Here's part one....there may be some OOC and there's no really character change except for Harry, Dumbledore, and McGonagall ^^ The first part of this chapter is basically a reread of the first chapter since I didn't change the Dursleys...I also changed a few things...I changed Lizzy's last name!!!
The Boy Who Lived
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four Privet Drive were perfectly normal...and proud of it. The very normal Dursley family lived in Britain, and had a young boy named Dudley. The Dursleys were happy the way life was, but strange things began to happen one gray, Tuesday morning.
Mr. Dursley awoke that morning and picked out his most boring tie for work. Mr. Dursley worked at a company called Grunnings, which made drills; Mr. Dursley was the president of the company. Mr. Dursley was a very large, beefy man with almost no neck. His face was almost constantly some shade of purple, and his eyes were small and mean-looking. He always kept his black hair neat and tidy, always the same part down the middle.
Mrs. Dursley was already up and about by that time, preparing breakfast. Mrs. Dursley was almost the complete opposite of her husband. She was thin, bony, and horse-faced with a long neck. This came in handy since she spent every minute of her spare time craning over the neighbors garden fences, spying on them.
Mrs. Dursley also had a sister; but her name was never allowed to be mentioned in the Dursley Household. In her eyes, her sister was an outcast, a freak, and she had married another freak of her kind and had a freak son. She didn't know where they lived, and frankly, she didn't give a damn. She only knew the Maxwells were bad news.
Mr. Dursley came down for breakfast just as she was wrestling a screaming Dudley into his highchair. Dudley was the Dursley's son. He looked a lot like Mr. Dursley; big and beefy, with tiny piggy eyes. He had his mother's blonde hair which lay on his thick head. Mr. Dursley chuckled as a blob of oatmeal barely missed his face.
"Little Tyke...that energy will come in use, Dudders!"
Dudley merely continued with his tantrum as Mrs. Dursley finally managed to get him into the highchair. Mr. Dursley looked down at his watch and picked up his briefcase.
"Got to go. Bye Dudley," he said, kissing his screaming son on the cheek before exiting the house.
As Mr. Dursley pulled up to the corner of Privet Drive, he noticed a black cat sitting on a brick wall. The cat was reading the street sign labeled "Privet Drive" -- Mr. Dursley stopped himself. Cats didn't read...the cat was simply LOOKING at the sign. The cat didn't move and inch, not even it's tail as Mr. Dursley drove away.
As Mr. Dursley neared the city where Grunnings was located, he ran into the usual morning traffic jam. As he waited patiently, he saw a group of people, all wearing long cloaks of different sizes and colors, huddled in a circle and jabbering exidedly to one another.
"The getups teenagers wear these days," he muttered under his breath, eyeing one man's emerald colored cloak. As he pulled up even closer, he noticed something shocking. Why, the man was older than he was! The nerve! Going out in broad daylight in such ridiculous clothing! Mr. Dursley's mood was slightly dampened by the time he pulled into the Grunnings Parking Lot.
Mr. Dursley's office was on the ninth floor of the building, a window behind his desk, giving a clear view of the sky.
Since Mr. Dursley worked at his desk all morning, his back to the window, he didn't see the owls swooping high and low across the sky in the morning light. Although, people down below in the streets did. They gawked and pointed at the varying sizes and colors of owls, some with pieces of paper tied to their legs.
By lunchtime, Mr. Dursley's mood was improved. He'd yelled at eight different people, had two very important phone calls, and yelled at some more people just for good measure. His mood was so good, he thought he'd stretch his legs a bit and stroll across the road to the bakery to buy himself a bun. As he crossed the street, he frowned to see a circle of these cloaked weirdos by the bakery entrance, whispering exidedly to one another. Mr. Dursley glared at them as he entered the bakery.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Dursley emerged to see the group of cloaked men and women still there, gossiping about something. As he passed the group, clutching a large bun in a bag, he caught some words of their conversation.
"Is it true?"
"Yes...the Maxwells...their son, Duo."
Mr. Dursley froze on the spot. Surely they couldn't be talking about...No...they couldn't be. There were plenty of people with the last name Maxwell. It was a very common name afterall. There also were probably many people with a son named Duo. Yes, that was it. It was all a strange coincidence.
