A/N.: Okaaay, so the general idea I thought up about this story is this: what if our favourite FACE "Dysfunction Family" (using their human names, of course) came to be neighbors to our other "favourite" Dursley family? ...I'm not giving anything else away after this.

And I solemnly swear that there will be no gender-bending...at least not what you'd think. And this is total AU. Of course.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything of JK Rowling, and I don't own the chapter names, because it's all Rowlings'. You'll see what I'm talking about once you read...

Also, I'll be using parts of the books, but seriously, I will NOT copy word for word parts which I will be using that JK Rowling wrote, unless there's simply no other way. BUT it'll sound familiar, because they'll be saying the same things, just..oh read on.

Chapter 1

The Boy-Who-Lived

[-]

It was an ordinary day in the suburban area called Little Whinging. The fall that year had started off incredibly lukewarm in the place where our story starts, Little Whinging, Privet Drive. It was a new suburban sprawl, located a few miles to the nearest town, and all the houses were extremely new, their coats of paint shining brightly in the autumn air.

The only visible exception to this utopia of normality was the green house that was nestled on the corner of the street. It was surrounded by a large sprawling garden, which stood out in the neighborhood, seeing as it was located on the neighborhood's corner. The address was Number Two, Privet Drive, and it was the home of a charming family with a rather normal English surname: Kirkland. No one in the neighborhood knew anything else about this family, and no one bothered to get to know more about them: the family was odd enough as it is. If you were to ask any of the neighbors, it was almost certain that you would find a rather juicy detail about the family, even if it was bound to be warped and unrealistic. In any case, no one really believed in those rampant rumours.

Other than that, nothing was given away as to the family's mysterious lifestyle. Arthur Kirkland was a respectable businessman who apparently had the chance at a lucrative business deal which would have made him immensely rich. He, however, chose his family over money. Nothing was known about his partner, although many people who passed by their house could smell the tantalizing scent of brilliant french cooking if they tried hard enough. The couple had adopted twins, Alfred and Matthew, and in their opinion, they were the finest boys around, no matter what Mrs What's-it in Number 4 said about her "Dinky Duddidums".

The Kirklands were the most normal family in Privet Drive, but within their house they held a dark secret, and their greatest fear was that it would become gossiping material and that they would be ostracized. Arthur, in particular, had made it his duty to ensure that their family life was the most normal of them all. Even one slight mishap could bring about their ruin.

The truth was that the Kirklands weren't normal at all, in a lot of respects. Arthur's partner was none other than another man, a Mr. Francis Bonnefoy, and Arthur knew that Privet Drive was the most homophobic place to live in. "All the more reason for secrecy, "Arthur would tell himself. The Kirklands were to have the most normal life they could, under the circumstances.

But Arthur's greatest fear in particular was that his stepfather's family would find out where and what lifestyle they were currently living in. Not that their lifestyle was abnormal, but the Weillschmidts had an uncanny way of sniffing out information, and to top it all off, they were the most un-normal, un-Kirkland type of family one would ever encounter. Arthur knew that he lived the way the Weillschmidts live a long time ago. It was during his young adult life when he decided to break away from the family and become as normal as one could possibly be. The fact remained that The Kirklands and the Weillschmidts were a magical family, the spell-casting, wand-waving, cauldron-stirring sort. Arthur wanted nothing to do with it, for some strange reason. He stubbornly intended to move away from all that for as long as possible, until Alfred and Matthew got their Hogwarts acceptance letters.

It was a cold, gray Tuesday when Arthur awoke, that not being uncommon in rainy England, but Arthur wasn't preoccupied with any of that. Somewhere, somehow he knew that his life would change, and he wasn't sure if it was for better or for worse.

After waking up Francis, he hurriedly put on a pair of pants and a dress shirt and headed to the kitchen, ignoring Francis's terrified pleas to "step away from the oven". He crossed the kitchen and opened the window, hearing the footsteps of his partner behind him.

A large, tawny owl was on the windowsill, giving off an imperious air. It held out its talon impatiently, scroll dangling off of it. It had been years since Arthur had recieved anything from the magical world.

Francis apparently was thinking along the same lines, because he said, "Let's take this," grabbing the scroll and steering Arthur to the dining table. "You don't have to open it if you don't want to, cher..."

As he expected, Arthur looked dazed and shocked. After all, he had taken great lengths to see that no one from the wizarding world knew of their existence.

"No," he said, trembling slightly. "This — this — Francis-"

Francis took Arthur's hand and rubbed circles into his palm soothingly. "Let's just read what they have to say, cherie. We'll see what we'll have to do about it later." He gently placed the scroll into Arthur's hands.

Shaking, Arthur opened the parchment and read it aloud:

"Dear Mr. Bonnefoy and Mr. Kirkland,

"It has come to my attention that you are currently living in a muggle residence, and for good reason. You two, of all people, were one of the most powerful Order members during Voldemort's reign, second to the Potters. It was only necessary that the both of you were to go into hiding as well.

