Each chapter will be told from the point of view of the person reading.
Bold writing is the stories text.
Normal writing is people's thoughts reactions and exclamations about what is read.
PSA I own nothing in the Harry Potter universe.
Chapter 1
Minerva was furious that these people could really be making a spectacle of Mr. Potter's life. It was only the fact that Dumbledore had already impressed upon the staff that there was nothing that they could do without losing their jobs that kept them from protesting. The thing that really got to her though was that none of the students were protesting what was happening, in fact she realized as she scanned the hall, most of them seemed eager to learn what had happened in Mr. Potter's life. Her piercing eyes traveled along the Gryffindor table till she found Mr. Potter himself and what she saw made almost break from her stern aloof mask. Mr. Longbottom was switching from looking concerned at Mr. Potter and staring at the books in front of The Minister on the Head Table with horror. Miss Granger was whispering to Mr. Potter as she rubbed his arm but it seemed to not be having any effect as Mr. Potter himself seemed to be having a panic attack at the mere existence of the books rather than protesting. The youngest Mr. Weasley seemed to be just as interested in what the books said as the rest of Gryffindor table, which made her frown. A frown that only got fiercer as she noticed more of her lions looking downright gleefully at the books.
She was pulled from her musing when The Minister said, "So which one of you would like to read whatever it was you three did?"
She turned to look at the board and was shocked to see her name along with Dumbledore's and Hagrid's. She pursed her lips knowing she would have to read seeing as Hagrid was out of the country working to get the giants on their side, and that Dumbledore seemed to be avoiding anything that had to do with Mr. Potter.
Calming herself as much as she could she addressed the Minister, "I believe that I will proceed with reading this rubbish first Minister."
The minister's face had gone completely red at what she said as The Unspeakable levitated the book over to her. Looking at the cover she read out.
Harry Potter and The Sorcerers Stone
She ignored the murmurs that rang out at only the first sentence knowing that that behavior would continue for the entire book. She slowly flipped open the book and the first page was empty she flipped a few more till she found the first chapter. She continued reading.
CHAPTER ONE
THE BOY WHO LIVED
She looked at the little picture of little baby wrapped in a blanket under the stars and a small smile crossed her face as she remembered how cute of a baby Mr. Potter was. She returned to her reading when Cornelius cleared his throat.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. 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.
She heard the whispering get louder and then a little louder then the rest she heard both Mr. Weasleys sobbing through fake tears, she scowled at the distraction. When Dumbledore had briefed them this morning he had explained how the books worked and now she could not say anything to the students to keep them quiet. She had to settle for looking up and glaring at all four tables, an action that worked rather effectively she must admit. As she was doing so she caught Mr. Potter's eyes and noticed that he seemed to be chanting something to himself. Under closer inspection she would guess (she did not read lips well) that he was chanting "No" under his breath. Shaking her head she continued.
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.
A few seats down she heard one of the Politicians sneer, "Who are these Dursleys? I have never heard the name before and they don't show up on the board as Magicals that can read the book and even that bastard child of a giants showed up on it."
She tried to answer but closed her mouth quickly when no sound came out glowering sharply at the Toad while Dumbledore answered, "The Dursley's are all that is left of Mr. Potter's family Yaxley, as such it is understandable that they are mentioned in his life whether they have magic in their veins or not."
She heard a faint snort from her table and a sneer from the Slytherin table above the hubbub as young Mr. Malfoy raised his voice, "You mean to tell me that this book starts off talking about Muggles?"
She was again saddened that it seemed so many of the children were nodding their heads at what Mr. Malfoy had said, even some members of her own house. However any more comments were stopped when Dolores screeched, "That will be enough from everyone. Minerva continue reading." With one last scowl at the woman that dare order her around she resumed reading.
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. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.
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.
The noise level was raising again making her grit her teeth in annoyance. From the politician sitting next to Yaxley, she heard him whisper to Yaxley, "Well marrying into muggles like you really did bring them down in the world didn't it."
Her grip on the book was causing her knuckles to turn white at the blatant racism that was present in the government. She expected Albus to say something but in the end it was Filius that spoke up, "If I remember correctly Mr. Runcorn you only passed three of your O.W.L.s, something that leads me to suspect that it was only your lineage that got you anywhere something that both Mr. and Mrs. Potter managed to on their own aptitude."
