THE BOY WHO LIVED

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

"Your welcome," shouted the Weasley twins together. It was nice to see them twin speaking again.

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.

"They must lead very dull lives," Luna said dreamily. Silently Harry agreed.

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

The Pure-bloods looked around confused causing Hermione to explain.

"It's a muggle tool to break things apart or make holes with."

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.

Harry snorted. Back then Dudley had been the worst sort of boy.

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.

"What's wrong with the Potter's" asked James, whilst Lily shook her head. She had a bad feeling that this Dursley fellow sounded awfully familiar.

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.

"Petunia!" exclaimed Lily. She and Snape nodded at each other remembering the spiteful things that Petunia had said to her when she was younger. She had tried to save their sistership but Petunia wanted nothing to do with her.

The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small son, too, but they had never even seen him. This boy was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

"Hey, Harry was a very well behaved child I'll have you know. He hardly ever cried." Lilly exclaimed, upset that her sister could think that about her son when she hadn't even met him.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts,

"I thought the story already started" someone shouted. Hermione paused sending a scathing look towards the student.

"It's called a prologue, it introduces you to the characters."

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,

"Why would you have a boring tie?" asked Mr Weasley who loved learning about muggles. Harry smiled at him.

"It's just the way the Dursley's are," he finished.

and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

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

"How could they miss that? Owls are hard to miss." Said Ron, who was sitting next to Hermione.

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. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house.

"What a brat," scoffed Ginny whose arms were around Harry. "It's even worse because his father is encouraging it!"

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.

"Minnie!" shouted James, Sirius, Lupin and the twins. McGonagall glared at them for using her nickname. She shook her head. Was it really a good idea for those lot to sit near each 0ther?

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. What could he have been thinking of?

"He was thinking?" exclaimed Harry. "That must be a first." This caused those who knew the Dursley's to laugh.

It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back.

"Ah the classical Minnie glare," sighed Sirius. "I think I lost count on how many times she would glare at us like that." Harry snickered, he'd also had his fair share of McGonagall glaring at him.

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.

"Yes they can if they are an animagus," chorused the marauders and the twins.

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.

"wow he has a one track mind," said Angelina.

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.

There was an uproar though out the hall as people asked what wrong with wearing cloaks.

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.

"Actually no. Witches and Wizards have been wearing robes for centuries," stated Hermione, causing those around her to groan.

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!

"The Nerve of some people," shouted the Weasley twins.

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.

"Definitely a one track mind Alicia agreed with Angelina.

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 swoop ing past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open- mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead.

McGonagall had raised her eyebrows at the mention of Owls being seen in daylight by the muggles.

"I'm surprised we weren't found out."

Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more.

"He has a very odd idea about how a good day should be," said Mrs Weasley who had never seen eye to eye with Harry's relatives.

He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs…

"He actually moved?" Harry said in shock.

and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

"Ahh that explains a lot,"

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.

"That's because you're an idiot," Ron quipped.

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"

It was in this moment that mostly everyone realised which day this was causing sad looks to be directed Harry's way.

Mr. Dursley stopped dead.

Cheers filled the hall.

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

Boo's could be heard when they realised Vernon wasn't dead.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone,

"That must be the fastest Uncle Vernon has ever moved," chuckled Harry.

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.

"You got that right," shouted Sirius.

Potter wasn't such an unusual name.

"It is in the wizarding world," said James.

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.

Lily was fuming.

"How could he not even remember the name of his own nephew?" she screeched. James rubbed her back calming her down.

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

Harry grimaced. Thank Merlin he was never named either of those.

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...

"There's nothing wrong with Lily," shouted Snape and James at the same time. They glared at each other whilst Harry struggle not to laugh.

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 grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell.

"Wow he actually knows that word," said Harry.

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!"

James and Lily hugged each other big smiles on their faces. They couldn't believe that Voldemort was finally gone. They were the only ones though, everyone else knew that he wasn't entirely dead.

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

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.

"How can you not approve of imagination?" asked Luna. "Imagination is part of who we are." Harry nodded in agreement.

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.

"It's definitely Minnie, only she could stand sitting there all day," commented Sirius.

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

"It is for Minnie," Remus, Sirius and James said.

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!"). 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,

"That's my Dad," shouted Tonks. "He always found it funny how the muggles reacted to the news that day," she giggled.

"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...

McGonagall groaned. If a man like that could figure it out the wizarding world was doomed. She looked across to Albus who was grinning at her, his eyes twinkling with laughter.

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.

"Maybe I should pretend like you don't exist Tuney." Grumbled Lily.

"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."

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."

"There is nothing wrong with the name Harry," Ginny told Harry giving him a small kiss.

"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.

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.

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.

Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness.

"She's always like that," the marauders muttered. The Weasley twins nodded in agreement.

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.

"Apparition," Lily said.

The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

The Marauders laughed narrowing their own eyes into a likeness of McGonagall, she struggled to hold in her own laughter.

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.

"Dumbledore!" everyone shouted causing Dumbledore to stand and bow.

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.

"Oh it has," he confirmed.

This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

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.

"Oh I realised, I just didn't care," he quipped causing chuckles to be heard around the room.

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.

"The deluminator," shouted Ron. "Thanks for giving that to me Sir, it was really useful." Dumbledore nodded his head in acknowledgment of the underlying meaning.

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. 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."

"I knew it was Minnie," shouted Sirius causing Harry to smile. He was still so much a kid. Lily wacked Sirius's shoulder.

"Everyone knew it was her, stop being such a kid." Sirius grinned and waggled his eyebrows.

