Dear Readers, I by no means own anything of Harry Potter which does belong
to J. K. Rowling. There will be excerpts from the books mixed in with the
story so please be patient with me. Now on with the story.
Harry Potter and the Unknown Power
Godrick's Hollow was silent in the moonless night. No one would think that in just a few moments the deadly silent night would erupt in screams and flashes of light. It was I the Potter Manor where the only lights visible that night. One could pass by it and not know it is there or what it was called because it was protected by magic. The man and woman of the house lovingly played with their one year old son, who giggled and laughed as his father tickled him. They didn't know that a dark hooded figure had appeared just down the street. They didn't know that some evil was about to take place. As the dark figure reached the house the man of the house became alarmed. As the magic detected the intruder.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off ." The Hooded figure burst open the door.
"Join me or die." Was all the figure said. Just as the man of the house raised his wand the hooded figure spoke once more. "Avada Kedavra" and a jet of green light and the man fell to the floor lifeless.
"James!" Lily cried. She ran upstairs and into the baby's room. The hooded figure followed her.
"Give me the boy and you shall live." He said.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry! I'll do anything!" Lily cried blocking Harry from the intruder while he cried in fear.
"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now..."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!"
"You needn't to die girl!"
"Not Harry! Please ...have mercy... have mercy..."
"Avada Kedavra" and in a flash of green light, Lily fell to the floor lifeless as her husband did just moments before.
"Now little Harry it's time for you to die."
"Avada Kedavra" as the spell sped towards Harry a bright flash of light flashed and the killing curse rebounded onto the hooded figure. He fell to the floor lifeless as the others before him. Little Harry cried as the magic that caused the dark curse to rebound left a mark on his forehead a small but distinct cut in the shape of a lightening bolt. As the residual magic coursed through the tiny body, the boys hair color began to change from raven black to gleaming white. His emerald green eyes slowly turned pearly white. The child's magic fully awakened strengthened the child to a superior level. The change was not reversible. In a sense Harry did die but he lived. His magic had also changed. It had become stronger and easier to control. His magic protected him as he waited for help to arrive. Tears fell down his face as he cried from pain and from loss.
In the town of Little Whinging a small family lay asleep unaware of the celebrations that were occurring everywhere. They never knew that one of their kin though they despised them were dead. They were a happy family. Mr. Vernon Dursley worked for a firm called Grunnings which made drills. He was the happy father of one Dudley Dursley, and married to Mrs. Dursley. They were a very normal family who didn't put up with anything un-natural. They lived in a nice home and drove a nice care. They would wake up not knowing that a small little child had saved them from a menacing tyrant who was out for their blood.
As Mr. Dursley left for the day he didn't notice the owls flying over head. It wasn't until he reached the end of the street that he saw anything out of the ordinary. He saw a cat reading the street sign... no not reading looking at it as cats can't read. On his way into work he was stopped at an intersection when he noticed strange people wearing cloaks. He first figured it was for some charity of some sort. But it wasn't until lunch that he really knew what was going on when he bumped into an elderly man wearing a cloak grasped him around the middle.
"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!"
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley 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 Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."
As the Dursleys laid in the bed sleeping the cat from earlier in the day sat on a stone wall watching the area as if it was waiting for some one or thing. A man appeared down the road from where the cat was sitting. He began to rummage around in his cloak for something. Once he found what he was looking for he held it up. It looked like 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 Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at 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.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts 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 bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."
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. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.
"I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."
They were interrupted by low rumbling sound. 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. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of gleaming-white hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever. Though I am not sure as to why his hair color has changed."
"Couldn't you do something about the scar, 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."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' 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!"
"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 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'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, 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 soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. As they walked away Dumbledore turned back and spoke to the little boy. "Good luck Harry Potter."