She started reading again before anyone could protest what Filius had said, catching a disappointed look in Albus's eye at what happened.
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 were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. 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.
She heard more then a few gasps and proclamations of anger at the Durselys for their thoughts on magic as she read. Her own indignation for one of her favorite couples that came through Hogwarts was just as apparent, 'If only I could actually speak right now' she mused.
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. 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. None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.
She could hear a disdainful voice from over at the Slytherin table sneer, "Well it's not like muggles are smart enough to notice something that obvious."
Only for Miss Granger to fire back with, "From what I have seen of most of the wizards I have meet I would be surprised if they managed to pick up on something like that."
The indignant responses across the hall were nothing compared to Mr. Malfoy's yelled, "Shut your mouth you filthy Mudblood."
She wanted to scream at the boy knowing that it was unlikely anyone but Filius or Pomona would. However it seemed that the students themselves were responding, a large majority stated yelling at the stupid boy, who had taken shelter in the numbers that Slytherin provided. It was broken up before anything started when Cornelius bellowed, "If any of you little miscreants lay a hand on Mr. Malfoy I will personally make sure you are expelled for assaulting a child of an Ancient and Noble family."
At his comment of 'Noble' she heard a snort that was most defiantly Mr. Potter, but the sound seemed to come from down the table. Looking down she saw a small radio in front of Dolores and the Minister as Miss Granger's voice chided Mr. Potter, "Now is not the time Harry." Deciding she would have to ask after she had finished reading she pressed on.
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.
"Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.
From right next to her she heard Pomona whisper to Poppy, "I can't believe that they would let a child act like that." Privately she had to agree even if she saw the boy act that way first hand.
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. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen — 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. 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. 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.
She knew that most of the staff would figure out that the cat was her seeing as she was in the chapter but when the first person to comment that she heard was actually Mr. Potter over the radio she was shocked and a little unnerved. "So Professor McGonagall knew where I was raised too then?" Mr. Potter almost snarled to what seemed no one in particular. Miss Granger was quick to step in when she said, "Harry, you know she was a member of Dumbledore's Order during the last war its not too shocking she would help him transfer you as a child."
Yaxley seemed to perk up at that comment but it was Cornelius that turned towards her and demanded, "Just what were you doing there Minerva?"
She shoot him a glare that could curdle milk as she proceeded to continue her reading.
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.
She again ignored the mutter that erupted at the idea of not wearing cloaks, though she personally was thankful that it seemed to come from a minority of the students.
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.
Over Umbridge's listening device she heard the youngest Mr. Weasley chuckle, "He doesn't seem to be that bright now does he Harry?"
As Mr. Potter grunted in reply Miss Granger as usual cut in, "Ronald be nice!"
Her frown tightened when Mr. Potter cut in, "Don't worry Hermione he is treating them better than they deserve."
Looking up she saw that no one near him knew how to respond to that statement. At the Head Table though she saw that Dolores and Cornelius looked particularly smug and Albus looked like someone had kicked his puppy, if he had one.
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.
She felt like hitting her head against the table in front of her when she again heard The youngest Mr. Weasley over the radio, "How do they manage to avoid seeing those ruddy birds?"
The same sentiment seemed to be shared by most of the hall, however it was mister Potter that reminded his fellows, "Ron I have told you before people don't use owls for mail only wizards do."
"Really... That's just weird." came Mr. Weasley's disbelieving response.
Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. 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.
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.
There was a collective silence as the great hall stopped talking and focused on he at that caused her inner teacher to start screaming that only when she got to a part with any suspense did they listen to the story.
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard —"
"— yes, their son, Harry —"
She looked up startled. Most of the students had turned to stare at Mr. Potter in one movement, the noise it had caused was so unexpected more than one person at the head table jumped. She quickly snuck a glance at Mr. Potter and could see that he seemed to be trying to sink into the ground.
A light and melodious voice seemed to cut through the silence with greater impact than her rents ever had when Miss Lovegood asked, "Ohhh. Is that a Blibbering Humdinger we are looking at?"
