*This is originally J.K Rowling's Harry Potter, I just changed it a bit to fit another character.
CHAPTER ONE
THE GIRL WHO LEARNED
Mr. and Mrs. Granger, of number 12, Charlesprey Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you would ever expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't know anything about it.
Mr. Granger was a dentist. He was a thin faced man with fair auburn hair. Mrs. Granger was also thin and dark haired. They both had rather long necks which came in very useful as they spent much of their time craning down their dental patients throats. The Grangers had a small daughter called Hermione and in their opinion there was no finer girl anywhere.
The Grangers 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 Hermione. She was unusually bright for her age, in fact the Grangers were proud to say that she had begun walking at age three months. And that she'd begun talking in complete sentences around the same time. Reading and writing started soon after. They were afraid that professors might come to take Hermione away.
When Mr. and Mrs. Granger 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. Mr. Granger hummed as he picked out his most boring lab coat for work, and Mrs. Granger gossiped away happily as she tucked Hermione, who was quietly observing the weather, into her high chair.
None of them noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.
At half past eight, Mr. Granger picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Granger on the cheek, and tried to kiss Hermione goodbye but missed, because Hermione was now thrusting her hand in the air so as to be picked to answer Mrs. Granger's question of what she wanted for breakfast. "Smart girl," chortled Mr. Granger as he left the house. He got in his car and backed out of number four's drive.
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar- a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr. Granger didn't realize what he had seen- then he jerked his head around to look again. The tabby cat that had looked lost was now walking away down the street towards Privet Drive. No map was in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Granger blinked and stared at the cat. As Mr. Granger 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. Mr. Granger gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a root canal he was hoping to perform today.
But on the edge of town, root canals 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. Mr. Granger 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. Granger 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. Granger that this was probably some charity collecting . . . yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Granger arrived outside his office,which was located next to the drill firm; Grunnings, his mind back on root canals.
Mr. Granger always sat with his back back to the window in his office on the 3rd floor. If he hadn't he might have found it harder to concentrate that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Granger, however had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He arranged appointments with five different people. He pulled several wisdom teeth, and gave one little girl braces. 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 roll from the bakery.
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 was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large cinnamon roll 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-"
Mr. Granger paid no mind, so he was disturbed to see a large man staring fearfully at the group. The large man turned away and walked quickly into Grunnings. Mr. Granger walked leisurely across the street to his office. He found a phone book and looked up Potter, Harry as that was the only full name he'd heard. He quickly gave up as there were far too many Potters in the city.
When he left the building that afternoon he accidentally ran into a tiny old man wearing a violet cloak. The man 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 passerby stare, " Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourselves should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"
And the old man hugged Mr. Granger around the knees and walked off towards Grunnings.
Mr. Granger 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 imagination was not important to dentistry.
As he drove past Privet Drive, he saw the tabby cat of that morning sitting on the garden wall outside of number four. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes. He watched as a large man got out of his car and make a shooing motion towards the cat.
The cat didn't move. It just gave him what appeared from this angle to be a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Granger wondered. He continued driving home. He let himself into number 12. He was now determined not to mention anything to his wife.
Mrs. Granger had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Hermione's attempts to ride the dog; an Irish Setter named Red. Mr. Granger tried to act normally. When Hermione 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 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."
Mr. Granger sat frozen in his arm chair. 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. Granger 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-Amy, dear-you haven't heard anything about the owls and shooting stars all over the country lately, have you?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Granger looked shocked. After all, they normally had a normal life, and discussed normal things.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Granger mumbled. "Owls . . . shooting stars . . . and there was a lot of funny-looking people in town today . . ."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Granger.
"Well, I just thought . . . maybe . . . it was something you would have heard about."
Mrs. Granger sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Granger wondered whether he should ask her if she knew anyone named Harry Potter. He pushed the thought aside as obviously anyone she knew, he was also acquainted with.
He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Granger was in the bathroom, Mr. Granger crept upstairs to say goodnight to Hermione.
The Grangers got into bed. Mrs. Granger fell asleep quickly but Mr. Granger lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that there was no way his family could be involved, so it didn't concern him.
How very wrong he was.
Mr. Granger might have been drifting off into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on Privet Drive was showing no signs 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.
Albus Dumbledore then put out all the light posts on the street with his Put-Outer. The cat then transfigured into a woman. The two had a long conversation, during which a large hairy man appeared with a baby. Albus Dumbledore took the baby from this man and placed him on the stoop of number 4 Privet Drive. He also left a letter for the residents of this house. The three adults then left. The residents of the house, a certain Mr. and Mrs. Dursley soon found the boy. They raised him for ten years.