Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone
Chapter One: He is the Boy Who Lived
I don't regularly do idiotic things, but dropping Dudley's enormous clothes that just came out of the wash is usually classified as foolish in my book (my punishment given by Aunt Petunia: no dinner, but I only get left-overs anyway, so there's really no loss). My guardians: Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon (along with their whale sized son Dudley, but I seriously doubt he could guard even an inanimate object) are possibly the worst people on the block (Privet Drive). They The Dursley's are horribly normal and mundane, and were the last people you'd suspect to be included in something eccentric and bizarre.
My uncle is the director of a large (and useless) firm called Grunnings, which makes those electric drills that young home owners love in the States. His appearance isn't much more exciting then his job. He was a large, thickset man, with only a stub of neck, although he did have a villain worth sized mustache. Aunt Petunia had too much neck, which came in handy when she fancied an afternoon of spying on the neighbors over their white, picturesque picket fences. Oh, yes, and they had a son, whom they called Dudley, and in their opinion, there wasn't any better boy they could have had on the whole street.
The Dursley's (that's their surname) had only one secret, it was their biggest fear. They were afraid that someone would someday discover that Aunt Petunia had a sister because most of the time, she imagined that she didn't have one. They were deathly afraid that someone would find out about the Potters. Mrs. Potters was Petunia's sister, but they lost contact years ago. I lied, no, the Dursley's greatest fear was that someday the Potter's would turn up on Privet Drive. They didn't want the Potter's strange son mixing with darling angels such as Dudley.
It was on a boring, depressing Tuesday that was just as normal as it should be. No, it was on this boring Tuesday that Mr. Dursley went to work (picking out his most unexciting tie for work, and failing to give the screaming Dudley a kiss goodbye, and almost missing his wife because he (Dudley) was throwing cereal at him) and got stuck in the usual morning traffic that this story's truly strange plot begins. Oh, I almost forgot, it starts on half past eight.
On the corner of Privet Drive, Mr. Dursley noticed something g very odd indeed: a cat reading a map! For a moment, Mr. Dursley hadn't fully realized what his very own squinting pupils had seen, and he had to jerk his head around quickly (causing the car in back of him to get moving: green light) to give it another look There was a tabby cat perched on a brick wall, but there wasn't a map in existence. It was now deciphering the sign that indicated Privet drive...NO, looking, it must be looking. Mr. Dursley then promptly shook his head a bit violently, and directed his attention (as he drove over to the next town) to a huge order of drills Grunnings was hoping to receive on Wednesday.
On the verge of the town Grunnings was at, Mr. Dursley suddenly spotted a group of oddly clothed people: they were wearing hideously unfashionable cloaks straight from the eighteenth century. Being the normal man he was, Mr. Dursley couldn't stand people who dressed in stupid clothes, the garments you saw on young people these days (when we where in school, boys wore good, sensible suits and ties, and girls wore black wool skirts). He guessed that this was some dumb new fad. Mr. Dursley eyed the circle of weirdoes huddled at the edge of the street; they were muttering something, and with immense enthusiasm, and he couldn't help hearing what some of them were saying...
"It's the Potters! What I heard is that their son Harry... (This is where Mr. Vernon Dursley shuddered fiercely.)
The traffic moved a few minutes ahead, and Mr. Dursley arrived back at the parking lot of Grunnings, and diverted most of his attention back to drills, thinking about reporting his hearing back to Mrs. Dursley. Luckily, Dursley had his back to the window, and completely missed the swooping of the owls in the sky.
It was that very night, that the very cat that Vernon had eyed that very morning, turned (quite astonishingly too) into a woman! She had her black (and graying) hair in a tight bun, and unusual spectacles that pointed towards the profession of a teacher, or a serial killer in disguise. Then, even more unusual, a man, very old, with a long beard, and half moon glasses appeared out of nowhere! He took out a silver cigarette lighter (a curious looking one that is) and all the night light on the whole block turned off!
"Ah! Mrs. McGonagall, fancy seeing you here!"
"Albus! Is it true? Are all the stories true?"
"Yes, my dear Professor, they are true, that the Potter's are dead, and little Harry saved us all from dieing a very painful death (it was here that a loud roaring came, and a giant motorcycle emerged from the air, and Mrs. Minerva McGonagall gave a muffled gasp)."
"Hello Hagrid, no problems getting here I hope?"
"'Ello Professor Dumbledore, I've got little Harry right here, and no, I've no troubles getting here, I borrowed this bike from Sirius Black, who was just as heartbroken as I was to see the Potter's were dead," the giant (who was several feet taller than Professor Dumbledore himself) said, "never seen nicer people than Lily and James Potter (he gave a loud sniffle, and McGonagall promptly shushed him)."
"Yes, Hagrid, if you'll just give him to me, and I'll give him to his Aunt and Uncle, they'll understand everything, I've written it all in this letter..."
"You can't be serious!" Mrs. McGonagall gasped, "Not the family that lives in Number Four?"
"They are Harry's Aunt and Uncle, their Harry's only family left."
"I've watched them all day, and I saw there child screaming, and kicking his mother demanding for a toy!"
"This is what's best for Harry, here he'll lead a sheltered life so all the fame of being the Boy-Who-Lived won't get to his head."
Mrs. McGonagall sighed in defeat, and stared helplessly at the bundle of blankets on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive with a mother's sadness.
The next morning...
The wife of Vernon Dursley gave a startled gasp when she saw a bundle of blankets bearing a baby next to the empty milk cartons (there was a new boy collecting them, and apparently wasn't used to the route yet).
Nearly ten years later...
Harry Potter of the cupboard under the stair received a letter from America...
"I've got a letter Uncle Vernon! It's from America!"
"Don't be silly boy! Who'd want to send you a letter from America?"
A/N: I know its short...email me at aiquen4hotmail.com with comments and critiques...P.S. I know my grammars horrible...you don't have to tell me again, and if you see a grammar mistake, PLEASE tell me...oh, yes, review...
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling does...