Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.


Chapter Three
The Letters and the Late-Night Caller

The street was empty, not even cars parked at the curb, mist hanging just above the street. The streetlights cast a yellow glow over everything. Owls flew overhead, owls of all varieties, all clutching something in their beaks or talons. They looked like letters and parcels, maybe a vole every now and then.

Harry looked up the street. Suddenly, he realised he held something in his hand. It looked like a cigarette lighter, silver in colour and, most likely, material. He knew his mother and father looked down on smoking and would ground him even more if they saw him holding it, but something felt different about this one. He flicked it once, and the light closest to his right flew from the lamp and into the lighter. Harry, awestruck, flicked it again. The light to his left flew from its lamp into the lighter. Harry was elated he had something so amazing in his hands. He flicked it once more and the next light on the right flew into the lighter. He did this again and again gleefully.

Harry flicked the lighter a twelfth time. The light at the far end of the street flew from its lamp. Soon, Harry felt the hairs on the back of his neck rising. Terror flooded his mind as he saw the light changed from yellow to green. Harry stood, rooted to the spot, paralysed with fear. The light surged forward, evil and terrible as always—

***HPG***

He shot up in his bed, wide-eyed with fright. The green light came back again, for the second night in a row. That's troubling, he thought to himself. Should I tell Mum and Dad? Will they care? Of course they will. They always care. They always will, even after what happened at the zoo.

He got out of bed and made his way to the kitchen. As he did so, murmuring from his parents' bedroom caught his ear.

"A month, Laurence?" Harry heard his mother say. "Isn't that more than a bit strict?"

"He had something to do with it, Jean," Laurence retorted.

"Yes, he got hit in the head by a horrible boy and you're grounding him."

"He set a snake loose."

"You honestly don't believe that?"

"He's got into mischief before."

"Yes, mischief, not endangering the general public."

"Jean—"

"I refuse to believe my son did this, especially considering the evidence you bore witness to. Why can't you?"

With a sigh, Laurence explained, "So many bizarre things happen around Harry. I love him dearly, you know that. But, all those bizarre things, getting onto the roof of his school, turning Ms Pettyfer's hair blue, this bit with the snake, all of them had only one thing in common: Harry. I don't think he's a delinquent, far from it, but I think he's able to do some amazing things without meaning to."

"What, like magic?" Jean asked, utterly disbelieving. "You do realise how ridiculous that sounds?"

"I know," Laurence said, almost defeated. He added, "But, freak accidents don't just happen. Glass partitions don't just disappear and reappear on their own. And you remember that one time his hair returned to normal after he got Hermione to cut it? Explain that."

Harry remembered that. Other kids at his school had made fun of his scar and his messy hair. He couldn't figure a way to make either disappear permanently, so he tried to cut off his hair, leaving just enough to cover his scar. But, because he couldn't get to it at the back, he asked Hermione to do that for him. When his parents came home and saw what their children had done, both parents shouted themselves hoarse and sent their children to their rooms without dinner. Hermione was in tears, and Harry felt worse, having made himself look more ridiculous than before, and bringing his sister down with him.

The next morning, when Harry came down for breakfast, the family stared agog at him, and Harry soon realised that his hair was back to normal, as if the day before had never happened. The entire family was dumbfounded at the sudden return of Harry's hair, so much so that any and all future punishments were quickly forgotten.

"But, if that's the case, why are you punishing him if he can't control it?" his mother asked his father, bringing Harry back to the present.

"What else would a responsible parent do?"

"They'd let up," Jean chided. "They'd try to help their son control...whatever it is, if it is anything. And, more importantly, they'd at least try to understand what it was before they punished their child willy-nilly."

Did they seriously think he could do these things without realising it? Harry thought to himself. They cannot be serious. His father was never the sort of person to think of silly things like that. They would read Harry and Hermione stories about magic, but they also said over and over that it was all just fantasy, nothing more.

"I'll cut his grounding down to two weeks," Laurence relented, admitting, "I was a bit strict."

"A bit?" Jean pressed.

"Okay, I overreacted."

"That's more like it," Jean chimed, highly satisfied. "Now, let's get some sleep. By the way, you are one of the most responsible men I know."

"Good night, dear," Laurence replied.

"Love you, dear."

Harry could feel himself growing a little happier. He wasn't going to suffer for a month like he first thought. He'd still be grounded, but for just half the time. He found himself feeling so much better that he turned back to his room and went straight back to bed.

***HPG***

The morning after the incident at the zoo, Harry woke up, and quickly remembered what he could expect. The air around the house felt much more tense as he made his way downstairs, but Harry felt all right, knowing he'd be allowed off his punishment sooner than expected. Already awake and seated in the kitchen were his parents and sister.

"Cook us some bacon and scrambled eggs, please, Harry," his father requested, not looking up from his newspaper.

