Chapter 4: Hope for the Best

It was late by the time that Dumbledore had left Hogwarts and appeared on the corner of Privet Drive, appearing as suddenly and silently as he always did whenever he Apparated or Disapparated. Dumbledore may not have looked it, but he was fully aware that he had just arrived to a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome, but at the moment he didn't care.

He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for his Deluminator. But after a moment or two he realized that he was being watched. And sure enough, when he looked up, he saw a tabby cat sitting on a wall just in front of Number 4. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

He should've known that Minerva McGonagall would be here; demanding to know the truth of what was the cause of the end of the war.

He finally found his Put-Outer, 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 the eyes of Minerva in her cat form. Even if any Muggles were still up at this hour, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped his Deluminator back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward Number 4, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at her, but after a moment he spoke to her.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at her, and wasn't at all surprised to see that she had turned back into her human form. She looked exactly as she did the last time he saw her… a strict-looking woman who was wearing square glasses (which are the markings around her eyes when she transforms) with her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. But now she looked distinctly ruffled as if she hadn't moved at all for a long time.

"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?" he said surprised. "When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Of course, he had been so busily with the after-effects of what had happened at Godric's Hollow that he hadn't had a chance to celebrate either. But he at least had a reason… trying to deal with what's been happening with the Ministry, helping to track down and round up Death Eaters, preparing the best possible protections for the now orphaned Harry, and the list could go on and on.

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news."

She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls… shooting stars… Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

Dumbledore fought hard not to laugh. Yes, Diggle would do something like that…

"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. He knew that she hoping that he tell her if what she had heard was true. But he couldn't bring himself to talk about it. When he didn't answer her, 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 quietly. "We have much to be thankful for."

'But even more to mourn for…' he added in his head. But he didn't dare repeat that to Minerva so instead he tried to lighten the mood by saying, "Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?" she asked in confusion.

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of," he answered as he popped another one into his mouth.

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for candy. Nonsense in Dumbledore's opinion… there was always time for candy.

"As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone —"

"My dear Professor," Dumbledore said in slight disappointment. He had thought that she wouldn't be afraid to say the name, at least not anymore. "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."

Yes, it is absolutely ridiculous to be scared of a murder so much not to even use his name! Even though the real name of this murder is Tom Riddle.

Professor McGonagall flinched at the sound of the name, but Dumbledore, who went back to his candy pretended 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."

"I know you haven't," said McGonagall, both exasperated and admired at the same time. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

He smiled, glad to hear that she was able to say a name without flinching. "You flatter me. Voldemort had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too — well —noble to use them."

Dumbledore felt his face turning red. "It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

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?"

She gave Dumbledore a piercing stare and he knew that whatever she heard "everyone" say, she was not going to believe it until he told her it was true. Dumbledore, didn't answer, hating where this conversation was going.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters."

Dumbledore tightened his grip on the box of candy.

"The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're — dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head, grief still fresh on his heart. Knowing that two of the brightest students he had ever known had now left this world. Knowing what this ridiculous war had cost them. A stupid war that never should have happened.

McGonagall gasped. "Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know… I know…" he said heavily, fighting tears that were threatening to fall.

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. Voldemort's greatest weakness… he was never able to understand that there was magic greater than he was… could ever imagine… Tom had cause his own downfall.

"It's — it's true?" faltered McGonagall, disbelief in her voice. "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?"

"We can only guess." said Dumbledore, although he already had a pretty good idea just how Harry survived. But he couldn't let her know. "We may never know."

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 watch that had belonged to his father, a watch that his mother gave it to him when he turned seventeen. When he saw what time it was, 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 McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at Number 4 in horror. "Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son — I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here?"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. He knew these people hated magic… he knew that they were never going to accept him as part of the family. But the home where his mother's blood lived was the safest place for him until he was ready to rejoin the Wizarding World.

"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 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 the world will know his name!"

"Exactly." said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Albus didn't want Harry to become arrogant and bigheaded; and if he stayed in the Wizarding World he knew that it would become very possible. No, he wanted him to grow up as any other child would; he wanted to try to give him a chance at a normal life, for him to learn to make his own choices.

But his priority was to do everything in his power to keep the child alive. If he failed…

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 suspiciously as though she thought he might pull Harry out from one of his pockets.

"Hagrid's bringing him," he answered her. Although he thought that they would both be here by now.

"You think it —wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore. He didn't like the way that Minerva said that. She was never prejudice, and always valued Hagrid's opinions. So why was she asking something like this?

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them, with Hagrid at the control.

And Hagrid was carrying a bundle of blankets in one of his massive arms.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, relieved that they had both made it safely. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said Hagrid as he climbed carefully off the motorcycle trying to be as gentle as possible with the baby. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

Sirius Black? Why would the Potter's betrayer give his beloved motorbike away to get Harry here? But he pushed those thoughts away; there were more pressing matters at the moment.

"No problems, were there?" he asked, though he truthfully didn't expect anything to have happened.

"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 McGonagall bent forward over to get a better look at the baby. Inside, just visible, was little Harry, fast asleep. And there, as Dumbledore had dreaded, under his jet-black hair on his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where —?" whispered McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal…" rang the prophecy inside his head. Albus had always hated prophecies…

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" McGonagall asked.

"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."

As he said this… a disturbing image of the day he got that scar (when he dueled Gellert Grindelwald for the Elder Wand) came back to him. He pushed that out of his mind as well. That is all in the past.

"Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."

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 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," McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. Dumbledore held Harry to him very tightly, hating himself, repulsed that he was going to just leave him on the step. This little boy would only know a life of hardships. It wasn't fair. He didn't deserve this. No one did.

He took one last fleeting glance at McGonagall and Hagrid before he gently laid Harry on the doorstep. He took the letter, explaining everything, he had written just a few hours ago out of his cloak, and tucked it inside Harry's blankets. He watched for a moment as Harry closed his fingers around the piece of parchment. He snuggled deep into the soft blankets keeping him warm, smiling slightly, not knowing that his parents were dead and that starting tomorrow his life was going to become a 100 times more difficult.

Unable to stand there any longer, he 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, McGonagall blinked furiously, (Dumbledore knew that she was angry with him, and he didn't blame her one bit)

He himself could only think about how difficult that the child's life was going to be. Harry was facing 10 dark and hard years before he finally comes to Hogwarts. And he had a bad feeling that this was nothing compared to what awaited the boy at school.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

Except for him. He had to deal with a flood of owls that was surely going to be waiting for him when he got back to his office. He was in for nothing but sleepless nights for the next few months.

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a muffled voice, "I best be giving Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir."

That was another think that Dumbledore had to deal with. Sirius Black. He must've surly be on the run by now…

Hagrid wiped his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply as Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Deluminatior. 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 4.

He thought that he had it all thought out.

Harry would be safest here because of the blood bonds… he would grow up far away from all that fame until he was ready to take it… and yet why was he hesitating?

Why was he fighting the urge to go back and take Harry away from here?

For a moment, he nearly did. But he kept reminding himself that this was the best way to ensure that Harry would still be alive by the time that his school letter came.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. Hoping against hope that he won't come to regret his choice.