- CHAPTER ONE -
The Same Old Story
In a town named Little Whinging there was a street where all the houses were identical and really perfect. This street was called Privet Drive, and at number four was where the Dursley family lived. Mr. Dursley was fat, enormous, with thick blond hair and watery blue eyes. He was the director of Grunnings, a firm that made drills, which he had inherited from his father, along with the house he lived in. His parents, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, had moved to Mallorca and left all their properties to their only, darling son. He was married to Marguerite, a rather attractive redhead. Everybody wondered what the heck Mrs. Dursley had seen in her husband in order to want to marry him. The Dursleys had a one year old, Cuthbert, who was really spoiled, and a two months old daughter, Cordelia, who had arrived as a long-expected present to Mrs. Dursley. She'd always wanted to have a girl and be her role model. But behind all this normality there was a terrible secret hidden that wouldn't let them sleep. The worst thing that could happen to them was that someone found out about what they were hiding so carefully. They wouldn't be able to stand it if one day the Potters appeared in Privet Drive and the entire neighborhood found out that they, the respectable and dull Dursleys, were relatives to a pair of, well, weird people. They couldn't even imagine where their reputation would go if their biggest fear became true. Anyway, it wasn't really probable that happened, because the Dursleys avoided the Potters as if they were lepers and vice versa. The Potters had a child aged the same as Bertie, but for both families that was only one more reason for not seeing each other.
A chilly November morning Mr. Dursley was preparing to go to work while his wife tried to get her little Bertie to eat his oatmeal without throwing half of it to the walls. Mr. Dursley said goodbye to his wife and kids, walked out of the house, got into his brand new car and took off. Before turning right at the corner he saw a tabby cat sitting very straight on the wall that separated the number four garden from the street. He didn't pay much attention to the cat, there were loads of cats around. Surely it was expecting some breakfast. Mr. Dursley's day was perfectly normal. He bossed around, lost his mind, yelled, groaned and slammed the doors until noon. At lunchtime he decided to cross the street to his favorite restaurant, where he always got the table by the window and was served as a king. It was unbelievable what good tips could do in a place like that one. On his way to the restaurant he walked by a group of five or six people dressed in a weird way, like the Potters dressed sometimes... He got nervous of just thinking about his cousin. Those people were wearing long robes in different colors and matching pointed hats. 'It must be a new fashion or something,' mumbled Mr. Dursley to himself trying to stay calmed. 'Sure, that's what it is. Those fashion designers don't know what else to invent'. While he was having lunch he forgot about all that stuff. He had more important issues to think about, for example the gift he was going to give his wife on their three year anniversary, which was in a couple of weeks. Maybe a trip to Canary Islands, or that Armani dress she wanted so bad... Well, he'd see. When he was walking back to his office, two ladies (a fat one and a short, skinny one) reminded hi mall his fears. The fat woman had a parrot-green robe which made her look even more enormous, and the skinny one had a mauve robe that matched her lipstick colour. They were walking just a couple of steps behind Mr. Dursley, whispering in a desperate tone of voice: 'Have you heard the last news about You-Know-Who? He's dead for good!' 'I surely did, dear, but what was the price for that? Harry Potter had to die to save us all from You-Know-Who!' Mr. Dursley shuddered. Harry Potter was his cousin. They were too many coincidences. But he stopped worrying immediately, there must be thousands of people named Harry Potter just in Great Britain... He stopped thinking when the fat lady answered: 'You're right, Annette, little Aiken was left with no family in this world...' In that moment Mr. Dursley started walking faster in order not to hear a single word more coming out of those women lips. He had a feeling that Aiken was his cousin Harry's son. But he calmed down again thinking that if anything bad had happened to the Potter family, whatever it was it wouldn't involve the Dursleys. He was totally and completely wrong, of course.