She wanted to sigh in exasperation at the young girl, but then she caught the girls slight smile. That smile caused an idea to form in her mind, everyone was now talking to each other and scoffing at Miss Lovegood but they were not staring at Harry. Making a mental note to talk to the girl about her priorities after the reading she continued.
Mr. Dursley stopped dead.
She actually stopped when only barely she heard Harry mumble over the radio, "I wish." Not wanting anyone to be able to make anything of that and rather perturbed at the grim frown on Albus' face she continued reading.
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. 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…but all the same, those people in cloaks…
She heard the whispering pickup again indignation at the 'lowly muggle' seemed a prevalent sentiment, gritting her teeth she continued reading.
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! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"
There it was she thought everyone now realized what was going on. Her jaw clenched when from a few seats down Dolores simpered, "It is only a pity that the Hero that could have done so much for the wizarding world had to turn out the way he did."
She waited for the rebuttal from the headmaster, the cry of outrage from the students. She would have settled for almost anything but it never came. No one complained, no one argued. She saw a large number of glares from students directed at Dolores but no one spoke up.
Finally over the radio she heard Miss Granger whisper, "Harry please. You have to relax. They are just trying to get you in trouble by being petty."
She saw Dolores swell up in indignation at that but a glare from Cornelius cut her off. And with that Minerva continued reading.
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.
It was proof of the ominous atmosphere after Dolores' comment that not even the Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley did not speak up at that comment.
Her head shot up like a cannon when she heard over the radio, "Don't I know it..." coming out of Mr. Potter's mouth. Her eyes zoned in on him and he looked a little pale her mind was trying to figure out what he meant when he said that, that she almost missed Miss Granger soothe, "It's alright Harry, I'm here."
Mr. Longbottom spoke up at that point, "Guys, they are staring at us."
Stolen from that line of thought she quickly started reading again trying to avoid her favorite students finding out she was listening in on them. In the back of her mind though she heard Mr. Potter again 'So Professor McGonagall knew where I was raised to then?' and she suppressed a shudder.
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.
"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.
The irritation at those people and disgust she had felt while watching them all day was coming back to her in waves, but even worse was the feeling of guilt and worry about Mr. Potter's home life that she knew nothing about. She tightened her grip on the book as she continued reading.
The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. 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.
From that accursed radio she heard Mr. Weasley's voice as he seemed to be stifling a laugh, "You're right Harry that does sound like McGonagall, we would know that glare anywhere."
She was contemplating using it on young Mr. Weasley momentarily when Miss Granger's voice cut in, "That's only because you can never behave, Ronald."
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!").
Pomona whispered to Poppy next to her, "At least Mr. Potter never acts like that."
Minerva pursed her lips as Poppy replied, "Yes. I can tell he hates coming to me for anything and even then he still does what I say without question.
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."
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…
"That was a rather long and difficult time for those of us in the law enforcement department of the ministry." Amelia spoke up.
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?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
Mr. Potter's voice came over the radio loud and clear even though it was only more then a quiet growl, "Bastards."
The anger and hatred that was conveyed in that statement was matched by none that she had ever heard before. She managed to keep her eyes on the book and realized that she was actually capable of growling when Dolores sneered, "He could at least be thankful, even if they are animals."
"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."
The noise in the Great Hall grew exponentially at that statement. Demands of what was meant by 'her crowd' were heard from all tables and she could not blame them for it either. Down along the Head Table she heard Mr. Nott sneer, "Who does this Muggle think he is?"
She didn't even intend to retort not after where her thoughts of Mr. Potter's home life were now. However it did shock her when Albus cut in with his grandfather like voice, "It is understandable that they are jealous of a world they have no part in."
Before anyone could return that comment young Mr. Malfoy yelled across the Hall, "Hey Potter, how does it feel to know that the only family you have left hates your guts?"
She saw Mr. Potter stiffen before he snarled in a voice that screamed it was barely constrained, "Well Malfoy I'm sure I'm used to it by now, after living with them."
She wiped her head around to glare at Albus, but he ignored her like usual. With a heavy sigh she turned back to the book feeling angry, worried and anguish over what Mr. Potter may have undergone.
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. 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?"
Miss Granger's voice hissed over the radio, "I thought he was joking. How could he not now his nephew's name?"
Mr. Potter sounded weary when he spoke, "It was most likely true Hermione, I was about as welcome with my relatives as termites. Both were unlike my relatives and something they wished were dead."
