On the morning of November first, Petunia Dursley had an awful case of the flu and simply couldn't get out of bed.

Most mornings, she would be up before her husband, but today Vernon Dursley was up first and would be doing all the chores and such that were typically her job. He'd taken a sick day to stay home and take care of her.

As he opened the door to put out the milk bottles, he caught sight of something that was highly abnormal, and oh, how he loathed anything that was abnormal.

Lying on the doorstep was an baby. It was sleeping and wrapped in blankets. Clutched in a small fist was a letter that was addressed to The Dursleys.

Vernon picked up the letter and opened it. He scanned through it and sneered. How dare they try to pawn off their little spawn on us? He knew just what to do with this… child.

He picked up the sleeping baby and walked towards the car. Luckily, it wasn't yet light out and no one was around to see him. He placed it in the backseat and hurried into the kitchen. After pouring the the bottle of cough syrup down the drain, he wrote a note to Petunia.

Petunia,

Went to get more cough syrup,

Love, Vernon

He set the note on the counter next to the empty bottle and dashed back out to the car. He strapped the still-sleeping child more securely into the backseat and drove off.

Sometime later, he managed to find an orphanage. He parked and unbuckled the thing from the backseat before going inside. He saw a lady walking by and tapped her on the shoulder. She tuned to him and he immediately put the child into her arms.

"What is…" she managed to ask before he turned around and walked away. "Wait! Sir!" She followed him and he ignored her. "Sir," He turned with a grim face once she had caught up to him.

"What?" He hissed.

"I just…" the woman seemed to falter, glancing down at the child. "What's his story? Does he at least have a name?"

Vernon looked down at the bundle in her arms with cruel eyes. "Found him on my doorstep."

He went to keep walking, but the woman stopped him with her next question. "And his name? Do you know it?" Her eyes were wide, and it looked as if she were close to tears.

Vernon looked down at the child, who was beginning to stir. His eyes appeared to soften momentarily before going back to their cold hard gaze. "Harry. His name is Harry." And with that he left the orphanage and went back home to care for his wife who, still asleep, was none the wiser on what he had done.

Albus Dumbledore sat in his office thinking about a certain Harry Potter. He'd dropped him at his relative's house the night before. Now, he was in a muggle orphanage in London.

To say Albus Dumbledore was disappointed in the Dursleys would be an understatement.

He felt terrible that the poor boy would grow up without knowing about his parents, but it was for the best. Until all the remaining Death Eaters had been securely locked away in Azkaban, he could never be safe in the wizarding world.

Of course, Dumbledore would have to keep a close eye on the child now, and interfere if things started to go for the worse. After all, he knew of another boy who had grown up in an orphanage who had turned out as dark as they could get.

Albus popped another lemon drop into his mouth and turned his thoughts to more pleasant things. There were celebrations going on all over Britain, and he would be expected to attend many of them.