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Exceptions include original characters such as Melvin Aguillard, and other characters not affiliated with the original works of the Harry Potter series. We do not claim any further ownership, nor do we intend to profit from our limited ownership.

Chapter 1

The Arrival of the Twins

Vernon Dursley was an easily recognizable man. He was extremely round with very little neck, and a mustache that looked as though it would be put to better use as a stiff broom. His enormous figure was exaggerated by his wife Petunia, a thin bony woman with a very long neck and a ravenous appetite for gossip. Both of them lived very orderly lifestyles centered around their son Dudley, who they both doted upon to a ridiculous degree. They were very particular people. They did not like things that disrupted the order in which they lived by. People who knew them would tell you they were the snooty neighbors that remained in a constant mood of reticence about other people's opinions. They were the sort of people who believed in order to the point where it seemed to dictate their lives. So when a man garbed in purple robes with a long beard came up to hug Vernon in the street; he was needless to say, not amused.

The man, as Vernon saw it; was not of the sharpest senses.

"Steady now, the time has come to rejoice for he-who-must-not-be-name has fallen. Even you muggles have reason to be merry," said the man as he feebly embraced Vernon and wandered off.

Vernon was quite unnerved and beside himself from the encounter. One thing he was sure of as he walked into work as a director of his drill company (Grunnings) was this; he had just been called a muggle. What he was quite unsure of was whether or not it was an insult.

After a few minutes this incident went to the back of Vernon's mind after he had decided that the term muggle was an insult. He went further to resolve that he should give the purple-garbed man a piece of his mind next time he saw him, as was the way of Vernon Dursley.

By lunchtime however, Vernon had completely forgotten about the whole incident. However, he experienced a rather rude awakening as he went across the street to purchase his usual lunch. More strangely garbed people had flocked into the streets since that morning, and Vernon angrily remembered the man who had insulted him earlier. Vernon walked across the street, strutting haughtily, ignoring the many people he regarded as freaks; thinking how ashamed they all should be for wearing such bizarre clothing.

As he ordered his meal at the counter he noted that many of the strangely-garbed people had even populated the restaurant and had plucked up the nerve to sit down and disrupt the orderly eating environment. A young red haired woman with bright red and gold robes approached the counter, as if to order food; but stopped short as if trying to figure out what she was supposed to be doing. Vernon glared venomously at the woman, noting her hat, which was small and woolen with a large red peacock feather stuck in it. She turned to Vernon and asked nervously.

"How do I go about ordering?" At this point Vernon was convinced that all these people were part of some kind of exclusionist cult, and that they all had far more teeth than brain cells.

Vernon tried to reply but found that words were failing him. He finally managed to utter, "H-how do you order?" In a tone that suggested that she had asked how he changed his underwear.

The woman blushed, able to tell she said something wrong by Vernon's tone, but she seemed to think she did something wrong on a level not related to Vernon at all. Vernon took his food and left, opting to eat in his office away from these people. He left the woman, looking embarrassed and confused at the counter; unsure of how to reply to the clerk who had began to inquire to her needs.

As Vernon was leaving the restaurant a few women, garbed in equally extravagant clothing, were chatting somewhat absentmindedly. The First woman was talking in a rather shrill voice, although she tried to mask this natural feature by speaking very low. Vernon only really heard because he picked up on one of the names mentioned.

"…Yes yes, and I heard the whole house had been destroyed. Poor dears, they have no family to go home to, the Potter children."

Vernon stopped cold as he heard that name, for you see his wife was related to people called the Potters, although they both despised the Potters more than anything in the world for they represented everything against what him and Petunia held firm by.

Thinking it a coincidence Vernon moved on, only staying long enough to hear the other woman reply that the children had "muggle" relatives in the area.

Petunia Dursley's sister, Lily Potter was the polar opposite of Petunia in every way imaginable. Among other things, Petunia regarded her sister as a freak of nature, and even more so her husband James Potter. So deep was Petunia's hatred that she grew an extreme distaste for anything unusual. Everything always had to be perfect— she even picked her spouse based on this— so Vernon, like his wife and in some cases because of her, equally hated things and people of bizarre dispositions. Therefore, having to spend the day in such close proximity with such people was very difficult for him, and what's more is that they all seemed to in some way know a family called the Potters, which made Vernon fearful that these people were somehow related to Petunia's sister, fearing that the incident that happened to these "Potters" would somehow affect him and his wife. He convinced himself many times that he must be overreacting, but always managed to un-convince himself when he rearranged his reasoning.

While he was driving home that day he got stuck in a minor traffic jam where he spotted the purple-robed man from that morning. Rolling down his window he stuck his head out it and yelled loudly to get his attention. The man turned and smiled back at Vernon, who made a quick rude hand gesture as he made a turn into a roundabout. The man meanwhile simply smiled and waved.

When Vernon finally arrived home he was greeted at the door by his wife, who seemed to have had a much better day than Vernon.

"How was your day dear?" Petunia asked in an overly sweet voice.

"Could've been worse," Vernon grunted as he kissed his wife and walked inside. "What's for dinner dearest?"