This was the start of his punishment, Harry realised. No matter, he said to himself, it'll only be two weeks. Not to mention, he actually enjoyed making breakfast for everyone, despite the fact his father meant it to be a punishment.

"Scrambled eggs and half a grapefruit, please, Harry," Jean said, reluctantly but curtly.

"Hermione, what would you like?" Laurence asked.

"I don't feel hungry," Hermione muttered.

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, young lady," Laurence lectured. "You need to eat."

Hermione rolled her eyes and unwillingly ordered, "Just scrambled eggs, please."

Laurence said, "And some toast for everyone as well, Harry."

"Yes, Dad," Harry replied. He made them breakfast diligently, whisking and cooking the eggs, frying the bacon, and putting the bread into the toaster. As everything was cooking, he got his mother her grapefruit and set it before her.

"What does everyone want to drink?" Harry asked, knowing his dad would get on him about forgetting that part of breakfast. Laurence held up his cup of tea, as did Jean. Hermione replied, "A glass of milk, please."

Harry took the bacon and eggs off the stove, and brought the pan over, serving everyone a good portion. Soon the toast and bacon were done, and Harry served those as well as Hermione's milk. Soon, he cooked his own meal, making himself some eggs over easy, and two pieces of toast.

As soon as Harry sat down to eat, the sound of the mail slot clicking and the post flopping to the ground turned his father's head in the direction of the front door.

"Go get the post, would you, Harry?" his father not so much requested, but demanded, without sounding demanding. He was always rather good at that, he and his mother.

Harry set his fork down, stood up from the table, and walked to the front door. The post that was delivered appeared to be the usual assortment of bills for his mother and father. Just as he stood up, another letter slipped through the mail slot. Harry questioningly bent down to pick it up. The paper felt fancy, like it belonged to someone of great importance or was meant to say something really important was about to happen and they (most likely his parents) were invited. The back of the letter was sealed with melted purple wax stamped with an escutcheon bearing the letter H.

Turning it over, the letter read in elegant green script,

Mr H. J. Potter-Granger
42 Foyle Rd
Greenwich, Greater London

Harry recognised the writing on the envelope. It strongly resembled that of the letter that was included with him ten years ago. He looked at the letter a lot in his father's office, mulling over who his birth parents were. His dad would use some of his free time to look for anyone named Potter and bore even a passing resemblance to Harry. Ultimately, those searches turned up nothing and Laurence was left pondering it all, almost aimlessly.

Harry threw open the front door and dashed outside, looking wildly about the street, not seeing anything that looked out of the ordinary. Footsteps turned Harry's head as he saw his father come up. "Going somewhere?" Laurence said, gesturing for Harry to go back inside. Harry stepped back into the house.

"You're not allowed outside," his father said. "You know that."

"But, dad," Harry began, but his father continued his reprimand.

"You're not allowed outside unless we tell you you're allowed," Laurence said. "Is that understood?"

"Yes, but—" Harry began, before his father cut him off again.

"But, what?" Laurence asked, expecting some stupid excuse from Harry, before his son extended the letter toward him.

"Someone slipped this letter through the mail slot after all the other post arrived," Harry explained. "The writing looked so much like the letter you found with me that day ten years ago."

Laurence took the letter and examined the sending address. His eyes squinted as he regarded the letter, but soon went wide with shock and his face went pale to match as he saw what Harry meant. The writing did bear an incredibly strong resemblance to the handwriting from the letter that was left with Harry when he was set at the Grangers' doorstep. Laurence strode to the kitchen, and said with an urgent tone, "Jean, we need to talk in the study."

Jean knew that tone of her husband's. It was the tone he used when something really important came up, something unexpected and wholly serious. She set down her spoon and rushed to the study. Before he followed her, Laurence looked down on his son, and said, "You finish your breakfast and go straight to your room."

"But, it's my letter!" Harry cried.

His father glared at him and growled, "Did I stutter?"

Harry stood his ground and said defiantly, "It's my letter and I haven't even read it yet."

Laurence looked upon his son, his face commingled with severity and a heavy-hearted compassion.

"Fine," Laurence relented, "but I'll be the one to open it."

The Granger parents and Harry went back into the kitchen. Laurence got a clean knife and cut the letter open, so as to leave the wax that sealed it intact. Hermione looked about, worried and confused over what had happened. She leaned over and asked Harry, "What's all this about?"

Harry whispered, "We think that letter came from Brian White."

Hermione went wide-eyed. Laurence handed the letter, still folded and unread to Harry, who took it, unfolded it, and read,

"Dear Mr Potter...

"We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted to Hogwarts School. You will find enclosed a list of school supplies and necessary textbooks. We expect your reply no later than the 1st of August. To send your reply, stand near the statue of General Wolfe in Greenwich Park this coming Saturday, hold your letter aloft in the air, and one of our messengers will come to collect it.

