You're a protagonist Harry
Chapter 01 – Night of Destiny
…
It was an odd sort of night, after an odd sort of day, after a night of the greatest import, for some people. But since it is those people our story will be focusing on, night of greatest import. But that was last night, and tonight was tonight and even without import, it was odd.
On the other hand, it would certainly be a night of import for one young man, as it would give shape and direction to the next twelve years of his life. But we're getting ahead of ourselves now; the protagonist has yet to be introduced.
Let's start over.
Ehem…
It was an odd sort of night on the streets of Surrey. It was an odd night all over the isles of the United Kingdom but nowhere was that more clear than Surrey, particularly, Privet Drive.
It was a matter of context you see. Privet Drive, of all the Drives and Streets and Avenues of Britain was the most normal, a fact its residents were not only proud of, they were smug about it. Yes, they were 'that' sort of people.
Whenever someone would say normalcy was overrated, they would be the first to disagree.
The houses were lined in perfect rows, perfectly lined and perfectly spaced. The hedges were perfectly cut. The lawns were perfectly mowed. Theirs was a perfectly normal neighborhood full of perfectly normal homes housing perfectly normal people, thank you very much, and that's how they liked it.
They didn't truck with any of that oddness, no sir, not on Privet Drive.
With all this normalcy, it wasn't difficult to pick out when 'the odd' came for a visit. It also helped he wasn't being especially subtle. I mean, lime green with neon orange stars, honestly!
And he was skulking. Would you believe! Skulking in long fluorescent robes and a hat that added at least two feet to his already considerable height.
The wizard, because what else on earth could find that outfit stylish, skulked, oh for Pete's sake, down the street till he was standing beneath the nearest light post.
Rifling through his pocket like a drunken hobo, he came out with a small device about the size and shape of a fancy lighter. So, the wizard was a smoker too? Shameful.
Pointing his lighter up at the light over his head the light appeared to break free of its moorings, and zip into the… lighter? No, not lighter, and not a smoker, our apologies, more of a putouter, which isn't really a word but we're going with it.
Pointing his putouter, the wizard took down the lights from every post on the street till there was naught but moon, stars, and neon orange to light his path.
This suited the wizard just fine, and anyone that had to look at him even better.
Again, skulking, he made his way down the street past number fourteen, number twelve, and number ten. He stopped at number eight when a large cat stepped out of the bushes and sat down right in his path.
The old man knelt to pet the feline, but his hand was swatted away dismissively, drawing a smile, "I should have known you would be here, Professor McGonagall."
The cat looked at him, stared you might say. The bush next to the fence rustled and a tall elderly woman arose, picking leaves and branches from her hat.
"Albus," the woman said with the familiarity of long acquaintance, and the warmth of an iceberg. "I know why you're here."
"I had surmised as much."
He resumed down the sidewalk, properly strolling as opposed to skulking and the old witch, because there was no mistaking her for anything else, fell in step beside him. The cat fell in behind.
"You know I'm not one to mince words, so I'll just come out and say it. I do not approve. Not one bit," she said sternly.
"He will be safe," the old man said, as if expecting to have this very conversation and coming prepared. "He will be famous in our world, for a thing he cannot even remember. Better he is raised far away from that."
"I don't disagree with that," she said, "what I disagree with is leaving him here with these—people! I've been watching them all day and it wasn't pretty. They'll never accept him. Especially not when his power starts showing."
"You think too lowly of people Minerva," he said with an indulgent smile.
"Nonsense! I think exactly the right amount," she retorted with a look as hard as iron. "They are as far from our kind as you can possibly get, they're…"
"The only family he has left," the wizard said gently.
"A family he's never met," she replied, less than gently, "and that has never met him. What makes you so sure they'll take him in at all."
"They will," he said with the sort of stupid optimism that could not be reasoned with and thus made further argument pointless.
Not that she clearly didn't want to argue, but she knew a losing battle when she saw one and wasn't the sort to waste time on such things… more than once in a lifetime.
