A/N: Hi guys, I have to admit, I was nervous about this story. I had the idea for some time but I didn't
know how to put it together. I was a bit confused about the concept myself for a while. But now thanks to
my subscribers (see below) I've got the main idea stuck in my head, Now I just need to get it down on the
computer!
This chapter will be very similar to the book, (have to set up the story, sorry!) so it will be a bit dry, but I
promise that the story will please.
I DON'T OWN HARRY POTTER IN ANY CHARM, HEX, OR CURSE! (Wish I did though! J)
Thanks guys! You were the ones who inspired me to continue this. This series is for you!
The Lord and Lady Phoenix: The Stone
Chapter Two
Delivery
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal.
Thank you very much. They lived perfectly normal lives. They wee not the kind of people that would do
anything strange or abnormal. Mr. Dursley was large and beefy. None knew if he had any neck, for his
many chins covered it. He was the director of Grunnings, a drill company.
Mrs. Dursley was thin, blonde, and had twice the normal neck length. This came very useful in her times
of spying on the neighbors. They had a small boy named Dudley and to them, there was no greater boy
anywhere.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted, except for one crucial secret. Their greatest fear was if
someone discovered it, the horrible family called the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but
they had not spoken in years. They new that the nonexistent family had a small son too. But they would
see fit to have contact with them. They pretended the family didn't exist because Mrs. Potter and her good
for nothing husband were as unlike the Dursleys as humanly possible.
Humanly.
On that gray Tuesday morning, the Dursley had awakened. There was nothing to suspect about \
that day to suggest anything mysterious or strange was to happen. Mr. Dursley put on his most boring tie
for work, while Mrs. Dursley was wrestling a screaming beach ball into a XXXL high chair.
None noticed the owl fluttering past number four Private Drive.
Mr. Dursley pecked his wife on her skinny cheek. Dudley was having a Dudley tantrum and
threw his cereal at the wall, sending milk, marshmallow puffs , and millions of glass bowl shards onto the
once spotless floor of Mrs. Dursley's favorite room, her once impossibly spotless kitchen. Mr. Dursley
ruffled his son's blond hair while saying "Little tyke.", while Mrs. Dursley was looking at her son with
adoration for his aim and strength and perfection and "Dudleyness." Mr. Dursley jumped into his car,
turned on the ignition, and backed out of the drive.
His thoughts of his family's normalness and perfectness were quickly ruined by a cat. Yes a cat.
But this peculiar cat was acting very strange. It was reading a map. Mr. Dursley did not realize what he
had just seen until he was at the end of the street. Looking back to be sure, he was half right. The map was
gone to confirm the normality and his overactive imagination. But a second later, as he saw the cat he
jumped and banged his head against the roof of his car when he saw it near his car, reading the corner's
street sign.
Privet Drive
Magnolia Crescent
Bellowing out a curse, he ignored the pain from the roof and looked back at the sign. There was now an
small tanny owl clutching its talons upon the metal, blocking some of the letters, now it said,
Pr at Drive
Mag i C scent.
(Ironic isn't it. The Dursleys hate magic and live on Prat Drive, while a certain squib we all know and love lives on Mag i C scent)
Mr. Dursley ignored that feature of the day as well. Instead, he focused his attention back upon the cat.
He concluded that it must have been just a trick of the light. For now the cat was doing a purely normal
cat antic. It stared at him and his car, just as he and his car stared back.
'No, no, no' he thought jokingly to himself, however it seemed more like reassuring than joking.
Cats can't read maps or signs. That's ridiculous. But he continued to glance at his side view mirror at the
cat who continued to watch the now distant vehicle. As if wishing its glances would make the large man
to vanish quicker by tripling the speed limit. Mr. Dursley put all the abnormalities he imagined out of his
mind, and began to focus on more important things. Money, his loving family, money, the economy,
money, the government repairing itself, money, the number of employees he was going to fire today,
and…. most…. importantly….…you guessed it….MONEY!