The intake of Miss Granger and the following sob only intensified her own glare at the Headmaster. It was Lord Nott that sneered, "Well the boy does seem to have a strong resistance to dying."
The rage that filled her at that moment would have done her highland ancestors proud and if she was able to speak at that moment she was sure she would have challenged that sasunnach to a duel. Trying to calm herself she started reading again, she could vaguely hear Mr. Potter reassuring Miss Granger over the radio.
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"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.
She could feel the gaze of most of the head table boring into her at this point but she actually felt like flinching from one gaze. Looking around to see who it was she could feel glaring at her, her eyes meet distant Emerald green. They looked so much like emeralds, cold, hard, and nigh indestructible; it sent chills down her spine.
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…
She heard a derisive snort over the radio and new that Mr. Potter was the cause but nothing was said to follow it up. The great hall itself seemed to have lulled into almost silence for the first time since the story ha started.
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.
The Great Hall was back to buzzing at this talking about who it was she assumed. Her attention however was ragged to the radio again when Mr. Weasley's voice confidently said, "See Harry Dumbledore has it all in hand you don't need to worry so much."
The lack of response that received from Mr. Potter was more telling than anything he said so far had been.
This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. 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."
This caused a mark increase in the buzz that was filling the hall. A few of the older students she could see trying to discreetly look at and pointing at her.
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.
She wanted to scream at the man when she heard an amused chuckle escape Albus at that. Knowing it was probably over the simple name that the book had given his invention did nothing to improve her mood.
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."
She heard the exclamations of astonishment and understanding, they seemed to be about equally measured.
When the voice carried over the radio she should have been angry but she was more resigned when she heard Mr. Potter, "That confirms that she was involved."
She could shake the feeling that all of Mr. Potter's indignation and anger about what happened that night was not misplaced. She could see where a child would fault them for being stuck with a family that did not like him and not with Mr. Black. She just hoped he did not do anything foolish about that.
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.
She frowned at the description that the book gave her and valiantly ignored the giggles and chuckles she heard spread across the Great Hall.
"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.
She heard Mr. Potter over the radio in a voice laced in disgust, "That's what everyone did? They partied after that night? When our lives fell apart the rest of the world partied?"
She stiffened as Mr. Weasley commented, "Well it was the end of You-Know-Who mate. Figure there was not much else on their mind."
She felt those around her stiffen and was herself rather affronted when Mr. Potter snarled, "Yeah. I've noticed that most wizards do not seem to think too much, it only start to reason that they would not be able to handle all those emotions."
She chanced a glance up and saw that Mr. Weasley seemed to have gone rather red around the ears, she quickly returned to reading so as not to allow an argument to form where it could be overheard.
"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."
Down the table she heard Amelia mutter, "That week never seemed to end."
"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?"
She heard the rustling of a cloak behind her, as she quizzically turned alongside the rest of the Head Table she saw one of The Unspeakables striding towards Albus. The Unspeakable grabbed her boss's shoulder and turned spoke in a halting tone, "What the hell is wrong with you? If you knew something you should have said something."
She was completely bemused and it seemed that the rest of the Great Hall was too when Albus answered, "What would you have had me do Croaker? You should remember the shape the ministry was in at that point in time. I had no proof just guesses based off things he had said and observations I had made when he was a student, what right did I have to speak up at that point?"
There seemed to be a silent contest of wills before The Unspeakable spoke in a haughty voice, "Will discuss this after the book is complete Head Master. Have no doubt."
Completely perplexed she continued reading.
"A what?"
A few giggle swept the hall, an act that worked very well in removing the tense atmosphere that had settled when the two skilled had had their silent conflict only moments before.
"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 —"
Cornelius barked, "Minerva, you would do well to remember that he has gone."
Glaring at his superior attitude and the glee on his face at her inability to respond to him she silently grit her teeth as Albus spoke, "Ahh Cornelius, you have to remember this was the day after the news was heard and no one was completely sure what had happened yet, especially those that had been fighting against the forces trying to destroy our world."
It was after Albus spoke that she noticed that most all of the students seemed to have taken her not speaking as she agreed, with a scowl she feared would become as permanent as Severus' she continued reading.
