ranchan: Hey, I'm back! Today I'll introduce you to my muse, Deana

Deana: Sup?

ranchan: D's a fire apparition with a very short temper and a crush on Hiei

D: I do not have a crush on Hiei!

ranchan: that's not what I was told.

D: who told you I had a crush on Hiei?

ranchan: I have my sources, and for their own protection I will not tell you who they are.

D: Would you like to have a small talk with Mr. Frying Pan?

ranchan: No. Would you like to have a chat with Mr. Bazooka?

D: O.O

ranchan: I didn't think so. Now, I will thank all my reviewers at the end of the chapter. Now on to the story. And just so you know, this chapter may be boring.

Disclaimer: reading I do not own Harry Potter or Inuyasha. glares at lawyers Says who? lawyers bring out weapons That doesn't scare me. lawyers steal all my pocky NOOOOOOOOOOOOO! crying Fine, I don't own them. Now give me back my Pocky ya freaks!

Chapter 1: The Boy and Girl Who Lived

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, who lived on number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal. They'd be the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange, weird, mysterious, whatever you want to call it.

Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm that made drills. He was a big and beefy man with hardly any neck, but he did have a pretty big mustache. Mrs. Dursley was practically the opposite. She was thin and blonde and her neck was about twice the size of a regular neck. She liked to spy on her neighbors for some strange reason. The Dursleys also had a small son named Dudley. They thought he was the finest boy in the world.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but also had, in their opinion, a terrible secret. Their worst fear was that someone would discover it. They didn't think they'd survive if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't contacted each other in many years. In fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't even have a sister, because her sister and brother-in-law were as unDursleyish as physically possible. The Dursleys also knew that the Potters had a small son. Another reason not to ever invite the Potters. They didn't want Dudley hanging around with him.

The Grangers, on the other hand, were a whole other story. They loved the Higurashis as if they were family. It was very unlikely that they'd be involved in anything strange, but, then again, they know the Higurashis so that had to count as strange.

They loved Kagome like a second daughter and Hermione got along extremely well with her. They'd do just about every thing together. They'd crawl together, play together, eat together, you name it. They even cried together.

Mr. and Mrs. Granger had met Amaya and Akira when they had traveled to Japan. They became quick friends and convinced the Japanese couple to move ot England, where they could see each other on a regular basis.

The Grangers had no idea that Amaya was a witch or that Akira was a wizard, but since they didn't know about witches and wizards, they didn't care.

When they awoke on Tuesday morning, the first strange thing they noticed was the owl that flew by their window. They'd never seen an owl at night and now one just decides to fly in the middle of the morning? Strange, but it had nothing to do with them. Or so they thought.

Back with the Dursleys, the first thing Mr. Dursley noticed was that a cat seemed to be reading a map. For a moment he didn't realize what he had seen. Then he jerked his head around to look again. There was the tabby cat, but there wasn't a map in sight. Mr. Dursley shook his head to clear it of such ridiculous thoughts. Cat's couldn't read maps.

He had just gotten the cat out of his head when he saw something even stranger. While stuck in a traffic jam on his way to work, he noticed a bunch of people dressed strangely. They were wearing cloaks. He couldn't stand people who dressed strangely. The things teenagers wore now a days! He supposed it was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes landed on a group of those weirdoes. They were whispering excitedly to themselves. Mr. Dursley was angered to see one of them wasn't even young. That man had to be older than him, and was wearing an emerald green cloak. The nerve of that man! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that they were probably collecting for something. That had to be it. The traffic moved on and not long after, Mr. Dursley had arrived at work.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks up until lunchtime when he decided he'd cross the road and buy himself a bun from the bakery an in the process passed a group of them. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him feel uneasy. They were whispering excitedly just like the other group he'd passed, and he didn't see a collecting tin anywhere. It was on his way back past them, holding a bag with a large doughnut in it, that he caught a few of the words they were saying.

"They Potters and Higurashis, that's right, that's what I heard--"

"--yes, their children, Harry and Kagome--"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead in his tracks. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something, but changed his mind at the last second.

He ran back across the road, hurried to his office, snapped at his secretary to not disturb him, picked up the phone, 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, I'm being stupid.' Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were tons of people called Potter who had a son named Harry. And he didn't even know who these Higurashis were so why was he worried? Come to think of it, he didn't even know if his nephew's name was Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. Maybe his name was Harvey. Or Harold. There was absolutely no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got extremely upset at any mention of her sister. Not that he blamed her-- if he'd had a sister like that he'd get upset too.

He found it a lot harder to concentrate that afternoon and when he left the building at 5 O' clock, he was still awfully worried and walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and nearly fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the old man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't even seem to be upset at being almost knocked to the ground. In fact, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a high, squeaky voice that made passerby star, "Don't be sorry, my dear man, for absolutely nothing could upset me today! Be happy, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like you should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" The old man then hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had just 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 went home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never before hoped for, because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled into his driveway, the first thing he was--and it didn't improve his mood one bit--was the tabby cat he'd seen that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was positive it was the same one; it had the exact same markings around its eyes. "Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just have him a stern look. Was that normal behavior for a cat? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he walked in to his house. He was determined not to tell his wife anything.