"Until then, enjoy the rest of your summer.

"Yours, respectfully, Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster."

The family was left dumbfounded as Harry handed the letter back to his father. Laurence looked inside the envelope, but found nothing else inside it.

"That was the only thing in here," he muttered.

"Is this supposed to be a joke?" Jean asked with the utmost disbelief.

"If it's a joke, I certainly don't understand it," Laurence said.

"What will we do?" Hermione asked.

"I have to make certain this is truly the same person as Brian White," Laurence said. "I'll be back in a few hours." Before he left, he looked at Harry, and said, "Stay in your room until I come back and call for you. Is that understood?"

Harry nodded reluctantly and Laurence left the house for his precinct. Harry quickly finished his breakfast and cleared the table for everyone before he went up to his room, to stay put until his mother needed something done, or until his father came back, whichever came first.

***HPG***

Shortly after Laurence left, Jean went to work. She told her son to do the laundry exactly as she had written out on her instructions. As the laundry went through its cycle, he washed the dishes that soaked after breakfast and cleaned up the kitchen. Once the laundry was entirely done, he went back to his room to wait until his father told him to come downstairs.

Harry tried to imagine what this Albus Dumbledore person, or Brian White, whatever his name was, looked like. For some odd reason, he automatically thought of some old man with with long silver hair and beard, with glasses. Whoever this man was, Harry thought, he had the oddest sense of humour. What does he really know about my parents, if anything?

Of course, he suddenly remembered, this wasn't the first time some mysterious person had try to contact him. Every Christmas, a parcel would show up in the Granger household addressed to Harry. There would be no address or signature, just the same note: "Dearest Harry, Hoping you are well and happy. Be safe." At first, Laurence thought it suspicious, believing Brian White sent it. That was until he read the affixed note and he saw the parcel's contents. Contained within each package would be several home-baked goods and some hand-knitted articles of clothing as well. The first year they got this sort of package, when the Grangers first took Harry into their home, the parcel contained a tin of fudge, a miniature mince pie, and three hand-knitted things—a baby blanket in scarlet and gold, a hat in a shade of green that brought out Harry's eyes, and booties to match the hat. The blanket soon became one of Harry's favourite things and he wouldn't go to bed without it up to the age of nine.

When Harry was three, Laurence and Jean began to stay up late to find out how the parcels got into the house. While they were glad that someone out there cared about Harry, they wanted to know why they were doing this, and how they knew Harry or his parents. He never could figure out how the presents got into the house. Whenever he turned his back to the Christmas tree, the kitchen table, or Harry's bed—all of them places the parcels inexplicably showed up—they would appear somewhere else in the house instead. Laurence still tried to find out how the parcels got in, but, on the whole, he and his wife came to accept the mystery presents as a fixture of Christmas in the Granger house, albeit a strange one.

Before Harry knew it, his parents had come back home.

"Harry, Hermione, come down here, please," Harry heard his father calling cordially, adding, "Family meeting."

Harry walked down as quickly as possible, followed closely by Hermione, who had spent the day studying French.

"Please, have a seat," Jean whispered.

Harry sat down on the sofa, unsure and apprehensive about what his father had found. Hermione sat down beside him, just as apprehensive as Harry was.

Harry looked upon his parents, then said, "What is it?"

Laurence sighed, and said, "The same person wrote both letters."

"Brian White?" Hermione asked. "You're absolutely sure it's him?"

"Definitely," Laurence verified. "The handwriting on the new letter and envelope match the body of the letter and envelope from ten years back, and both signatures are so similar that there's little room for doubt. Not to mention, it's also the same types of ink and paper he used the last time as well."

"What about the wax?" Harry proffered.

"Ordinary sealing wax. Despite the fact that it's a bit out-of-date to use it, it's not really traceable."

"Well, did he leave any fingerprints or anything like that?"

"Nothing of the sort, sadly," Laurence murmured. "We already ran a search on that name, Albus Dumbledore. Nothing came up."

"Do you think that's another alias?" Jean asked, more concerned.

"It has to be," Laurence replied, then mused, "What I really want to know is, why now? Why wait all this time to make contact with Harry?"

"Maybe he was waiting until Harry was old enough?" Jean suggested.

"Old enough for what, though?" Laurence wondered.

"Maybe old enough to know about his parents," Jean suggested once more.

This cast a pall on the family, more than had been cast by the revelations made.

"So..." Harry began, trailing off before concluding, "How do we get hold of him?"

Jean looked at her son as if he suggested they invite a known killer into their home, and it most likely was what she thought of the matter.

"Harry, we are not going to try to contact this man just because he may know about your parents," Jean rebuked.