"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."
It was over the radio that she heard Miss Granger soothingly say to Mr. Potter, "Just like you are always telling us."
"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."
It sickened her that she could hear sounds of gleeful agreement in the buzz that that news caused in the Great Hall.
"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."
The chatter in the Great Hall seemed to have given way to fits of giggles at that statement. Down the row from her, she heard Poppy sigh in exasperation, "Really, that man."
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 they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
The Great Hall again turned almost as one to face Mr. Potter, this time though no one said anything to deflect their attention.
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.
Minerva elbowed Pomona as her friend whispered, "Well that book has you pegged doesn't it?"
"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."
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James…I can't believe it…I didn't want to believe it…Oh, Albus…"
It was at this point she heard a few gasps from the hall, curiously looking up she saw Mister Potter rising from his bench.
He was staring at her and she felt relief that the anger in them earlier had dissociated and was replaced with a calmer and pensive quality to them as he spoke, "Thank You Professor. Thank you for realizing even a little bit what happened that night and what it meant. Thank you for not celebrating over what happened that night."
She could only nod to the young man as Mr. Potter sat down again and seemed to only then realize what he had done.
Stifling the tear she felt forming in the corner of his eye she turned back to the book, hoping it could help hide this side of her.
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.
Her frustration seemed to fade into sympathy for Mr. Potter as again the entire Great Hall was looking at him and whispering. It irked her that even after he had just made a spectacle of the fact that no one realized what that night meant to him, they still could not grasped it.
"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?"
The murmurs grew even louder at that. They seemed to convey an amount of fear to them, the reason for this was answered when she heard Mr. Potter over the radio, "For God's sake how could a one year old child know 'Dark Magic'?"
"We can only guess." said Dumbledore. "We may never know."
Behind her she distinctly heard The Unspeakable Croaker mutter, "Bullshit."
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?"
She could not see it but many eyebrows were raised at that admittance. Then Augusta queried, "Minerva you stayed there all day and had no idea what was going on?" Frustrated at her inability to answer her friend she just slowly nodded her head.
"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."
From down the table she heard Lord Nott sneer, "It must be pitiful to call things like that family."
Albus was on that comment quickly but during the wait she couldn't come up with anything to say to refute the man for what he said. Albus however calmly stated as if he was talking to a child, "Yes, we can't choice who we are related to but family can never drag you down, only help you."
Ignoring Albus and his passive aggressive dribble she continued reading.
"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!"
She blinked as the mournful voice of Mr. Potter drifted across the radio, "Thanks for trying Professor." It was barely above a whisper but it caused her words to get caught in her throat.
She heard Severus sneer bitterly, "What they not good enough for his highness then?"
Blinking back a tear at what she had just heard she decently drew her wand, pointing it at her fellow teacher under the table, she silently silenced Severus.
hoping the next time he tried speaking was important to him she returned to reading.
"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!"
Across the radio she heard a tint of bamboozlement that changed to that of distress in Mr. Potter voice as he swore, "I never got any letter from the Dursley's... Wait please anyone tell me that there is no Harry Potter day."
Over the coughing from Severus as he realized he was silenced she heard Mr. Longbottom's voice, "Your good Harry, they never did that. There may be one in the future though you never know."
As Albus worked on removing her silencing charm on Severus she continued reading.
"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.
"Well that defense didn't last long..." was heard as Mr. Potter's voice came over the radio, tainted with resignation.
"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.
The buzz of noise from the students again grew and she could hear a noise of dismissal in it. There were little bits of conversations she could hear about not trusting the half-giant and how Dumbledore was senile.
"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?"
The room got quiet as the tension rose.
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.
"Cool" seemed to echo through the halls, she had no idea how many boys said it but it seemed to be most of the Great Hall's occupants.
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.
The whispering voices had come back. Over the radio however she heard Miss Granger, "Honestly. How can something like that have been allowed? It seems way too dangerous of a way for a infant to travel."
At the same time Cornelius blustered, "Now see here Albus, that's breaking the statute of security."
It was a small shock when it was Amelia that answered that, "I assure you Minister that we never got any calls about that incident, quite unlike the one where a rather drunk wizard decided to started yelling about how grand everything was now that You-Know-Who was dead, in the middle of a town square."
