Chapter 2 The Boy Who Lived

"So you mean to tell me," exclaimed an incredulous Ron Weasley as Harry led his two best friends into the Room of Requirement. "That not only do we have to read seven bloody books during some of the only free time we have, but we've also got to do that with Malfoy in the same room??"

"I am right here, you know," Draco replied in his usual drawl, the one he used around Harry only when they were in public.

"Believe me, I don't like it much either," Harry bit back at his friend. And it was partially true, as he had no doubt that the later two books would be describing their romance and how it had started in the first place, which admittedly was something Harry would have preferred keeping secret. "But if the books tell us how to stop Voldemort, then it's worth it," he decided, with a sort of steely resolve.

"To you, maybe," Ron scowled, still outright glaring at Draco now, who wasn't at all having any trouble glaring back. It was no secret to anyone, Harry included, that the animosity between the two was very, very real.

"Oh please, all of you," Hermione let out a huff of irritation. "No more of this fighting, or I swear I'll be taking away wands from everyone. Yes, you too, Malfoy. Don't look at me like that."

"Bloody hell," Ron murmured, watching with glee as Draco shrunk back from the girl who had punched him in the face only three years ago. "She's brilliant."

"Alright, 'Mione, you've scared him enough," Harry dropped the act just long enough to take some pity on his boyfriend, and then gestured over to a small section of the room that held two couches, both in soft, burgundy colors. "Let's get this book thing over with, yeah?"

"Aw, but I wanted to see her hex Malfoy," Ron whined, though he did obediently trek over to one of the couches and flop down before giving the bushy haired girl a pleading look. "Sit with me?"

"Oh alright," Hermione let out a sigh, rolled her eyes, and made her way to the couch that Ron was sitting on. "But Harry and Malfoy will have to take the other couch. There's only room on each of them for two."

Just my sodding luck, Harry thought, just barely managing to suppress a groan before reluctantly making his way to the couch across from Ron and Hermione, Draco following close behind. It was one thing to pass each other in the hallways and pretend to hate each other, it was quite another thing to be sitting in a room with his secret lover right next to him reading all about his entire life from seven books sent by an anonymous stranger possibly from the future. Harry briefly wondered what he'd ever done in his life to deserve this much cruelty as he sunk into the velvety couch with much trepidation.

"Right," he said, once Draco had made an absolute show of having to sit next to his 'worst enemy' before finally sinking next to Harry. He had to admit, Draco was an impeccable actor. "Who's going to start us off?"

"I think you should, Harry," Hermione's voice was soft and kind. "They're about you anyway, and you're the one that found them."

"Yeah mate, 'Mione's right. Besides. I'd rather not have to hear Malfoy's voice for at least one chapter. Or two."

Harry resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes, and with a sigh, gathered up the first book carefully in his arms. "Alright then. I'll start, I guess." He paused just long enough to take a deep breath and take one last look at the cover.

And then, Harry flipped open the book, turned to the first chapter, and began to read.

Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived.

"Oh lovely, we're starting with that title again," Harry grumbled under his breath. He was grateful for the short look of sympathy he saw Draco give him out of the corner of his eye. No one knew more than his lover just how much Harry actually hated that glorified title.

'Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

"Your aunt and uncle sound real fun, Harry," Ron grimaced over at the book in what appeared to be a mix of horror and pity.

Harry sighed, realizing that of course they would start with the Dursleys, because why on Earth would the book ever in its right mind be kind to him?

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.

"What are drills?" Both Ron and Draco asked simultaneously. They both started in surprise and glanced at each other in absolute horror at having had the same thought.

Harry had to try extraordinarily hard not to laugh as Hermione gave a brief explanation on what drills were.

He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion there was no finer boy anywhere.

"Charming family you have there, Potter," Draco drawled out, looking every bit as unimpressed with the Dursley's description as he sounded.

"Like yours is any better," Ron shot back.

Draco's jaw twitched, but he wisely chose to ignore Ron and wave Harry on to continue reading.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.

Draco's jaw did another little twitch again, and only Harry noticed that his hands were beginning to curl in rage at that sentence. Harry felt the first twinges of unease as he realized just how little he'd told Draco about his family. Sure, he'd told his boyfriend that he didn't like them all that much, but he'd never gone into details. If Draco was already pissed now, Harry wasn't sure of how well he'd take to discovering the Dursley's treatment of him.

Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be.

Harry had to spit that entire line out, now shaking with indignation at having to read this out. This of course, didn't do anything to help with Draco's own anger. He had a bad feeling that things with the Dursleys were only going to get much worse from here on out.