"Why not?" Harry replied. "If he's trying to get hold of me, of us, why shouldn't we answer him?"

"Did you not read this letter?" Laurence asked in an appalled way. "He's asking you to stand in a public place and wait around like an idiot. We are not dealing with this man by his terms."

"Not to mention," Jean added forcefully, "we're worried he had something to do with their deaths."

"Exactly," Laurence agreed.

"How else can we talk to him?" Hermione asked.

"Whoever this man really is, we are not doing anything he asks of us," their father blustered.

"Dad," Harry said, pleading his case. "This has always bothered you. I always thought it bothered you a lot more than me. I want to know about my birth parents. I want to talk to this man, if only to give you some closure."

Laurence appeared unsettled at Harry's appeal. His son spoke every truth about Laurence's desires to know the fate of the Potters, as well as Harry's. He had cut to the quick more effectively than Laurence ever had thought possible.

"Would you kids mind leaving your mother and I to talk privately, please?"

The children quickly assented to their father's request. Harry and Hermione went upstairs but Harry stopped at the top of the stairs to listen to his parents' conversation.

"Laurence, we can't humour this horrible man," Jean said right off the bat.

"I know," Laurence conceded.

"We're not going to. I won't have it."

A pause followed this part of the discussion, before Jean asked in a knowing way, "You've already written a reply, haven't you?"

"It's not like we can follow any other leads," Laurence replied.

"Laurence, please be sensible," Jean pleaded.

"Jean, this is as close as we've ever got to knowing what happened to them. Harry deserves to know."

"And what if it was something gruesome that did them in? Harry's only ten."

"You wouldn't know it from talking to him."

"Laurence—"

"Jean," her husband told her, "I don't care what that letter said ten years ago. We couldn't have been the only home in this whole blessed country that was a good place to raise Harry."

Jean made no response, but Laurence continued, "I know it sounds like I only want to inflate my ego, but I need to hear from this man's own lips why he chose us. I'm grateful that Harry came into our lives, but what made us so damn special? What did this man see in us? This wasn't kindness, not entirely. He had a plan for Harry, and I want to know what that plan was."

"What did you write?" Jean asked guardedly.

"My reply simply says we want to speak to him directly," Laurence stated. "We won't humour any other way of talking to him. He knows where we live, so he'll come here or we won't hear any more from him at all. That's what I wrote."

"When did he say we should give him our reply?" Jean asked, knowing full-well what the answer was.

"This Saturday."

"I don't like this, Laurence."

"Neither do I." With a sigh, Laurence declared, "He was right, you know. Harry, I mean. It always bothered me, too much. His birth parents were taken from him so unfairly. They deserved to be found, if they haven't been already. I just wanted to know who they were."

"Whatever happens, this has to be about Harry," Jean cautioned. "It can't be about you."

"I know," Laurence responded. "I can't help but think that Harry is more of a grown-up than I am sometimes."

Jean chuckled, and said, "We helped a little bit in that regard."

With a chortle, Laurence said, "Maybe a bit too much."

"What sort of ground rules will we have for this meeting?" Jean asked, acquiescing to Laurence's wishes, but making it clear in her tone that she was still against them in every way.

"When this...messenger...does come," Laurence explained, "we won't allow them to speak to Harry or Hermione. Not even a hello. If this person even tries to do so, we step in and make this a conversation solely between us and him."

"If it is a him," Jean stressed.

"Whoever they are, we keep them from speaking to our children until we deem them good enough people."

"And if they aren't?"

"I told Neil about this," Laurence replied. "He saw the new letter. I couldn't leave him in the dark. He told me to call the precinct if anything bad were to happen."

"Good," Jean said. "We should let the kids know what we're going to do."

"I think they already know," Laurence said wryly. "They didn't close the doors to their rooms."

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in shock at their father's knowing utterance. Laurence called them downstairs. He explained to them their rules for this meeting once more, stressing that they were not to speak to the messenger at all, unless their parents decided it was all right to do so. With that, the family made themselves some sandwiches, ate in silence, and turned in for the night.

Harry lay awake for several hours, wondering what would happen that day. Who would they meet when they were there? What would they know? What would they say? His mind went over these questions until he drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

***HPG***

The week leading up to Saturday was uneventful. When the day finally came, the family took the trip to Greenwich Park, the letter Laurence wrote to this Dumbledore person in his inside jacket pocket. Laurence didn't know how to address the letter, so he simply wrote "Prof Albus Dumbledore, Hogwarts School" on the envelope. They soon came up to the statue of James Wolfe. With a resigned look at his son, Laurence looked upon the long-passed general with solemnity. He did this for about a minute before he said, in frustration, "I have gone insane, haven't I?"

"No, dear, you haven't," Jean answered.

