AN: Hi all, this is my first ever published work, so I hope you enjoy it. I don't really have a planned publishing or writing schedule yet, I've been planning parts of this story for years and I really hope you enjoy it. Any recommendations you have I will at least listen to even if they do not change my plans. If you believe at any point that my rating for this story is wrong please let me know.

As I'm sure you'll notice I have altered the Dursley's backstory and location, I wanted Harry to have a different upbringing and so I've altered them and their lives to fit the needs of the story.

Thanks and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1

Mr Vernon Dursley of number 116 Hallerton Road, was proud to say he was perfectly normal, in perfect accordance to his old family values. He and his wife Petunia were the last people you'd ever believe would be involved in anything mysterious, unless you counted being perfect in the public eye as mysterious of course. They had moved up in the world rumour had it the family used to live in a regular house in Surrey of all places.

Mr Dursley was the director of Grunnings Drills International, London Division, he was a big beefy man with hardly any neck and a large disdainful moustache. He spent his time complaining, working and spending time with his wonderful son Dudley and his wife Petunia who he had married because she was a 'proper' woman who he knew he could mould to be the best wife a man of his traditional values could want, love hadn't truly come into, he card for her but that was not the reason he had married her. Petunia on the other hand was thin, tall and blonde with a very long neck, she used to be a nurse at a large hospital in London although after her marriage to Vernon he had pressured her to stop working and so now she was a stay at home mother and was reasonably content with her life unknowing of what lie in store for her over the next decade.

Although most people believed the Dursley family's only relatives to be the late Mr and Mrs Evans and Vernon's sister, Marge, they were very wrong. Petunia Dursley had a sister, a nephew and a brother-in-law, the Potters. Petunia hadn't seen her sister in almost three years, not since she'd snuck out to her sister's wedding. Vernon hadn't been at all pleased when he discovered magic and had become more jealous than she herself had ever been, from then on he'd forced her to cut contact with her sister (who she had only just reconnected with) but she hadn't done so, no they had been in contact through post up until the Potters went into hiding a few months ago. Petunia may not have cared for her brother in law – in fact she found him to be an insufferable man and if she was honest she detested him, he was far to full of himself – but she loved her sister and so she had promised herself that she would no longer distance herself from them. And then there was magic. While Petunia had reconnected with Lily magic was still a force that she hated, a hate born out of jealousy, and feared she knew now that magic was not something you could help but she still hated the very idea that her sister was corrupted with it.

On the first of November the Dursley family's believed normality came to an end, in the magical world the Dark lord Voldemort had disappeared and while the Death Eaters worried the community celebrated, wizards and witches went around partying in colourful robes all through the muggle world, sending messages and magic into the air in broad daylight and young Harry Potter was being shunted around the wizarding world in secret while Albus Dumbledore prepared to send the baby into hiding in the middle of London right under the nose of the Ministry and the remaining Death Eaters.

In the middle of the night the oddest thing happened, a man like no other appeared in the middle of the road quickly heading towards number 116 and the curious grey cat that had been sat on the wall for the day. He was tall, thin, and very old, with silver 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 glasses and his nose was very long and crooked. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had spent the last day in a rush of panic and legal battles in order to contain and grant guardianship of the first ever survivor of the killing curse and now he had to sequester him away with his blood relatives in the heart of London. From his pocket he pulled what appeared to be an ordinary silver cigarette lighter, he flicked it open and suddenly the street lamps went out with small balls of light soaring into the lighter leaving the street in complete darkness except for two pinpricks in the distance belonging to the cat on the wall of number 116.

Reaching the Dursley residence Dumbledore pulled his wand from his pocket and cast a lighting charm, just in time to see the tabby cat morph into a rather severe looking woman with black hair pulled into a bun and large square glasses, she too was wearing a cloak, a deep emerald one.

"Professor McGonagall, I trust all is well here?"

"Albus, you're here at last. The three Dursley's are all fine and there's been no activity in the area – other than all those partying people up and down the block. You must tell me, why did I have to watch Petunia Dursley today?" Minerva McGonagall questioned impatiently.

"Ahh yes, the parties. People do seem to be rejoicing don't they."

McGonagall sniffed angrily and fixed her gaze upon Dumbledore intent on getting her answers. "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 hardly stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had nothing but chaos and terror for eleven years and even then we had barely recovered from the War of Secrecy. You know as while as I do that Grindelwald shook up the country and the world, and then Voldemort appeared just over two decades later."

