Prologue

Harry Potter was miserable. It was the day before his 15th birthday. It was 7.30am and he was already dressed and out of the house. His Uncle Vernon had got Harry a job as a paperboy. Harry was initially delighted with the prospect of money, until Vernon told him "As I got you the job, I will receive half of your wages." Harry was in no position to argue with the big man, so begrudgingly, he accepted.

His boss, Mr Mitchell was a kind but firm man. He insisted that Harry knocked on each person's door and them the paper. Harry liked this, as it gave him the chance to meet new people. Some of them invited him in for a drink and a biscuit. One of the old ladies always dragged him in, sat him down in a big comfy armchair and gave him a huge slice of cake and a mug full of tea. And every time, despite his trying to refuse, she always pushed a couple of pounds into his hand whispering "God knows you need it, Harry."

On this particular day, Harry noticed an address on his list that wasn't there the day before. The house was called Godric's Cottage. Harry's eyes widened before shaking his head. Stupid, he thought, it's just a coincidence. Godric's Cottage was Harry's last delivery. He looked intently at the small house. It didn't look out of the ordinary, he decided, before rapping his knuckles on the door. A moment later, it opened.

"Here's your pap-" Harry started, before he realised who was looking back at him. Before he could do anything, he fell into a dead faint.

*

Harry awoke lying on a small sofa. The same woman was looking back at him.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

"I-I'm fine. Could I have something to drink please?"

"Sure." She quickly returned with a glass of water. "Here you go." Harry took the glass and had a small sip, but couldn't drink any more, as he was shaking too much. The woman took the glass off him. "Are you sure you're fine? You look really ill? Do you want me to call anyone?"

"No!" he snapped. "Sorry, no, I'll be OK. I just need to rest for a moment." He really didn't want Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia to see him in this state, and he especially didn't want them to meet the woman who helped him, if she was who Harry thought she was.

"I didn't catch your name," she said, sitting down next to him.

"I'm Harry Dursley," he lied. "What's yours?"

"My name's Lily," she answered. "And here comes the apple of my eye." Footsteps were heard from the hallway. "This is my husband James," she said, getting up to hug the man. "We're the Potters."