"I'm a detective for Greater London," his father stated to no one in particular. "I've received all sorts of commendations. I have the respect and admiration of my peers. And here I am standing in a park, holding a letter for some messenger who I'm pretty sure doesn't even exist. All for the whims of some madman. Why am I even doing this?"

"You want answers," Harry proffered. Off his father's look, he added, "We all do."

What Harry said instantly reminded him why he was following this Dumbledore person's directions and quickly went back to surveying the park, hoping that someone who would come to them. Jean affectionately wrapped an arm around him while Hermione took his hand. They gave Harry and Hermione money to look through the telescope at Queen's House. After ten minutes, Laurence finally held the letter aloft in the air, mostly in desperation, waving it every so often, hoping someone would take notice of them and approach them. Mostly, though, all they got were odd stares from the Park's other visitors. When they were done with the telescope, Harry and Hermione returned to their parents' sides. Hermione asked, "This is what he asked you to do? Stand around waiting for some messenger? Did he say what this messenger would look like?"

"All he said was what we'd been told, Hermione," Laurence repeated. "Write a reply, come to the park, wait for the messenger to come. And no, I don't know what they'll look like."

"How do we even know he'll come?"

"We don't," Laurence admitted. "We'll just have to wait and, eventually, be surprised."

Just then, a bird's call sounded through the air and a brown blur flew at Laurence's hand. Startled, he pulled back just as something big and feathery with very sharp talons tried to snatch at his hand. The letter fluttered down to the ground, landing softly in front of Hermione's feet. The family looked up to see a bird turning around and flying back toward the statue. As it came into better view, Harry could tell it was some sort of predatory bird.

The bird came and landed on the railing. It was a barn owl, a brown and white barn owl speckled here and there with bits of grey.

"Is that an owl?" Hermione asked, bewildered.

"A barn owl," Jean stated in wonder. "I've never seen one this close before."

"Damn thing nearly took my hand off," Laurence grumbled.

The owl let out a screech at the family. It tried to look around the family for something, then let out another screech. Harry looked down at the letter, then back at the bird, and soon got a shock as he looked closer at the owl. The owl appeared to have a gold pendant around its neck, which bore a crest, a purple escutcheon with the letter H.

"Dad," Harry said, "That's the messenger."

"Harry, don't be daft," chastened Hermione. "Owls don't carry post."

"Then, what's that it's got around its neck?" Harry nearly shouted, pointing at the owl.

What Harry said shook Laurence out of his awe, as he remembered all the owls on Halloween ten years ago. He and the rest of his family soon saw what his son saw, and quickly knew this really was the messenger for whom they waited. Laurence bent down, picked up the letter, and stepped forward, directly in front of the owl. He held it up in plain view for the owl to see. Its eyes were transfixed on it, as if it were its prey. He moved his hand to the left, then to the right. The owl's eyes followed it wherever Laurence moved it. He moved it up and down. Again, the owl followed it without fail. He finally held out the letter to the owl to take. The owl took it into its beak and very quickly took flight. The family stared out at the departing owl in great wonder and confusion until it disappeared from view.

"What the bloody hell is going on?" Laurence wondered aloud.

"Perhaps we should go home and have dinner," Jean said, shaking herself and Hermione from their reverie. The two Granger women began walking back to their home, while Laurence and Harry stood where they were, looking upon the spot of the sky where the owl was last visible. They soon realised they were the only ones watching and soon hurried to join Jean and Hermione and go home.

***HPG***

Two weeks passed after the Granger family's encounter with the owl, without any response from Albus Dumbledore, or Brian White, whatever his name really was. Laurence sat Harry down and admitted he was being too hard on Harry and finally relented on grounding Harry for the full month. He told Harry it was wrong of him to think Harry had done anything as reckless as releasing a fully grown boa constrictor from its habitat.

He then took Harry out for a game of football at Greenwich Park again, which Harry won 3-2. The day was most enjoyable. Harry and his father sat under a chestnut tree, eating sandwiches and drinking juice his father prepared for the both of them.

"Do you think we'll get to talk to him?" Harry asked.

Laurence knew immediately his son was talking about the Brian White situation. He answered his son, solemnly but honestly. "I don't know, Harry. I hope so."

"Do you think they're taking the piss?" Harry asked.

"Where on earth did you learn to talk like that?" Laurence asked, shocked at how his son knew such an expression.

"I heard a kid at school say it before term ended," Harry admitted. "He told me what it meant. I just felt like it best applied to what's going on with Brian White."

"If he is, he's a right bastard," Laurence said, before catching himself and adding, "Don't let your mother hear you talking like that."

Harry nodded rapidly, before his father spoke again. "I have no idea what he's thinking, what he's up to. Whatever it is, we'll be ready for it."

"How?" Harry asked incredulously.

