Petunia Dursley hummed quietly to herself as she pulled up in the car, she'd had an excellent day in London getting all of her Christmas shopping done, Vernon off collecting his sister, and they would all be together for the holidays, as she got out of the car her mind briefly turned to her nephew, she honestly had no idea what Harry did at Christmas, she assumed she stayed at that school, shrugging she pushed that from her mind and opened the door to find a package on the welcome mat and on top of it was a letter. Confused she called out,
"Dudley," she asked, and her son came into the hall,
"What's up," he grunted,
"Do you know where this came from," she asked picking up the package,
"No," he said and walked back into the lounge,
Confused, Petunia took the package along with the shopping into the kitchen, after putting the shopping away she turned back to the package, and opened the letter, and nearly screamed when she read it,
Dear Petunia,
In this package, you will find books about your nephew Harry,
They detail his adventures and suffering,
You will be required to read all of them with your Husband, Son and Sister-in-Law,
Hogwarts has already read the first four, when you get to the end you shall travel
to Hogwarts where you shall read the future with the rest of the school,
Yours Sincerely
Albus Dumbledore,
P.S
You will find an enchanted piece of parchment that will answer any
questions you may have
Petunia trembled as the piece of parchment flew out and floated above the books.
Vernon's reaction when he got home with Marge was as expected,
"The bloody freak, ruining our Christmas plans," he bellowed face turning purple,
Marge was just standing there in a state of disbelief, having been finally told the truth by her brother and sister-in-law,
"You're telling me," she said finally recovering her voice, "That your sister was a witch, and her son is a wizard,"
"Yes," whispered Petunia, "They are all freaks,"
Marge nodded sympathetically "I don't like that you lied to me, but I do understand," she said patting Petunia's arm,
Petunia nodded and smiled gratefully, "We are going to have to read them," she whispered,
Marge nodded, "Yes, however it might tell us a bit more about what we are actually dealing with," she replied thoughtfully,
Vernon and Petunia both nodded in understanding, and 20 minutes later they were seated around the kitchen table,
"I shall read first," volunteered Petunia picking up the first book labelled Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone, as she did so the enchanted piece of parchment flew into the middle of the table, leaning forward the four Dursleys could see writing appear, it said,
I have been enchanted to answer any questions you may have about the magical world through the reading of this book,
They all nodded, and Petunia opened the book to the first chapter,
"The Boy Who Lived," read Petunia,
Mr and Mrs Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
"And very respectable," said Marge,
Petunia and Vernon nodded,
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.
"Too right," said Vernon,
Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck,
Vernon narrowed his eyes,
although he did have a very large moustache. 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 neighbours.
Petunia just pursed her lips,
The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere.
"Too true," said Vernon ruffling Dudley's hair,
Petunia smiled at her son, meanwhile, Dudley just grunted rather bored,
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. Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley's sister,
"Don't worry Petunia it wasn't your fault," said Marge sympathetically
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.
Vernon nodded vigorously,
The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street.
All four Dursleys paled at the thought,
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.
"Again Petunia, you had good intentions, it wasn't your fault," said Marge patting Petunia again,
When Mr. and Mrs Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work,
Vernon's eyes narrowed, he wasn't sure who wrote this but he thought they were deliberately painting him and his wife in a bad light,
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.
At half-past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr Dursley
Vernon beamed at his son,
as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar - a cat reading a map.
The other three turned to look at him,
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? It must have been a trick of the light.
Marge nodded, that made sense,
Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs.
"Of course not," said Marge,
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.
Vernon all of a sudden remembered that day and what it meant, he scowled,
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. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes -
"What like Potter," snorted Dudley, his parents and aunt laughed,
the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak!
"A what," asked Marge,
The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt - these people were obviously collecting for something... yes, that would be it.
"What else would it be," said Marge chuckling, "I think you might have been tired that day Vernon,"
Vernon meanwhile didn't answer, he was fairly sure he knew what day this was,
The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.
Mr Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight,
Vernon scowled at the mention of Owls, Marge noticed and queried,
"His lot use them to deliver mail," he explained,
Marge nodded, not bothering to ask what he meant by his lot,
though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. 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.
"Productive, useful day," said Marge nodding,
He was in a very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.
He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the bakers. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy.
"Probably a bunch of hoodlums," said Marge,
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
"Definitely hoodlums,"
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"
Petunia suddenly stopped reading and eyed her husband suspiciously,
Mr Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.
He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialling his home number when he changed his mind.
Petunia raised an eyebrow,
He put the receiver back down and stroked his moustache, thinking... no, he was being stupid. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son called Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Harvey. Or Harold. There was no point in worrying Mrs Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister.
"I'm sorry, my Dear I just didn't want to upset," said Vernon smiling at his wife,
"It's fine I understand," said Petunia,
He didn't blame her - if he'd had a sister like that...
Marge could understand fully,
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. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak.
Marge tutted,
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!"
"You never told me about this," said Petunia tersely
"I didn't want to worry you," said Vernon weakly
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.
"What is that," asked Marge,
Writing appeared on the parchment A muggle is the term used by Wizards to describe Non-Wizards,
"Okay, thank you," said Marge uncertainly,
Your welcome
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.
"Understandable though," said Marge,
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.
"Strange cat," said Marge,
"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior?
"No," said Marge,
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.