However, Vernon didn't really hear her, for his mind was currently thinking about the Potters who were mentioned earlier that day.

Him and Petunia retired to the lounge for tea, while they waited for dinner to be ready. They sat in a long solemn silence save the TV, Vernon mulling in thoughts on the people who surrounded him that day, and the mention of the Potters, while Petunia was thinking about her rather evidently enjoyable day. The reporter on the TV meanwhile was giving a report about bizarre amounts of owl sightings that day.

"Petunia dear…" Vernon said nervously, unsure if it was even wise to ask Petunia about it.

"Yes dear?" She replied.

"Do you by any chance know…?" Vernon paused.

"Know what?" Petunia asked.

Vernon apparently was making up his mind on whether to ask her or not, which didn't take long.

"…Do you know how your sister is doing?"

Petunia went very cold quite suddenly and shook her head slowly. If there was anything Petunia hated more than her sister it had to be talking about her sister.

"What brought this up anyway?" Petunia asked after a long cold pause.

"Nothing, nothing at all," Vernon said, although he continued shortly, as though his wife breaking the silence gave him leave to. "Don't they have twins? I suppose they would be around Dudder's age."

At this, Petunia nodded.

"Yes, they must be simply awful kids knowing her and her lot!"

Vernon at this point realized he had made a mistake by mentioning this and apologetically agreed with her and changed the subject.

The rest of the evening rolled on rather awkwardly, and Vernon kept battling the thought that they would somehow become involved in the Potters somehow from what he saw and heard that day. Eventually he convinced himself he was barking and fell asleep, not realizing how wrong he was about not being involved with the Potters.

A man in maroon robes, spotted with silken stars and moons, large velvet like hat and half-moon shaped spectacles, walked down the road. More striking than the man's garb was his physical features. He had deep blue eyes, a long white beard that seemed to disappear in his robes and a crooked nose on his tired worn face that told you he was quite old. He looked around the square that was Privet drive, a haughty middle class neighborhood that felt that common or unusual people should be punished by the law. In short, the perfect place for the Dursley's, not so much the man in maroon robes.

The lights in all the neighboring houses flickered and faded into the night in a systematic fashion, almost as if a dictated schedule demanded all the residents to turn in at the same time. The street lamps brightened up the deserted street. From in his pocket, the elderly man pulled a curious object, shaped like a large lighter, and with a flick of his wrist, the street lamps fizzled and died out as quickly as the lights in the houses. Not only did the lights die, but they seemed to somehow gravitate towards the man and the small device in his possession. The small lighter seemed to absorb the lights one by one, until the shadows of the night once again consumed the silent street.

Within the shadows, perched by one number four Privet Drive, was a cat. It wasn't a relatively abnormal looking animal, only a simple grey tabby. It stood in a regal manner, yet it was its eyes that held a look of keen awareness uncommon in animals. It surveyed the area with a look of concentration and around its wide, intelligent eyes, seemed to be indentations, hinting at the presence of glasses.

The old man approached the feline, a knowing twinkle in his eyes.

"Why, Good evening, Professor McGonagall."

The cat responded to his greetings. At that time, the cat slowly began to advance; only its body quickly began to change. Where it once began walking on four legs, it began to walk only on two. Cat like features morphed into human characteristics until finally, where once the cat stalked, stood a bespeckled woman of about fifty. She wore long robes of green velvet and a pointed hat hiding her hair which was pulled in a tight bun. Her face was rather strict, lips thinned with age with a rather sophisticated presence. Her posture was elegant and poise, much like her feline counterpart.

"Good evening Professor Dumbledore," the woman responded.

"By chance, do you care for a lemon drop?" Dumbledore asked McGonagall.

McGonagall seemed to think this was a rudely out of place gesture, although she made no hint of this in her voice which seemed full of respect for Dumbledore.

"No thank you professor…"

"I came across them at one of the various parties going on, delightfully tasty muggle candies," Dumbledore said as he drew a bag from his pocket, pulling several lemon drops from it.

"I heard about the parties; they are not even caring to hide from muggles from what I heard."

"Did you go to any of them?"

"No," McGonagall said curtly.

Dumbledore smiled gently as he took one of the lemon drops.

"Shame, they were all great fun."

"I must ask you Professor, in regards to the rumors circulating," McGonagall said after a slight pause. "People are celebrating justly, we have not had a lot to celebrate for quite some time, but they are also saying that you-know-who's fall came in very unusual circumstances."

"Surely a powerful and educated witch such as yourself can be sensible enough to use his proper name. For the past eleven years I have always been telling people to use his proper name, all this you-know-who stuff is quite unbecoming and a bit of an annoyance."

"Fine, Voldemort," McGonagall spat, a hint of resentment in her voice. "They say that Voldemort showed up in Godric's Hollow, that he killed Lily and James, and then he tried to kill their twin children, Harry and Cosette," McGonagall it seemed would not believe the rumors until she heard them confirmed by Dumbledore. Her voice had a very clipped and urgent tone, like she was waiting for a long while to ask these questions to Dumbledore.