"Well, where is he then?"
"Hagrid is bringing him."
This revelation caused the witch to groan so hard the cat meowed in sympathy.
"Really Minerva, I don't think that was necessary."
She did not agree, "You would really trust Hagrid with something like this?"
"Ah, Minerva, I would trust Hagrid with my life."
"And that is all well and good for you," she said, "but it's not your life he's been trusted with."
"He will keep Harry safe," he said certainly. "He has a protective instinct like a mother grizzly."
"And all the grace of one too," she said crossly. "How is he even getting here."
"I believe he said he was borrowing young Sirius motorbike."
The old witch stared then promptly brought her palm to her face. "A grizzly bear on a motorbike. Really Albus?"
"Oh, don't be such a worrywart Minerva," he said with an impish grin, as if he found the whole idea hilarious but was too old to be laughing hard enough to prove it.
Before she could berate him as a senile, the two became aware of a sound, high up and quickly descending. A light like a falling star came crashing toward them, preceded by the sound which turned out to be a siren attached to the front of a motorbike.
The bike landed heavily, coming to a stop a few feet from the wizard, and witch. The cat had wisely taken cover. The siren was turned off along with the bike, saving the rider, or possibly the bike, from a serious scolding.
"Evenin Perfessors," the large man on the bike said.
"Good evening Hagrid," the wizard replied jovially.
"What are you wearing man," the witch said, not so jovially.
The massive man with the beetle black eyes hidden behind his flying goggles wore a long brown coat, reaching nearly to his feet which were a good distance further from his shoulders than the average person. More likely though it was the black leather jacket he wore over it she was referring to.
"You like it?" he said. "It just arrived in the mail from me cousin in America."
'We Wuz Giants' was spelled out in metal studs on the back.
Again, the taciturn witch found herself at a loss for words and stifling the urge to attach her hand to her face. An off day to say the least as she was rarely without words and usually had to restrain her hand from attaching to other people's face.
"How was the flight?" the old wizard asked.
"Not bad, not bad," the big man said, reaching under his long thick beard and producing a well rapped parcel, "Little tyke fell asleep somewhere over Kent."
With huge meaty hands, Hagrid handed the parcel over like he was handling fine porcelain.
"Harry Potter," the wizard whispered, pulling back the blanket to reveal a tiny face, a mop of messy black hair, and beneath it, a small scar shaped like a lightning bolt.
"So it is true," McGonagall said, seeing the scar.
The old wizard nodded. "This boy has a great destiny ahead of him."
"No pressure," the witch harumphed as the old man approached the door. "You're not going to leave him there?"
"I have a letter explaining everything," he said, brandishing the missive. "I shouldn't think it would do for us to still be here when they find him."
"I don't know that I agree with that, but what I meant was, that's number six your standing in front of. The Dursley's live at number four."
"…oh."
One short walk later, the child of destiny, protagonist of our story, was placed on the stoop of number four Privet Drive.
"Good luck, Harry Potter," the wizard said, looking up to his large companion who sniffled into his handkerchief. "Now Hagrid, this isn't goodbye, not really."
"None the less, we should probably go before anyone sees us and calls the authorities," said McGonagall.
The trio turned and stopped. Across the road, a large stork was placing a parcel of its own on the stoop of number five. Seeing it had been spotted, the stork returned the awkward stare.
"Uh, evening," it said.
"Good evening," the wizard replied, no less awkwardly.
"So, uh… guess I'll be going."
"Yes, yes, we—we should be going."
And so, with the anxious self-consciousness of the first to leave at a party the crowd departed Privet Drive, leaving not one, but two children sitting out in the cold, alone… wow, there was not a lot of thought put into this, was there.
I mean you wouldn't expect much smarts from a stupid bird but people should—I mean—ah, whatever. I guess destiny protects you from exposure or—something. Just jump ahead already. Fast track, twelve years, ALLLLLL ABOARD!