Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, Family Guy, or Pokémon.

Please review and let me know if I should continue this.

Have a poll on my page for who should be sorted in his first year.

CHAPTER 1: THE BOY WHO LIVED

Peter and Lois Griffin of Quahog, Road Island were proud to say that they were perfectly normal to their standards. They were the very first people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious because for some reason it swarmed to them like bees.

Peter Griffin was a worker at Paw Tucket's Brewery, which made beer. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, and wore glasses, and was also an alcoholic. Lois Griffin was somewhat thin and read-headed and had a normal-sized neck compared to her overweight husband, which she loved and hated because of all of his stupid stunts. The Griffins had 3 children and 1 dog, Meg is 8 and the oldest of the 3 kids, she is unlikable by most people, and is constantly abused by everyone in the family. Chris is 4, he is a carbon copy of his father despite having blonde hair, he is very dumb and is more liked than his older sister apparently. The youngest of the three children is Stewie, a child genius who despises his mother can talk perfectly but no one except Chris and their dog can understand him. Last, but not least their dog Brian, is an unusual dog, and one of few in existence that can talk. Brian, is in love with Lois and is trying and failing to write a novel, also loves drinking.

The Griffins had everything they wanted, a great family, job, and neighbors 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. Mrs. Potter was one of Lois's sisters, but they haven't seen each other for a few months; in fact, Lois pretended she didn't have a third sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as completely rude and cruel to her family. And no, I'm not talking about the Potters I'm talking about the Dursleys, Vernon, and Petunia. But enough about them let's get back to the Griffins. The Griffins wondered what their neighbors would think if the Potters arrived in the street some might think it was normal others odd. The Griffins knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had haven't seen him since he was brought over a few months after he was born. This boy was another good reason for the Potters to visit he was just as strange as the rest of his family.

When the Griffins 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 world. Peter was laughing at nothing in particular while grabbing a beer on his way out to work, and Lois was cooking away on the stove while Chris and Meg were arguing about nothing in particular. Stewie was thinking of ways to kill Lois while eating his breakfast, and Brian was reading the sports section in the newspaper.

None of them noticed a large, Noctowl flutter past the window.

At around nine, Peter picked up his papers for work from a drawer in the kitchen, kissed Lois fully on the mouth which almost turned into a make-out session right there in the kitchen. He waved and said goodbye to the rest of his weird family, and while he was leaving the house he missed Stewie trying to kill Lois with a ray gun, and her taking it away from him and scolding him for having "toys" at the table. He backed out of his driveway and said goodbye to his sexually obsessed neighbor Glenn Quagmire and his wheelchair friend Joe Swanson.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something very strange indeed - a cat reading a map. For a second, Peter didn't realize what he had seen - then he blinked three times. A tabby cat was standing on the corner of Spooner Street, but there wasn't a map in sight. "Weird," he thought, "Oh well, I must be seeing things again," he muttered. Peter tried to have a staring contest with the cat but Peter drove swerving around the corner and up the road, he looked at the cat in his mirror again. It was now reading the sign that said Spooner Street- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs that he knew of maybe he'd ask Brian when he got back home if he remembers. Peter turned on the radio to put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except going to the bar and getting drunk with his friends after work.

But on the edge of town, drinking with his friends was driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam with people honking their horns and yelling at each other to get a move on, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in dresses, I mean cloaks. Peter always made fun of these kinds of people they looked hilarious - the getups you saw on people these days. He supposed this was kind of new cosplay he might just pick one up at the store later, and use it for a roleplay night with Lois, he was giddy at the thought. His fingers drumming on the steering wheel to a non-existent beat in his head, and his eyes fell on a huddle of these cosplayers standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Peter was shocked and delighted to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that guy had to be twice the age that he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! How delightful, he was tempted to get out of the car and ask him where he got it. But then it struck him that this probably made him late for work again, and he has already been late four times this month. Then traffic moved on again and a few minutes later, Peter arrived in the brewery parking lot with a few minutes to spare, at least his boss would be happy he made it on time today.

Peter always sat with his face toward his computer, to look up YouTube videos instead of working like he's supposed to. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on booze and goofing off as usual. He didn't see all the bird Pokémon swooping past the window in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed and a few had their phones out, as all the bird Pokémon sped overhead. Most of them had never seen a real Pokémon not even at nighttime, only on TV and videogames, they couldn't believe they were living creatures. Peter, however, had a perfectly normal, Pokémon free morning. He laughed at some epic fails. He made several important telephone calls so he knew what shows he was missing, while he was at work and goofed off some 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 triple-decker sub from Subway.