As Mr. Dursley was walking back across the street, a little old man that couldn't have come up to his waist, toppled into him. Mr. Dursley was outraged to see, as the man stumbled backwards, that he was wearing a bright purple colored cloak!
"Watch where you're going!" Mr. Dursley bellowed, attracting some attention from passerbys.
Suprisingly, the little old man did not appear to be angry. In fact, he was grinning widely.
"Nothing shall anger me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has finally gone at last! Even a great Muggle like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"
And with that, the little old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle, and walked off.
Mr. Dursley stood there, stunned. He had just been hugged by a complete stranger. And he had been called a Muggle...whatever that was. Mr. Dursley hurried back inside the Grunnings bulding, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, and immidiately picked up the phone. Before he had finished dialing his home phone number, he slowly put the phone back down on it's cradle. He shouldn't be bothering Mrs. Dursley with nonsense about her sister...she never liked to hear about her anyway.
Mr. Dursley was so distressed, he, again, didn't notice a large tawny owl swoop by his window.
When closing time came around, Mr. Dursley got into his car, and set off towards Number Four. As he neared the corner of Privet Drive, he noticed the black cat from that morning still sitting on the brick wall. This time, a map was stretched out infront of it and it was staring intently at it. Mr. Dursley shook his head and looked at the cat again, but this time the map had gone, and the cat was staring at Mr. Dursley.
"Shoo! Scat, damn cat!" he shouted at the cat, but it stayed where it was, yellow eyes fixed upon Mr. Dursley.
Mr. Dursley gave up, and pulled into the driveway of Number Four. He decided he wouldn't bother Mrs. Dursley with the nonsense about the Maxwells. He knew she was ashamed of her sister, and he would too, if he had a sister like that.
At dinner, Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily while Dudley threw his mashed potatoes across the room. Mr. Dursley, however, was thinking about the day's events. What did this mean? Talk about the Maxwells...what could have happened to them? He was snapped back to reality just as Mrs. Dursley was talking about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter, and excused himself from the table.
He headed to the den to catch the last of the evening news, and setteled himself in his favorite armchair. He hoped a little television would help clear his mind of the Maxwells.
"Today, owls were spotted flying out in broad daylight. Many confused onlookers gawked at the many owls that were swooping around in plain view. And now, to the weather. Anymore showers of owls tonight, Jack?"
"Afraid not, Bill, but shooting starts were seen falling all over Britain today and last evening. Bonfire Night's not 'til next week folks!" The news broadcaster chuckled at his own joke, just as Mrs. Dursley came into the room, carrying two cups of tea.
Owls spotted flying in broad daylight? Shooting starts all over Britain? And talk...talk about the Maxwells...what did all this mean? He glanced to Mrs. Dursley, who was calmly watching TV, sipping her tea every once in a while. He decided he couldn't keep the talk about her sister's family inside any longer.
Mr. Dursley cleared his throat and prepared to speak.
"Heard from your sister lately?"
Mrs. Dursley's head snapped to the side to look at him, a mean glint in her eye.
"No...why do you ask?"
"I've been hearing talk...about THEIR kind..."
Mrs. Dursley pursed her lips.
"Don't they have a son? What's his name...Dave, Danny, Donald..."
"Duo," Mrs. Dursley interrupted him. "Nasty, freakish name if you ask me."
"I agree."
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley sat in silence for the rest of the night, slowly thinking about what the Maxwells could possibly have to do with the strange happenings of that day.
That night, after Dudley had been put to bed, and the Dursleys had gone to sleep too, the cat sitting on the brick wall finally leapt off of the wall, quietly.
All the way down the street, at the corner, stood a man. He had black hair, slightly receeding in his middle age, and a black mustache. His eyes looked cheery, as if this were a man you could get along with very easily. He wore strange robes of a dark gray color, and black buckled boots were just visible under the hem of his cloak. Little did he know, everything from his mustache, to his buckled boots were unwelcome on Privet Drive.
The man didn't seem to care, though. He was too busy rummaging through the pockets of his cloak. Minutes later, he revealed what looked like a large, silver lighter. He flicked open the top and clicked the lighter once. The streetlight beside him went out with a small "Pop". He did this contiually with the Put-Outer until the entire street was pitch black. He then put the Put-Outer away and walked over to the spot where the cat had once been.
