This series is being recorded in audiobook style! Join my Discord server (every other Tuesday for a live recording session with a professional voice-over artist, the one and only Sam Gabriel! The next session will be Tuesday 13 February 2024 at 11:00 AM, Central Standard Time.

https colon slash slash discord dot com slash invite slash pWMy8Rvg

The silent, nippy early November air and dark, starless skies that blanketed the evening Surrey sky served as the perfect cover for the legendary mage Albus Dumbledore. Every few seconds he paused and clicked what appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter, and one by one, the numerous street lamps that illuminated Privet Drive flickered and faded out.

Upon first glance, Dumbledore looked like a typical man of about sixty five years old, though in reality he was closer to a century in age. Like many in his coven, he preferred the comfort of loose-fitting robes over Muggle clothing, but that particular evening he donned a tie-dyed shirt, a leather vest draped with blue and white beads, blue jeans and simple sandals. Better to look like a strange Muggle than a wizard, he thought. He barely caught a glimpse of a tortoiseshell cat, sidestepping it at the last second. The cat cocked its head and threw the wizard a rather agitated expression.

He took a few more steps and clicked the lighter in his hand once more. He hummed a little ditty to himself when a soft Scottish burr interrupted his routine.

"Really, Albus?"

Dumbledore glanced over his left shoulder; the little cat was long gone, but not far from where he last saw the cat, a tallish, strict-looking woman of about fifty stood with her arms folded across her chest. Unlike her associate, she was draped in green finery with a pointed hat – she apparently had no qualms with maintaining her witch-like appearance even in the middle of Muggle Britain.

Dumbledore chuckled. "Right on time, as always, Minerva."

Minerva shook her head in clear disapproval of Dumbledore's choice of attire. "A Muggle hippie, Professor Dumbledore? Surely you could have come up with something more discreet."

"I could," replied Dumbledore, still chuckling. "We've known each other for several decades; you can't tell me with a straight face that you still aren't familiar with my modus operandi?"

"Intimately familiar," groaned Minerva. "Just because you were once housed in Gryffindor, doesn't mean that you can't exercise a bit of subtlety and prudence from time to time."

Dumbledore shrugged. "Don't forget that you once spent many an hour in the Gryffindor tower yourself, Professor."

Minerva's lips remained a fine, thin line. "You watched me get sorted nearly forty years ago. You remember just as well as I do that it took nearly a full five minutes to decide… there are days I wish the bloody Hat placed me in Ravenclaw instead. Truth be told, tonight is one of them."

"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded, with a faint smirk tugging at his lips.

Minerva folded her arms again and tapped her foot impatiently. "Now, are you sure you want to go through with this? I've spent a fair bit of time observing Lily Evans Potter's only living relations… they are horrible people, Albus. We both know that Petunia despises magic and everything associated with it; and her husband is even more bigoted. I heard him utter a disgusting epithet behind a young Caribbean man's back earlier today. I have no doubt they'll raise their son to be spoiled and hate-filled… I cannot in good consciousness let young Harry be exposed to such ignorance."

"They are the only family he has," Dumbledore sighed with a note of resignation. "Whether we like it or not, they are his rightful stewards."

"I don't like it, and there are other viable options," countered Minerva. "Sirius Black is Harry's godfather, is he not?"

Dumbledore raised his hands in a gesture of deference. "He is, and he sought me out several hours ago concerning Harry. I told him as gently as I could that other arrangements have been made." He sighed sadly. "I could feel his heart breaking… I have no doubt that Sirius does have Harry's best interests in mind, and would give him the love and attention he deserves. However, there is a certain danger associated with Master Black that makes me worry about young Harry's safety. He'd willingly sacrifice himself to protect Harry, but I fear that his recklessness will make him do something he'll regret, and will put him in a position unable to care for the child."

Minerva nodded reluctantly. She knew that Dumbledore was right… it was likely a matter of when, and not if, Sirius penchant for acting without thinking would get the better of him. "I would suggest Remus Lupin, but every month… things tend to get a little hairy for him. Like Sirius, Remus would have Harry's best interests in mind, but he knows that he cannot be trusted when he assumes his lupine form during each full moon. And for that very reason he wouldn't accept the proposition even if offered."

Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Exactly, Minerva. Which is why he'd be safest with the Dursleys. I think this conversation can safely be finished."

Minerva glared at the wizard. She always respected Dumbledore's wisdom; she found his stubbornness to be equally irritating. "Not quite," she said sharply. She reached under her hat, and produced a small ecru envelope with no writing on it whatsoever. It was small – not much larger than a playing card in size – and inside the envelope was a single sheet of parchment, once folded. She reached into her robe pocket and slipped on her reading glasses, and cleared her throat before reading the contents of the note aloud.

"24 October 1981

To Whom It May Concern,

We can only hope that this gets into the right hands before it's too late. Our protection is no longer of consequence… what matters most is Harry's safety. If we fail to survive the war, then Harry must be spirited as far away from Magical Britain as possible. As it stands, the outlook is so bleak that I fear that even Sirius cannot protect our sun – besides, he's too stubborn to leave the British Isles.