"I just mean we'll be ready to deal with him when he shows up."

"If he shows up," Harry corrected his dad.

"That's true," Laurence admitted.

"Even if he doesn't," Harry said. "It doesn't make a difference. My birth parents are gone. You're my dad. Mum's my mother. You always will be."

Laurence smiled fondly at his son and ruffled his hair. "We need to get you a haircut," he said.

"No, we don't," Harry replied playfully.

"Yes, you do. You look like a little black hedgehog. You need to trim it up."

"My hair is fine." Harry batted his father's hand away, laughing as he did it. The father and son tussled a bit, laughing as they did so.

"We should get back home," Laurence laughed, brushing the grass off his trousers. He helped his son to his feet. They kicked the football back and forth on their way out of the park, before Laurence picked it up and tucked it under his arm. Father and son walked out of the park and back home, happy and not worried about any possible encounter with Brian White or anyone in his company.

Harry, however, felt like he needed to talk to his dad about his dreams while they were still alone.

"I dreamed about the green light again," Harry admitted to his father. "Two nights in a row."

"When?" Laurence asked, greatly concerned.

"The night before the zoo, and then the night after it."

"Why didn't you tell me, or your mother?"

"I was in trouble with you and Mum. But, I talked to Hermione about it the first night."

"It's a dream that causes you grief and keeps you awake at night. That's something to be concerned about, Harry."

"If I haven't figured out why I'm having it—"

"We will figure it out," Laurence stressed. "This isn't something that just goes away or fixes itself, but we will get to the bottom of it, Harry."

Laurence put an arm around his son's shoulder. "But I am glad you spoke to your sister about it all. From now on, even if you're in trouble with us, you tell us when you have the dream, okay?"

"Yes, dad," Harry quickly assented.

"Good. Now, get your stomach ready. I smell your mum's meatloaf."

Laurence and Harry came up to their house, the scent of meatloaf wafting out of an open window. Harry giggled as his father feigned nausea at the scent in the air as they went in to join the rest of their family for dinner.

***HPG***

He stood on his street again, mist hanging over everything, streetlights casting their sodium yellow glow. It felt so much like that last time two weeks back. He checked his hand. There was no silver lighter this time.

A light went out behind him, and that got Harry's attention. Harry looked and saw a figure in the shadows summoning the light from the lamps into his outstretched hand. Harry could feel the hairs rising on the back of his neck. Soon, all the lights on the streets were out. The man in the shadows began walking up to where Harry stood. Their face stayed concealed in the shadows. Every step closer made Harry more nervous. As they drew closer, Harry backed away. The face still did not reveal itself, but soon Harry saw on of their eyes glowing, glowing green. Soon, the green surged from the figure's eye and flew at Harry—

***HPG***

He shot up in bed, sweat pouring off him. What is going on? He thought to himself. Why am I having this dream more now than in the last few years? When will I stop having it? Harry plodded downstairs, making his way to the kitchen. As he came in, he saw the kettle already on the stove.

"Evening," a voice said softly. The utterance startled Harry as he turned and found Hermione sitting at the table.

"What are you doing up?" Harry asked, bewildered that his sister was awake well before he was.

"I don't know," Hermione answered. "I just...couldn't sleep."

"You had a bad dream?"

"No, I just couldn't sleep." Nodding to the kettle on the stove, she added, "There's enough in there for you to have a cup."

Harry made himself a cup of chamomile. Taking a seat at the table, Harry asked her, "Why couldn't you sleep?"

"Just some stupid reason," Hermione admitted. "I felt guilty about something."

"Guilty?" Harry asked, disbelieving. "What have you got to feel guilty about?"

"Well..." Hermione began. Before she had a chance to go into her explanation, the phone rang, startling both children.

"We need to get that," Hermione said on the second ring, her senses regained.

He said to her, "'Mione, don't. It's probably just a prank caller."

"What if it's an emergency for Mum or Dad?"

He couldn't argue with that. Harry went over to the phone and picked it up, doing everything he could think of to slow down his heartbeat and his breathing and put the receiver to his ear.

Before he got the chance to speak, Harry heard his father say, in the groggiest of voices, "Granger House." He must have picked up the phone at the same time as Harry did.

On the other end of the line, a voice asked, "Is this Laurence Granger?"

The voice sounded as if it belonged to an old man, far older than Granddad Andy. It sounded very wise as well, or at least very well-educated. Harry's dad replied to it, "Yes, this is he."

"Detective Inspector Laurence David Granger, of the Metropolitan Police Service?" the voice asked further, as if there were more than one man with that name in the Service.

"Yes," Laurence had answered a little impatiently. "How can I help you?"

"Husband to Jean Rosemary Granger, née Wilkins, father to Hermione Jean Granger and Harry James Potter-Granger?"