"Like what exactly?" Hermione spat out, both her and Ron looking absolutely furious at the words.

"Like...a Wizard, basically," Harry mumbled back, noting that this did nothing to help anyone's tempers, Draco least of all. The blonde's lips were drawn in a tight line now, and he clearly didn't like what he was hearing about.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

"Brat," Draco scoffed. Even growing up the way he did, he'd never behaved that way as a child. His father would have killed him if he had.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley good-bye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls.

Ron shuddered at the mere thought of what his mother would have done had he acted like this, even as a baby.

"Little tyke,"

"He encourages it?!" Hermione shrieked in shock.

"You'll probably figure this out early on," Harry muttered sheepishly. "But the Dursleys basically spoiled Dudley a lot."

"Unbelievable," Hermione shook her head as Harry turned back to the book.

chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar -- a cat reading a map.

"Do cats read maps?" Ron asked, frowning thoughtfully.

"Normal ones don't. But I've heard of some really smart kneazles that can read human signs," Hermione replied, beaming as she thought of her own Crookshanks.

For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen -- then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight.

"I'm fairly certain this is McGonagall and not a Kneazle, though," Hermione corrected her statement from earlier. "How many other tabby cats do we even know?"

What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive -- no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs.

"Now you've got me convinced it is McGonagall," Ron said, looking more intrigued than he ever had by any other book in his life.

Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

"Is he always so boring?" Draco drawled, not even trying to mask his displeasure.

"Always," Harry replied, not even bothering to hide his smile.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks.

"I wonder what day this is if this book is about you?" Hermione frowned, glancing over at Harry, who merely shrugged. This was all from Uncle Vernon's point of view, and he didn't remember this particular day at all.

Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes -- the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt -- these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

"I really hope we don't hear much more about this guy," Ron sighed, starting to look restless at the thought.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime.

"Oh, Harry," Hermione moaned, suddenly looking crestfallen. "Think about it. Your cousin's a baby, owls flying around everywhere and Wizards gathering all over the place. You don't think this is the day your parents…?" She trailed off, gazing uneasily at her friend.

Harry's heart began to pound as he stared down at the book, a feeling of cold dread trickling down his spine. "The only way we'll find out is if I keep reading," he stated, and didn't give Hermione a chance to reply as he read on.

Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people.

"Charming," Draco drawled out with a scoff at the book.

He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard yes, their son, Harry"

Harry froze, the feeling of dread intensifying as he gripped the book so tightly his knuckles began to turn white.

"Harry?" Draco asked, forgetting all about the act he had to put on as he placed a hand on his boyfriend's shoulder. Neither of them noticed Ron's shocked look and Hermione's thoughtful gaze.

"I don't want to read about their deaths," Harry choked out, suddenly finding it very hard to breathe. "I can't-I-Dray-"

Draco instantly took the book from his lover, placing it aside for the time being before wrapping his arms comfortingly around Harry.

"Shhh," he murmured softly. "I'm right here, Harry. Right here. I promise."

Ron made as if to speak, but Hermione elbowed him so hard that he doubled over. She then stood from the couch, purposefully making her way over to the book and plucking it off the armrest where Draco had placed it before taking her seat next to Ron again.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she grimaced at her friend. "But if this is in the book it must be important. I'll finish reading, if you'd like?"

Harry just barely managed a nod before curling up in Draco's arms where he seemed to feel safest for the time being.

Hermione looked down at the book and began to read as quickly as she could, not wanting to give Harry the chance to lament too long on his parents' deaths.

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry.

Draco sneered in outrage at this line, and Hermione's voice quivered with anger as she finished reading it. She thought to ask, but seeing Harry still look so panicked by the revelation of what this chapter was, she didn't dare ask any questions that might make him feel worse.

He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold.

Draco looked close to cursing the book as he clutched Harry impossibly closer to his body.

There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her -- if he'd had a sister like that...

Harry tensed at the line, but a gentle kiss on the head from Draco was enough to calm him down at least marginally.

but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry,"

"He apologized?" Ron snorted, deciding some humor was much needed. It worked, as Draco snorted, Hermione giggled, and even Harry seemed to come back to himself a bit, though he still stayed on Draco's arms.

he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "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!"

"He-did he just-" Ron stared at the book in shock.

"He could've gotten in serious trouble for that, the idiot!" Hermione scoffed, glaring down at the book before continuing to read in a scathing tone.

And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

"His arms fit?" Draco asked, a devilish smirk on his face.

