AN: I wrote this while drinking a 750 ml bottle of 9% ABV beer. The night after writing I had some really weird dreams and my breath tasted like Satan's butthole in the morning.
PROLOGUE!
65 Privet Drive, or so the song went. It was a modest house in a modest neighborhood filled with mostly modest people. A cricket cricketed in the grass to some other crickets while a large bearded man landed his motorbike with all the grace of a 747 landing on a rocky mountainside with no landing gear.
Now, describing Privet Drive as "wholly unremarkable" would be a perfectly valid assessment on most nights, but this one was the exception. A cat transformed into a schoolteacher with a pointy hat. The aforementioned bearded man had a flying motorcycle. The citizens of Privet drive would have probably had some horrible combination of a heart attack and explosive diarrhea if they were witness to these events. Fortunately for them and their toilets, a man with half-moon spectacles used a cigarette lighter to extinguish the lights of all of the streetlamps on Privet Drive. This caused some citizens to question the lack of light outdoors, but that was preferable to them questioning why there was a very old man in sky blue robes dinking around by their driveway.
The bearded man removed his goggles as the schoolteacher that was formerly a cat addressed him sternly.
"Hagrid, must you always be so dramatic?"
Hagrid grunted as he retrieved a crying basket from the back of his motorbike and handed it to the old man.
"I brought what you asked for, Dumbledore."
Hagrid eyes the baby in the basket with fondness. Dumbledore paused briefly, as at first he could not tell if the 9-foot-tall half-giant was eyeing the baby with fondness or hunger.
"Did you have to bring it on that ratty old motorbike?" Dumbledore said with a rasp in his voice that was ten years his younger. This still made him sound rather old, however. It is, after all, hard to tell a 110 year-old rasp from a 120-year old rasp, and Dumbledore was probably much older than that.
The three companions and their crying basket started making their way down the lane. All-the-while Dumbledore continued to steal the light from the lamps that lined the drive. The old man giggled each time he did this, the same giggle you give when you know something the person you're talking to doesn't.
"So Hagrid, where did you acquire such a reckless contraption?" Dumbledore asked, eyeing the motorbike and it's shoddy sidecar.
With pride, the giant of a man responded.
"From Sirius Black, sir. He performed the enchantment himself, that 'e did!"
Dumbledore laughed quietly to himself. If one was not aware of his incredible magical powers, they might think his laugh was senile. Dumbledore had that effect on people sometimes, saying things that didn't make sense until 2 books later in the series.
"That Sirius Black sure is going to get himself into trouble someday!" Dumbledore foreshadowed.
"He's always been quite the troublemaker. Do you remember when he set off a stink-magic bomb in the girl's bathroom?" The schoolteacher said, missing the foreshadowing entirely.
"Shhh, we're not supposed to find out about that until book six!" Dumbledore responded.
"Huh?" Said the giant and the schoolteacher simultaneously.
"Oh, you'll find out in due time." Dumbledore said, delivering his signature senile-laugh.
"McGonagall, I think the old man's gone mad!" Hagrid said to the schoolteacher.
"Nonsense." said the schoolteacher.
The three dysfunctional musketeers arrived at their destination, 65 Privet Drive. It looked nearly exactly like the other houses on the block, except the car in the driveway was painted a different color.
"You're going to do great things someday, Harry Potter." The old man said, placing the basket on the doorstep.
The group waited patiently for a few seconds.
"What are we waiting for?" The giant asked.
"For the credits to roll of course!" The old man responded.
"Credits?"
"Isn't it unwise for us to leave a 1-year-old infant on the doorstep o-"