We do not trust the Dursleys to take care of Harry, so we implore you not to take him there. He will neither be loved nor wanted there. Harry deserves a warm and loving family.

If the worst indeed comes to pass, then Harry must be sent to Surrey, a community near Vancouver in Canada to live with our friend and mentor, Roger Woodward and his wife, Rhonda. Rhonda may be a Muggle, but unlike the Dursleys, she would look at Harry as her own, and only encourage his magical gifts even though she may not necessarily understand them.

As you already know, Roger was the year ahead of us at Hogwarts, and has recently accepted the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Ilvermorny. We're hard-pressed to think of a safer place for him to grow up. Please respect our wishes and let Harry have a safe, happy childhood.

Sincerely,

Lily and James Potter"

She handed the letter over to Dumbledore, who read it to himself. His forehead wrinkled in such a way that he looked closer to his actual age for the briefest of moments, then promptly returned the note to Minerva.

"Mister Woodward," he sighed, sounding as if he were trying to push away a bad memory. "I'm sure he'd mean well, but his level of maturity leaves something to be desired. He was nowhere near ready to be a father at eighteen…

"I quite agree that he made some foolish decisions," trilled Minerva. "Thank Merlin his parents took in little Nova when they did. How he got with a Muggle girl… I'll never know, or understand, but that's his prerogative and I'll leave it at that." She then gave Dumbledore a look of steely resolve. "That was four years ago, and the war has made many a young witch and wizard grow up, and Roger is no exception. Ilvermorny deemed him capable and responsible enough to handle the position of Defense Professor; surely he can handle raising a child."

"He's a very busy wizard," Dumbledore argued. "I'm sure he doesn't wish to be inconvenienced…"

"Bollocks, Albus," snapped Minerva. "The Potters quite obviously trusted Roger enough to raise young Harry; Roger is a grown adult. I have complete faith that he can handle raising Harry, along with his wife. They aren't as well-off as the Dursleys appear to be, but they will love him as their own."

"They aren't his blood relatives," protested Dumbledore. "The blood ward will not work if he takes refuge with a guardian outside his family."

The scowl on Minerva's face increased tenfold. "He shouldn't need a blood ward if he leaves the British Isles altogether." She then stamped her foot angrily. "I'm not going to let Harry languish with these bigots – they want nothing to do with the Potters or their progeny! They don't give a damn what you and I have to say… to them, we're followers of a paganistic, superstitious religion and should all be locked up those Muggle looney bins! You can rationalize it all you want, but the Dursleys won't believe a single word of whatever explanation you provide them!" Her expression softened. "You know it to be true, Albus. They aren't going to budge – he'll be at Wool's Orphanage within two weeks!"

Her expression changed further; her voice began to crack and tears began to well in her eyes. "You must trust me on this, Albus. You're the wisest Headmaster the hallowed halls of Hogwarts has seen in generations, but even the most wizened of wizards need counsel from time to time."

Dumbledore let out a long, airy sigh. "If you're that adamant, Minerva, then you'll be the one to see this through," he conceded. "You'll be responsible for communicating with Mister Woodward, and ensuring Harry's safe passage to North America." He pointed a long, crooked finger at his associate. "And you can feed, bathe, and change his nappies until then."

Minerva didn't even bat an eye. "Believe me, I was half-tempted to resign my position from Hogwarts to take care of the boy myself."

A sudden whirr pierced the otherwise still night air, sounding rather like a jet engine, followed by a brilliant flash in the sky. The whirr grew louder and louder and louder until CLANG! A massive motorcycle with an even more massive rider hit the pavement of Privet Drive so hard that it probably should created a crater the size of a football pitch, but the impact didn't create even so much as a crack.

The motorcycle screeched to a halt, mere paces in front of the two seniormost Hogwarts faculty members. The mysterious rider removed his helmet, revealing a dark, shaggy mane and an equally shaggy beard. "Sorry I'm late," he grumbled in a strong West Country dialect. He glanced at the precious cargo he held in his left hand. "Li'l tyke was hungry; couldn't let him go without."

"You're fine, Hagrid," trilled Minerva. "I'm afraid there's been a change of plan concerning young Mister Potter here."

"What's that, Professor?" asked Hagrid. "Nobody tells me nuffin," he grumbled to himself.

"Harry won't be staying with the Dursleys after all," Minerva elaborated. "He will be staying with Roger Woodward and his wife Rhonda in a community – most appropriately called Surrey - in Canada, and most likely will be attending the Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry when he comes of age, though he shall also have the option of studying here should he so choose."

"Canada?!" barked Hagrid. "That's half a world away! Wait… Woodward, did yer say? That rapscallion actually settled down? Ho ho, I can't even tell yer how many times I had ter oversee his detentions!"

"He most certainly did," confirmed Minerva. "Lily and James Potter find him trustworthy enough to raise their son. Their endorsement, and the fact that Harry will be far, far away from Magical Britain, is good enough for me, and so it should be with you."

"Hagrid," Dumbledore chimed in gently, "I need for you to assist the good Professor here with watching young Harry until it's time to depart for North America. I would imagine it should only be a couple of weeks."

"Yer can count on me, sir," replied Hagrid. "It'll give me enough time ter say good-bye to the li'l tyke properly."