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.

"A ruffled Minnie?" questioned the twins looking over to the headmistress.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"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.

"Why were you sitting outside my sister's all day Professor?" asked Lily. McGonagall chose not to answer gesturing at Hermione to continue reading.

"All day? 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."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"Too late," shouted the Weasley twins. There had already been reports of street parties at the announcing of Voldemort's death.

"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."

"How awful," exclaimed Mooney in shock horror causing his wife Tonks to laugh.

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 YouKnow-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?"

"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.

"There is always time for lemon drops," smiled Dumbledore as he popped the offending sweet in his mouth. He had definitely missed them.

"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." Professor McGonagall flinched, 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.

Harry nodded his head in agreement.

"Fear of a name only increases fear of the thing itself," he quoted smiling up at Dumbledore.

"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, was frightened of."

"And Harry!" yelled Ginny and the twins. Harry felt his cheeks warm up.

"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."

"What colour were they?" asked Fred.

"Red and gold." A roar of approval went up on the Gryffindor table.

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.

"Yeah I want to know how he died too," said James. "I remember him turning up at the house but nothing after that." Lily nodded in agreement.

"It must have been a powerful witch or wizard that stopped him. Was it you Dumbledore?" she asked. Dumbledore shook his head. Harry turned his head away from his parents, hiding the blush on his cheeks, also the tears that had started to fall. He knew that they would find out the truth very soon. He felt Ginny grab his hand and squeeze it. He gently placed a kiss on her hand, trying to calm himself down. He glanced over to Remus and Sirius who were both staying silent on the matter. He nodded at them, seeing that they too were struggling with their emotions.

"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. "

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

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

Sirius and Remus were caught up in the memories of that night, their faces showing the grief they had felt when they had found that their best friends were dead.

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. 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.

Harry could feel the stares of his parents on him along with a good many of the students.

"You defeated Voldemort when you were a baby?" whispered Lily. Harry nodded, not looking at his mum and dad. He could remember them being murdered, as the sounds which he heard when dementors were near made themselves known. A flash of green light in front of his eyes. He had sometimes wished that Voldemort had chosen someone else. Now he knew that he would not wish his fate on anyone, not even his worst enemy. He felt arms go around him and realised that his mum and dad were once again hugging him, sobbing uncontrollably. They had missed so much of his life. He gave them a small smile, brushing the tears away. They'd not even finished the first chapter and here they were, a blubbering mess. He didn't even want to imagine the scenes later on in the books. What would his mother's reaction be to him getting bitten by a Basilisk?

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?"

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

"Did you know back then Sir?" Harry asked. Dumbledore nodded.

"I had my suspicions. You are a very brave man Harry, I do not think anyone else could have done what you did." Hermione and Ron turned to look at him.

"You can learn about it later, I'm sure it'll be in the book. They nodded in agreement.

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?"

"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 left him with Petunia?" screeched Lily. Snape also looked shocked. He knew what Petunia was like, how could the headmaster place a small boy in her care. "They are the worse kind of muggles. She hates magic, you knew that." Dumbledore lowered his head in shame.

"I'm afraid that I put my trust in familial love. If she took him the blood wards would keep him safe. I never believed she would treat him badly. Harry has never said anything otherwise about his relatives." Harry ducked his head down. Of course he never said anything about the Dursley's, he didn't want anyone to really know what was going on. Now though, everyone would see him for what he really was.

"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. 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?" 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 –

"Please no!" shouted Harry. The twins grinned.

"Hey were starting a petition to get May 2nd made into Harry Potter day." Harry glared at the twins before vanishing the offending piece of paper.

there will be books written about Harry - 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! CarA 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.

Uncontrollable laughter rang out through the great hall making the headmistress blush.

"It was a perfectly fair question, you never know with Albus," she stated.

"Hagrid's bringing him."

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

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," Harry said. "Maybe not my secrets though," he grinned making the giant blush.

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

"You think the same as Dumbledore Harry," quipped the Twins.

"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?"

"McGonagall turned to Hagrid.

"Sorry Hagrid, I didn't mean to sound so negative. I was really grumpy from sitting on that wall all day." Hagrid waved her off.

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.

"My motorbike," yelled Sirius. He looked up at Hagrid. "Do you still have her Hagrid?" He nodded.

"I left 'er wid Arthur." Sirius looked over at Mr Weasley and smiled in thanks.

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.

Hermione took a breath.

"Talk about overuse of description." She mumbled.

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

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

Sirius's face blanched as he remembered the stupid thing he had done after that. He knew that James and Lily didn't know about that yet, he was sure that James was going to get angry at him.

"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.

There was lots of 'awwws' and 'how cute' rolling around the room at the description of baby Harry. Harry hid his face again. How much more embarrassing could this get he thought.

"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

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

"Unfortuantly," muttered Harry.

"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. 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.

"I take offence at that," Sirius muttered.

"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," 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. 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."

"You just left him on the doorstep?" Hermione frowned. "It was November and you left a baby out in the cold until morning." She was starting to get angry and she was not alone. Both Lily and James had angry looks on their faces.

"He had warming and protection charms on him, he was perfectly safe," Dumbledore reassured them. Hermione backed down but Lily and James still looked pretty angry.

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius 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, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley... 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!"

"To Harry Potter, the boy who lived!" everyone shouted. Hermione placed the boom down the chapter finished.

"Who wants to read next?" she asked.

"I will," said Ron. Everyone looked at him surprised. "Hey I can read," he muttered. He looked at the name of the chapter. "Oh no,"

"The Vanishing Glass"