He'd forgotten all about the so-called cosplayers until he passed a group of them next to Subway. He eyed them all with excitement as he passed. He was disappointed he couldn't join in but maybe he could after work if they were still around. This bunch was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a fake sword or shield among them. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large sub in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry"

Peter stopped dead in his tracks. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it because he thought they wouldn't understand what he was feeling at that moment.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his boss not to disturb him which she gave him a dirty look for, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind at the last moment. He put the receiver back down and stroked his double chin, thinking... no, he was being stupid as usual. 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 that he heard the name they were saying properly, They might not even be talking about his nephew Harry. He hasn't seen his nephew in about a year. They might have been talking about a Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying about his wife or kids; she loved her sister very much and he didn't want her to worry about something that could have been nothing. But all the same, those people in cloaks he wishes he was with them playing right now.

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on going to the bar that afternoon and when he left the building at six o'clock, he was still so worried that he bumped into someone just outside the door.

"Ha, ha sorry about that," he laughed but was slightly concerned, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Peter realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak, he was internally shaking with excitement. The little man didn't seem at all upset at all for being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile that his face almost broke into two and he said in a squeaky voice that made several people 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!"

And the old man shook Peter's hand several times and walked off skipping away.

Peter stood rooted to the spot and almost started to grow actual roots. He had been hugged by a complete and utter stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was he thinks he's heard of that word before but wasn't sure. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home almost crashing his car into a few mailboxes, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before because he loved imagination.

As he pulled into the driveway of number thirteen, the first thing he saw - and it didn't improve his mood because he forgot to ask the old man where he got his robe and he wouldn't have a new outfit to roleplay with Lois tonight- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was pretty sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Go, away cat before I shoot you," said Peter loudly as he pulled out his gun from the car. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Peter wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife and kids.

Lois had had a nice, normal day. She told everyone over dinner all about Bonnie's problems with her daughter and how Stewie had learned a new word ("No!"). Everyone was enjoying listening to their mother talking. Peter tried to act normally as he possibly could. When all the kids finally went to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"Our top story tonight, bird Pokemon has been seen all over the world, we are not sure why we are seeing these creatures for the first time in real life" The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Maybe we will have some real Pokemon trainers as well soon. And now, over to Ollie with the weather. Going to be any more showers of bird Pokemon tonight, Ollie?" Diane next to him rolled her eyes and hit him with her clipboard harshly.

"IT'S SUPPOSED TO BE A BONFIRE!" yelled Ollie. "Thanks, Ollie," said Tom. " We will return to our regularly scheduled programming tomorrow."

Peter sat frozen in his armchair. Pokemon was seen all over the world? Bid Pokemon flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

Lois came into the living room carrying two bottles of beer. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er - Lois, love - you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

What he wasn't expecting was for Lois to look shocked at the question. After all, they haven't talked to her sister since their nephew was born.

"No," she said looking concerned and with suspicion. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Peter mumbled. "Pokemon... bonfires... and there were a lot of cosplayers in town today..."

"So get to the point Peter?" snapped Lois, since she was annoyed with him at that point.

"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."

Lois gulped down her beer fast. Peter 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 Stewie's age now, wouldn't he?"

"I think so but I'm not sure," said Lois wondering where he was going with this.

"What's his name again? Harry, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is Peter, honestly how could you almost forget your own nephew's name."

"Oh, right," said Peter, nervously while his heart was sinking horribly. "Sorry about that."

Cutscene

In Peter's body, his heart was sailing across his body in a boat when all of a sudden a big shower of beer came down. "Damn it, I forgot to bring my umbrella." said the heart angrily. And then his boat started splitting in two, causing it to sink into the abyss. The heart jumped out of the boat in time and swam to his lungs and said, "That's the last time I'm sailing when he's drinking." The lungs looked at him and said, "We could have told you that."

End Cutscene

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Lois was in the bathroom getting ready for their roleplay, Peter crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. He was surprised that the cat was still there it was a very determined cat, must be wanting to set a world record for sitting still the longest. It was staring down Spooner Street as though it were waiting for something very important.

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 know what people would think if they did who cared wasn't his problem.

The Griffons got into bed and started their roleplay sex, Peter dressed as a cowboy and Lois dressed as an Indian. Lois fell asleep quickly afterward but Peter laid wide awake, tossing and 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 here without calling first because that would just be plain rude. The Potters knew very well what he and Lois thought about them and their kind showing up out of nowhere... He could see how he and Lois could get mixed up in anything that might be going on it was in their nature - he yawned and turned over - it couldn't affect them much could it...

How very wrong he was.

Peter might have been drifting into an uneasy almost sleepless sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness in fact it was completely wide awake. It was sitting as still as a statue hardly moving a muscle, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Spooner Street. It didn't so much as quiver when it heard a huge crash on the next street, nor when two Pidgeys 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 like a weed. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed in exasperation and annoyance as if it has seen this many times.