But on the highways and roads that lead to the Grunnings building, Vernon Dursley noticed something
rather odd. Inside of the normal hour long traffic jam. He noticed several people dressed in a stupid sense
of fashion. He supposed it was one of those dumb fads as he drummed his swelled fingers upon the
steering wheel. He noticed the weirdoes whispering excitedly together. Mr, Dursley came to rage when he
saw an man no less than ten years older than he in a long swishing forest-green cloak. The nerve! But
then he realized that they must be collecting for boring fundraisers. The traffic inched slowly up the road
and finally, and hour later, he found himself in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills, but
certain abnormal thoughts of kitty cats were still loitering not to far behind.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't,
it would be much harder to focus on drills. He didn't see the owls in broad daylight, but the people on the
street did, jaws on the pavement as owls filled the air. Most had never even seen an owl at night before.
Mr. Dursley however was having a perfectly normal morning. He yelled at five people. Fired one because
he was mad at the price of gasoline he had to pay that morning. Spewed his hot coffee at another because
it was too hot. Made several important phone calls, shouted a bit more during them. By lunchtime, he was
in a good mood.
No thoughts at all about cats or robes.
After buying a bun at the bakery a few stores from his office he passed a few of the robed freaks, hearing
only part of their excited conversation.
"The Potters, I heard"
"-yes their son, Harry."
Mr. Dursley dashed back to his office, full of dread, for the robed weirdoes had said Potters and
Harry. He snapped at his secretary to not disturb him as he began to furiously dial his home number. With
two digits left to dial he put the phone back…no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't a uncommon name.
Lots of people's last name was Potter and had sons called Harry. He wasn't even sure if his nephew's
name was Harry. He'd never seen the boy, and never would. He was maybe called Harold, Harvey, or
Henry. There was no reason to make a fuss out of this nonsense. He couldn't blame his wife for wanting to
forget the Potters, if he had a sister like that…but still those people in cloaks…
It was harder for him to concentrate that afternoon. When he left the office at five he was in such a rush
that he knocked over a tiny old man.
"Sorry" he grunted as the old man picked himself off, dusting off his violet cloak, which Mr. Dursley had
just now noticed. The man didn't seem upset at all. His face had a wide smile and said in a high voice,
"Don't be sorry, my dear sir, Rejoice! For You-Know-Who is gone at last! Even Muggles such as yourself
should be celebrating this happy day!
The man wrapped his arms as far as he could around Mr. Dursley's enormous girth, gave him a hug round the
middle, and walked off. Mr. Dursly had just been hugged by a complete stranger. He had also been called
a Muggle, whatever that absurd term was.
He got into his car and sped home so fast, it would have given Dale Earnhardt a heart attack.
As he pulled into number four's driveway, his mood had not improved. For the same cat he'd imagined
that morning was now sitting on his garden wall.
"Shoo" yelled Mr. Dursley. "Get!" The cat glared at him, yawned loudly, unimpressed, and continued to
sit on that very wall. He muttered something about "Damn cats" and walked into number four.
Mrs. Dursley had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner about how she had made her impossibly
spotless kitchen even more impossibly spotless, Mrs. Next Door's flaws, and how Dudley learned a new
word ("WONT!"). Mr. Dursley did his best to act naturally. He sat in his chair and caught the evening
news.
"And lastly bird watchers all over are baffled from the unusual number of owls today. There have been
hundreds of these birds flying about in broad daylight, everywhere, since sunrise. Top owl experts are
unable to understand why the owls have changed their sleeping patterns so abruptly. And now here's Jim
McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any owl showers tonight Jim?"
"Well Ted," said the weather man, "I don't know about owls but viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire,
and Dundee have phoned in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, we're having a storm
of shooting stars! Yes, that's right! Shooting Stars! Bonfire Night isn't until next week folks! But I can
promise tonight will be a wet one.
Vernon Dursley sat frozen in his chair. Stars? Owls? Robes? And that whispers of Potters? Mrs. Dursley
came into the living room with two cups of tea. He cleared his throat.
"Petunia," he began nervously. "You- you haven't h-heard from your s-sister lately…have you? She look
shocked and angry.
"No," she said stiffly. "Why?"
"Funny stuff on the news. Owls in daylight. Shooting stars. And funny people were in town and…"
"So?" spat Petunia Dursley.
"W-well, I just thought it might.. You know…part of her crowd."
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea. Mr. Dursley pondered whether he should mention that he heard those
strangers say "Potter."
"Their son, he's about Dudder's age now right?"
"I suppose"
"What was his name, Henry?"
"Harry," she grunted. "Nasty name if you ask me."
"Oh yes, I agree".
He did not say another word about the Potters that night. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom,
preparing for bed, he looked out the bedroom window. The cat was still on the wall, now staring down the
street, as if it was waiting for something.