Mrs. Dursley had a nice, perfectly normal day. Over dinner she told him about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to see the last report on the Evening News:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been acting very strange today. Although owls usually hunt at night, and are rarely seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts can't seem to explain why the owls have so suddenly changed their sleeping patterns." The newscaster grinned. "Quite mysterious, no? And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Are there going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Drew," said the weatherman, "I'm not sure about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting strangely today. Viewers as far apart as Dundee, Kent, and Yorkshire have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I had promised yesterday, they've had a shower of shooting stars! Maybe 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 chair. Owls flying by daylight? Shooting stars all over Britain? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters and the Higurashis. . .

Mrs. Dursley walked into the living room with two cups of tea. It was no use. He was gonna have to say something to her. He nervously cleared his throat. "Um--Petunia, dear-- you haven't, by any chance, heard from your sister lately, have you?"

Just as he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. They did, after all, pretend the didn't have a sister. "No," she said sharply. "Why do you ask?" "Funny stuff on the news," mumbled Mr. Dursley. "Shooting stars. . .owls. . .and there were a bunch of funny-looking people in town today. . ." "And?" snapped Mrs. Dursley. "Well I just thought that maybe it had to do with. . . .you know. . .her crowd.

Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered if he should tell her he'd heard the name 'Potter.' e decided he didn't care. Instead, as casually as possible, he said, "Their son would be around Dudley's age now , wouldn't he?" "I guess so." said Mrs. Dursley stiffly. "What was his name again? Howard?" "Harry. Ugly common name, if you ask me." His heart sunk horribly. "Oh, yes," he said. "Yes, I quite agree. Did your sister, by any chance, have a friend by the name of Higurashi?" Mrs. Dursley glared at her tea. "Yes. Amaya Higurashi. She had a daughter not long after my sister have birth. She was in the same crowd as my sister." "Oh." was all Mr. Dursley said.

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

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

Back with the Grangers, Mrs. Granger was thinking along the same lines, only she didn't know the Higurashis were anything out of the ordinary. They too had seen the owls, the shooting stars, and the strange people in cloaks. She had also heard a whisper of the Higurashis. Something about their daughter, Kagome. She remembered that Amaya and Akira also liked to wear cloaks, much like the people she saw today. She wondered if it had anything to do with them. 'If it does,' she thought. 'I'll help out in anyway possible.' With a smile she walked into her room and went to sleep.

The Cat back at Privet Drive hadn't moved at all. It was sitting still as a statue, looking at the corner of Privet Drive. It didn't move a muscle when it heard a car door slam, or when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it didn't move at all until it was sometime near midnight.

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been looking at. He appeared so suddenly and silently that you'd have thought he just popped out of thin air. The cat's eyes narrowed and it's tail twitched.

A man like this had never been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and, judging by his hair and beard, both of which were long enough to tuck into his belt, very old. He was wearing a purple cloak that swept the ground, long robes, and high-heeled buckled boots. His blue eyes were bright, light, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, almost as if it had been broken at least twice. The name of this man was Albus Dumbledore.

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize, or care, that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his boots to his mane was unwelcome. He was too busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he suddenly looked up at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat made him chuckle lightly and mutter, "I should've known."

He finally found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It looked like a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The streetlamp nearest to him went out with a small pop. He clicked it again--the next light flickered out. He clicked the Put-Outer 12 times, until the only lights left were two pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone were to look out their window now they wouldn't be able to see what was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore put the Put-Outer back in his cloak and set off down the street towards number 4, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a bit he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He turned to smile at the tabby, but it was gone. In it's place was a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses, the exact shape of the markings around the cats eyes. She was wearing a cloak as well, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn back into a bun. She looked distinctly ruffled. "How did you know it was me?" she asked. "My dear Professor, I have never seen a cat sit so stiffly." "You'd be stiff too, if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall. "All day? When you could've been celebrating? I probably passed about 12 feasts and parties on my way here. Professor McGonagall angrily sniffed. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she impatiently said. "You'd think they'd be at least a bit more careful, but no--even the Muggles have notice something's off. It was on the news." She pointed back at the Dursleys' dark living-room window. "I heard it. Shooting stars. . .flocks of owls. . .Well, they're not complete idiots. They were bound to notice something was going on. Shooting stars down in Kent--I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never did have much sense."

"You can't possibly blame them," Dumbledore said gently. "They've had very little to celebrate over the past 11 years." "I know that," Professor McGonagall said irritably. "But that's absolutely no reason to lose our heads. People are being careless, out in the streets not wearing Muggle clothes and swapping rumors. A fine thing it would be if, on the day You-Know-Who disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?" "That's how it seems." said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you like a lemon drop?" "A what?" "A lemon drop. They're a type of Muggle sweet. I'm rather fond of them." "No, thank you." said Professor McGonagall coldly, as if saying she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I was saying, even if You-Know-Who has gone--" "My dear Professor, surely a person like yourself can call him by his name? For eleven years I've been trying to persuade people to call him by his name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking some lemon drops, didn't seem to notice. "It all gets far too confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I don't see any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name." "I know you don't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half admiring, half exasperated. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was ever frightened of." "You flatter me," Dumbledore said calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have." "Only because you're too noble to use them." "I'm lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

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

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the real reason to which she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she wasn't going to believe until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and didn't answer.