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 which he was doing at that time. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak with twinkling stars 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 on which it had been by his younger brother. This man's name was Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore or Albus Dumbledore for short.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize at that time that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was a welcoming sight indeed, maybe he did know but didn't care. 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 and twitched his lips into a small smile, which was because it was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him greatly. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known that was you, Minerva."

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 Delumanator, but he accidentally made the entire town's power go off, he was surprised an startled to see that it happened, that he had to undo it quickly before anyone noticed, until finally the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, not even their nosey neighbors wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Delumanator 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 tried to not look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it as if thinking about what to say first.

"Why am I not surprised to see you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but instead, it had gone to who knows where. Instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat that was just here had around its eyes in fact it was the same cat that was there earlier. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled and annoyed.

"How on Earth did you know it was me Albus?" she asked slightly surprised but at the same time wasn't.

"My dearest Professor, I 've never seen a cat sit so stiffly, and don't worry for a moment there I thought you were a statue if I didn't know you any better."

"A statue really Albus," she said slightly annoyed that he thought she was one, " and you'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day watching all the crazy people on this street," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day?" he said surprised at the thought of it, " Why would you do that when you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts, fireworks, and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a lot more careful, but no, we've had Obliviators, busy all day left and right - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Griffon's' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of Noctowls... bonfires... Well, they're not completely stupid and we couldn't remove the memories of them seeing the flying Pokémon. They were bound to notice something sooner or later. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense if he had it to begin with."

"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. We are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors about them."

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 but they found out about the Pokémon so far, who knows what else they'll find out. I suppose that creature really is really gone for good, Dumbledore?"

"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for an Everlasting Gobstopper?"

"A what?"

"An Everlasting Gobstopper. It's a kind of Muggle candy I'm rather fond of, it almost seems as though a wizard has made them"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for Everlasting Gobstoppers. "As I was saying, 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 violently, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two Everlasting Gobstoppers to even notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' this 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' that I have never seen anything more ridiculous in my life, I have had 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 your one of the greatest wizards in the world. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."

"You flatter me, Professor," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have or want to have."

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

"It's lucky it's very dark. I haven't blushed this much since my last surprise party where I drank hot sauce by mistake."

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore that said this is not the time and said, "The Pokemon are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. Do you know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him for good as far as we know?"

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, as neither a cat nor as a woman but a colleague, that she had 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 or elephants fly. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another Everlasting Gobstopper and did not answer.

"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 in deep regret that this rumor was very much true as much as he didn't want it to be true himself. Professor McGonagall gasped in shock.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus...", she said started to cry, as she reached over and started to hug him.

Dumbledore hugged her back and had silent tears in his eyes with the thought of two of his favorite students dead, and he quickly wiped away his tears before she could see them, as he patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily with a pain in his chest.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she composed herself as she went on. "That's not all. What they're saying he tried to kill Lily and James's son, Harry. But for some strange and unknown reason 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.

"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, a little boy... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive how is that possible?"

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

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 to anyone else it would have made no, it must have made perfect 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?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his other aunt and uncle. Since Petunia wants nothing to do with her nephew."

"You mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number thirteen. "Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find four people who are less like us. They berate and make fun of their daughter, their youngest tries to kill his mother daily. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"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 at the thought of all of it explained in just a letter, sitting back down on the wall starting to berate him. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all of what happened in a letter? You could have called them instead! 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!"

"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 looked him straight in the eyes hoping to see the scene of how he's brought here in front of her very eyes. Her hopes were dashed when he said.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as bringing him here?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life and even beyond that," said Dumbledore firmly, "And, I always will," thought Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly and quickly as though she didn't want to see him angry, this wasn't the place or time for that, "But you can't pretend he's not a little bit careless on occasion. He does tend to blab a bit when he's drunk, 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.

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.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved that he got there safely. "Finally you here 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, he wants me to return it and I've got Harry here, sir."

"No problems, at all, retrieving him, were there did anyone see you?"

"No, sir - the house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep watching the stars, gurglin' happily as we were flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets smiling slightly at the sight of what was inside it. 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.

"Is that where it happened?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

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

"Couldn't you do something to get rid of 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." said Dumbledore, before he changes his mind about leaving him here.

Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Griffin 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!"

A random person opened their window and yelled out, "Quiet, out there some of us decent people are trying to sleep!" he threw a book at Hagrid but missed, and slammed his window. Professor McGonagall gave Hagrid a look at this, that said I told you that would happen.

"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 cast a Warming spell on the blanket, 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 in silent crying, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously as to stop the tears from coming out, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

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

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back hopefully he's still there. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve and blew his nose one more time, 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.

"I shall see you back at the school later, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply and transformed back into her other form when he wasn't looking.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver Delumanator. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Spooner Street 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 thirteen.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the messy hedges of Spooner Street, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very first 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 by Lois'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, pinched and played with by his three cousins... 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!"