"Don't panic. I am one of those people whom you've put your trust in. I am well aware that none of your family have read the Daily Prophet for quite a while, ever since they started putting tracking charms on their delivery owls.

"I'm sorry you will have to learn about this the hard way, as I'm currently busy doing Order work for Mr. Dumbledore. Don't worry, Mr. Kirkland, I have already put a read-me-not charm on this letter, so that only you and Mr. Bonnefoy can read it.

"I'll start with the good news: Voldemort has been defeated.

There was silence in the Kirkland kitchen. After a pause, Arthur read again.

"The bad news is that Lily and James Potter are dead." Arthur's eyes widened, and he broke down in tears.

"Shh," Francis came to Arthur's side and held him tightly, tears leaking out of his eyes as well. "I'll read the rest if you would like —"

"N-n-no," Arthur sniffled, wiping at his eyes, "I'll c-continue to read..." He brought the parchment back, looking blearily at it.

"I am so sorry, Mr. Kirkland. I know that you and Mrs. Potter were very close at Hogwarts, and even more so at the Auror Academy. Mr. Bonnefoy, my sincerest condolences. I know that you and Mr. Potter always had a special bond. If it's any consolation, both the Potters did not suffer a painful death.

"There is some more good news. Their son, Harry Potter, is in fact, alive and well." Arthur hiccuped and smiled at Francis shakily, who let out a sigh of relief. "Last night, Voldemort went to Godric's Hollow looking for the Potters. He was unable to kill the youngest Potter, for some unknown reason. Mr. Dumbledore has insisted that the boy will stay with a Mr. and Mrs. Dursley for the time being, until he is of age.

" — Mr and Mrs Dursley, did you say?" Francis choked out, staring in shock at Arthur, who was looking equally shocked. "That's... Arthur, that's... our neighbours from next door!"

"I am pretty certain that the information I have divulged to you will get me into trouble sooner or later. The truth is, the Dursleys are the most despicable sort of Muggles alive. I've monitored their humble abode for quite a while, on Mr. Dumbledore's orders. My greatest fear is that Harry either won't be accepted at their place, be given to an orphanage or worse, they will start abusing him.

"I implore you to do something about the situation, preferably without arising suspicion from Mr. Dumbledore.

"The fate of the wizarding world is in your hands.

"Sincerely,

~Toris Lorinaitis

Arthur slowly lifted his head to look at Francis. After a moment's pause, he spoke. "Are... are we going to do... anything about this?"

Francis looked at him as if he was insane. "Do something? Have you forgotten about all the good things James has done for us, me especially?"

"No, no of course not Francis," Arthur hastened to say. "Without James's help, we wouldn't be where we are now." He looked back at the piece of paper. "Blimey... of all things... all that Auror training... and he gets himself defeated by a mere baby?"

Their thoughts were interrupted by two piercing wails coming from the upper bedroom. Arthur and Francis quickly climbed back up the stairs. "We'll do something though, right Arthur? Surely you won't just stand by and let those horrible people take care of Lily and James' son?"

"Of course we'll do something about it, you twat," Arthur said, sounding more and more like his former self. He shot a smirk at Francis, who smiled. "I'll be off to work in a few minutes. We'll discuss this later, love." He helped Francis get the twins into their day clothes, got himself ready for work and gave a goodbye kiss to Francis and the boys. "I'll come home early today," Arthur promised as he exited the house.

He gave a curt nod to Mr Dursley, who was driving out of Privet Drive and into Little Whinging. For a split second, he thought that Mr. Dursley looked a bit rattled, but decided it was a mere trick of the eyes. He got into his car and drove off to work.

Once he arrived in town, he drove immediately toward the security parking lot near his workplace. But as he was making the trek, what he saw almost gave him a heart attack. There were wizard and witches in cloaks! Arthur was furious; this was definitely breaching the Statute of Secrecy act. Shaking his head slightly, he decided to pull over to talk to some of them.

He parallel-parked near a side street and stopped one girl wearing a purple cloak, who was chatting excitedly with a group of brightly cloaked women, who looked like foreigners. "Excuse me miss, but why are you wearing a cloak?"

"Umm..." The girl fumbled a bit; she obviously thought that Arthur was a Muggle. "See... umm..."

"Don't worry," Arthur assured her, "I'm a wizard." He thought he'd never see the day he'd actually tell someone that.

"Oh!" The girl's face brightened. "Sorry there, I thought I had to make up an elaborate story for this, you know. " She gave him a dazzling smile. "I'm wearing this because I never had the time to change, and I simply had to tell my friends the good news!"

Arthur faked a look of shock. "Good... news?"

