Chapter one

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. They were the last people that you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

Mr. Dursley was a director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin, 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.

One day, when Mr. Dursley went to work, James and Lily Potter showed up to see Mrs. Dursley at her house on number four. Lily knocked, but there was no answer. "Petunia, i know that you're in here." said Lily, holding a bundle in her arms.

Mrs. Dursley opened the door to let them inside. "James and Lily, what are you two doing here?" she asked. James looked at Lily giving her the "Do what you have to do." look.

"Petunia, we wanted to tell you that James and i are going into hiding." said Lily. "So you may not here from us, due to a certain problem."

"Well, what does this have to do with me?" asked Petunia, not knowing the situation.

"We thought you'd like to see your nephew before we leave." said James, trying to be polite.

Sitting down Mrs. Dursley took the little bundle from her sister and held him.. While having a decent conversation about the issues happening around the world.

"oh, so that's why I've not heard from you at all in the past few weeks?" Petunia asked...

"I've been taking care of my son." said Lily, "So, anyway James has to work tomorrow."

"i'll see you guys soon, i hope." said Petunia... "Lily, i'll keep this with me until he's grown."

"Of course, Happy Halloween." said James, taking Baby Harry and walked out the door..

James and Lily walked down the lane to Apparate to Godrics Hollow, while at the apparation point, they met up with Remus Lupin who Whispered to James, "Padfoot is looking for the Death Eaters who attacked John and Marie." James gave him a look and Nodded...

"Has Amelia made it to the House?" asked Lily, looking down at Harry. "the Bond needs to take effect between Harry and Susan soon."

"Let's just head back to the house." said James as they made it into Godrics Hollow. While they were walking along with Remus, they reached the house and walked in.

Amelia had been waiting for them while Guarding the house until remus had gotten them. as they had gotten into the front door, James sees her holding two children, one of them was Susan. Susan had turned a year old in August, five days after Harry's first Birthday. James had Harry in his lap as he sat down. Lily sat next to him holding a small bundle in her arms with red hair and hazel eyes. turning to Amelia, Lily waited until the little one was completely asleep.

"So, have you heard from Sirius?" asked Amelia.

"Remus had heard from him earlier." said James. "He told me that padfoot's looking for the two that attacked John and Marie."

little Harry wiggled in James's arms wanting to crawl to Susan. James put him on the floor and he crawled over to her, took her hand and played with her.

"So, that explains it." said Amelia, watching the glow in the bassinet. Lily looked at the bassinet seeing it herself.

"They're Soul Bonded!" said Lily in shock...

"Wow, that explains why he was trying to wiggle out of my arms." said James.

"well, now it's time to say goodbye Susie." said Amelia, as she picked up little Susan. "Don't worry, you'll see him tomorrow."

As they left, James and Lily went to put Harry and Emily to bed... While Lily placed Emily in her crib, James placed Harry in his crib...

"Goodnight Harry." said James, before he went down the stairs. Lily went into Harry's room and got on her knees calming him down...

"Harry, remember, Mummy loves you, Dada loves you." said Lily... "Stay strong."

That night, A dark cloaked figure walked down the sidewalk of the cottage and unlocked the door to open it.

"Lily, it's him!" shouted James from downstairs. "Take Harry and Emily and run!" before he got hit with the killing curse...

The dark figure walked up the stairs to a closed door. "Bombarda!" said the Figure, knocking Lily into Harry's crib.

"Stand aside!" said the figure. "you don't need to sacrifice yourself."

"Not my baby! Not Harry!" Lily shouted.

The Figure pointed his wand. " Avada Kedavra!" he said, casting a green light striking lily in the chest killing her instantly.