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, they're disregarding the Statute in broad daylight swapping rumours and catching up meanwhile Death Eaters and their supporters are scattering left right and centre." 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. "If we're not careful the Statute will break and then not only will we have the ICW breathing down our necks but also the muggles. I suppose the Dark Lord really has gone, Albus?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"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 -"

"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."

"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."

"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."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed Minerva had finally reached the topic she had been pressing for all along, for never had she fixed the headmaster with such a stare before and her face was heavy with worry and fear – fear that had led to her agreeing to sit on a cold wall all day watching the sister of one of her favourite students. "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 rumour is that Lily and James 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..."

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, Harry. But – he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. They say even the killing curse failed and that Voldemort's magic failed on him, that Harry is why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's - it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "How did Harry survive – not just survive Voldemort but also the curse, it's meant to be impossible, so how could a fifteen month old boy survive it?"

"It's unlikely to be anything about Harry himself, it is far more likely to be connected to Lily and the sacrificial act of her dying to protect him. But beyond that, well we can only begin to guess." Dumbledore mused.

A few minutes passed in silence, before Dumbledore gave a sigh and removed an intricate golden pocket watch and examined it.

"It is almost time."

"You wish to leave Harry here, don't you?" McGonagall gasped, realisation crashing down upon her.

Dumbledore nodded and removed his wand from a pocket bringing it down in a smooth line level with the door to the house. "I'm afraid so. They're the only family he has left, and it is the only way to protect him from the rigors of our world."

"But Albus! You can't Petunia's husband, I swear there's something off about him, he's not a good man and Petunia hated James. This is a terrible idea-"

"That's enough!" Albus responded his voice cutting through the night like a cutting spell did to butter, "The Uncle will barely be around, he's a busy man he works six days a week in that high flying job of his and Petunia is a good person she would hardly have married him if he wasn't a good person. It's not like she needed his money what with her job and her inheritance from her parents, and I'm sure she will not let her grudge with James stop her from caring for Lily's child." Albus himself was certain of this, after all when the Evans family died their children had come into the money they had stored away from their modest life and yet high paying jobs in the medical and scientific fields. The Evans parents had lived a modest life using only a fraction of their money in their lifetime in order to provide their daughters with a reasonable inheritance that was intended to get them started in life – Petunia had no need for Vernon Dursley's money at this point in time, especially with her sister having married into the Potter family wealth. No, he was sure Vernon Dursley must have been an upstanding man with high morals to have married Petunia Evans.

A slight pop echoed in the night as a wicker baby basket appeared on the doorstep with a sleeping boy nestled within.

"You're insane. Albus, you can't possibly think that you can hide him in the middle of Westminster right under the noses of the Ministry. We're only an hour's walk from Diagon Alley for Merlin's sake!" McGonagall fumed. Minerva had always been one for challenges, but this was ridiculous, to expect a muggle to successfully hide a famous wizard in the heart of the busiest magical city in the country was out of the question no matter how much Petunia may care for the lad.

"I've got it all taken care of Minnie. Trust me Harry Potter will be perfectly safe from those in our world who may wish to harm him here." Albus paused and removed a letter and small package from his cloak, "You know how our world treats the famed. He'll never know peace if he grows up with us, can't you see how much better off he'll be growing up away from all those expectations until he's ready to take it?"

"Yes. Yes. I suppose your right." Sighing McGonagall shook her head in resignation knowing that there was just one more thing she could do, "At least tell me you'll have someone around to keep a watch?"

Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling away. "It's all taken care of. Arabella has just moved into her son's place down the street. As you know, he's doing quite well as a director in the muggle world and has been more than understanding with his mother's relocation."

Pacified McGonagall spared one last glance at the child of her star pupils, before apparating away with a barely audible crack. His colleague gone, Dumbledore moved to crouch down beside Harry, slipping the letter and parcel into his basket and with a whispered "Good luck, Harry Potter" the wizard disappeared from Hallerton Road and a wave of red energy pulsed through the street encasing the Dursley residence in a field of protective power.

A breeze swept down the street, which lay silent except for the occasional clatter of an animal, the very last place you would expect magic to lurk. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. Not knowing he was special, not knowing that in a few hours' time his Aunt Petunia's scream would awaken him as she opened the door to collect her morning delivery, nor that he would spend the next ten years at the mercy of an aunt and uncle who both feared him and saw him as a disposable life. He slept on having no clue that across the world he would soon be famous, famous for a deed he would never remember. A deed that came about upon the completion of an act that no one had ever done before, nor that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were raising their glasses in a cheer and calling out for the safety and prosperity of:

"Harry Potter – the Boy Who Lived!"