"Don't act chummy with us," Ron spat, glaring at the blonde. "You've still got a lot of explaining to do," he gestured to Harry, who was still resting in Draco's arms.

"After the chapter," Harry said, knowing he owed his best friends an explanation. "I just want to get over reading about my parents' deaths first, then I promise Dray and I will explain everything.

Ron didn't look convinced, but Hermione continued reading without giving Ron the chance to reply anyway.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

"Merlin, he really is the most boring person," Ron groaned, rolling his eyes.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw -- and it didn't improve his mood -- was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look.

"Definitely McGonagall," all four of them said. Harry, by this point, had released his death grip on Draco and was sitting upright again, though his hand was entwined with Draco's and it seemed that was going to be a permanent thing for this chapter.

Was this normal cat behavior?

"No," Four voices chorused in unison once more.

Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!").

"Charming," Draco drawled out again with a roll of his own eyes.

Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early -- it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters...

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.

Nobody missed the way Harry tensed at those words.

"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."

"He can't even say Wizards?" Draco asked with a scoff. "Coward."

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."

"Harry is a wonderful name!" Draco scowled, hating this book the more he listened to what was in it.

"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

"What do you suppose McGonagall's waiting for?" Ron asked with a frown.

"Well, Ronald, if you would let me read we can probably find out," Hermione replied in a tone one would use for a toddler.

Harry and Draco both snickered as Hermione went on reading.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did... if it got out that they were related to a pair of -- well, he didn't think he could bear it.

"I hope you now understand my prejudice towards Muggles," Draco said, scowling at the book once more.

"Not all Muggles are like them, Dray," Harry reminded him, giving Draco the good sense to at least feel a bit ashamed.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind... He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on -- he yawned and turned over -- it couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

"That's not ominous at all," Ron said, eyeing the book with some trepidation.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

"You don't suppose it's Dumbledore?" Ron asked curiously.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

"Yes! I knew it!" Ron grinned. "Wonder what he and McGonagall are doing here though."

"If this was the night my parents died, they're probably dropping me off at the Dursleys, since they're my only family," Harry replied in a sour tone.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be 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.

"Woah! Wicked!" Ron beamed. "I want one!"

If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

"Were any of us really surprised it was her?" Harry asked with a slight smile.

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.

"Well, really!" Hermione paused to scoff, and rolled her eyes. "It wasn't that difficult to figure it out.

"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?" Draco frowned.

"All day?

Everyone except Draco laughed at the fact that he'd more or less parroted Dumbledore.

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."

"Seems a bit harsh," Ron frowned, but Hermione shook her head.

"You can't blame her for being annoyed. All these Wizards and Witches could have broken the Statute of Secrecy by behaving this way," she explained before going back to reading.

"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."

"It's probably better they didn't try wearing Muggle Clothes. I've noticed Purebloods are really bad at it," said Harry.

Draco looked insulted by the very words. "Are you saying I can't dress myself properly?" He sputtered out.

"When it comes to Muggle clothing, yes. That's exactly what I said," Harry replied without missing a beat.

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?" Draco frowned.

"A what?"

"Okay Dray, wanna explain why you're copying the professors so much?" Harry asked with a laugh.

"Oh, shut it," Draco grumbled, blushing in embarrassment.

"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.

"You don't think there's ever a time when she's not so strict, do you?" Ron asked, gazing thoughtfully at the book.

"Doubtful," Harry replied, gesturing for Hermione to continue on.

"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."

Draco flinched almost violently at the name, and Harry gave his hand a squeeze.

Professor McGonagall flinched,

"Okay, now this is getting a little scary," Ron said, glancing at Draco like he had grown three extra heads.

"It's not like I'm doing it on purpose," Draco grumbled, flushing red once again as Harry snorted.

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,

Draco flinched again.

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."

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

Ron shuddered. "Urgh! I did not need to hear or know that!"

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer.

"I wish he'd stop with the damn lemon drops," Draco grumbled under his breath so that only Harry could hear.

Harry wasn't paying much attention, because he had a bad feeling he knew what was about to come next.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are -- are -- that they're -- dead. "

Harry immediately settled himself in Draco's arms again, trying to breathe through the indescribable panic he felt at hearing those words.

"Right here, Harry," the blonde murmured softly as Harry clung to him for dear life.

"'Mione," Harry managed to choke out the words. "Read. Just get it over with. 'M fine."

Hermione instantly turned back to the book and began to read even faster than anyone had thought would be possible.

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

Harry let out a heartbreaking sob at the constant reminders of his parents' death, but Hermione read on like a trooper.

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry.