For the first time in a large amount of this chapter a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth as Cornelius sputtered his denials.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"Consorting with criminals Albus? Why does that not surprise me" crowed Dolores.
Albus just stared at her serenely as he said, "And how Professor Umbridge was I supposed to know that at that time that young Mr. Black had done anything? It was a few days later that he was found and everything was brought to light."
As Dolores gaped at him like a fish out of water and Cornelius blustered on she vaguely heard Mr. Potter dismissively say, "Yeah, because anyone in this world allows anything to come to light.
"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.
Any tension that had been in the Great Hall as a whole was shattered when most of the girls cooed at that description. She herself fondly remembered what the young bairn had looked like.
"Is that where —?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
"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."
"I'm sorry I can't help him. Now let's ditch the boy here." Those words and the mocking tone Mr. Potter had used while saying them set the Head Table on edge.
Albus looked upset and she noticed there was a faint spark of anger in his eyes. Then Mr. Weasley spoke up, "Lay off Harry, it's Dumbledore. He did what was best."
Mr. Potter however snorted derisively and said, "Keep telling yourself that Ron, it might become true."
Miss Granger interrupted, "Harry, he had to have his reasons-"
Mr. Potter had cut her off though, "Then he should bloody well share them with the one he decided to dump in that hell now shouldn't he? If anything at least that should be my right, even if they won't let me leave."
As the radio fell silent she started reading again.
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 —"
"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.
The Great Hall had lapsed into silence at what had just been read, then the silence was broken by loud deep barking laughter. Mr. Potter was almost falling out of his seat as he managed to control himself enough to shout a question, "You left me on a doorstep? That's brilliant. You do that to a child that's not even two and the entire wizarding community lets you lot look after their children?"
At those words the Great Hall descended into chaos. Students were talking to each other, some (Mostly females) were yelling at her and Albus, it was the rest of the Head Table that was causing the greatest stir. Most seemed to be jumping over one another to yell at Albus and her.
Dolores, Cornelius, Amos Diggery, Lord Nott, Yaxley, Runcorn, Augusta and Amelia were all yelling to get their voice heard as they tore into them for abandoning a wizarding child on the steps of a muggle dwelling at night and if she had not seen Filius surreptitiously cast a simple silencing ward she would have been worried about the children hearing this conversation.
It took a long time and Albus giving a brief description of the blood wards, that was grudgingly backed by Croaker, for everyone to back off. There was still a lot of glares focused on them and more than a few of her friends were giving her disbelieving looks.
What caught her eyes however was the look of abject horror on Miss Grangers face as she looked and her and Albus, it was like part of her life had just died. Swallowing nothing she resumed reading.
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
It was in the wake of what they had learned that no one commented on this. The almost smug look on Mr. Potter's face bothered her however.
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir."
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.
It was the odd Miss Lovegood that broke the calm at this point when she loudly asked, "I wonder if he ever gave that back to Stubby Boardman?"
There was more than a few catcalls and laughter in response.
"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.
Over the radio she clearly heard Mr. Potter mutter, "Didn't help." The worry was back full force and she felt like she would never forgive herself for allowing this to happen after these books were finished.
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 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…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!"
Having finished reading she looked up and spoke in a rather stilted voice, "I am sorry Mr. Potter for how that night appeared. I was informed in the strictest of confidence that you would be safe and protected from harm."
Mr. Potter seemed to be weighing her words before he slowly bowed his head to her, his eyes unreadable from the distance. Deep inside she knew that that nod did not convey an apology.
Turning at a noise she saw the names on the board slowly fade as a new name was scratched into the board with chalk all alone. In magnificent script was the name 'Harry Potter'.
She wiped her head around as she heard Mr. Potter speak, "Minister, what will you do if I refuse to read?"
Her face darkening Dolores rose in her chair and snapped, "You will read Mr. Potter or you will be forced to!"
As one of the Aurors behind Mr. Potter reached forward and grabbed the young man's shoulder two things happened simultaneously; Amelia roared, "Stand down Dawlish, this instant!", and Mr. Potter elbowed the Auror that grabbed him in the groin before spinning around wand drawn. It was at that moment that more of the Aurors around the Great Hall drew their wands on the students that chaos reigned.