So this is one of the first ever fic-story-things I have written in English. So beware, it is quite likely that you will come across a few mistakes.
I always appreciate constructive criticism and will of course correct Mistakes, if pointed out.
enjoy.
November 1st 1981
French Ministry for Magic, Place du Furstemburg, Paris
"I assert our inalienable right to party."
An uproar erupted in the halls of the conference room of the 'Ministère des Affaires Magiques de la France'.
The British Minister for Magic, Milicent Bagnold, stood stoically behind the speaker's desk, her magically enhanced voice finding its way throughout the entire hall.
The magical leaders of various, different countries leapt up from their seats in protest, their shouts drowning in the general upset of the room.
"Quiet!" Vincência Santos, the acting Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Warlocks, made her presence known from the floating balcony, hovering in the center of the room.
"Minister Bagnold, you are well aware that, within the last twenty-four hours, we have received several hundred reports about breaches of the Statute of Secrecy, all in your county. Your people are putting all of us at risk. If this continues, the very existence of magical society will be threatened."
The elderly, experienced Supreme Mugwump paused and let her gaze wander through the assembly of delegates from over ninety different, magical governments.
"It appears to me, that your… citizens are acting very foolish, and it seems, that various of our dear colleagues agree."
Albus Dumbledore, who had accompanied his minister, due to his role in the Global Wizarding War, made his way to the front of the British delegation. The tall wizard's blue eyes twinkled, as he turned towards the Supreme Mugwump.
"Vincencia, dear. I am confident that no one in this room wants a repeat of the … gruesome persecution, that our ancestors had to face. Witches and Wizards have been hunted by certain groups of Muggles, Nomachs, whatever you may call them in the past, simply because they knew no better or had developed a grueling, blind hatred against anything not deemed normal."
Dumbledore turned to the Russian Delegate.
"But," Dumbledore sighed, "We did not make it easy for them to like us. It was a time, were it was general consensus, that people without magic were far inferior to those, who possessed it. It was a time, when practitioners of Necromancy sacrificed them for their dark rituals. A time, when no one cared, if you killed or tortured a non magical for entertainment. It was anarchy."
Dumbledore paused meaningfully. A few delegates whispered amongst each other.
"Least of all, we want to forget the enormous infestation of powerful Hags that spread around Europe. Especially our dear Russian friends should know about the terror even one of them can cause. Baba Yaga. The Child Eater."
The Russian delegate grit his teeth "We know well of the terrors in Mother Russia's past, Dumbledore. What are you trying to say?"
The bearded, old man smiled and continued in a calm, collected tone "My point, honored colleagues, is that there were a lot of horrifying crimes, committed by members of the magical community, which made the divide between us and the non magical population so vast."
"My Point is, that something like that has been happening in Britain for the last few months now. Until it stopped. The 31st of October 1981 marks a day of freedom for not only wizards, but the entirety of Britain, maybe even the entirety of Europe."
"As most of you should be aware, a very powerful wizard, practicing the darkest arts of magic itself, rose to power in our country. This self-proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort, he and his supporters followed a very harmful ideology, indiscriminately targeting both muggles and wizards alike. He actively suppressed the Muggle-born wizards and witches of our country, accusing them of stealing magic. However, now, now we are finally rid of this threat; the people of Britain want to celebrate. As our very own Minister already said 'We assert our inalienable right to party'.
The Room had fallen into an eery silence. Albus Dumbledore was the centre of everyone's attention.
The old Headmaster in his eccentric robes, his half-moon glasses and his long, gray beard, smiled at the crowd of Warlocks in front of him, eyeing them over his crooked nose.
Dumbledore's eyes gleamed, as he started to talk yet again,"Considering the extent of what people have come to calling the British Wizarding War, there has been an astonishing lack of support provided by the ICW. Despite it being requested multiple times. This reaction is certainly concerning."
"What good is the ICW, if it can not perform its duties?"
"What good is our congress if we do not cooperate and help each other as the ICW was intended, upon its creation?"
"We need to do something and we need to do it now. In the event of a global threat, we would be frozen. We would resort to politics of appeasement and isolationism, as history has shown us on numerous occasions. I advocate for strengthening international ties and cooperation. This of course should not be a purely political endeavor. I am sure the general population can be bound into this. We cannot under any circumstance afford to hesitate in the face of Danger."
