Hi! Welcome to my very first fan fiction story! I've decided to start with a classic Harry Potter fan fiction. Please be kind, and I hope you enjoy! Harry Potter and all other characters do not belong to me. Only London Potter, and Mother Hestia's Orphanage for Orphaned Children. Read on!

Prologue

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were perfectly normal. But like every perfect family, they held a horrible secret (at least, to them). They dreaded the day somebody would find out. Their life would be ruined! Too bad that day would come very soon.

After a stressful day at work for Mr. Dursley, involving some of our wizard friends, it was finally night. The time our mysterious cat sitting on the brick wall was waiting for.

The entire street was quiet. Not a single sound could be heard. No slamming of car doors or hooting of any owls. Everything was quiet. Then, a very old man appeared onto this quiet street (Private Drive). It was none other than Albus Dumbledore, the famous wizard who defeated Grindelwald, the previous Dark Lord. He appeared so quietly, that it looked liked he'd been formed by the mist itself. He either didn't know, or didn't care, that he was not welcome in that place. He was too busy grabbing his Put-Outer, which he pointed at each lamppost in turn. Each went out with a soft pop, leaving the entire street dark. All anybody, even noisy Petunia Dursley, would be able to see, was the small pinpricks that were our cat friend's eyes, glowing eerily in the heavy darkness.

Dumbledore took a seat by our cat, not even sparing it a glance. But he said, "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." And indeed it was, our stern, green-robed professor. She stared him down with the same sharp eyes that her cat had, asking him the question behind why she'd been sitting on a hard brick wall all day. And now we know. Brave Lily and James Potter had been murdered by the current Dark Lord, who liked to call himself "Lord Voldemort". But that wasn't all. "They say," Professor McGonagall said, "That he tried to kill their little boy, Harry. But - he couldn't. Nobody knows why, but somehow, when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, his power broke. And that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly, the usual twinkle in his eyes long gone. It was astounding, really. Of all the people he'd killed, all the powerful witches and wizards he'd brutally murdered, he couldn't kill one little boy. "I don't suppose you can tell me why we're here, of all places," McGonagall said after a pause.

"I'm here to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only relatives he has left."

McGonagall jumped to her feet and pointed indignantly at number 4. "You can't mean those people!" she cried. "I've watched them all day, and they're the worst kind of muggles imaginable. I watched their son kick his mother down the street, screaming for sweets! Harry Potter come live here!"

"It's the best place for him," stated 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, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous—a legend—I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in the future—there will be books written about Harry—every child in our world will know his name!"

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

"I suppose you're right," McGonagall agreed reluctantly. "But how will he get here?"

"Hagrid's bringing him." And so he did, on a flying motorcycle. But both Professors received quite a shock when Hagrid arrived carrying not one, but two bundles.

"Hagrid," Dumbledore asked kindly. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid replied gruffly. "I found these two in the nursery, everything around them up in flames. The boy is young Harry, while the girl is little London Potter. I found a letter on Potter's bedside table, explaining how Harry has a twin. Harry is older by one minute. They're alright. Fell asleep as we were flyin' over Bristol." The two shocked professor leaned over the bundles to observe the two. Two tufts of black hair could be seen. One belonged to a chubby baby boy, while the other belonged to the slimmer baby girl. On the forehead of Harry Potter was a lightning scar, the only difference between to two children. "They will have to be separated," Dumbledore said sadly. "Harry's path will be much more difficult than London's. The two will be better off growing up apart."

"Why ever so, Dumbledore?" McGonagall asked, agast. "Surely it would be better if Harry had his sister to lean on."

"He will have to be a hero someday," said Dumbledore. "London may become jealous is she knows him more closely."

"I suppose… where will London go?"

"I will send her to Mother Hestia's orphanage." Dumbledore gave a sigh. It was one of the rare moments where he showed just how old he really was. "I really don't want to do this, but it's for the Greater Good."

After setting the male Potter on the steps of number 4, the three adults turned back to face the youngest Potter child. "I'd better get young London to the orphanage," Dumbledore spoke. "We might as well go and enjoy the celebrations."

The three parted ways, and Dumbledore apparated to the front steps of Mother Hestia's Orphanage. Setting the baby on the top step with a short impromptu letter he'd written, Dumbledore walked back to the corner of the street. Spinning around, he apparated away, but not before saying, "Good luck, London," just like he'd said for her brother, her twin.

And there the young girl lay, sleeping peacefully away, not knowing that she wouldn't see her brother again for another long, ten years, not knowing that in a few hours, she'd be awakened by the small shriek of one of the orphanage maids, not knowing that everywhere around the country, people were meeting in secrets and raising their glasses in toast for her brother. "To Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived!"

No, she couldn't possibly know those things. Instead, she slept on. The Dreamer.