A/N: So this is a new story. Enjoy :)
If I owned Harry Potter, I'd write much more than 7 books.
"I'm really curios to find out which one it is though," Sirius said, holding both Neville and Harry in his arms. "I wish the prophecy had been more specific."
"Sirius, it was," said Albus Dumbledore who looked at the babies fondly, especially at Harry. "It said Voldemort will mark him as his equal. Until then, you all have to stay in hiding." The Headmaster said to James, Lily, Alice, and Frank. Remus sighed. He was seated next to Peter who was trying not to flinch. The Dark Mark was burning on his arm. Just hours before, he had been made secret keeper, and he was sure the Dark Lord would summon him soon enough.
He wanted to make an excuse to leave, but he was interrupted by six people in their late teens appearing in the living room.
"Is that… James?" Sirius asked, looking between the two Jameses. The James he was just talking to was a bit older than the other one. They weren't that identical though. They had different eyes. Lily's eyes… "Harry?" Sirius asked. He was now looking between the baby and the young adult. Older Harry cleared his throat.
"Yes, um, hi Sirius," Harry said nervously.
"You're…" Lily began, confused. "Future?" she managed to ask. One of the teens nodded. She had bushy brown hair.
"Hi, um, Mrs. Potter," Hermione began. James grinned at the name like he does every time. "I'm Harry's friend, we found these books… er, yeah and they're about Harry's 7 years at Hogwarts. You know about the prophecy, I suppose?"
"It's Harry?" Alice asked, trying to hide her relief for her friends' sake.
"Hi mum," Neville said. Then, the adults recognized him.
"NEVILLE!" Frank yelled.
"But why can't we experience his Hogwarts years ourselves?" Lily, the smart one, asked.
"Well, er," Harry began.
"We die, don't we?" James said gloomily. Harry nodded slowly and hugged both his parents.
"THEN LET'S READ THOSE BLOODY BOOKS AND CHANGE THE FUTURE!" Sirius exclaimed, in fear of losing his brother.
"Let's read the books first, and then decide if you want to change everything," Hermione said calmly. She expected this.
"Er guys, I really have to go. Tell me about the books when I come back. Er, bye," Peter said and Disapparated. Harry growled.
"Would you mind introducing us to your friends, Harry?" Lily asked her son so they can move away from the subject of hers and James' deaths.
"Um, well, sure. This is Hermione Granger, she's muggleborn and the best in our year. She's actually the one who found the books and performed the whole time travel thing." Dumbledore smiled. "This is Ron Weasley, my best mate."
"Molly and Arthur's son. I saw him once. He pulled my hair," Sirius said with a playful glare towards Ron. Everyone chuckled.
"You know Neville of course," Harry continued. "This is Ginny Weasley, my, er, girlfriend."
"Of course!" James exclaimed. "Potter boys love the redheads!"
"I think I heard Molly's close to giving birth to her seventh child," said Dumbledore with a smile.
"Holy shit, Harry! You chose a girl with six older brothers, and she's your best mate's sister," Sirius said. Harry and Ginny laughed.
"Finally, this is Luna Lovegood," said Harry. Luna smiled dreamily.
"The Quibbler editor's daughter?" Remus asked. Luna nodded.
"So, who wants to start?" Harry asked, sitting between his parents. Sirius was still holding the two babies. Harry resisted the urge to cry. No one ever told him he knew Neville before Hogwarts, and everything seemed so surreal. He couldn't believe that he once sat in the same room as his parents before. He was held by his godfather before he was imprisoned.
"Can I start?" Dumbledore asked Harry, politely, his eyes twinkling.
"Sure." He handed Harry the first book which was called 'Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone'.
"The Sorcerer's Stone?" Dumbledore asked curiously. Harry nodded, but said nothing. "The chapter is called 'The Boy Who Lived'."
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive,
"Why are we reading about my sister and her pig of a husband?" Lily said irritably.
were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
Sirius snorted.
They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
"Of course not," commented Lily.
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.
"But really, why are we reading about your sister, Lils?" Alice asked. Lily shrugged.
The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
Lily snorted.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.
"Excuse me?" James raised his eyebrows.
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
"HE IS NOT GOOD FOR NOTHING!" Lily growled at the book. James and Harry grinned.
were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be.
"Thank goodness for that," Lily muttered and took baby Harry from Sirius. The baby almost immediately shouted. "Siri!"
"Oh Harry you were adorable," Hermione commented.
"Were?" Ginny asked. "He still is." Harry blushed.
The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street.
"They would stare in awe," James said.
The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.
"I wouldn't want Harry mixing with any child of hers," Lily said. Harry smiled sadly because he did end up mixing with him.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country.
"Today's Monday," Sirius said.
"What's today?" Harry asked. He hoped it wasn't October 31st.
"October 24th."
Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.
"I hate this kid already," Frank said.
None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.
"Owls?" Ginny asked. Harry nodded.
At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.
"Wonderful," Remus said.
"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.
"He's encouraging him!" Lily exclaimed, outraged.
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map.
"MINNIE!" yelled Sirius. Lily rolled her eyes.
For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen
"'Cause he's stupid," Sirius said.
- then he 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. It stared back.
"Now we're sure it's McGonagall," Alice said.
As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs.
"Unless it's McGonagall," Ron said.
"She still teaches?" Remus asked, curious.
"She's Headmistr-
"SHUT UP RON!" Hermione yelled and smacked Ron on the shoulder. Everyone pretended to have not heard and Dumbledore was looking pensive.
Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.
But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks.
"What could have made wizards so careless?" Remus asked, thoughtful.
Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes - the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt - these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.
"Do we have to read about him all day? Can't we skip to Harry?" James pleaded.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime.
"Why do you think there are owls everywhere?" Frank asked.
Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people.
"Charming," said Neville. "I love your uncle, Harry." Everyone laughed.
He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more.
"He's growing on me," Ron remarked sarcastically.
He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
"As if he wasn't fat enough," Lily said.
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry."
Sirius cheered.
Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it. He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry.
"That's awful," Hermione said.
He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her - if he'd had a sister like that...
"A sister like what?" snapped James.
but all the same, those people in cloaks...
"Don't wizards wear Muggle clothes?" Alice asked.
He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door. "Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last!
Everyone from the present gasped.
Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off. Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.
As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -and it didn't improve his mood - was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.
"MCGONAGALL!" exclaimed Sirius and Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.
"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look.
"Of course, the stern look," Remus said and laughed.
Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.
Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!").
"Lovely kid," Frank remarked.
Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:
"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"
"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
"Shooting stars?" Lily asked.
Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters... Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Petunia, dear - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
"'Course not," Lily said.
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister. "No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."
"I love your Uncle, Harry," Ron said.
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare.
"Coward," Ginny said.
Instead he said, as casually as he could, "Their son -he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Hey! I like it!" Ginny protested and Harry smiled. James and Lily exchanged a look about how happy they were their son was going to find love later on.
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite
agree."
He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.
Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it.
The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs.
Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on - he yawned and turned over - it couldn't affect them...
"I like how he says 'their kind'," Lily said bitterly.
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
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 twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. 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.
"PROFESSOR DUMBELDORE!" Sirius cheered.
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 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. 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 open, 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 flickered into darkness. 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. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, 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."
"I KNEW IT!" Sirius cheered. "Professor, doesn't it feel weird reading about yourself in the third person?"
"Trust me, Sirius, he'll be reading plenty in the Daily Prophet later on," Harry said.
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 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.
"My dear Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
"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."
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Celebrating?" Alice asked.
"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."
"But he's fun," remarked Sirius.
"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 YouKnow-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
Everyone from the past cheered. "Really?" Lily asked. "You don't think the prophecy has anything to do with it, do you, Professor?" Dumbledore shrugged.
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"Say the name," James protested.
"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- 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."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey
told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Almost everyone raised his eyebrows at Professor Dumbledore.
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "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" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.
"Come on," James muttered.
"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. "
"What?" Lily gasped, getting teary. James wrapped an arm around her. Dumbledore bowed his head.
Sirius yelled in outrage, "PETER! IT'S PETER! I'M GOING TO KILL HIM!"
It took a while before James and Lily understood. They exchanged a look of disbelief that their friend would betray them like that.
Dumbledore, Alice and Frank had confused looks. "Professor Dumbledore," Harry began. "My parents switched secret keepers at the last minute. They used Peter."
"It can't be!" Lily exclaimed. "I must have messed up the charm." She buried her head into James chest, still holding baby Harry who looked confused. Remus took him from her and handed him to Alice who was holding Neville. The two babies minded their own business.
"I still can't believe we knew each other before Hogwarts," Neville said. Harry nodded and went back to comforting his parents. He motioned for Professor Dumbledore to continue.
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
"At least we know she doesn't hate me," James joked trying to lighten the mood.
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 son, Harry. But – he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke - and that's why he's gone."
Everyone from the past looked bewildered. "How old was he?" Lily asked Ginny.
"One," the other redhead answered.
"ONE?" everyone from the past yelled.
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 a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did 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 Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."
"NO!" James, Lily, Sirius and Remus yelled at the book.
"What about me? I'm his godfather!" Sirius exclaimed.
"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and 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. Harry Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place for him," 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, 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!"
"That's pretty cool," Sirius said, but then he remembered the death of his friend and quickly sobered up.
"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?"
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.
"He better not be," Lily said and Dumbledore smiled at her, feeling devastated that their plan to keep everyone safe would fail.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as
this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," everyone except Dumbledore who's eyes twinkled recited this.
"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.
"Padfoot," James said.
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 bundle of blankets.
"Okay, that is not Padfoot," Remus frowned. "Why would Hagrid have your motorcycle?"
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"Now we know, Remus," Frank said.
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
Lily looked at Harry's scar.
"Pretty awesome," Sirius commented.
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well - give him here, Hagrid - we'd better get this over with."
Alice raised her eyebrows and asked, "London Underground?"
Dumbledore nodded.
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.
"Could I - could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid 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 Harry off ter live with Muggles -"
"Hagrid really liked you, Harry," Lily said. Harry nodded.
"Hagrid was the one who gave me hope. He told me I was a wizard," Harry said to his mum.
"You mean Petunia didn't tell you?" Lily asked, anger taking over her sadness.
"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 Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; 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."
"I love that bike," Ron said for Harry was now using it after Arthur fixed it.
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 bundle of blankets on the step of number four.
"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
"I hoped my good luck wish helped," Dumbledore said to Harry who just smiled in response. He looked at the people in the room that were from the past. Lily, James, Sirus, Remus and Dumbledore were dead. Alice and Frank were in St Mungos. He sighed sadly and told Dumbledore to continue.
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. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on,
"Aw," Lily and Ginny cooed.
not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he 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 he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley...
"Pig," Ron muttered.
He 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 Harry Potter - the boy who lived!"
"That's the end of the chapter," Dumbledore said.
"Can I read now, sir?" Sirius asked. Dumbledore nodded and gave Sirius the book.
"This chapter is called the vanishing glass."
A/N: Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Your reviews make my day :) xo