Could he have imagined the whole thing? As the two got into bed, Vernon decided that even if it had to
do with the Potters, it would not affect the Dursleys.
(Boy was he wrong!)
The house of number four may have fallen asleep as well as its neighbors, but the cat on the wall was as
still as a statue, showing no signs of drowsiness. Then its tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
A man appeared on the end of Private Drive. (The owl had flown away) He appeared so suddenly, you'd
think he popped out of thin air. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Private Drive. He was tall,
but thin. His silver hair gave away his great age. He wore a purple cloak that fell to the ground, and high-
heeled buckled boots. His twinkling blue eyes were hidden behind half-moon glasses. And his nose was
long and crooked. This man was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus pulled out from his purple robes, what appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open,
and pointed it toward the farthest street lamp on the Drive. He clicked it and the lamp went out with a
small pop. The light from it speeding towards the lighter. He pointed it at another lamp and once again,
clicked it. The next lamp went out. This continued until all twelve lamps were dark. The only lights left
on the street were two orbs that were cat eyes, watching him. If anyone woke up and looked out a window,
they would see only blackness. Dumbledore put the lighter back into his robes and heard a stern noise.
"Meow!"
He turned to it, smiled, and spoke.
"Fancy meeting you here,…Professor McGonagall."
But he was no longer speaking to a tabby cat. In the cats place was a stern looking woman wearing glasses
the exact same shape as the markings the cat had around its eyes. She too wore a cloak, an emerald one.
Her black hair in a tight bun. She looked ruffled.
"How did you recognize me?"
"My dear, I have never seen a cat so still."
"You'd be stiff if you'd been on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day?" When everyone else is celebrating?"
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Oh yes, there celebrating all right," she said. "You'd even be shocked from how much the Muggles are
noticing. Owls...shooting stars, I'd expect that was Diggle. He never had much sense. But I guess these Muggles aren't completely stupid."
"You can't blame them," said Albus. We've had little to celebrate for the past eleven years."
"I know that, but that's no reason for us to be downright careless," quipped McGonagall. "Fine thing it
would be the day You-Know-Who was defeated and Muggles found out about our world, wouldn't it?"
"Quite." Dumbledore agreed. "But my dear, must you call him by his name? For years I have tried to
persuade people to call him by his name, Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched but Dumbledore did
not notice. "I do not seem reason for anyone to fear the name. Fear of a name only increases the fear itself,
after all. Now would you care for a lemon drop?"
"A what?" asked the witch surprised by the strange question.
"A lemon drop. A Muggle sweet, I am rather found of."
"No thank you," said McGonagall simply, thinking now was not the time for sweets. "But back to what we
were speaking of. You're different. You're the only one He-Who-Mus…oh all right Voldemort, was
frightened of."
"You flatter me, but Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Only cause you're to noble to use them" she muttered to herself. "But the owls are nothing to the gossip
flying about. You know what they're saying. What finally stopped him?" Dumbledore was sucking on
another lemon drop.
"What they're saying is that last night, Voldemort showed up in Godric's Hollow and found the Potters.
They say Lily and James are-that-they are d-dead." she at last croaked out.
Dumbledore said nothing. McGonagall gasped and her eyes watered.
"Lily and James- but- oh dear-but that's not all they said. They said he tried to kill their son, but he couldn't. They say that after all they people, all the powerful witches and wizards who opposed him, he couldn't harm a little baby? A little boy who somehow survived the…the curse?"
"We may never know," Albus replied softly.
"And are you going to tell me why you are here of all places in Britain?"
"I've come to bring young Harry to live with his only family left.
"You don't mean, not these Muggles? Y-you can't, I've watched these people all day, they're the worst of
their sort' you'd ever find. Their son, he.. He threw his food at his mother just because it didn't have
enough sweets on top. Harry Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place, I've written a letter…"
"A LETTER!" she screeched. A LETTER TO EXPLAIN ALL THAT'S HAPPENED! YOU THINK
THAT WILL MAKE THEM CARE FOR HIM! THEY WILL HATE HIM! THEY'LL GLADY WANT
TO THROWN HIM BACK TO VOLDEMORT'S FOLLOWERS! CHILDREN ALL OVER OUR WORLD WILL GROW UP KNOWING HIS NAME! I AM SURPRISED THAT REPORTERS AREN"T
SCURRYING EVERYWHERE IN BRITAIN, MAGICAL OR NOT, JUST TO GET A PICTURE OF HIM! THE DURSLEYS? DUMBLEDORE, I HEARD THEM SPEAK OF LILY, THEIR OWN FAMILY, AS IF SHE WERE A DRIED UP, OLD, CRUMPLE-HORNED SNORKACK!" she finished, gasping,
begging for air to return to her stern, red face.