Where the cat was, not stood a middle aged woman, her black hair tied in a bun at the back on her head. She had a few gray hairs here and there, but not too many. Age lines creased her face in a few places. She wore a cloak of dark red, that looked almost black.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
The man scoffed. "Liz, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
Liz, or rather Elizabeth, rolled her eyes at the man. "Well, Headmaster, you'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day long."
Headmaster Louie O' Malley looked downright shocked at her. "Sitting here all day? When I've passed at least a dozen feasts and parties on my way here!"
Liz scoffed again. "People are being downright careless," she said, pointing to the Dursley's living room window. "I saw it on the Muggle news. Owls flying in open daylight, and shooting stars all across Britain...probably Dedalus Diggle's work..."
"Oh but Liz...everyone's been celebrating because Voldemort is finally gone. You know we have had very little to celebrate for the last eleven years."
Liz flinched at the name Voldemort. Louie didn't seem to notice, he was yet again, rummaging through his coat.
"Care for a lemon drop?" he asked, pulling out a small, yellow package.
Liz raised an eyebrow, eyeing the package as though this was nor the time or place for lemon drops. "A what...?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I've grown quite fond of," said Louie, as he popped two lemon drops in his mouth and began sucking on them.
Liz ignored the lemon drops and dropped her voice to barely above a whisper.
"Owls and shooting stars are nothing to the rumors that are flying around. People are saying that...that...Lily and James Maxwell are..are...they're DEAD..."
Louie dropped his head sadly and Liz gasped. "Louie...No....It can't be true...oh poor Lily and James..."
Louie nodded sympathetically and patted Liz in the shoulder.
"That isn't all," Lizzie began again. " They say their boy, Duo, survived You-Know...Oh all right, VOLDEMORT's attack. They say he just couldn't kill the boy."
Louie nodded again and Lizzie lowered her head. "What happened to the boy? He's not here, is he?" She eyed Louie's cloak, is if suspecting he had Duo hidden inside it.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
"Do you think it's wise to trust Hagrid?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," Louie said, gazing skyward again.
Just then, a loud rumbling shook the area and Lizzie looked around, as if anticipating a car's headlight to appear down the road. Suddenly, a large motorcycle appeared out of thin air, and landed on the pavement with a loud "thud" that shook the whole neighborhood. If the motorcycle was big, it was nothing compared to it's rider.
The man was extremely tall, more than ten feet, with unruly black tangled hair and a long black beard. His beetle black eyes shined merrily although there was no light. He wore a long trenchcoat and enourmous black boots. All in all one word could describe him: wild. In one arm, he held a tiny bundle of blankets.
Louie and Lizzie peered over Hagrid's arm to look at the bundle of blankets. The baby inside was fast asleep, one hand curled around a piece of the blanket. His hair was a dark chestnut color, and his face was round a chubby. On his forehead, was a lighting bolt shaped cut.
"Was he okay?"
Hagrid nodded. "Fell asleep jus' as we were flyin' over Bristol."
Lizzie stared at the baby in awe. "And that's where..." she motioned to the lighting bolt cut on the baby's forehead.
Hagrid nodded, handing the bundle over to Louie. "Lit'le Duo was in quite a shock when I showed up at 'is house. House gone, parents 'all dead..." he paused to blow his nose.
Louie carried the bundle up the front steps, a letter now folded in between the folds of the blanket. Lizzie watched him with interest and walked up behind him.
"Louie, you really think you can explain something like this in a LETTER? No Muggles no doubt!"
Louie nodded. "They'll have to understand. Duo has nowhere else to go."
Lizzie and Hagrid watched as Louie placed the bundle of blankets on the front step, and walked back to them. The three watched the baby for a minute before Hagrid finally spoke up.
"I better he takin' Sirius Black his bike back. See you," he said, kicking the engine into life, and flying away with a loud roar of the engine.
"I'd better be going too," said Louie, nodding to Lizzie as he walked off down the street. He barely saw the cat's tail as she slinked around the garden wall. Louie cast one last gaze to Duo, lying on the front step.
"Good luck, Duo."
And with the swish of a cloak, Louie was gone.
Little Duo slept on, not knowing one bit he was famous, not knowing he would be awoken in just a few hours time by his aunt's scream when she put out the milk bottles. He didn't know he'd be spending the next four weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley. Meanwhile, all over the country, people raised their glasses and in hushed whispers said:
"To Duo Maxwell, the Boy Who Lived!"