Harry Potter and the Unknown Power
Godrick's Hollow was silent in the moonless night. No one would think that in just a few moments the deadly silent night would erupt in screams and flashes of light. It was I the Potter Manor where the only lights visible that night. One could pass by it and not know it is there or what it was called because it was protected by magic. The man and woman of the house lovingly played with their one year old son, who giggled and laughed as his father tickled him. They didn't know that a dark hooded figure had appeared just down the street. They didn't know that some evil was about to take place. As the dark figure reached the house the man of the house became alarmed. As the magic detected the intruder.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off ." The Hooded figure burst open the door.
"Join me or die." Was all the figure said. Just as the man of the house raised his wand the hooded figure spoke once more. "Avada Kedavra" and a jet of green light and the man fell to the floor lifeless.
"James!" Lily cried. She ran upstairs and into the baby's room. The hooded figure followed her.
"Give me the boy and you shall live." He said.
"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry! I'll do anything!" Lily cried blocking Harry from the intruder while he cried in fear.
"Stand aside, you silly girl... stand aside, now..."
"Not Harry, please no, take me, kill me instead!"
"You needn't to die girl!"
"Not Harry! Please ...have mercy... have mercy..."
"Avada Kedavra" and in a flash of green light, Lily fell to the floor lifeless as her husband did just moments before.
"Now little Harry it's time for you to die."
"Avada Kedavra" as the spell sped towards Harry a bright flash of light flashed and the killing curse rebounded onto the hooded figure. He fell to the floor lifeless as the others before him. Little Harry cried as the magic that caused the dark curse to rebound left a mark on his forehead a small but distinct cut in the shape of a lightening bolt. As the residual magic coursed through the tiny body, the boys hair color began to change from raven black to gleaming white. His emerald green eyes slowly turned pearly white. The child's magic fully awakened strengthened the child to a superior level. The change was not reversible. In a sense Harry did die but he lived. His magic had also changed. It had become stronger and easier to control. His magic protected him as he waited for help to arrive. Tears fell down his face as he cried from pain and from loss.
In the town of Little Whinging a small family lay asleep unaware of the celebrations that were occurring everywhere. They never knew that one of their kin though they despised them were dead. They were a happy family. Mr. Vernon Dursley worked for a firm called Grunnings which made drills. He was the happy father of one Dudley Dursley, and married to Mrs. Dursley. They were a very normal family who didn't put up with anything un-natural. They lived in a nice home and drove a nice care. They would wake up not knowing that a small little child had saved them from a menacing tyrant who was out for their blood.
As Mr. Dursley left for the day he didn't notice the owls flying over head. It wasn't until he reached the end of the street that he saw anything out of the ordinary. He saw a cat reading the street sign... no not reading looking at it as cats can't read. On his way into work he was stopped at an intersection when he noticed strange people wearing cloaks. He first figured it was for some charity of some sort. But it wasn't until lunch that he really knew what was going on when he bumped into an elderly man wearing a cloak grasped him around the middle.
"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!"
Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er -- Petunia, dear -- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.
"No," she said sharply. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls... shooting stars... and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today..."
"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.
"Well, I just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley 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 Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."
As the Dursleys laid in the bed sleeping the cat from earlier in the day sat on a stone wall watching the area as if it was waiting for some one or thing. A man appeared down the road from where the cat was sitting. He began to rummage around in his cloak for something. Once he found what he was looking for he held it up. It looked like 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 Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at 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.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts 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 bit more careful, but no -- even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars.... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent -- I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."
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. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"
"It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?"
"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of"
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You- Know-Who' nonsense -- for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.
"I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only because you're too -- well -- noble to use them."
They were interrupted by low rumbling sound. 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. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sit," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir -- house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of gleaming-white hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever. Though I am not sure as to why his hair color has changed."
"Couldn't you do something about the scar, 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."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' 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!"
"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 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'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall -- Professor Dumbledore, sir."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, 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 soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. As they walked away Dumbledore turned back and spoke to the little boy. "Good luck Harry Potter."