That very night, in front of number four, Privet Drive, a strange gathering took place. Or, better to say, a gathering of strange people took place. A very old wizard, with really long, silver hair, light blue eyes and half- moon spectacles appeared suddenly in a corner of the street. He took a silver Put-Outer from the inside pocket of his robe and made it work twelve times to turn off the twelve street lights. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore, and he was dressed in a long robe and pointed hat as the people who Mr. Dursley had seen that morning were. Professor Dumbledore walked to the Dursley's house and greeted one of the two tabby cats which were sitting on the brick wall: 'It's a pleasure to see you here, Professor McGonagall'. The cat jumped from the top of the wall and ran down the street, showing Professor Dumbledore that he had greeted the wrong cat. The other cat turned into an elderly woman, dressed in violet robe and hat, who wore square glasses. 'It's not time for jokes, Albus,' said Professor McGonagall a bit irritated. 'The reason why we're here tonight is dreadful'. 'I know, Minerva'. 'Will Hagrid bring the boy?' 'Of course, just like when we had to leave Harry with the Dursleys'. 'It's the same old story, Albus, a Potter wizard will have to live with the muggle Dursleys. Why are we doing this again?' 'It's the best we can do for the child, Minerva. He'll grow up far away from the Dead-Eaters who must be still looking for him, far away from the terrible episode he had to live last night... When he's older his uncle and aunt will be able to explain him everything, and he'll be more prepared to assume the responsibilities and the risks of being a Potter'. 'Do you think the Dursleys will tell him the truth?' 'I don't. But I'll take care of it at the right time'. A truly loud engine noise interrupted the conversation. A gigantic motorcycle –but small compared to the man riding it- landed on the pavement. Rubeus Hagrid went off the vehicle, took a tiny baby wrapped in blankets from the sidecar and gave it to Dumbledore. Hagrid looked really upset and didn't want to leave the baby there. 'Come on, Hagrid, we want the best for this boy. If I believed that the best thing to do was to let him live with a wizard family, I would have left him with Ron and Hermione, or with Ginny. But I don't think that'll be good for him, do you understand?' 'If you think it's the best for him, Professor Dumbledore, sir...' Dumbledore left the boy by number four front door and walked away with the other two. Hagrid hopped on the motorcycle, took a last glance at the baby who was sleeping, having no idea of what was going on there, turned on the engine and got lost into the night. Professor McGonagall turned into the tabby cat again and walked away slowly. Dumbledore went back to the corner, turned the street lights back on and disappeared. Little Aiken Potter was sleeping, without knowing his uncle Dudley would nearly step on him the following morning when he went to pick up the newspaper, ignoring he would be beaten for years by his cousin Bertie and the gang, using Bertie's old clothes, without knowing anything about the world he belonged to and believing his father had died on a car accident. The Dursleys are that original when it comes to invent excuses.
The Same Old Story
In a town named Little Whinging there was a street where all the houses were identical and really perfect. This street was called Privet Drive, and at number four was where the Dursley family lived. Mr. Dursley was fat, enormous, with thick blond hair and watery blue eyes. He was the director of Grunnings, a firm that made drills, which he had inherited from his father, along with the house he lived in. His parents, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, had moved to Mallorca and left all their properties to their only, darling son. He was married to Marguerite, a rather attractive redhead. Everybody wondered what the heck Mrs. Dursley had seen in her husband in order to want to marry him. The Dursleys had a one year old, Cuthbert, who was really spoiled, and a two months old daughter, Cordelia, who had arrived as a long-expected present to Mrs. Dursley. She'd always wanted to have a girl and be her role model. But behind all this normality there was a terrible secret hidden that wouldn't let them sleep. The worst thing that could happen to them was that someone found out about what they were hiding so carefully. They wouldn't be able to stand it if one day the Potters appeared in Privet Drive and the entire neighborhood found out that they, the respectable and dull Dursleys, were relatives to a pair of, well, weird people. They couldn't even imagine where their reputation would go if their biggest fear became true. Anyway, it wasn't really probable that happened, because the Dursleys avoided the Potters as if they were lepers and vice versa. The Potters had a child aged the same as Bertie, but for both families that was only one more reason for not seeing each other.