The room erupted into applause.
November 2nd 00/01 am
Privet Drive, little Whinging, Surrey
The streets were deserted; only the street lamps provided dim light. No one was to be seen outside at this time.
Little Whinging was a perfectly normal town in Britain. Indeed, it was so normal that nothing out of the ordinary ever happened there. The most interesting gossip, exchanged among the locals, was about someone's new car or the neighbor's horrible, new dog.
The only sign of life to be seen was a cat, sitting on the fence in front of Number 4. It was stiff and strangely unmoving. A casual passerby might have assumed it to be some kind of tasteless garden decoration.
Little did anyone know, that the silence and normalcy would be interrupted very abruptly.
An ear-shattering roar shook the area around Privet Drive. It bordered on a wonder, that the lights in the white row-houses did not activate or that sleep-drunken and angry residents did not storm onto the streets in their pajamas.
When the cat finally moved after hours of stillness, lifting its head towards the sky, the most unusual person to ever appear at Privet Drive came into sight.
A towering, hairy individual, dressed in furs and leathers, descended from the clouds on a massive, black motorcycle. The bike flew effortlessly through the dark and stormy sky.
The man headed directly for Privet Drive and landed his motorcycle in front of Number 4.
"Professor Dumbledore? Are ya h're a'ready?"
Now that the man had landed, it became obvious, just how strange he was.
A giant of a man, standing nearly three meters tall. His belly was the size of a barrel, while his boots could fit an entire dolphin.
His bushy mane of black hair and beard swept around, as his beetle-black and strangely warm eyes frantically looking around, obviously searching for said the aforementioned Dumbledore.
A pop in the distance, like the sound of a car-door slamming.
The giant whirled around, hugging a small bundle in his arms. His eyes narrowed, as he tried to gaze into the distance, through the thick layers of darkness.
A click.
The light from the lantern at the other end of the street flickered, hung suspended in the air for a moment, and then vanished.
The giant seemed to relax.
One by one, each of the twelve lanterns along the street flickered of, a man in a long, ornamented robe gradually approaching Number four and coming to a halt in front of the big, black bike.
"Ahh, excuse my delay, Hagrid. I got caught up in an important meeting with the ICW. I have to apologize to you as well, Professor McGonagall, though I have to ask—How come you are here today?"
"How did you know it was me?" A female voice asked from behind the giant.
"Oh, Profess'r McGonagall, didn' see you there." The giant rubbed the back of his head, embarrassed.
"That, I noticed, Hagrid."
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." The bearded man chuckled.
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day" came the curt reply.
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."
"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," The professor rolled her eyes 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 dark living-room windows of Number 4.
"I heard it. Flocks of owls . . . shooting stars. . . . Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shoot- ing stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."
"Let them celebrate, Minerva. The last decade has been a dark time for all of us. A few parties won't compare to what Voldemort has done in public, over the past years."
"So he really is gone?"
"It certainly seems so." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"Now Hagrid, could you give me little Harry please?"
"O'course Professor Dumbledore, he's sleep'n" The giant had been watching the two Professors, cradling the small bundle in his arms.
"Well, it is time to say goodbye i fear."
The giant's eyes watered, as he carefully gave Dumbledore the infant in his arms.
"Lily 'n James, I still can't believ' it."
Dumbledore only nodded sadly.
"You want to leave him with these people, Albus?"
"They are his only living relatives."
"The Dursley's are a horrible family, the worst sort of muggles, really. I saw the son hitting his mother, he was wailing just for a few treats." Professor McGonagall shuddered.
"She gave him the whole box."
"I have written them a letter, explaining the whole situation. I am sure they will be saddened to her of the Potter's death and take in little Harry."
Professor McGonagall was not as confident as Professor Dumbledore, but she chose to stay quiet.
Albus Dumbledore put Harry Potter down on the porch of Privet Drive Number 4 and took a step back.
"Far well Mr. Potter. Until we meet again."
The next Morning, one Petunia Dursley found her nephew on her doorstep, draped in blankets and a letter lying in his curb. Needless to say, she screamed.
Thank you for reading.
As you probably saw; I took a few quotes from the original scene on that cold November morning. I underlined them.
Updates will be posted, when they are ready. (Though the next one will probably come at some time next week)