Dumbledore, looking shocked quickly replied, "Yes, but the fame would be enough to turn
anyone's head round. Can't you see why it will be better for him to grow up here?"
Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, ready to explode once more, but then quietly replied "Fine-fine,
you're right, but if you think they will treat him properly…"
But her voice was drowned out by the sound of a deafening roar. A motorcycle appeared from behind the
clouds and pulling to a stop, landed right in front of them. The huge rider acknowledged them in a
grunting voice " Professor Dumbledore sir, Professor McGonagall."
McGonagall looked livid at the thought of the little bundle in Hagrid's arms but then put on a false smile.
She knew the large man always tried to help, but he wasn't always the most responsible… and for
Dumbledore to trust him with a job this important…
"Hagrid, at last," spoke Dumbledore. "And where did you get the motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it sir," the giant spoke somewhere through his wild beard. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me to
make the delivery."
"Any problems?" spoke the old man.
"No sir, house was almost gone. But I got him out before the Muggles started looking. Little guy fell
asleep just as we was flyin' over Bristol."
The two professors stepped toward Hargrid and looked in the bundle in his arms. Inside was a sleeping
boy. Underneath a tuft of jet black hair was a cut, a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where.." began Minervra
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He will have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you try and remove it?" asked McGonagall.
"Even if I could, I would not. Scars can come in handy. I have one just above my left knee that is a perfect
map of London Underground. Well, lets get this over with. Give him here Hagrid.
Hagrid handed him the baby and McGonagall sighed quietly, for why Dumbledore ever mentioned of his
knee scar, she would never know. Hagrid gave the baby a scratchy kiss and was about to cry when
McGonagal said,
"Hush now Hagrid, we'll see the boy again one day."
"Y-yes.. Yes…okay." sobbed the giant.
Dumbledore laid the bundle on the doorstep to number four, pulled from his cloak a envelope, and placed
the letter inside Harry's tiny fist. For one minute the three stood there, in front of number four's front
door, watching the baby slumber.
"Well," said the old man. "That's that, might as well go join the festivities." Hagrid trembled out,
"I've got to go give Sirius his bike back, so…" but he never finished his sentence for he was already
riding into the sky on the motorcycle. Dumbledore turned to McGonagall and said
"I shall see you soon, I except." McGonagall said nothing but nodded. The two parted ways. Dumbledore
walked to the end of Private Drive and held up the silver cigarette lighter, returning the orange glow to
the street. He just saw a tabby skulk around a corner and said to himself "Good luck, Harry Potter." With
a rustle of his cloak, he vanished from Private Drive.
A tabby cat simply sat on the roof of number nine. Watching as the populace began to start their day. It
watched as a certain woman shrieked when she found a baby sleeping, with a hand clamped onto a piece
of parchment, on her now abnormal doorstep. The cat rolled its eyes and jumped across the gap to number
ten, heading for London.
And as Harry Potter was awoken in a strange world by a scream. He did not
know he was famous. He did not know that one day, his life would change by a simple piece of parchment.
And what no one else knew, not even the Headmaster of Hogwarts, was that, only a mile away from number four, a bird was flying towards Private Drive. It had found Harry Potter.
TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS
TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS
TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS TLLP:TS
A/N: Whew! What a chapter! Once again I apologize for the same direction this chapter has with the book
but I needed to set the story more before I dive deeper into my plot. Sorry! But here's three challenges of
varying difficulty for you guys while I'm typing the next chapter.
Thanks to:
1314
Thawk6
Phantom1s
Dramalover57
Comet Moon
Darkplayer35
1.Leave a comment. (Easy)
2.Type in an idea or two for the plot. Best ones get bragging rights, acknowledgments, and a part
somewhere in the entire series ! (Medium)
3.Try and guess who or what the bird in the story is! (Hard)
I can't guarantee when the next chapter will be (CURSE YOU SCHOOL!), but I can promise you it will show a lot more to my plot.
SuperXBrother