Author's Note:
Aster is placed in the care of a random mundane family (The Dursleys - No relation).
They receive a note explaining the circumstances of Aster's arrival in their realm.
The Dursleys keep Aster partly out of fear but also because they receive a monthly allowance for Aster's keep.
The gold and silver that is supposed to be for Aster's keep is used to give the Dursleys a much finer life than they should be able to afford.
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Chapter One
The Girl Who Lived
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were immensely proud of the fact that they were perfectly normal.
They were the last people that you would ever expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious. For the simple reason that they just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made tools associated with various trades such as construction, plumbing and mechanics.
He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck,
although he did have a very large moustache.
Mrs Dursley, who was thin and bony, with straw-like hair, had nearly twice the usual amount of neck. Which was very useful as she spent a lot of her time spying on the neighbours. Mrs Dursley was the biggest gossip Privet Drive had ever known.
The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion
there was no finer boy anywhere.
The Dursleys were a happy little family and everything that was considered important by others, however they were extremely arrogant and even more ambitious.
When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story truly starts.
There was nothing about the cloudy sky outside
to suggest that something strange and mysterious was about to happen to the little family.
Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.
At half past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.
"Little tyke" chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house.
He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive. It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign that something peculiar was stirring.
For there was a cat, sitting very stiffly on the low path, reading a map.
For a second, Mr Dursley didn't realise what he had seen, then he jerked his head around to look again.
There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of the smart looking street, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of?
It must have been a trick of the
light.
Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror.
It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive. No, Mr Dursley thought sternly, the cat was looking at the sign. For it was a well known fact that cats couldn't read maps or signs.
Mr Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind.
Later that evening, after an exceptionally normal and boring day Mr Dursley was in a most excellent mood. However as he pulled into the driveway of number four, his good mood vanished in a heartbeat. A stern disapproving look settled on his face and he balled his hands into fists, in a mix of irritation and annoyance.
The first thing he had noticed when he parked his car was the stiff looking tabby cat sitting on the low garden wall outside of his home.
He
was sure it was the same one as this morning; for it had the same markings around its eyes.
'Shoo!' said Mr Dursley loudly.
The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behaviour, Mr Dursley wondered.
Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. Determined to forget the cat and its strange behaviour.
Over dinner that night Mrs Dursley told her husband all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learnt a new word ('Shan't!'). Late that evening as they went to bed Mr Dursley looked outside the bedroom window and scowled. To his absolute horror that tabby cat was still sitting on their garden wall. It seemed to be watching the street as if it were waiting for something.
Mr Dursley got into bed and shook his head, his last comforting thought before he slipped into sleep was that even if something strange was occurring it wouldn't affect them.
How wrong he was.
Mr Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness.
It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive.
It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, nor when two birds 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.
The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen in 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.
He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak which 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.
This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome.
He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street.
For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him.
"I should have known." He chuckled and muttered
At last he seems to have found what he was looking for, a strange object was now clutched in one of hands, it appeared to be a rather odd looking 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 and the next lamp flickered
into darkness.
Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the
only lights left in 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, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement.
Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street towards number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat.
He didn't look at the cat, but smiled amusedly as he spoke in a calm grandfatherly voice.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall"
He stopped Infront of you where the small tabby cat had sat just seconds before, but it had gone. Instead he stood in front of a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes.
She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one.
Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked sternly
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." Replied Dumbeldore with a soft chuckle
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day, " said Professor McGonagall defensively
"All day, when could you have been celebrating? I have received at least half a dozen invitations over the course of today. All for feasts and parties and gatherings"
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently.
'You'd think they'd be a bit more sensitive and sympathetic, but no…."
"You can't blame them," Dumbledore said gently. "After all we've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years.'
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. 'But what about the Potters? What about their daughter? I know everyone is celebrating the fact that You-Know-Who…."
"Surely a sensible person like yourself, Minerva can call him by his proper name" Dumbeldore interrupted as politely as he possibly could.
"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, as Dumbeldore spoke the name aloud, but Dumbledore 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.'
"now 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 in a sharp, stern voice.
You would think people would be a little bit more sympathetic considering what finally stopped him?"
Professor McGonagall said returning to her original point, a sad sorrowful look settled on her face and her eyes misted over with tears.
However she pressed on, her voice shaking slightly.
"It's not right for them to celebrate his difference considering the cost. Would they be celebrating if it was their family he had gone after?
Voldemortt turned up in Godric's Hollow last night, he hunted down the Pottersas if they were animals. Lilia and James Potter were two if the finest aurora, they were exceptionally talented and now they are….they are….are"
'they're – dead." Dumbledore said solemnly as he bowed his head. Professor McGonagall who had been unable to say the word burst into silent tears.
"Lillia and James … I can't believe it … I don'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.
" And what about Aster, the poor little lamb, she is only a year old and he killed her."
"No he didn't" corrected Dumbeldore
"What" snapped McGonagall in disbelief
"Voldemort tried to kill her but the curse rebounded, Aster lived and Voldemort lost all his power"
"What? How?"
"I am not able to explain" said Dumbeldore in such a way that McGonagall knew instantly that Dumbeldor knew the exact reason and was choosing not to reveal these details.
"So are you going to tell me why we are here? Why are we standing in the mundane realm outside a random family's home at midnight? Hagrid wouldn't explain" Professor McGonagall asked after she had composed herself.
"So it was Hagrid who told you" Dumbeldore smiled "I have chosen this family to look after Aster it is far too dangerous for her to remain in our world, at least for the time being"
"You don't mean – you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at
number four. "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. Aster Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place for her" Dumbledore said firmly. 'They will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."
"A letter?" repeated Professor 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 her! She'll be famous – a legend – I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Aster Potter Day in future – there will be books
written about her – every child in our world will know her name!"
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses.
"It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she'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 child getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Aster underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing her."
"You think it – wise – to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"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 high screech filled the air and the soft sound of a very loud pair of wings flapping filled the air.
The pair blinked as a large gryffin landed a short distance away from them.
If the Gryffin 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 dustbin 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. "At last. And where did you get that magnificent creature?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the gryffin as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir.'
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir – the house was almost destroyed but I got him out all right before everyone started swarming around. She fell asleep as we were flying' through one of the hidden portals in the veil between the two realms"
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead they could
see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where –?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes" said Dumbledore. "She'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can be useful. We'll – give her here, Hagrid – we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Aster in his arms and turned towards the Dursleys' house.
"Could I – could I say goodbye to her, sir?' asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Aster and gave her 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 mundanes!"
"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. Lillia an' James dead – an' poor little Aster sen off ter live in the mundy world…"
"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 Aster gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside the pile of blankets that were tucked securely around the small child 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, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously 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'd best get Alora back to young sirius away. G'night, Professor McGonagall – Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself on to the griffin and with a soft screech the animal sirred into life, it opened its large wings, shot off down the street and then kicked off from the ground hard and flew 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.
Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer.
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 four.
"Good luck, Aster," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak he was gone.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen.
Aster rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was
special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that she would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by Dudley … Aster couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the magical realm, holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices:
"To Aster Potter – the girl who lived!"