Draco couldn't help but pull Harry closer to him at these words, needing to feel certain that his Harry was here, alive and safe.

But -- he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone.

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's -- it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done... all the people he's killed... he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"That's what I'd like to know," Ron piped up, but Hermione ignored him in favor of continuing to read.

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"What's Hagrid doing there?" Ron asked, and Hermione gave a frustrated sigh as she glared at Ron.

"You know perfectly well that none of us here know the answer to that, so please stop interrupting so I can finish this chapter," she huffed.

Ron, looking perfectly chastised, sunk into the couch as Hermione continued to read.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"You never should have gone with them," Draco murmured to Harry, who shook his head.

"Nowhere else I could go," he croaked out.

"You don't mean -- you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore -- you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets.

"Brat," Draco sneered at the book again.

Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" Draco scoffed, looking outraged.

"A letter?"

Hermione paused expectantly, waiting for the boys to comment on Draco copying McGonagall again, but as Harry seemed too tense, and Ron was still attempting to hide in the sofa, Hermione simply sighed and continued on.

repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future --

"There isn't, is there?!" Harry asked, these words seeming to have drawn him out of his bad mood as he looked around in horror.

"Not that I can think of," Hermione replied.

"Thank Merlin," Harry muttered under his breath softly.

there will be books written about Harry --

"Foreshadowing," Draco said, eyeing the book thoughtfully.

every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how is the boy getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry underneath it.

"Wouldn't be surprised, with all the things he carries on him," Ron spoke up meekly.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

"You think it -- wise -- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"Hagrid's the most trustworthy person I know!" Harry sat up straight now, looking offended as he glared at the book.

"Even you have to admit though that he's a bit reckless sometimes, Harry," Hermione replied.

Harry opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of it as he remembered all the times Hagrid had done something dangerous or foolish. "...Fair enough," he sighed, settling back into the couch as Hermione continued to read.

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to -- what was that?"

Ron opened his mouth to ask what had happened, but one look from Hermione shut him up rather quickly.

A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. 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," Harry beamed. Finally, something good happening in this book.

"Hagrid,"

"So now Harry's copying Dumbledore and Malfoy's copying McGonagall," Ron snickered, and Harry rolled his eyes before gesturing for Hermione to go on.

said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me.

The name 'Sirius Black' was enough to ruin Harry's good mood. Draco watched as his boyfriend seemed to physically deflate with a long sigh. Hermione, however, was now trying to speed read again, and didn't give Harry too much time to dwell on the matter for now.

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 jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"I bet you were cute as a baby," Draco smirked, trying to make Harry feel better.

It seemed to work at least a bit, as Harry gave Draco a slight smile and a quick kiss on the lips in thanks.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, 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.

"Also more information that I didn't need to know," Ron muttered with another shudder.

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,"

"Remind me never to go to McGonagall for comfort," Ron said, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"She's only trying to make sure no one sees them, Ronald," she replied.

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.

"They're not really going to leave you on the doorstep, are they?" Draco asked, eyes narrowing as he felt the sudden urge to accio a stack of blankets for his boyfriend. "It was cold and expected to rain that night!"

"I'm sort of used to that kind of stuff," Harry replied without thinking, and Draco's sharp gaze shot to him now.

"What does that even mean?"

"Later," Harry pleaded, realizing his mistake. "After this chapter, I promise."

"You'd better be keeping that promise, love," Draco replied. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

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

Again, Harry seemed to look physically hurt by the name, and again Hermione simply read faster.

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.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles,

"Nice way to wake up," Ron cringed at the mere thought.

nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley...

"He better not have ever hurt you," Draco warned, not liking it at all when Harry didn't answer him, much less look up at him.

He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter -- the boy who lived!"

"And that's it," Hermione looked up from the book.

"Right, now what's all this," Ron gestured to Draco and Harry, who glanced sheepishly at each other.

"Erm...I've got a lot of explaining to do, don't I?" Harry asked.

"Yes," the three other occupants of the room replied.

Harry sighed, and nodded. He owed them all this much. "Right. Just promise you all won't get mad?"

"I make no promises," Ron said, shooting a glare Draco's way even as Hermione nudged him.

"i'll do my best," Draco said. "But I'll admit I'm a bit pissed you've left out stuff about your aunt and uncle with me."

"It wasn't on purpose, Dray," Harry sighed. "It never came up until now. And I will tell you everything, but we need to explain our relationship to them first," he gestured to his friends.

"Right. That one's easy enough," Draco said, glancing over at the two. "The reason we both seem so friendly with each other is because Harry and I are dating."