*End Part 1*
The Boy Who Lived
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of Number Four Privet Drive were perfectly normal...and proud of it. The very normal Dursley family lived in Britain, and had a young boy named Dudley. The Dursleys were happy the way life was, but strange things began to happen one gray, Tuesday morning.
Mr. Dursley awoke that morning and picked out his most boring tie for work. Mr. Dursley worked at a company called Grunnings, which made drills; Mr. Dursley was the president of the company. Mr. Dursley was a very large, beefy man with almost no neck. His face was almost constantly some shade of purple, and his eyes were small and mean-looking. He always kept his black hair neat and tidy, always the same part down the middle.
Mrs. Dursley was already up and about by that time, preparing breakfast. Mrs. Dursley was almost the complete opposite of her husband. She was thin, bony, and horse-faced with a long neck. This came in handy since she spent every minute of her spare time craning over the neighbors garden fences, spying on them.
Mrs. Dursley also had a sister; but her name was never allowed to be mentioned in the Dursley Household. In her eyes, her sister was an outcast, a freak, and she had married another freak of her kind and had a freak son. She didn't know where they lived, and frankly, she didn't give a damn. She only knew the Maxwells were bad news.
Mr. Dursley came down for breakfast just as she was wrestling a screaming Dudley into his highchair. Dudley was the Dursley's son. He looked a lot like Mr. Dursley; big and beefy, with tiny piggy eyes. He had his mother's blonde hair which lay on his thick head. Mr. Dursley chuckled as a blob of oatmeal barely missed his face.
"Little Tyke...that energy will come in use, Dudders!"
Dudley merely continued with his tantrum as Mrs. Dursley finally managed to get him into the highchair. Mr. Dursley looked down at his watch and picked up his briefcase.
"Got to go. Bye Dudley," he said, kissing his screaming son on the cheek before exiting the house.
As Mr. Dursley pulled up to the corner of Privet Drive, he noticed a black cat sitting on a brick wall. The cat was reading the street sign labeled "Privet Drive" -- Mr. Dursley stopped himself. Cats didn't read...the cat was simply LOOKING at the sign. The cat didn't move and inch, not even it's tail as Mr. Dursley drove away.
As Mr. Dursley neared the city where Grunnings was located, he ran into the usual morning traffic jam. As he waited patiently, he saw a group of people, all wearing long cloaks of different sizes and colors, huddled in a circle and jabbering exidedly to one another.
"The getups teenagers wear these days," he muttered under his breath, eyeing one man's emerald colored cloak. As he pulled up even closer, he noticed something shocking. Why, the man was older than he was! The nerve! Going out in broad daylight in such ridiculous clothing! Mr. Dursley's mood was slightly dampened by the time he pulled into the Grunnings Parking Lot.
Mr. Dursley's office was on the ninth floor of the building, a window behind his desk, giving a clear view of the sky.
Since Mr. Dursley worked at his desk all morning, his back to the window, he didn't see the owls swooping high and low across the sky in the morning light. Although, people down below in the streets did. They gawked and pointed at the varying sizes and colors of owls, some with pieces of paper tied to their legs.
By lunchtime, Mr. Dursley's mood was improved. He'd yelled at eight different people, had two very important phone calls, and yelled at some more people just for good measure. His mood was so good, he thought he'd stretch his legs a bit and stroll across the road to the bakery to buy himself a bun. As he crossed the street, he frowned to see a circle of these cloaked weirdos by the bakery entrance, whispering exidedly to one another. Mr. Dursley glared at them as he entered the bakery.
Ten minutes later, Mr. Dursley emerged to see the group of cloaked men and women still there, gossiping about something. As he passed the group, clutching a large bun in a bag, he caught some words of their conversation.
"Is it true?"
"Yes...the Maxwells...their son, Duo."
Mr. Dursley froze on the spot. Surely they couldn't be talking about...No...they couldn't be. There were plenty of people with the last name Maxwell. It was a very common name afterall. There also were probably many people with a son named Duo. Yes, that was it. It was all a strange coincidence.
As Mr. Dursley was walking back across the street, a little old man that couldn't have come up to his waist, toppled into him. Mr. Dursley was outraged to see, as the man stumbled backwards, that he was wearing a bright purple colored cloak!
