On the early morning of November 2nd 1981, in Little Whinging Surrey, all the residents of Privet drive were sleeping abet some more soundly than others. One visitor, however, was wide-awake and siting outside of Number 4 Privet Drive. This visitor, the cat Mr. Evans had spotted earlier, had not moved in some hours, if fact, this cat had not moved since 8 pm and it was well past 5 a.m. This abnormal behavior lasted until a woman appeared at the end of the street. It should also be noted the man did not arrive in a car, on foot, or by bus, no she appeared quite suddenly and out of nowhere.

This woman was quite unlike any of the residents of Privet Drive or really unlike anything they had ever encountered. She was short, slender, and quite elderly, if the wrinkles and silver hair were to be accounted for. (In her youth, she might have been described as pixie like, for she had both the temperament and the body type). Her silver hair almost reached the heels of her boots and had seemingly random braids throughout. Her garb consisted of periwinkle robes with white clouds that seemed to move in the breeze and a gigantic silver belt the exact color of her hair. Her eyes, which shown brightly behind a pair of half-moon spectacles, were the brightest blue like sunlight hitting the ocean and they sparkled and twinkled like water too. This very particular woman's name was Alana Persephone Winifred Briar Dumbledore.

Alana Dumbledore did not take notice, and if she had she wouldn't have put much care into it, that she had just arrived on a street she did not fit into and was not too welcome. She was too busy rummaging in her small bright green handbag to take note. She was up to her shoulder in the bag before she found what she was looking for. By the time she found her object, she had come to realize, however, the cat at the end of the street was staring at her. She gave a little giggle and a small wave and held up the object, called a Put-Outer.It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. She flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. She clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times she 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 her If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Evans, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside her bag and set off down the street toward number four, where she sat down beside the cat. She didn't look at it, but after a moment she spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

She glanced over with the intent to smile at the cat but the cat was gone. In the cat's place sat a stern looking man with square glasses that looked exactly like the marks of the cat that had just been there. He was wearing a dark emerald cloak and a matching pointed hat. His wavy black hair was cut short and did not dare misbehave by having a hair out of place.

"How can you always tell its me?" he asked looking slightly miffed.

"Honey, in all my years I have never seen a cat sit so still or so stiffly.

"You would be stiff too if you had been waiting in the cold all day."

"All day, my dear? Did you not want to attend the festivities? I was invited to no less than 10 separate parties. This is certainly a happy day in our history."

"Yes, yes, all the celebrations," McGonagall replied sarcastically. "How can they be so blatant and obvious to the Muggles? It is like they have completely lost their minds."

"The way these last few years have been, you can't really blame them," Dumbledore replied with kind eyes.

"Sure, sure," he replied frustrated. " But could they at least be less obvious? They have been parading around in robes for Morgana's sake! It sure would be something if on the same day You-Know-Who finally disappeared that we completely exposed ourselves to the Muggles. She has gone, hasn't she, Alana? "

" It would appear so," Dumbledore replied with a look that didn't quite convince McGonagall. "We should all be very grateful. Would you like a skittle?"

"A what?"

"A skittle. They are a Muggle sweet I have become quite fond of. They are like Botts Every Flavor Beans without any chance of getting a grass or vomit flavored one.

"No," he said coldly implying this was not the time for candy. "AS I was saying if You-Know-Who-"

"Honey, really can't call her by her name? This You –Know-Who nonsense has gone too far. I have been trying to get people to call her by her name for years. Her name is Reinedemort." McGonagall gave a shudder at this but Dumbledore ignored it. " All of this You-Know-Who business is confusing for an old lady. Besides, I have never seen a reason to fear a name."

" Well you wouldn't, would you? They say you are the only person she ever truly feared. They have always said you were her only equal."

"My dear Professor, you flatter me. Reinedemort had powers that I will never have," Dumbledore replied with a shake of her head.