"Yes," Laurence replied, his impatience unmasked. "This is Laurence Granger. What do you want?"

At that answer, the voice on the other end sounded delighted. "Ah, Inspector! I am so glad I could speak to you. I apologise for calling you at this late hour. However, this was the first free moment after I received your letter that I've had to speak directly to you."

"What letter?" Laurence asked, growing suspicious but sounding confused.

"The letter you handed to the owl I sent to meet you in Greenwich Park."

Harry motioned for Hermione to listen with him. She came quickly to the phone as he held it out between the two of them. Harry heard a rushed rustling on the line, which must have been his father getting out of bed. Harry knew what that meant: his father only got up this late when he had a call involving a case. Technically speaking, his father did have a case at the present moment. How Harry came to be a part of the Granger family was one of the biggest mysteries that had crossed the path of Harry's father. Harry knew his father loved him dearly, pretty much as his own; but Harry also knew, from the day his mother and father candidly revealed to Harry that he was in fact adopted, that it bothered his father that nothing had been discovered in all that time about how Harry's birth parents had died. It bothered his father especially that Harry didn't even have names to append to his birth parents' identities.

But now, some answers would come. Maybe not all of them, but some.

"Albus Dumbledore?" Laurence asked.

"Yes," Mr Dumbledore answered very simply.

They heard the click of another person coming onto the line. It must have been their mother.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School?" Laurence inquired, lacing every mention of their caller's supposed title with great suspicion.

"How do you do, Inspector?"

"Or should I call you 'Brian White'?"

"I'm not sure I understand what you are saying, Inspector. Why would you insist on calling me by that name?"

"Because that's how you signed the letter you left with Harry when we found him on our doorstep ten years ago."

"Why are you so certain that was me?"

"The handwriting in the letter left with our son ten years ago matches the handwriting in the address on the enrolment notice you recently sent us. The signatures on both letters match as well."

A long pause followed Laurence's explanation. Following that came a chuckle, as Dumbledore said, "You are a very keen-eyed individual, Inspector. Would your wife be joining us for this conversation?"

"I'm here, sir," Jean said curtly.

"Very good," Dumbledore said. "Again, do forgive me for calling at such a late hour. But, as I said, this was the soonest moment I was granted to contact you, given my duties preparing for the upcoming term."

"So, which would be your proper name, then?" Laurence asked.

"That would be Albus Dumbledore," the man now called Albus Dumbledore answered.

"Why did you choose us to raise Harry?" Jean queried, pouncing very quickly on that opportunity. Jean had always been interested in finding out about Harry's parents, though not as much as his father had been. Nevertheless, both Harry and Hermione knew she wanted answers, for Harry's sake.

"I believe I made it clear in the letter I left with Harry that night. I felt that yours was the best place to raise Harry."

"'After exhausting all other options'," Laurence finished. "My whole family knows the letter backwards and forwards, Professor. What other options did you have to exhaust before coming to us?"

"Harry's parents had asked that his godfather be granted custody of the boy in the unlikely event of their deaths," Dumbledore answered, before continuing in a sadder tone, "but, unfortunately, those wishes were rendered untenable shortly after they passed."

"And his aunt and uncle weren't even close to a last resort, I take it? From how you describe them in the letter?" Laurence surmised.

Dumbledore took a deep breath and spoke. "Yes, that was the case. My initial thought on the matter was that Lily's description of them was rather exaggerated—"

Jean cut off Dumbledore with a single word, asking, "Lily?"

"Harry's mother," Dumbledore said.

Harry could feel his heart clench as he heard his birth mother's name for the very first time. No doubt his father was scribbling it down. Hermione gave Harry a brief smile before they returned to listening to the conversation. As if he were somehow sensing that the family wanted to know more about her, Dumbledore added, "And just so you're aware, her maiden name was Evans."

"Why tell me that?" Laurence replied in a confused tone of voice, that wasn't really all that confused.

"I figured you would want to find out as much about her as possible once our conversation reaches its end. You were always so bent on finding me and Harry's parents since taking him in that day ten years ago."

"It was mostly for Harry's sake," Laurence explained.

"And you also had your own curiosity to sate," Dumbledore knowingly added.

"Yes, I did," Laurence admitted reluctantly.

"I'm well-aware, and, to be honest, I would question your sentiments were you even slightly reticent toward knowing anything about Harry's parents. I'm glad you were concerned about their well-being." Dumbledore continued, "As I was saying, in regards to Lily's family, I thought she was exaggerating a bit about her sister, feeling that sibling rivalry had something to do with it."

"Did it?" Laurence said.

"In some ways, yes," Dumbledore answered. He continued, "James, however, was very quick to confirm her description."

"Harry's father?" Jean rapidly asked.

"That's right," Dumbledore confirmed.

