Author: Tsumibito-san (alias, Akane-dono, Wolfbane)

Rating: PG (right now)

Summary: The Dursleys desert a young Harry to be raised by another family.

Disclaimer: None of it belongs to me. Oh, the shock.

"All the world's a stage, and all the men and women merely players. They have their exits and entrances; And one man in his time plays many parts."

As You Like It (Act II, Scene VII)

Prologue

"Petunia."

Vernon Dursley was furious, his round face turning violent purple. He took a breath. Two years of marriage had taught him that it was better to speak things out calmly with his wife, poor sensitive dear she was. "Petunia... I'm not keeping him. I won't stand for it in my house."

Of course, that was what he said three weeks before, when Petunia had stumbled upon the little brat left on their doorstep. They had opened the letter that was tucked with him, shocked at this unwanted development. Vernon had skipped work that day, as they mulled over the pros and cons of the situation.

Vernon didn't know what had convinced him in the end: the almost threatening letter, fear of the sender, the boy's big eyes, Dudley's "me want" or a mixture of all of those. But right now he was terribly regretting it.

The little freak child had... had done the m-word. Of course, he shouldn't have been surprised, but... It was such a little thing, the mobile lighting up on its own over him, but it would become more as he grew older. Vernon had no doubt of that.

"Think of your own son." He knew instantly that those were the perfect words. "Think of how it will influence him. What sort of danger will the little... boy get him into when they grow older?"

Petunia gave a long pause before she nodded decisively. Lily, beautiful Lily, she remembered. Killed by the world she had so readily embraced. The letter had spoken of a danger to the dead woman's son. A memory from years before came to her head, Lily tearfully telling her parents about a bad wizard whose name should not be spoken of. Petunia could not keep such a threat close to her own precious Duddy-kins.

She had no obligation to a deceased sister who never had time for her. "What do we do with him?"

"I'll take care of this."
Vernon had been driving for two hours. Pausing at a stop sign, he rubbed his eyes with the backs of his hands. The sky was just starting to lighten. It would be dawn soon, people would be waking up. He suppressed the urge to simply throw the kid out the window and get back home.

"Paddy?" Great. The boy was up.

"Me Paddy?" Vernon felt his jaw tick. He had always let Petunia handle the tykes. And dealing with his own Dudley was far from putting up with this. A soft snore within a few minutes was like music to his ears. At least when he left the damn boy, he wouldn't have to listen to his wailing or risk anyone being woken up.

"This looks good enough," he mumbled to himself, examining the nice row of houses in front of him. Larger buildings than his own, he admitted with some distaste, but not in the neat, orderly fashion Privet Drive was set. It was a good drive away from where Harry Potter had originally been left, completely random. The boy's new family would never know where he came from.

9 Beechtree Street. He paused there. As good of a place as any. Now came the difficult part. Vernon wasn't some nancy, skinny man like that Potter had been, but no one seemed to be up yet.

He reached for the little ball of blankets that was his nephew, attempting to look inconspicuous in case someone caught him abandoning a baby on a doorstep. The house's lights were all out.

It was almost too easy, laying the boy on the step as gently as he could. Wouldn't it be just the time for the sprog to wake up, with half the neighbor on his tail?

Vernon stepped back, allowing himself a rare moment to reconsider. No. It was best this way. At least this family wouldn't know what he was. Petunia and he had debated over whether or not to leave on him the letter that he had first arrived with. But that would only raise more questions.

As he walked back to the car, he looked one more time. There was a plaque on the door. "Granger. Sounds normal enough. Maybe they'll be able to get that magic out of you, boy."

The Grunnings director drove back home, skipped work that day to sleep and spend time with his real family, and the words "Harry Potter" were never to be spoken in the Dursley household again.
Sophie Granger always woke up at 6:50 sharp. She showered, brushed her teeth, did her hair (or at least what was left after she went for that lovely modern do no more special hair-care products for her), checked on little Hermione, made breakfast for Jonathan, and went back upstairs to figure out how to wake her husband up without getting the baby all in a temper.

She chuckled brightly as she went back down to set the table. She could hear Jonathan's moaning and groaning about Monday mornings from down here. Reaching across the table, she realized what she was missing. Milk. Of course she had forgotton to get the milk from the porch. She picked up her robemid-November seemed chillier every yearand opened the door.

She had expected the milk bottles and the cold gust of air nearing bowling her over. Sophie hadn't been expecting a little boy wrapped in blankets.

"Jon? Jonathan, get down here now!" There was a grumble about closing the door, it's cold in here, but the quick thumps on the staircase told her that he was genuinely worried about what could get his wife so upset.

Gently, carefully, she picked up the little child. A boy with a mop of scruffy black hair andshe brushed his hair out of the waya strange looking scar, shaped like lightning. How did that happen... ? His parents were probably tramps or someething. No wonder he ended up on her steps.

The little body in her arms squirmed a little, and she turned her face to look at him. She almost gasped at his eyes. John ran to her uncerimouniously, wondering what she was holding.

He had the prettiest green eyes she had ever seen, and looked at her the way only a baby could. Sophie had to bite her tongue to not say something on the lines of "Can we keep him, pretty please?"

Sophie tore her eyes away from him, looking for some sort of letter or sorry payment that the parent might have left. Nothing.

She looked at the blanket instead. It was of fine quality, surprisingly, with something embroidered at the bottom.

Harry James Potter
July 31, 1980

Sophie addressed her husband for the first time, pointing at the lettering. "We should see if he belongs to anybody."

Jonathan nodded, heading back to the kitchen. He had always planned on having two or three children. After Hermione's birth, though, the doctor had stated that she was unable to give birth again. Jonathan had masked his disappointment well, but...

She picked up the little boy Harry, she thought with affection and, despite her words, thought in her head of a brother for her daughter, of what color she would paint the guestroom walls, and how she would deal with a boy in the house.