Prologue

Night had descended on the quiet little street in Bedford's outer reaches, and with it came a deep blanket of silence. Now this silence was not the ordinary kind of silence, it was the kind of silence that could only be found in libraries, dentist waiting rooms, or this particular street. It was not merely the absence of noise, but a completeness of utter quiet.

Now this silence combined with the darkness of the night, could make for a very foreboding scene on this cool evening in early August, if it were not for the strange man who was walking serenely down it, humming 'God Save the Queen' as he did.

Now this man did not possess the common kind of strangeness that one could find in any eccentric billionaire or homeless person, no! The strangeness that radiated from this man was such a unique strangeness that only he possessed it. If any other person were to be so strange, they would immediately be admitted to a Psychological Rehabilitation Clinic, or looked at very as if he were a three toed, hairy octopus.

Now much of this man's strangeness was attributed simply, to the way he was dressed. In such a street as this was, a robe, gown or even a kilt on a man, would be odd, and possessing neither of the latter, this man, as he walked through the darkness in a deep purple robe, would be very odd indeed.

Now, along with his odd robe, this man's strangeness also continued to his face. As he continued to hum, the man's brilliant eyes bordered by comical half-moon glasses, sparkled with silent humour. Below these eyes, sat a nose, as bent and crooked, that to many it was as if he owned a rather peculiar beak, and under this nose was the start of the man's beard. And such a beard it was! Longer than any beard one would have ever seen. So long that it, in all of its silver, shimmering glory, reached the man's belly button, and thus was able to be tucked into his belt.

Who was this man, and what was his business in a street that looked down its pompous nose at such an appearance? Why, this man was Albus Dumbledore Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; and his business is his own, and he would thank you to keep your large nose out of it in the future!

Now, as Albus Dumbledore walked through the darkness, quietly humming to himself he was quite aware that he was being watched. So aware in fact, that it came as no surprise that as he reached Number 4, Parsley Drive, he found a cat perched sternly on the fence, giving him such a look that would make a grown giant cry.

'Well good evening Professor McGonagall!' Dumbledore said cheerfully, his eyes sparkling.

With one last look at the strange man, the cat turned on the spot and leapt into the darkness, only to return moments later, as an equally severe-looking woman. 'Good evening Headmaster.' The woman said stiffly. 'I assume that this is no merry little visit to Parsley Drive, and indeed, the rumours are true.' This was neither a question, nor a statement, yet the Headmaster understood perfectly.

'It is true Minerva, all of the rumours are true, except, perhaps about the purple elephant,' the headmaster replied, as he rummaged through his robe pockets, 'but even so, I am not able to make such an assumption without knowing all the facts. Sherbet Lemon?'

'I-…what?' The woman asked.

'Sherbet Lemon?' The man repeated, holding up a small yellow lolly. 'They are Muggle sweets that I have grown rather fond of…' He trailed off when he saw the icy look he was getting from his fellow Professor. 'Yes, well I suppose they wouldn't be your cup of tea.' He said, popping the lolly into his mouth.

'Albus? What of the rumours?' The woman persisted. 'It cannot be true? I mean…can it?'

The man sighed. 'I am afraid, Minerva, that they are true.' He took a deep breath. 'Lord Voldemort had fallen.' The woman gasped, and the man nodded gravely. 'However, it was at the expense of both the boy's parents', and almost his own, lives.'

Minerva McGonagall shook her head. 'It cannot be true! Frank and Alice dead? And poor Neville almost so? But how? How could he survive, surely if two of some our greatest Aurors could not stand up to Him, then how could their one-year-old son?'

Albus Dumbledore sighed, but said nothing. In the tree behind him, an owl hooted sadly and further up the street a dog howled, but the man still said nothing. Eventually, he spoke, but his words were of no comfort. 'I do not know Minerva, and perhaps we never shall. All we can do now is ensure of the boy's safety and let him leave this horrible mess behind him.'

Professor McGonnagall looked wildly from the man before her, to the house, they stood in the garden of, and back again. 'Surely you do not mean to leave him here?' She cried. 'What of his grandmother? His aunties? Other uncles? What of them?'

'Dead,' Dumbledore said softly, 'or missing. It was a family reunion; all of his family were in the same house, well all, that is, except him.' He said the last part of this as gazed up at the two-storey house before, within which dwelled the ones who owned the garden bed they were now trampling.

McGonnagall remained silent. She gazed down at the pansy she was standing on, remembering the two ex-students who were now dead, and their orphan son. 'Who is bringing him?' She asked suddenly.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Hagrid was most enthusiastic about the prospect; after all, he was dear friends with both Frank and Alice. I thought he should fetch him.'

