Chapter 1: The Boy who Lived
Albus Dumbledore silently strode onto Little Whinging, a thoroughly ordinary street in Surrey. As he strode toward number four, he clicked the switch on his deluminator, snuffing out the nearby streetlamps. The cover of darkness would be needed before the night was out if Hagrid was bringing the boy. Dumbledore sighed as he reached his destination and a very familiar cat strode up to him.
"Good evening, Minerva, pleasant weather is it not?" Dumbledore asked the cat which returned as quizzical an expression a cat can give before transforming into middle-aged woman in a pointed hat and patterned robe. Dumbledore merely smiled in response to her terse, near-permanent frown.
"Are you sure this is the right place for him, Albus? These muggles are positively dreadful people, spoil that baby of their's rotten, they do. And I overheard them say the most awful things about James and Lily. I had always wondered why Lily's sister never showed up to her wedding." Minerva McGonagall stated firmly, still not sure of her leader's plan.
"The boy should be with his family, Minerva, and this is all the family he has." Dumbledore replied simply, his powder blue eyes twinkling despite the lack of light.
"But, surely he'll receive better care from a member of the order. What about his godfather. He's the heir to a noble and ancient house, he'll need proper training in such matters. Surely Sirius can give that to him." Minerva pressed.
"I doubt Sirius will be free much longer, Minerva. He was the Potter's secret keeper. I'm sure you are aware of what that means." Dumbledore's statement hung tensely in the air while McGonagall frowned in silence.
"I refuse to believe he would betray them. I knew that boy all seven years of school and his hatred the pure-blood agenda was second only to his loyalty to Lily and James. Once he stands trial, we will know the truth of it." McGonagall managed to deepen her frown as she spoke "but honestly, there's not a single family that wouldn't adopt the boy. If, somehow, Sirius is guilty, why not at least put him up for adoption?"
"That is precisely why not, would it not be better for him, not only to know the love of family, but at the very least to not have to deal with the pressures of his fame, at least until he's old enough for Hogwarts." Dumbledore responded, silently waving his wand to check the time. "Rubeus should arrive shortly."
McGonagall opened her mouth for a moment as if she still wished to press the issue, but decided it was best not to question the leader of the Order any longer. She merely nodded tersely. Shortly after, a great raucous rang throughout the tiny suburb and Dumbledore decided it prudent to casually silence Hagrid and his flying motorcycle as soon as they came into view.
When the motorcycle landed and rolled up to Dumbledore and McGonagall. The massive half-giant stepped off of it and walked up to them, carrying small bundle gently along with him.
"Sorry 'bout the racket. I found 'im wailing an' carryin' on, jus' like yeh said 'eadmaster," Hagrid said as he handed Dumbledore the baby in his arms. "The sweet lad cried 'isself righ' ter sleep 'bout 'alfway along, he did."
"Thank you Rubeus, I would have gone myself, or sent a member of the Order who can apparate, but there are so few of us left, and everyone happened to be busy until quite recently." Dumbledore dipped his head in a slight bow a slight bow. Then he walked up to the front door of number four Privet Drive, the home of the Dursleys. He knocked on the door.
It took a long while before anyone answered, and he distinctly heard Vernon Dursley bellow: "Who in the world has the bloody lack of sense to come calling at this ungodly hour? I was just about ready to get to bed!" It was the familiar face of Petunia Dursley that opened the door. Though she was much older than when Dumbledore had last seen her, he still recognized her scowling face and many other features that resembled her mother.
"What are you doing here? We don't want your kind around our little Dudley!" Petunia whispered angrily. Dumbeldore smiled sadly. She might be over her hatred if not for that ridiculous husband of hers.
"I'm sorry to disturb you so late, Petunia, but this matter really could not wait. Your sister and her husband have been murdered." Dumbledore saw, for a moment, horror and grief cross Petunia's face. Then she sneered in even greater anger.
"I will mourn my sister, as I mourned our parents, who were also killed by your kind. Thank you for informing me, now if you'll excuse me…" Dumbledore jammed his foot in the door as Petunia began to close it.
"They all died doing what was right. Now, Petunia, you must do what is right." Dumbledore forced the baby into her arms. Petunia looked the child over, immediately recognizing the same ridiculous, messy, black hair on it as on her sister's husband. She frowned in disgust, ready to return the child to its world, ready to forget about magic and all it had taken from her. Then the child opened its eyes.
The two bright orbs, the same unnatural green as her sister's, stared at her, then he smiled and laughed, as if he had forgotten the tragedy of that very night, and there was nothing Petunia could do, she simply could not turn the child out.
"What's his name?" Petunia asked, still staring at the innocent baby. Dumbledore smiled again. If only for that look of love, I know this is the place he must be.
"His name is Harry." Dumbledore also handed her a letter he had drafted with all the relevant information. "Remember what is written here, for one day I may be forced to call you on its contents Petunia."
Then Dumbledore strode briskly out of Dursleys' home. Once he stepped off the property, he felt the emergency wards Lily had made for them in secret activate and charge with a new power Dumbledore did not quite recognize, he decided he would investigate them a later time.
McGonagall and Hagrid had already left and Dumbledore sighed, knowing the terrible road that lay ahead for the whole wizarding world, but especially for Harry. With a click Dumbledore released the light from his deluminator back to the streetlamps before silently disapparating.