowling. Please remember to review. The first two paragraphs are J.K Rowling's after that it's mostly me.

Chapter One

The Girl Who Lived

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 me 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 neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over fences, spying on neighbours. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

The Dursleys had practically everything they wanted; expect one thing - which they tried, really hard to keep a secret. They could not dream to imagine what would happen if the neighbours found out about them. The Potters. Lily Potter was Mrs Petunia Dursley's sister, but they had not spoken in years; Petunia loved to pretend she didn't have a sister. Because her sister was the complete opposite of the Dursley's; her and her good-for-nothing husband, James Potter. The Dursley's knew that the Potter's had a daughter, Dudley's age. But they relished in the idea that the two would never meet. They did not want Dudley hanging with them type of people.

Mr and Mrs Dursley awoke to the alarm clock on the side of their bed on a dull, grey Tuesday; everything was normal, there was nothing in the cloudy sky to suggest otherwise. Mr Dursley hummed an old song as he picked up the most boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she played with a trouble-some Dudley. None of them noticed the owl pass by and look through the window.

At half eight Mr Dursley kissed his wife on the cheek and picked up his brief-case. He went to pick up Dudley who threw cereal everywhere and refused to be picked up. "Aw, isn't he precious?" Chortled Mr Dursley as he left their extremely boring house and got into their even boring-er car. As he was backing out of number four, he thought he saw a tabby-cat read a map. Squeezing his eyes shut he opened them again, the cat was now reading the sign post which read Privet Drive. No, Mr Dursley thought, the cat was looking at the sign post. Cats could not read they were cats. He turned on the radio and thought about the large order of drills he was getting that day – see a boring house means a boring person.

But as Mr Dursley was stuck in a traffic jam – god, he hated traffic jams – he saw some people wearing clocks. Ugh, he thought, a new fashion trend. Vernon Dursley hated fashion trends; but luckily for him he didn't need to wear them. They were for kids. He looked at the people in clocks and felt a tingle of disgust as he saw a man, older than him, with a long white bread wearing a green clock. His disgust got covered up as he thought they were either from the loony bin or going to a fancy dress party. As he pulled into work he had long forgotten the strange people in clocks.

Mr Dursley sat – like always- with his back to his window in his office; he didn't like the sun shining on his face or the tall buildings in front of the Grunnings building. So, he didn't see the owls – like the one earlier- sweep past in broad day light. Though the people in the street did; they stared with mouths open like many goldfish and pointed; going Ohhhhhh and Ahhhhhhhh. There were so many owls that people lost count; most of them took pictures with their phones as they had never seen an owl in their entire life before. Mr Dursley spent the morning owl-free; he did what he usually did; shout at people, make a couple of phone calls and then shout at people again. So, he was in a good mood as he walked –well, waddled – down to the bakers for a cream doughnut.

As he exited the baker he saw a few people in clocks like he had sawn earlier; he gave them what was known as the death stare. They made him uneasy – he didn't know why, they just did. These people were whispering at a fast pace; and as Mr Dursley walked past he managed to hear a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-" One of them said.

"-Yes, their daughter, Sapphire-" Another one said.

Mr Dursley stopped dead in his tracks; a feeling of fear and sickness filled him. He looked back at the people like he was going to speak to them; but thought better of it. It was propley the wrong people; they had to be lots of Potters about; it was a very common last name.

But, all the same, he waddled back at a fast pace to his office – which, if you hadn't guessed was very boring – and picked up the sleek white phone and dialled his home number. Quickly, though, he changed his tiny mind and placed the receiver back down. And sat down on a chair and stroked his moustache. He was being stupid, he thought, there were propley lots of Potters with a daughter called Sapphire. Thinking about it, he was sure his niece wasn't called Sapphire; it was something common like Suzie or Susan. Defiantly not Sapphire. There was no need to worry his poor wife; she would be upset at the mention of her sister; well, any normal person would. If he had been cursed with a sister like that he would have disowned her as soon as he laid eyes on her. But his mind kept thinking about those dreadful people in coats.

All through the afternoon his mind kept going back to the Potters; and he found it very hard to concentrate on drills. He was still trying to get them out of his head when he left the office at five o'clock; he was so scared that he walked into someone as he left the building.

"Sorry," he muttered, as the tiny old man with a head full of grey hair nearly fell over. It was two seconds before Mr Dursley realised that he was one of those freaks wearing a violet clock; the old man didn't seem unhappy about being knocked to the ground, oh no, his face actually fell into a big grin. The old man looked up at Mr Dursley and said in the squeakiest voice none to man, that even made passers by stare; "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing can upset me today! Rejoice for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like your self should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the weird old man hugged Mr Dursley round the middle and with the same massive grin on his wrinkled face skipped off. Humming an unusual tune.

Mr Dursley still stood in the same spot; he felt shame boil up in him. He had let a mental case stranger hug him and call him a muggle. Whatever that was. Looking around he hurried to his car; when he reached there he was out of breath. When he got home; he saw the same cat – ya' know the one reading the map – sitting on his garden wall. He knew it was the same cat from the unnatural green eyes.

"Scat!" He shouted at the cat; that simply gave him the nastiest death glare and sat there cleaning her paws. Mr Dursley backed off and quickly pulled him self together; he did not want his wife to worry. He put on a determined face and swore to himself that he would try not to tell his wife what had happened today.

