Disclaimer: Harry Potter and the Shikotsumyaku (and the Naruto series as a whole) belong to J.K. Rowling and Masashi Kishimoto, respectively.

A/N: Since this is the beginning of the HP story in this fic, most of this chapter will be similar to the book. Still, this chapter will establish some important divergences from canon, so read on and enjoy!

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#4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

"Hagrid", said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "No problems, were there?"

"Almost, Sir", replied the distraught half-giant. Poor kid was in a righ' state before I got him ter St. Mungo's. That bastard You-Know-Who broke all his bones fer Christ's sake! Good thing I got him there on time, didn't want ter know what wud've happened had I taken even bit longer. God, he was just a baby!"

"Albus", Minerva chimed in, "they used experimental magic to heal the poor child! Things that would've been better left in the Department of Mysteries!"

"Aha, but it worked, Minerva. Very quickly. And quite better than anyone would expect, if I would say so myself", said Dumbledore.

"Maybe, but those Healers died! Goodness, I'm just glad that the Potters' son is fine, now."

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 two round reddish scars.

"Is that where?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes", said Dumbledore. "He'll have those scars forever."

"Couldnt you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldnt. 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."

"Yeah", said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall, Professor Dumbledore, Sir."

"Thank you for bringing him back here, Hagrid."

Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with 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.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, 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, while enduring a multitude of random mysterious jolts of pain in different bones of his body. 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!"