Minerva gave the Headmaster a look consisting of fear mixed with anger, kindness and a little of her own personal sternness. 'Are you sure that it is…wise to give Rubeus such an important task. I do not doubt the kindness of his intentions, but he does have a tendency to be a little…well, overzealous.'

'I do not doubt that Rubeus will take the utmost care when dealing with the boy's safety.' Dumbledore said softly, yet with finality.

Unable to counter the enigmatic Headmaster, McGonnagall remained silent. For a full five minutes, the two remained so, with Minerva anxiously gazing through the darkness for Rubeus Hagrid, and Dumbledore rummaging through his pockets for more of his favoured sweets, until the silence was broken by a low, loud rumbling, coming from nowhere in particular.

Looking expectantly up and down the road, McGonnagall was confused when she was rewarded with no sight of the source of the noise. Looking to Dumbledore, she was confused to find him looking happily towards the sky. Raising her eyes to find the cause of his amusement, Minerva was shocked to see a single light making its way steadily across the night sky, towards them.

Slowly the light became larger, and as it did so, the terrible rumbling also increased until it was all that could be heard. Then suddenly, out of the darkness came an astonishing sight.

Atop of what could only be known as the biggest motorcycle in the northern hemisphere, was easily the largest man in the world. Draped in a massive, heavy-looking moleskin coat, the man stood at least a meter taller than any normal-sized man, and was at least double the width. His head was covered mostly by a beard that had the texture and appearance of several wire scrubbers matted together, and his hair was much the same. However from what little face that could be seen, one immediately got the impression, that this man was as soft as a teddy bear. Small, beetle-black eyes, with slight wrinkles in the corners beamed at the witch and wizard before him.

Supporting a tiny bundle in the crook of his left arm, Rubeus Hagrid dismounted the enormous bike and strode over to the two people in the garden bed of Number 4.

'Professors.' He said, nodding to each of them. 'Good te see ye. Wouldn't think tha' such a nice nigh' coul' be so terrible.'

'Did you retrieve him?' Dumbledore asked softly walking over to the beast of a man.

'Sure did, 'ere 'ee is. 'Ee fell asleep jus' as we were flyin over town.' Hagrid said, as he handed the tiny bundle over to Dumbledore.

Holding the little bundle gently in his arms, Dumbledore slowly pulled aside the baby-blue blankets to reveal the tiny, one-year-old face of Neville Longbottom.

Slightly rounded, the boys face was soft and smooth, except for a fresh gash on his forehead in the exact shape of a lightning bolt. McGonnagall and Hagrid looked on as Dumbledore examined the child, ensuring he was ok.

'Will he have that scar forever?' McGonnagall asked.

'I am afraid he will, Professor. I cannot do much about it, due to the power of the spell and wizard that caused it. Most unfortunately, Neville will remain forever a marked man.' Dumbledore replied quietly, finishing his examination.

Heading over to the front door of the house before them, Dumbledore reached into his pocket and retrieved a long, thin piece of smooth wood. Waving it swiftly, a small basket appeared on the doorstep, in which, the man placed the carefully wrapped child. Atop of the blankets the Headmaster also placed a sealed envelope, with curly purple writing on the front.

As Dumbledore got to his feet and straightened up, he heard a hoarse whimper behind him. Turning around, he found Hagrid gazing down at the basket with a tear in his eye.

'There there, Rubeus. You shall see him again soon enough, after all, he is a wizard, he shall return to our world when he is ready.'

Rubin nodded, and sniffed. 'I know.' He sniffed. 'Its jus'…his parents dead, him all alone. I can' stand it.'

Minerva McGonnagall sighed and placed her hand on the lower back of the giant man that being the highest place she could reach. Steering him away to the motorbike, she spoke comforting words to him. He then he got back onto the bike, kicked it to life, and with one last look, flew off into the night.

Minerva McGonnagall stood on the footpath watching the doorstep with the little shape still sitting on it, and she was soon joined by Dumbledore. Giving him one last look, the woman walked off into the darkness and in a moment, she was gone.

The strange old man now stood alone in the darkness surrounding Parsley Drive, gazing at the house before him. Slowly he too turned and walked off into the darkness, and just before he disappeared he whispered, 'Good luck Neville Longbottom. You shall return to us soon enough, and you shall be known as Neville the Boy-Who-Lived.' And with a pop, the strange man was gone, leaving the street back to normal. Almost.