"Yes, the rumors are true, Lily and James are dead," Dumbledore said somberly.

"And w-what of their two children?" McGonagall said her voice breaking slightly. "They are s-saying that both of them survived, and what's more is that because he was unable to kill them V-v-voldemort lost all his power," McGonagall seemed to be struggling to hold back tears. She pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed the corners of her eye.

"This is also true, Voldemort was unable to kill Harry and somehow his killing curse backfired," Dumbledore said in the same somber tone. "Though one thing that is untrue about these rumors is that Voldemort did not try to kill the twins, only the boy, his sister was not even involved."

McGonagall nodded curtly.

"With all due respect Professor, I do believe this meeting is being held for more important matters. I was just in a state of confusion when you called me here, I did not know if any of the rumors were true."

"Yes, of course," said Dumbledore in a rather resigned tone.

"So, what are the particular arrangements?"

"Hagrid is bringing the twins here, where we shall leave them in the care of their aunt and uncle here at number four."

"Are you sure it wise to entrust Hagrid with such an important task?"

"Ah Professor, I would trust Hagrid with my life," Dumbledore responded.

As if on cue there was a great roaring noise coming from over the trees at the edge of the square. An enormous giant riding a flying motorcycle came soaring over the trees. With a colossal, metallic thud the bike's suspension touched down onto the once silent street, but not one soul stirred, as if the residents of Privet drive had been magically removed of their proper hearing.

The giant on the bike was massive by every meaning of the word. He was at least twice the height of the average man and at least thrice as wide. He had a tangled mane of brown hair and a long equally tangled beard which grew out at his upper cheeks, which were a rosy color from flying through the very strong cold breeze. He had small beady, black eyes and was carrying two bundles in a sling around his neck. With one, shovel like hand he supported the bundles as if they carried something very precious, his other hand on the bike.

"Pr'fessor McGonagall, Pr'fessor Dumbledore, sir," the giant nodded in greeting as he dismounted the bike, which gave a relieving sigh.

"No trouble I hope, Hagrid?" Dumbledore said as he pocketed the lemon drops.

"No sir, both o' them fell asleep jus' fine while we're flying over Bristol. Though this one seemed right bit upset for a good long while," Hagrid said indicating the first bundle, which he now held in his right hand.

Both Professors approached Hagrid to accept the bundles. It was now plain to all present that each blanketed bundle was a baby, unharmed in any way, though the one that Dumbledore held from Hagrid's right hand had a large lightning bolt shaped scar on its forehead.

"Ah yes. Thank you Hagrid," he stared down at the sleeping infant in his arms, undisturbed and innocent to all around.

"Is that?" McGonagall questioned staring at the scar on the first infant's forehead.

Dumbledore gave a somber nod.

"He will have that scar for the rest of his life."

"Can't you do something about it?"

"Even if I could I wouldn't," Dumbledore said shaking his head. "Scars can be very useful. I have one just above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. I have a similar scar by my right knee of the New York Subway System," Dumbledore smiled. McGonagall stared at him blankly.

There was a loud sniffle and a sound not unfamiliar to a fog horn. Looking up he spotted the burly form of Hagrid as he wiped his nose with a large handkerchief, smearing a good deal of black grease unto the off-white fabric.

"There there, Hagrid. It's not really goodbye, is it?" Dumbledore tried to placate the large man.

There was another loud sniffle and the giant nodded his head.

"I know I know, but… they're such lil' things…"

"Are you sure this is the best course of action, Albus?" McGonagall's stringent voice broke into the conversation, polite but firm, as if wanting to make sure the conversation did not stray once again from the matters at hand. "I've been observing these people all day and they –"

"-Are the only family they have," Dumbledore finished for McGonagall, and thus making any sort of rebuttal from McGonagall irrelevant. This didn't stop McGonagall from protesting however.

"They have a son. I watched his mother carrying the boy up the street kicking his mother and screaming for sweets. You can't send them off to be with this family. Especially not Harry, he will be famous!"

"Exactly, he's far better off growing up without all that."

McGonagall looked as if she wanted to add something, but the infant in her arms began to get a little restless, and so she shifted her attention to the babe by taking on a small rocking motion. The baby seemed to relax back into its blissful slumber soon after. McGonagall had to admit that Dumbledore was probably right. Famous for something one is too young to even remember, it was enough to make any boy's head turn.

"It is time," Dumbledore said somberly as he looked towards McGonagall.

She gave a small, curt nod and they both approached the door.

McGonagall was the first to set down the child, a small bit of reluctance could be seen in her movements. Before she stepped away, her hand reached into the blanket and touched the baby's cheek affectionately. Dumbledore took longer to put down the infant, and took to staring at the child with an unreadable expression on his wrinkled face.

"Take care, Harry Potter."

The boy did not stir, and he gently placed him down next to his twin. A letter was pulled from within the depths of his robes and settled onto the blanket of young Harry. The adults did not linger much afterwards. Dumbledore took out his lighter and clicked it and the light flew from it back into the original lanterns, and soon, the quiet settled once again over the customary, ordinary swellings of Privet Drive.