A chilly November morning Mr. Dursley was preparing to go to work while his wife tried to get her little Bertie to eat his oatmeal without throwing half of it to the walls. Mr. Dursley said goodbye to his wife and kids, walked out of the house, got into his brand new car and took off. Before turning right at the corner he saw a tabby cat sitting very straight on the wall that separated the number four garden from the street. He didn't pay much attention to the cat, there were loads of cats around. Surely it was expecting some breakfast. Mr. Dursley's day was perfectly normal. He bossed around, lost his mind, yelled, groaned and slammed the doors until noon. At lunchtime he decided to cross the street to his favorite restaurant, where he always got the table by the window and was served as a king. It was unbelievable what good tips could do in a place like that one. On his way to the restaurant he walked by a group of five or six people dressed in a weird way, like the Potters dressed sometimes... He got nervous of just thinking about his cousin. Those people were wearing long robes in different colors and matching pointed hats. 'It must be a new fashion or something,' mumbled Mr. Dursley to himself trying to stay calmed. 'Sure, that's what it is. Those fashion designers don't know what else to invent'. While he was having lunch he forgot about all that stuff. He had more important issues to think about, for example the gift he was going to give his wife on their three year anniversary, which was in a couple of weeks. Maybe a trip to Canary Islands, or that Armani dress she wanted so bad... Well, he'd see. When he was walking back to his office, two ladies (a fat one and a short, skinny one) reminded hi mall his fears. The fat woman had a parrot-green robe which made her look even more enormous, and the skinny one had a mauve robe that matched her lipstick colour. They were walking just a couple of steps behind Mr. Dursley, whispering in a desperate tone of voice: 'Have you heard the last news about You-Know-Who? He's dead for good!' 'I surely did, dear, but what was the price for that? Harry Potter had to die to save us all from You-Know-Who!' Mr. Dursley shuddered. Harry Potter was his cousin. They were too many coincidences. But he stopped worrying immediately, there must be thousands of people named Harry Potter just in Great Britain... He stopped thinking when the fat lady answered: 'You're right, Annette, little Aiken was left with no family in this world...' In that moment Mr. Dursley started walking faster in order not to hear a single word more coming out of those women lips. He had a feeling that Aiken was his cousin Harry's son. But he calmed down again thinking that if anything bad had happened to the Potter family, whatever it was it wouldn't involve the Dursleys. He was totally and completely wrong, of course.
That very night, in front of number four, Privet Drive, a strange gathering took place. Or, better to say, a gathering of strange people took place. A very old wizard, with really long, silver hair, light blue eyes and half- moon spectacles appeared suddenly in a corner of the street. He took a silver Put-Outer from the inside pocket of his robe and made it work twelve times to turn off the twelve street lights. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore, and he was dressed in a long robe and pointed hat as the people who Mr. Dursley had seen that morning were. Professor Dumbledore walked to the Dursley's house and greeted one of the two tabby cats which were sitting on the brick wall: 'It's a pleasure to see you here, Professor McGonagall'. The cat jumped from the top of the wall and ran down the street, showing Professor Dumbledore that he had greeted the wrong cat. The other cat turned into an elderly woman, dressed in violet robe and hat, who wore square glasses. 'It's not time for jokes, Albus,' said Professor McGonagall a bit irritated. 'The reason why we're here tonight is dreadful'. 'I know, Minerva'. 'Will Hagrid bring the boy?' 'Of course, just like when we had to leave Harry with the Dursleys'. 'It's the same old story, Albus, a Potter wizard will have to live with the muggle Dursleys. Why are we doing this again?' 'It's the best we can do for the child, Minerva. He'll grow up far away from the Dead-Eaters who must be still looking for him, far away from the terrible episode he had to live last night... When he's older his uncle and aunt will be able to explain him everything, and he'll be more prepared to assume the responsibilities and the risks of being a Potter'. 'Do you think the Dursleys will tell him the truth?' 'I don't. But I'll take care of it at the right time'. A truly loud engine noise interrupted the conversation. A gigantic motorcycle –but small compared to the man riding it- landed on the pavement. Rubeus Hagrid went off the vehicle, took a tiny baby wrapped in blankets from the sidecar and gave it to Dumbledore. Hagrid looked really upset and didn't want to leave the baby there. 'Come on, Hagrid, we want the best for this boy. If I believed that the best thing to do was to let him live with a wizard family, I would have left him with Ron and Hermione, or with Ginny. But I don't think that'll be good for him, do you understand?' 'If you think it's the best for him, Professor Dumbledore, sir...' Dumbledore left the boy by number four front door and walked away with the other two. Hagrid hopped on the motorcycle, took a last glance at the baby who was sleeping, having no idea of what was going on there, turned on the engine and got lost into the night. Professor McGonagall turned into the tabby cat again and walked away slowly. Dumbledore went back to the corner, turned the street lights back on and disappeared. Little Aiken Potter was sleeping, without knowing his uncle Dudley would nearly step on him the following morning when he went to pick up the newspaper, ignoring he would be beaten for years by his cousin Bertie and the gang, using Bertie's old clothes, without knowing anything about the world he belonged to and believing his father had died on a car accident. The Dursleys are that original when it comes to invent excuses.