"Now for you." he said pointing his wand at Harry. "Avada Kedavra!!" But the curse backfired onto him leaving just his cloak and his wand.

later that night, Severus Snape arrived to the cottage to find the door opened, and James dead on the foot of the stairs. he goes up, and walks down the hall to find Harry's bedroom door blasted off it's hinges. he walks in to find lily's lifeless body next to Harry's crib. He fell to his knees and held Lily's body close to him silently crying. Suddenly he heard Harry crying in his crib seeing the scar on his forhead, then the sound of a motorcycle could be heard from outside the house. and he apparated.

Sirius walked into the house to see James dead, and ran to Harry's room to find Lily motionless on the floor, and picked Harry up out of his crib, then walked into Emily's bedroom, took her out of her crib, then walked out of the house to find Hagrid waiting for him...

"Sirius, what Happened?" asked Hagrid.

"The alarm went off at my place, so i flew my bike over here and find James and Lily dead." said Sirius.

"Well hand me Harry." said Hagrid.

"Why should i?" asked Sirius. "I'm his Godfather..."

"Professor Dumbledore's orders." said Hagrid. "I've come to take Harry to him."

"Fine, Take my motorbike. i need to check on Peter." said Sirius, handing Harry to Hagrid...

Hagrid took off on the motorbike, while Sirius took Emily and handed her to Dan granger next door, then took off.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on a dull, gray 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, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair. None of them noticed a large tawney owl float across the window. At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picks up his briefcase, pecks Mrs. Dursley on the cheek and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye, but missed. because Dudley was having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the wall. "Little Tyke." chortled Mr. Dursley 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. 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. 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. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put it 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.

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, 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 those 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! 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, he 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, 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. 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 baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. 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."

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 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. 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. He didn't blame her if he'd had a sister like that... 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. 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 passers by 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 celerating, this happy, happy day!" 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'd 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.

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw - and 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.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly.

The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? 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 a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about the neighbor next door having problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley was 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 nations 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 allowing himself to grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be anymore showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"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."

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...

Mrs. Dursley came into the livingroom 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?" said Mr. Dursley. "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.

"No, not since yesterday." said Mrs. Dursley. "Why?!"

"Err, funny stuff on the news." said Mr. Dursley. "Shooting stars, Owls, and people in funny cloaks this morning."

"So?!" said Mrs. Dursley.

"Well, i just thought... maybe... it was something to do with... you know... her crowd." said Mr. Dursley.

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."

"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. It was sitting as still as a statue, it's 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 it's 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 realize 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 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 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 Diluminator, 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 Diluminator 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 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.

"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 Minerva.

"All day? when you could've been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Minerva 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."

"I know that," said Minerva 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."

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, 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 Minerva 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." Minerva flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets 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 Minerva, 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 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."

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 Professo 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.

"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 is head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

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

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know... I know..." he said heavily.

McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying that 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.

"you mean, it's true?" faltered 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."

McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed 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 McGonagall. "And I 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 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, Minerva," 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 McGonagall faintly, sitting back on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a damned 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?"

"And what of Madam Bones?" asked McGonagall, giving him a glare. " you know damn well as i do, that she'll fight tooth and nail to get him."

"And why would she do that? She's an auror." said Dumbledore.

"She's also on the list of Guardians for him." said McGonagall. "Did you happen to forget that you signed the DAMNED WILL!?"

"I had it sealed, for a reason, Minerva." said Dumbledore.

"You're a fool, The longbottoms are supposed to raise him." said McGonagall.

"What do you mean?" asked Dumbledore.

"Alice Longbottom is Harry's godmother." said McGonagall.

"Still, they could get attacked while he's there." said Dumbledore. "We can't risk that."

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 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 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 McGonagall.

"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. 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 goodbye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid.

"Of course, but this isn't goodbye Hagrid." said Dumbledore.

Hagrid 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.

"Shh!" hissed McGonagall. "You'll wake the muggles."

"Sorry," sobbed Hagrid. "But i can't stand it- Lily and 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." said McGonagall.

Dumbledore walked over to the Doorstep of Number four, and placed Harry there, with a letter to the Dursley's explaining what had happened.