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

Dumbledore bowed his head and Professor McGonagall gasped. "Lily, James, Amaya, and Akira. . .I can't believe it. . .I didn't want to believe it. . .Oh, Albus. . ." Dumbledore patted her on the shoulder. "I know. . .I know. . ." he said heavily. Her voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill their children, Harry and Kagome. But--he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little boy or that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill them, Voldemort's power somehow broke--and that's why he's gone.

Dumbledore glumly nodded. "It's--it's true?" Professor McGonagall faltered. "After all he's don. . .all the people he's killed. . .he couldn't kill two little children? How did they survive?" "We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We might never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he pulled out a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. After a minute he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose he's the one who told you I'd be here?" "Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, are you?" "I've come to bring Harry to his Aunt and Uncle. They're his only living relatives." "You can't mean the people who live here? You can't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son--I saw him kicking his mother all the way down the street, yelling for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!" "It's the best place," he said firmly. "I've written them a letter and they'll be able to explain everything to him when he's older." "Do you really think you'll be able to explain everything in a letter? They'll never understand him! He'll be famous--a legend--I wouldn't be surprised if in the future today was known as Harry Potter Day--there will be books written about him--every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly, it would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can even walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember. Can't you see how much better off he'll be if he grows up away from all that until he can take it?" "Yes, of course," said Professor McGonagall. "But what about Kagome? Where will she stay? In the future tomorrow could be called Kagome Higurashi day--she too will be famous, another living legend--books will be written about her as well and every child will know as much about her as they will about Harry. Every one will know both of their names. Where do you plan on leaving her?" "Since she has no living relatives I will send her to the house of her parents adoptive siblings. They will care for her as if she were they're own child." Professor McGonagall looked confused. "What do you mean her parent's adoptive siblings?" "Akira and Amaya performed a ritual with the Grangers officially making them their siblings so they're the closest family Kagome has." explained Dumbledore. "Just one more question," said Professor McGonagall. "Where exactly are the children?" she asked eyeing his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding them underneath it. "Hagrid's bringing them." "Are you sure it's--wise--to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" "I trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

A low rumbling suddenly broke the silence around them. It steadily grew louder as they both looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as the both looked up at the sky--and a huge motorcycle fell from the sky and landed on the road in front of them.

If the motorcycle was big, it was nothing compared to the man riding it. He was about twice as tall as a normal man and about five times as wide. He looked to big to be allowed, and so--wild--tangles of bushy brown hair and beard covered most of his face, his feet in their leather boots looked like baby dolphins, and his hands were the size of trash can lids. In his huge muscular arms he held a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding quite relieved. "Finally. And where did you get the motorcycle?" "Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, carefully climbing of the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir" "There weren't any problems, were there?" "No, sir-- the house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. They fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent over the bundle of blankest. Inside, barely visible, were a baby boy and a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair on the boy's forehead they could see a curiously shaped scar. "Is that where--?" whispered Professor McGonagall. "Yes," Dumbledore said. "He will forever have that scar." "What about Kagome?" asked Professor McGonagall. "Does she have a scar as well?" Dumbledore nodded. "Yes, it's on her forearm." "How do you know?" "Because her sleeve is ripped and you can see it there." "Can't you do anything about them?" "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground." said Dumbledore. "Well--give him here, Hagrid--we'd better get this over with." Dumbledore took Harry into his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' home.

"Could--could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He gent his shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog. "Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake everyone up!" "S-s-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid. "But I can't stand it--Lily, James, Amaya, and Akira dead--an' poor little Harry and Kagome off ter live with Muggles--" "Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or they'll find us," whispered Professor McGonagall, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore walked to the front door.

He laid Harry gently on the on the doorstep, pulled a letter out of his cloak, put it in Harry's blankets, and walked back to the other two. For a minute the three of them stood and looked at the small bundle; Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, Hagrid's shoulders shook, and the twinkling light that usually shone in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

They parted. Hagrid and Professor Dumbledore to the Grangers house, and Professor McGonagall to the other end of the street . Dumbledore pulled the Put-Outer out of his cloak pocket and clicked it once. All of a sudden twelve balls of lights sped back to their street lamps. He could just make out the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

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

ranchan: Well, did you like it?

D: Tell her you hated it!

ranchan: whacks her on the head with a frying pan, ties her to a chair, and then locks her in a closet Well now that she's out of the way I have to tell you that I was to lazy to write about Kagome, so you'll just have to use your imagination.

reviews: I would like to thank Tenseiga15 (thanks for being my first reviewer), QueenofAngstyFics (Thanks so much!), Riotgirl-gc (I'm glad you think its cute and I'll make sure to check that website.), IYGURL (I updated, see?)

These people are all wonderful and they make me feel special.

Adios,

ranchan.