THE TWINS WHO LIVED

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious. 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 mustache. 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 neighbors. 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. Their greatest fear was that somebody would discover this secret. They didn't think they could bear 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 abnormal as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived at their door. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had two small children, but they had never even seen them. These children were another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with the Potter's children.

Our story starts on a dull, gray Tuesday. There was nothing about this cloudy day to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. The day started out normal with Mr. Dursley picking out his most boring tie for work and Mrs. Dursley gossiping away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair. Neither of them noticing a large, tawny owl fluttering past the window. And that was only the beginning to the long and confusing day. All over the place Mr. Dursley saw strange men and women in odd cloaks who were gathered talking in whispers. But the strangest thing he saw was a cat was reading a map. For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen and 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 and it stared back at him. As he drove away he had to remind himself that cats couldn't read maps or stare so intently at people as they drove off.

That night, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat, who was now sitting in front of their house on the wall outside, showed no sign of sleepiness. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street or when two owls swooped overhead. It wasn't until around midnight when a man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail finally twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive nor would again. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, and both were long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground as he walked in his 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. Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize or care that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was too busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him and he chuckled.

"I should have known." He muttered as he continued to rummage in his cloak. When he finally found what he was looking for in his inside pocket he pulled it out. It seemed to be a long, silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest light from street lamp seemed to fly into the lighter and he pulled it down into the device. He clicked it again - the next lamp light flew into the lighter. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. This was, of course, the whole point of the Put-Outer. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He said smiling at the tabby. In front of his eyes the tabby turned into a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked standing up and joining him.

"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." He told her.

"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here." He told her. Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

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

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall 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 clothes, swapping rumors." She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so 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 certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?" she asked him curiously.

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of" he explained to her.

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for such things as lemon drops. "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." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-" he gave her an amused look. "Oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

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

"Only because you're too - well - noble to use them." She replied.

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs." Dumbledore said causing Professor McGonagall to shoot him a sharp look.

"The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?" It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" had been saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her what was true and what wasn't. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer her questions, asked or otherwise. "What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are - are - that they're - dead." Dumbledore bowed his head which answered her unasked question. Professor McGonagall gasped in shock. "Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder.

"I know... I know..." he said heavily. Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on.

"That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's children, Harry and Evelyn. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill those young children. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Evelyn and Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone." Dumbledore nodded glumly. "It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill two small children? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Evelyn and Harry survive?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know." Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Evelyn and Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now." Dumbledore old her.

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, stepping in front of him stopping them both from the small walk they were taking while pointing at number four. "Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Evelyn and Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, looking at him as though she'd never really seen him before. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous - legends - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Potter day in the future - there will be books written about Evelyn and Harry - every child in our world will know their name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something they won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?" Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then nodded.

"Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how is the children getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding the infants underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing him." He revealed to her.

"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" she asked him skeptically.

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to - what was that?" A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky - and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them. If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundles of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."

"No problems, were there?" Dumbledore asked him.

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol. But she's been trying to see everything happening around her." Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible, were two babies. A baby boy, fast asleep, and a baby girl, green eyes taking everything in. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over the boy's forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. The girl's constant movement allowed them to see a scar on her right shoulder from the top of her shoulder to her arm pit. Both looked incredibly old compared to how new they were.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They'll have the scars forever."

"Couldn't you do something about them, Dumbledore?" Professor McGonagall asked him.

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. Well - give them here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Evelyn and Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I - could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Evelyn and Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Evelyn laughed her baby laugh and tried to pull his hair making him smile lightly before he suddenly let out a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - an' poor little Evelyn and Harry off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid the twins gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, and tucked it inside Harry's blanket. He took out his wand and performed a simple sleeping spell on Evelyn and smiled as she closed her eyes before going back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundles; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundles of blankets on the step of number four. "Good luck, Evelyn and Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Evelyn and Harry Potter rolled over inside their blankets closer to one another without waking up. One of Harry's small hands closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he and his twin were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousin Dudley. They couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices:

"To Evelyn and Harry Potter - the twins who lived!"

Attempt number 2 at a Harry Potter Story. I hope this one goes 100x better than my first one and I hope everyone enjoys this one. If you have anything you see that can be improved or is too much like the book or movie please let me know so I can edit it. Thanks and enjoy :)