-Disclaimer- Don't own nothing.
-Summary- Harry Potter disappeared from Privet Drive the night Dumbledore left him there, before Aunt Petunia found him. 16 years later, Voldemort has returned and plunged the world into darkness once more.
-Author's Notes- Hello there. It's been a while since I've done any writing for fun, so forgive me if my writing comes off a little dry. I understand that the majority of this chapter is straight from Book 1. However, I did so in an attempt to emphasize how this story branches off into the Alternate Universe realm in comparison to the canon storyline. As always, feedback and constructive criticism is welcome, so do make good use of that review feature.
Indomitable Soul
By Xyzerion
Prologue: Disappearances
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 a 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, 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."
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. "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."
"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 You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what they're 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.
"What they'resaying," 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."
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…"
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."
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 little 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."
"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!"
"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 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.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
"You think it —wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as 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.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Ah, it's mine, actually." A hidden figure climbed off the motorcycle, out from behind the massive giant. "Hagrid said you wanted to take Harry to his relatives, and he wouldn't take no for an answer. Harry is in enough danger after Peter's betrayal, so I wanted to come with him to make sure Harry stayed safe. Of course, I couldn't deny Hagrid the pleasure of trying the bike."
"And a right wond'rful bike it is, Sirius," replied the giant.
"Mr. Black! I'm sorry… Peter's betrayal, do you say? I had thought –"
"No, headmaster. But I'm afraid that's not important at the moment. As Harry's Godfather, I must insist –"
"We can discuss this later, Mr. Black. For now, Harry shall be left with those of his mother's blood. Hagrid, how is the boy?"
"The 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 the young Sirius Black.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" inquired Professor McGonogall.
"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."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.
"Headmaster, I don't see why Harry can't come with me. I'm his godfather, and you know quite well how Lily felt about her sister." Sirius stepped in front of Dumbledore, staring straight into his eyes and silently challenging him.
"I understand your concerns, Sirius. However, even you must admit that this is a time of great change and upheaval. Unfortunately, not everyone is celebrating Voldemort's defeat, and Harry needs to stay safe until matters have settled down. As such, he will be safe here. I have placed some of the strongest blood wards that I know of around this house, and he will be safe as long as he and his aunt call this place home."
Professor McGonagall gave Dumbledore an astonished look. "Blood wards?"
"Yes, blood wards. If my suspicions are correct about what managed to keep young Harry alive, the wards will continue to keep him safe until the time you can safely come and claim him, Mr. Black."
At this, Sirius broke his gaze with Dumbledore and briefly nodded his consent.
"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, "We best be getting back. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir. You coming, Sirius?"
"You go ahead, Hagrid. I need to find Remus. We'll talk later, headmaster?" Dumbledore gave a swift nod in response. "Good. I'm off then." And with that, Sirius Black disappeared with a soft pop.
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.
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, landing uncomfortably on the solid cement porch, and woke up with a cry. The little child cried for being away from his nursery, for being away from his warm blanket and caring parents. He cried for his mum who had lay on the floor unmoving, for the pain the dark man had given him with a beam of light. Most of all, he cried because he was a baby, and he was very, very alone. A few doors down from Number 4, Privet Drive, a porch light flicked on to see what the ruckus was about. Before the neighbor could see anything, though, a flash briefly lit up the orderly street, and the crying immediately ceased. With everything quiet, and nothing else interesting or out of the ordinary to see, the porch light a few doors down from Number 4, Privet Drive flicked off, the closing door echoing in the silence. Harry Potter was no longer to be found at Number 4, Privet Drive, leaving behind only the blanket and envelope the elderly Headmaster had left behind.