"Only because you have always been too honorable to use them. If you had wanted to you could have most certainly been on par with her. But are the rumors that are flying true? About how she disappeared? About how she finally was stopped? " McGonagall said asked with a desperation in his voice. He pierced his college with one look. This is the point he has been playing to in the entire conversation.

"They keep saying that Reinedemort went to Gwendelyn's hollow last night. That she- she killed the Potters. They are saying that Jane and Liam are dead and that little Hera is alive. That went Reinedemort went to kill her – she couldn't. That she couldn't kill this baby girl. When Reinedemort went to kill her, her powers were shattered, somehow, and that is why she is gone," he continued trying to verify the rumors.

Dumbledore simply nodded.

"It's true?" He gasped. "After all she did, after all the people she murdered and tortured, she couldn't kill a little girl. But why?"

"We may never know."

McGonagall stood teary eyed and stared off into the distance. He lost himself in his thoughts on his former students and their child. Dumbledore sniffed and took out her pocket watch. 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 she put it back in her pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was she who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes, she did. But I don't suppose you could tell me why we are here? Here of all places."

" We are bringing Hera to her family. Her uncle and aunt live here; they are the only family she has left," Dumbledore said, as the twinkle was absent from her eyes.

"Do you really believe this is the best place for her? I have watched them all day. They seem superficial and they let their daughter get away with everything. I was the mother take her on a stroll earlier and she pitched a fit for a doll. And she was rewarded for it! Surely Hogwarts or a wizarding family would be better. These are certainly not the best Muggles. At least tell me you aren't planning on leaving her with only a letter?" The famous McGonagall temper reared its ugly head.

"Of course I am not only leaving a letter! I was going to wait till they woke then drop her off personally. I could never leave a child on a doorstep. You know perfectly well Hera can't grow up in the wizarding world. She would grow up with too much fame. She could never be a normal little girl. She would be worshipped as a princess. "

"Where is she anyway?" McGonagall conceited after a few minutes, eyeing Dumbledore's bag as if he was afraid she was going to pull the baby out of it.

"Hagrid is on the way with her. In fact, she is running late. I had-" Dumbledore was cut off with a rumbling from the sky.

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 woman sitting astride it. She was at least 7 feet tall and quite sturdily built. She has a mane of curly black hair that had enough volume and was wild enough, that it wouldn't be a surprise to see a small furry creature crawl out of it.

"Hagrid,' Dumbledore said with relief in her voice," We were beginning to wonder where you were. Ah, did the young Ms. Black lend you her motorbike? It does seem like the most intriguing of contraptions. "

"No problems, were there?" She continued after looking up from the bike.

"No, ma'am — house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was fl yin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where — ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

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

Dumbledore took out her watch again and seemed satisfied with the time. " Alright, well it is time. If you would like to say goodbye, now would be good the muggles will be waking soon."

"Goodbye little 'Era. We will meet again," Hagrid whimpered as she bent down to kiss the baby's forehead. A few giant tears landed on the blanket the baby was wrapped in. Dumbledore then took the baby into her arms and gave a pat on Hagrid's back.

" I shall see you at Hogwarts good friends."

Hagrid went back to the bike and stared it up with a deep rumble. She soon disappeared into the clouds. McGonagall, who had decided to stick around a while longer, had vanished and in his place was the stiff cat from the day before. The cat then padded over to sit on the Evans' window box. Dumbledore, with the sweet sleeping child in her arms, strolled over to the Evans' front porch. She took out the Put-Outer and clicked it once. The lights on the street flared back to life. At exactly 6:30 a.m., Dumbledore rang the doorbell. None of the people currently at Number 4 Privet Drive knew what the future or even the present held, though some had better guesses than others. None of them knew, while Mr. Evans would contently do his duty and raise his niece, his wife would resent the attention he would give her or that the cousins, who would be as different as night and day, would grow up as sisters and all that entails. They did not know at that very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Hera Potter — the girl who lived!"