Mr Dursley had a normal day, she told him over dinner that the neighbour's daughter had been causing problems and that Dudley was smart and learnt a new word today (Shan't). Mr Dursley tried his hardest to act normally, but his wife did notice something weird about him. When Dudley finally went to bed – he kicked and screamed the whole way – Mr Dursley went into his boring living room and turned on the TV to watch the news.

"And finally, to the bird-watchers everywhere, there have been reports saying that the nation's owls have been behaving weirdly today. Although owls hunt at night they are rarely seen, but today in broad day light countless owls have been flying everywhere. Our experts have been very confused on why the owls have decided to come out at night." The news reader, Ted Kendrew, grinned to him self. "And, now over to the weather with Jim McGuffin, we still going to get rain?"

"Well, Ted, it seems instead of a rain down pour as I predicted yesterday people all over Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been experiencing a down pour of shooting stars! Perhaps some people have had Bonfire Night early – since it's not until next week. But I can promise you a wet night."

Mr Dursley felt the feeling of fear fill him once again; he could feel his arms go all sweaty as his wife walked into the living room carrying two cups of tea. He knew that he had to tell her; even though it would upset her.

"Er, Petunia darling, heard from Lily lately?" He asked nervously, hoping that she had.

"No, why would I?" She answered sharply. She looked angry and shocked; they normally pretended that she was an only child. And didn't have the misfortune of having a freak for a sister.

"Oh, just some funny stuff on the news, ya' know…owls…shooting stars…weird people in cloaks." He muttered, still nervous.

He watched his wife look more confused, "So, what's that got to do with…Lily?"

"Well, you don't suppose it's her lot?"

Mrs Dursley took a quick sip of her boiling hot tea; she was so angry that her husband had mentioned her sister that she didn't even feel it burn her tongue. She let her mind wonder back to when she and Lily were little and the best of friends, they did every thing together. Then the letter came.

"Their daughter, she's be around Dudley's age now, wouldn't she?" Mr Dursley questioned.

"Think so," She said with a burned tongue, which she carried on to ignore.

"What's her name, Sarah, Sámi?"

"Sapphire," She said the name like it was dirt, "Terribly awful name."

Mr Dursley's hope crushed as if an elephant had trampled on it. A few hours later the two Dursleys went to bed; outside the person that the cat was waiting for turned up. The man turned up at Privet Drive so quietly you'd have thought that he had risen from the ground. The man was the strangest thing that had ever landed on Privet Drive; he had sliver hair and a beard so long he could tuck into his belt. He was wearing robes and a purple cloak; on his feet he had high-heeled boots. His eyes were impossibly light blue behind his half moon specks. He was unaware that he and his clothes were unwelcome from Privet Drive.

He sat down on the garden window with the cat – after putting all the lights out with his Put-Outer, which looked like a sliver lighter – and after a minute he spoke to it. "Nice night, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to face the tabby that had turned into a woman wearing square glasses and an emerald cloak. Her shiny black hair was placed into a tight bun, she smiled sheepishly at Dumbledore.

"How in Merlin's name did you no it was me?" She sighed.

"I've seen you shape into that cat so many times, I just no." He smiled.

"Is…is it true. I no that he-who-must-not-be-named has disappeared. But is it true about…Lily and James…is it true that they are…dead?" Professor McGonagall whispered, anyone who walked by could have heard the worry in her voice.

Albus Dumbledore didn't say anything; he just let one tear drop fall for two of the bravest people he had ever met. Even in the pitch black Professor McGonagall could see the tear fall from Dumbledore; she let out a gasp and let some of her own tear drops fall.

"Is it true about Sapphire; is it true that Voldermort couldn't kill her; that she still lives?" Professor McGonagall questioned, she had a bit of hope left in her for that little girl who looked so much like her mother but acted so much like her father.

"Yes, she is alive. None of us no how Voldermort could not have killed her. We can only guess."

"So, where is she?"

"Hagrid's bringing her." Dumbledore sighed. Hagrid was late.

"Sure that she will be okay? And who's looking after her?" Professor McGonagall asked in a rush.

"Her Auntie and Uncle, they live here. It's her only family, Professor McGonagall, she can't go any where else, and I don't think it's wise for her to be a subject to the fame for something she can't even remember. It wouldn't be fair; we'll wait until she's ready.

"THESE PEOPLE!! They're horrible; please Dumbledore they don't understand about people like us."

Suddenly there was a loud rumbling noise and a motor bike fell from the sky; and on top of the motor bike was a man twice the size of any normal man. He got of the motor bike Sirus Black had lent him and walked over to Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall; in his arms he was carry a baby bundled in blankets.

Hagrid leaned down and softly placed a wet kiss on top of her head; which was covered in fiery red hair, but you could still see the newly marked lighting shaped scar on her forehead.

"'hy does she 'ave to live wiv muggles Dumbledore? I can't 'tand it…Lily 'nd James 'ead and Sappho havin' to live with muggles." Hagrid sobbed, giving Dumbledore the baby. He quickly turned around. He didn't want to be there when they left her. "I'll go 'ive Sirus is bike back," He muttered and drove back into the sky on his bike.

Dumbledore placed a letter next to the sleeping Sapphire and placed her quietly on the door step. He closed his eyes and let another tear drop fall.

"Good luck, Sapphire." He whispered, and both the Professor's flew off.

A few hours later Sapphire Potter was woken by Mrs Dursley's screams as she went to place out the empty milk bottles. Sapphire Potter didn't no that she was special. And she didn't no that all the people like her round the world were saying "Sapphire Potter- The girl who lives."