"Watch where you're going!" Mr. Dursley bellowed, attracting some attention from passerbys.
Suprisingly, the little old man did not appear to be angry. In fact, he was grinning widely.
"Nothing shall anger me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has finally gone at last! Even a great Muggle like yourself should be celebrating this happy, happy day!"
And with that, the little old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle, and walked off.
Mr. Dursley stood there, stunned. He had just been hugged by a complete stranger. And he had been called a Muggle...whatever that was. Mr. Dursley hurried back inside the Grunnings bulding, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, and immidiately picked up the phone. Before he had finished dialing his home phone number, he slowly put the phone back down on it's cradle. He shouldn't be bothering Mrs. Dursley with nonsense about her sister...she never liked to hear about her anyway.
Mr. Dursley was so distressed, he, again, didn't notice a large tawny owl swoop by his window.
When closing time came around, Mr. Dursley got into his car, and set off towards Number Four. As he neared the corner of Privet Drive, he noticed the black cat from that morning still sitting on the brick wall. This time, a map was stretched out infront of it and it was staring intently at it. Mr. Dursley shook his head and looked at the cat again, but this time the map had gone, and the cat was staring at Mr. Dursley.
"Shoo! Scat, damn cat!" he shouted at the cat, but it stayed where it was, yellow eyes fixed upon Mr. Dursley.
Mr. Dursley gave up, and pulled into the driveway of Number Four. He decided he wouldn't bother Mrs. Dursley with the nonsense about the Maxwells. He knew she was ashamed of her sister, and he would too, if he had a sister like that.
At dinner, Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily while Dudley threw his mashed potatoes across the room. Mr. Dursley, however, was thinking about the day's events. What did this mean? Talk about the Maxwells...what could have happened to them? He was snapped back to reality just as Mrs. Dursley was talking about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter, and excused himself from the table.
He headed to the den to catch the last of the evening news, and setteled himself in his favorite armchair. He hoped a little television would help clear his mind of the Maxwells.
"Today, owls were spotted flying out in broad daylight. Many confused onlookers gawked at the many owls that were swooping around in plain view. And now, to the weather. Anymore showers of owls tonight, Jack?"
"Afraid not, Bill, but shooting starts were seen falling all over Britain today and last evening. Bonfire Night's not 'til next week folks!" The news broadcaster chuckled at his own joke, just as Mrs. Dursley came into the room, carrying two cups of tea.
Owls spotted flying in broad daylight? Shooting starts all over Britain? And talk...talk about the Maxwells...what did all this mean? He glanced to Mrs. Dursley, who was calmly watching TV, sipping her tea every once in a while. He decided he couldn't keep the talk about her sister's family inside any longer.
Mr. Dursley cleared his throat and prepared to speak.
"Heard from your sister lately?"
Mrs. Dursley's head snapped to the side to look at him, a mean glint in her eye.
"No...why do you ask?"
"I've been hearing talk...about THEIR kind..."
Mrs. Dursley pursed her lips.
"Don't they have a son? What's his name...Dave, Danny, Donald..."
"Duo," Mrs. Dursley interrupted him. "Nasty, freakish name if you ask me."
"I agree."
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley sat in silence for the rest of the night, slowly thinking about what the Maxwells could possibly have to do with the strange happenings of that day.
That night, after Dudley had been put to bed, and the Dursleys had gone to sleep too, the cat sitting on the brick wall finally leapt off of the wall, quietly.
All the way down the street, at the corner, stood a man. He had black hair, slightly receeding in his middle age, and a black mustache. His eyes looked cheery, as if this were a man you could get along with very easily. He wore strange robes of a dark gray color, and black buckled boots were just visible under the hem of his cloak. Little did he know, everything from his mustache, to his buckled boots were unwelcome on Privet Drive.
The man didn't seem to care, though. He was too busy rummaging through the pockets of his cloak. Minutes later, he revealed what looked like a large, silver lighter. He flicked open the top and clicked the lighter once. The streetlight beside him went out with a small "Pop". He did this contiually with the Put-Outer until the entire street was pitch black. He then put the Put-Outer away and walked over to the spot where the cat had once been.