Harry now had both his mother and father's names. He could not describe how or what he was feeling right now. He was switching back and forth between the most intense happiness and a gut-wrenching uneasiness as he took in everything that Dumbledore was saying. Hermione placed a comforting hand on his shoulder as they listened further.

"Not to mention, a firsthand examination by me of the family in their daily life confirmed everything Lily had said about them," Dumbledore further explained.

"Why didn't you take him in yourself?" Laurence asked pointedly. "You obviously care about him. So, why not raise him, care for him yourself?"

"Believe me, that was the first thought that came to my mind," Dumbledore said. "But, then I remembered, I've tried that before, with highly unsatisfactory results. Thus, I found you and your family."

"How?" Jean asked, very interested.

"The day before you received Harry, ten years ago, I observed you, Inspector, on duty for the last three hours of your shift," Dumbledore recounted. "The first time I saw you, you aided a man in a purple top hat being harassed by a group of young hooligans. He happens to be a good acquaintance of mine. After that was done, I followed you home, to see you and your wife doting on your young daughter, animatedly reading her a story about some little orange creature protecting trees. I could easily see you and your wife were people who truly loved children and that Harry would be best suited to your care and, most importantly, your love."

A long pause followed. The white noise of the connexion was the only sound that could be heard.

"Are you still there?" Dumbledore asked neither Granger in particular.

"Yes, yes," Laurence replied. "We're still here. Sorry, this is a lot to take in, you know."

"Yes, it is," Dumbledore said comfortingly. "You both are taking this in stride very well."

"So..." Jean began again. "Why the alias?"

"Well, first, the name Brian White sounded like one that would apply to many people, while, to my knowledge, there exists only one Albus Dumbledore. And, second, it was necessary to keep you at bay until the proper time."

"Which was when?" Laurence asked.

"When Harry was ready," Dumbledore answered. "And he is now. He is ready to begin his education at Hogwarts."

"My husband and I have not decided yet where either of our children will attend school, Professor Dumbledore," Jean stated most resolutely. "We're definitely not sending our son to some strange place we have never heard of in our entire lives."

"The appointment for Harry has already been decided, Mrs Granger," Dumbledore replied casually. "His name has been in our registry since his birth, and his parents paid his enrolment fee upfront the very moment he was born, metaphorically speaking."

"And we have no choice in the matter?"

"Oh, no, you do. As his guardians, you certainly do have the right to revoke it, should you choose to do so. But, I think it would deny Harry and Hermione an extraordinary opportunity if you did."

Laurence took on a worried tone in his voice. "'Harry and Hermione'?"

"Your daughter's name has been in our registry since her birth as well."

This last statement perplexed Harry and Hermione to no end. They both looked at each other as if they'd just heard Hermione had been adopted as well. Hermione's name was down for registration with the school, too? How was that possible?

"Dumbledore, I think it's best that we speak to you in person, face to face," Laurence retorted with a very stern tone.

"I'm afraid I cannot accommodate that request, Inspector," Dumbledore responded. "There is still so much to be done before the new term begins."

"Well, then—" Laurence began.

"However," Dumbledore interrupted, "my Deputy Headmistress is headed to London within a week's time. She could come to speak to you in my absence. That way, you would understand how important it is that your children attend Hogwarts. Would that be a suitable compromise?"

The line went silent for a short while before Laurence responded in an uneasy tone of voice, "What day were you hoping?"

"I was hoping it could be done on Harry's birthday. It's a proper time to introduce Harry and Hermione to everything. Would that be all right with you and your wife?"

A long pause followed, but Jean answered, "We'd prefer to speak to you. But, can you vouch for this Headmistress actually being here?"

"She is most punctual," Dumbledore affirmed. "And she will explain everything there is to know about the school."

Another long pause came, before Laurence replied, "Yes, we'll speak with her."

"Very good," Dumbledore said, delighted. "I shall inform her immediately. Thank you for your time. Good night."

"Dumbledore," Laurence asked hastily.

"Yes, Inspector?"

"James and Lily, how did they die?"

Dumbledore replied, with a sigh, "I'm afraid that is a story for another time, and far better to be related in person. Good night, Inspector."

A click and the dial tone told them that Dumbledore had ended the call.

The silence in the house was palpable. Laurence hanged up the phone. Harry and Hermione did the same with the kitchen phone.

Harry looked upon Hermione with a sad smile and said, "I know their names."

His sister quickly took him into a strong hug, which Harry returned in kind as he felt tears welling up, ready to flow.

He knew what he could call them. Nothing else from this night mattered. Not his bad dream, not why Hermione was up before him, not the unexpected call, nor the strange revelations made during it. All that mattered, for Harry and Hermione both, was that Harry now knew his birth parents' names.

James and Lily Potter.