Prologue

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appearing so suddenly and silently that you'd thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever seen in Godric's Hallow. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and 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 that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something but he seemed to realize he was being watched, because he suddenly 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. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it up, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again- the next lamp went out with a little pop. 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. Dumbledore slipped the Put outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards the burning ruins of a formerly glorious house, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings of 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, Dumbledore?" asked McGonagall.

"I've never seen a cat look so sad, m'dear."

"You would if you had been sitting all day on this wall!" said McGonagall indignantly. The two of them stopped talking and they stared at the ruins in front of them.

"Is this where….Lily and James….?" Inquired Dumbledore quietly. McGonagall nodded silently, tears began to well out of her eyes. The two of them headed towards the ruins and headed into the building. As soon as they came into the building, they saw a body lying on the ground. Albus came towards the body for a closer look.

"Dear Merlin!" whispered Albus, "James Potter is dead!" Dumbledore slowly backed away towards the staircase. They went up the stairs; the stairs creaked as the two ascended to the second floor. A door creaked open slightly, allowing the two of them to glimpse a pair of legs. McGonagall gently pushed the door open, revealing a dark red-haired woman on the ground.

"My god," cried McGonagall. "James and Lily Potter! Dead!" The two of them scanned around the room and they noticed a crib. A baby, wide awake stood inside of it. Albus peered inside the crib and saw that the baby was staring right back at him. He touched the baby's head and spread the baby's hair to the side. A scar appeared on his forehead.

"Is that where-?" said McGonagall.

"Yes, it is," said Albus, with a tinge of sadness. "We must send the child to a safe place."

"Who would accept Harry Potter?" asked McGonagall.

"I have prearranged the whole thing. The Weasleys' will be his new host." Said Albus, calmly. Albus picked up the baby, which had fallen asleep.

"Shall we depart from here and head to the Burrow?" asked Albus, a small smile growing on his face. The two of the spun on the spot and disappeared into the night.

The two of them reappeared in from of a towering building that had a window too many on all of the floors. The two of them reached the front door and placed the baby in front of the door. Tucked inside the blankets of the baby, it read:

Dear members of the Weasleys,

On your doorstep is Harry Potter. I hope you will take good care of the boy. When he turns 11, I, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, will meet you again about Hogwarts. Until then, take care.

Sincerely,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Everywhere else in the world, wizards and witches alike were celebrating, "To Harry Potter, the Boy-Who Lived!"