Where the cat was, not stood a middle aged woman, her black hair tied in a bun at the back on her head. She had a few gray hairs here and there, but not too many. Age lines creased her face in a few places. She wore a cloak of dark red, that looked almost black.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
The man scoffed. "Liz, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
Liz, or rather Elizabeth, rolled her eyes at the man. "Well, Headmaster, you'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day long."
Headmaster Louie O' Malley looked downright shocked at her. "Sitting here all day? When I've passed at least a dozen feasts and parties on my way here!"
Liz scoffed again. "People are being downright careless," she said, pointing to the Dursley's living room window. "I saw it on the Muggle news. Owls flying in open daylight, and shooting stars all across Britain...probably Dedalus Diggle's work..."
"Oh but Liz...everyone's been celebrating because Voldemort is finally gone. You know we have had very little to celebrate for the last eleven years."
Liz flinched at the name Voldemort. Louie didn't seem to notice, he was yet again, rummaging through his coat.
"Care for a lemon drop?" he asked, pulling out a small, yellow package.
Liz raised an eyebrow, eyeing the package as though this was nor the time or place for lemon drops. "A what...?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I've grown quite fond of," said Louie, as he popped two lemon drops in his mouth and began sucking on them.
Liz ignored the lemon drops and dropped her voice to barely above a whisper.
"Owls and shooting stars are nothing to the rumors that are flying around. People are saying that...that...Lily and James Maxwell are..are...they're DEAD..."
Louie dropped his head sadly and Liz gasped. "Louie...No....It can't be true...oh poor Lily and James..."
Louie nodded sympathetically and patted Liz in the shoulder.
"That isn't all," Lizzie began again. " They say their boy, Duo, survived You-Know...Oh all right, VOLDEMORT's attack. They say he just couldn't kill the boy."
Louie nodded again and Lizzie lowered her head. "What happened to the boy? He's not here, is he?" She eyed Louie's cloak, is if suspecting he had Duo hidden inside it.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
"Do you think it's wise to trust Hagrid?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," Louie said, gazing skyward again.
Just then, a loud rumbling shook the area and Lizzie looked around, as if anticipating a car's headlight to appear down the road. Suddenly, a large motorcycle appeared out of thin air, and landed on the pavement with a loud "thud" that shook the whole neighborhood. If the motorcycle was big, it was nothing compared to it's rider.
The man was extremely tall, more than ten feet, with unruly black tangled hair and a long black beard. His beetle black eyes shined merrily although there was no light. He wore a long trenchcoat and enourmous black boots. All in all one word could describe him: wild. In one arm, he held a tiny bundle of blankets.
Louie and Lizzie peered over Hagrid's arm to look at the bundle of blankets. The baby inside was fast asleep, one hand curled around a piece of the blanket. His hair was a dark chestnut color, and his face was round a chubby. On his forehead, was a lighting bolt shaped cut.
"Was he okay?"
Hagrid nodded. "Fell asleep jus' as we were flyin' over Bristol."
Lizzie stared at the baby in awe. "And that's where..." she motioned to the lighting bolt cut on the baby's forehead.
Hagrid nodded, handing the bundle over to Louie. "Lit'le Duo was in quite a shock when I showed up at 'is house. House gone, parents 'all dead..." he paused to blow his nose.
Louie carried the bundle up the front steps, a letter now folded in between the folds of the blanket. Lizzie watched him with interest and walked up behind him.
"Louie, you really think you can explain something like this in a LETTER? No Muggles no doubt!"
Louie nodded. "They'll have to understand. Duo has nowhere else to go."
Lizzie and Hagrid watched as Louie placed the bundle of blankets on the front step, and walked back to them. The three watched the baby for a minute before Hagrid finally spoke up.
"I better he takin' Sirius Black his bike back. See you," he said, kicking the engine into life, and flying away with a loud roar of the engine.
"I'd better be going too," said Louie, nodding to Lizzie as he walked off down the street. He barely saw the cat's tail as she slinked around the garden wall. Louie cast one last gaze to Duo, lying on the front step.
"Good luck, Duo."
And with the swish of a cloak, Louie was gone.
Little Duo slept on, not knowing one bit he was famous, not knowing he would be awoken in just a few hours time by his aunt's scream when she put out the milk bottles. He didn't know he'd be spending the next four weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley. Meanwhile, all over the country, people raised their glasses and in hushed whispers said:
"To Duo Maxwell, the Boy Who Lived!"
*End Part 1*