Petunia grimaced, that had been her last 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!").
"Clever boy," said Marge ruffling Dudley's hair,
Dudley didn't care, he was wondering how long it would be before he would be back on his computer,
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,
"Owls," said Marge shaking her head,
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?"
None of the Dursleys laughed,
"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early - it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."
"Typical British weather," muttered Marge,
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...
Petunia looked up, "You should have told me," fixing her husband with a stern look
Vernon just nodded, "Yes dear," he said,
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.
Petunia ignored the tiny amount of guilt knawing at the back of her mind,
"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."
"Probably was," said Marge
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."
"I much prefer Dudley," said Petunia smiling at her son
"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.
"Probably just waiting for its owner," said Marge reasonably,
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.
"Don't worry dear, it would never reflect badly on you two," said Marge,
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.
The Dursleys grimaced,
Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.
"Strange cat," said Dudley speaking at last,
A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
"Definitely not a normal cat," said Marge
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots.
Marge looked aghast that someone would dress like that,
His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
"Definitely, a freak," said Marge
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.
The Dursleys nodded firmly, most unwelcome,
He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realise 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."
"Known what," asked Dudley,
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter.
"Of course, a freak would be a smoker," tutted Marge
He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop.
Marge's eyes bulged in surprise,
He clicked it again - the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer,
"Is that its real name?" asked Dudley,
No, the real name is the Deluminator
"That's not a name," said Vernon
It was invented personally by Albus Dumbledore
"No wonder it's not got a proper name," said Marge,
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."
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.
"How did that happen," asked Dudley
Professor McGonagall is an animagus
"What's an animagus," asked Marge
An animagus is a Wizard that can transform into an animal at will
"Okay," said all three Dursleys in unison
She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked.
"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.
"True," conceded Vernon,
"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.
"What do you mean even muggles," asked Marge,
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."
"Do any of their kind have sense," sneered Marge,
"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."
"Why," asked Dudley,
"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."
"About what," asked Marge, annoyed when the parchment stayed blank,
She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last,
"Whose, You-Know-Who," asked Marge
You-Know-Who is the nickname given to Lord Voldemort
"Okay, and whose Lord Voldemort," asked Marge,
Lord Voldemort is the most feared Dark Wizard of the last century
"Right," said Marge,
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"
"He likes a normal sweet," said Petunia surprised,
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "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,
"Wow, how bad was he if people flinch at his name," said Marge
but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name.
"I know you haven 't, said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of."
"Really," said Dudley,
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."
"Like what," asked Vernon,
"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."
"Ew," said Dudley,
Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"
"What," asked Vernon getting irritated at the lack of answers,
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.
"I guess know each other well then," assumed Marge,
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.
"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. "
Petunia's voice didn't change as she read that sentence, however, her heart did tighten just a little bit,
Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James... I can't believe it... I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
Neither Vernon nor Marge showed any signs of emotion,
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.
"What," said Vernon, "This Voldy person tried to kill Potter,"
"I wonder why," asked Dudley,
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.
"So Harry stopped Voldi-mort," asked Dudley slowly,
None of the Dursleys knew what to say at that,
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?
"Why though," asked Vernon, thinking it would have been better he had been killed,
It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"
"How," asked Marge,
"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."
Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge.
"What type of watch is that," asked Marge,
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?"
Dudley winced at the mention of the giant, whilst his parents scowled,
"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."
"So that's how he ended up with you," said Marge
Petunia nodded,
"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.
Vernon and Marge nodded, agreeing with McGonagall
And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets.
Dudley winced slightly, that didn't make him sound good,
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."
"They left you a letter," asked Marge raising an eyebrow,
Vernon just grunted,
"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!
"They should've told you in person," said Marge,
Petunia wished that Dumbledore had,
He'll be famous - a legend - I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter day in the future - there will be books written about Harry - every child in our world will know his name!"
"Is there a Harry Potter day" inquired Dudley
"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"
Petunia could see the sense in it, but she didn't say anything,
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.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
Vernon scowled,
"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
Vernon could think of many ways to disagree with the old man,
"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?"
"What was what," asked Dudley,
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.
The eyes of all four Dursleys bulged,
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.
3 of the Dursleys scowled,
He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets."Hagrid," 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.
"As in the murderer who was on TV," asked Marge,
"Yeah apparently, he's the boys Godfather as well," snarled Vernon clearly unhappy,
"What," said Marge,
I've got him, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."
None of the Dursleys showed any signs of human emotion,
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.
"So that's where he got that scar," said Marge
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Where what," asked Marge,
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground.
"Really," asked Dudley,
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
"Did none of you hear this," asked Marge,
"No," admitted Vernon crossly, thinking if he had, he could have given the boy back to the freaks,
"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 -"
Petunia feel the guilt beginning to chew at the back of her mind,
"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,
"A letter," grumbled Vernon,
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.
There was no sign of human emotion from Vernon or Marge,
"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."
"Professor, so the freaks are teachers," asked Marge eyes wide,
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.
Marge shook her head in disbelief,
"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
Vernon sneered slightly,
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.
"Your going to need the luck, not the boy," said Marge,
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,
Petunia grimaced, that had been an unpleasant morning,
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!"
Petunia closed the book, she was about to offer it to Vernon, when there was a ring at the door,