Chapter One - The Beginning:
It was a crisp October night on the 31st, and Voldemort was preparing to 'execute' the Potters.
Everything was ready. Severus made sure to imperious Trelawney to say The Prophecy, it is fake of course. The Potters have been moved to a safe house, Padfoot is prepared to go to Azkaban to keep watch of the others, and Wormtail is ready to pretend to be a rat to spy on the Weasleys.
Voldemort waited until 11 PM to break into the Potter Home.
"Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off!" 'James' shouted right before Voldemort shot him dead.
After Voldemort climbed the stairs to Harry's room, he asked 'Lily' to step aside.
"Not Harry! Please... have mercy... have mercy... Not Harry! Not Harry! Please — I'll do anything!"
And then 'Lily' was dead too.
After both 'Potters' were dead, Voldemort shot a killing curse at Harry, and it backfired precisely to plan.
(Time Skip)
A cat that sat on the wall outside #4 Privet Drive 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.
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.
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.
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.
Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realise that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was 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."
He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. 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."
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, precisely the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing to 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.
"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 not blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious
little to celebrate for eleven years."
"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 rumours."
She threw to 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, 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. "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."
"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."
"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 have not blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall shot to sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. Do 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 ace 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.
"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 rumour 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 don't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."
Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know... " he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall's voice trembled ace she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' 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."
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."
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 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 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 - 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! Can't 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.
"Hagrid's bringing him."
"You think it - wise - to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"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?"
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 man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at 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.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. 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."
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.
"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."
"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"
"Even if I could, I would not. 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 Este over with."
Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned to 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 to howl like a wounded dog.
"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 to 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 do not business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."
"Yeah," said Hagrid in to look and 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 to 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 Item eleven, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out to 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.
Another thirty minutes went by before the soft sound of a car backfiring sounded and there stood the real James and Lily Potter. James was a fairly tall man at around 178 cm (5'10") with messy jet-black hair and soft hazel eyes. He was wearing Muggle ripped jeans and a band t-shirt over black boots. Lily, on the other hand, was a little bit shorter than James at 175 cm (5'8") with long wavy auburn hair and bright green eyes. She was wearing bellbottoms and a bright floral blouse.
Lily leaned down to picked up her son and the letter before vanishing the basket while James rang the doorbell.
They waited and heard a scuffle before the door was opened to reveal a tired-looking Vernon Dursley. "What do you want at this time?"
"I apologise Vernon, but we would like to speak to you and my sister," Lily spoke up smiling.
Vernon just kind of glared at them. "You're Lily then," he sneered, "Come in before someone see you standing out here."
James and Lily walked in and sat on the sofa in the living room while Vernon went upstairs to retrieve Petunia. As they waited, James closed the curtains and put up a silencing spell to prevent any nosy interruptions.
It wasn't long before Vernon walked back in with Petunia, and they both sat down at the opposite side of the room.
"What do you want, Lily?" Petunia snapped.
Lily giggled, "Oh, it's quite simple; we need to take your place."
Petunia looked shocked at this and tried to get up to yell, but she suddenly could not move a muscle. This just scared her even more as she felt the danger grow, but unfortunately, her husband didn't.
"Now, see here. You people can't just barge in at 1:30 in the morning and demand to take our place. What does that even mean?!" Vernon grumbled.
James just laughed and walked closer to the Muggle couple, his in-laws, smiling.
"What are you doing?! Get Back!" shouted Vernon as James brought his wand up and pointed it at Vernon.
"Avada kedavra," then Vernon was no more, and Petunia screamed, shortly following her husband in death in a similar manner. Both bodies being vanished.
"Good, now we can dispose of our dear nephew and bring our Lord back as a babe to raise like we planned," Lily commented.
They went upstairs to the nursery and just as James was about to cast the killing curse, Lily stopped him. "He has a magical core, but it's blocked. We should unbind it and send him to an orphanage in France."
"Okay, dear," James smiled.
Lily picked up her nephew, Dudley, so that James could replicate the crib twice more. She then laid him back down and laid her own son in another crib. After putting both babies down they went back downstairs to the living room and unshrunk the lifeless body of the Dark Lord's one-year-old self. Lily drew the rune circle while James got out a ring, a locket, a crown, a cup, and a black diary; placing them at the points of the pentagram. Lily then placed the body in the middle of the circle and they both began chanting.
"Intrare corpus olim aequa animae respirare, intrare corpus olim aequa animae respirare, intrare corpus olim aequa animae respirare, intrare corpus olim aequa animae respirare, intrare corpus olim aequa animae respirare."
A black mist came through the window and out of each item, then entered the infant body, which started to breathe and regain a heartbeat.
Lily took the infant Dark Lord and put him in the final crib to sleep, then went to bed with James in the master bedroom.