"You-Know-Who died last night! He's gone forever!" She gushed, her eyes bright with excitement. Grabbing Arthur's arms, she turned him around and pushed him on his way down the street, saying, "Go tell the news! Right now! Celebrate, do anything!" Arthur grimaced. Was the death of Voldemort going to trigger that much partying and celebration? This was a heavily populated Muggle area, shouldn't they be anxious to conceal themselves? His logical side kicked in, even though his fun-loving side was telling him to loosen up.

Putting those thoughts away, Arthur drove to his workplace. All in all, he had a pretty good morning. He managed to get a few more accounts for his boss, completed more than the allotted amount of projects and managed to reel back in a very important client, all before lunch time. Deciding that he'd rather have lunch early and continue his work later, Arthur proceeded through the gates of the lift and walked out the double doors to the outside world.

As soon as he walked outside, a huge gust of air blew his hair in every direction. Swearing profusely, he looked up and saw a myriad of owls flying to and fro. People all around him were stopping and staring at the unusual phenomenon, even abandoning their cars in favour of staring up at the sky. Horror building in his chest, Arthur saw a shower of silver sparks light up into the midday sun. How were the Muggles going to explain this strange happening? A cluster of people wearing robes were shouting enthusiastically in front of him. Sighing, Arthur let himself smile a little as he headed into the deli. It was nice that the wizarding world had something to celebrate, for once.

Arthur's sudden giddy mood wasn't deterred by him going back to work, and true to his word, his boss was so impressed by his work ethic that he gave him two extra hours of time off for the day. Humming a little tune to himself, Arthur swung his briefcase into the passenger seat of his car and sped off towards home.

"I'm home!" he yelled, throwing his jacket in a corner and untying his shoes. When he was greeted with silence, Arthur groaned. He withdrew his wand from the trick brick in the fireplace and muttered the tracking spell for Francis and the boys. It pointed in the direction of the playground next door. Grumbling under his breath, he retied his shoes, grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

The spell worked; he found Alfred and Matthew playing with the sand in the sandbox. Alfred was busy rambling incoherently to Matthew, who kept throwing sand at him. Arthur quickly scooped both children and spun around, smiling when the twins squealed with laughter. He held them both comfortably in each arm. "I don't suppose you two would know where the other troublemaker is, would you?" Matthew pointed in the direction of the benches, where two ladies were busy gossiping. "I thought so," he said grimly and made his way over to the other side of the park.

Upon closer inspection, the two women talking were in fact, Mrs. Dursley and another lady which Arthur was quite certain was Francis under a glamour charm. The charm was cast so well that Arthur had to stop and stare, just to make sure it was really Francis. He smirked when he saw the small beauty mark under his lover's eye, but frowned. Just what was his spouse thinking, being all chummy with one of the worst Muggles in the world?

Francis, sans-beard, smiled widely at him when he approached. "Hello, darling," he cooed, as Arthur raised his eyebrows. Francis's discernible Parisian accent had been replaced by a common english accent. He made a mental note to ask Francis a lot of questions when they got home. "How was work?"

"Mundane," Arthur easily replied. "Once again, the boss doesn't realize how unbearably easy it is for me to do my job." They both smirked.

Pulling the other lady's arm, Francis smiled evilly as he introduced her to Arthur. "Arthur dear, this is Petunia Dursley. Petunia, this is my husband," At this, Francis gave a coy wink, "Arthur Kirkland."

"A pleasure," Arthur said, extending his hand. Just what was Francis playing at?

As expected, Petunia started to literally sugarcoat Arthur with compliments. "I've heard so many great things about you, Mr. Kirkland," she exclaimed breathlessly, her dark, soulless eyes betraying what she really felt. "Yvonne told me all about you." Yvonne? Did he know an Yvonne?

Francis nodded, getting up and putting his arms around Arthur, who frowned. "Yes, I can't help but be proud of my sweetums." he sickeningly cooed, hissing in Arthur's ear to "play along, I'll explain later". He turned to Petunia and said sweetly, "We'll chat later, Petunia dear, we must get the boys back home. It was nice meeting you." Petunia smiled back at him, adding a "we should set up a play date with Dudley, Alfred and Matthew sometime!" Giving her a kiss on the cheek, Francis and Arthur headed back home in silence, with only the gurgles of Alfred and Matthew to keep them company.

Once they entered the house, Arthur waited in the living room, arms folded, after giving the boys to Francis to put back upstairs. When Francis came down, the frenchman's glamour was gone and he was back in normal clothes. He wrinkled his face guiltily when he saw Arthur's furious expression, "I can explain..."

"Explain away," Arthur gritted out. "I'm rather curious at the moment." His foot started tapping.

"Well," came Francis's tentative voice, "you know how we agreed on doing something about this whole... problème avec la mort de Vous-Savais-Qui et l'interference de Dumbledore?" Arthur could tell Francis was freaking out; he always reverted back to his mother tongue in moments of panic.

"Relax, frog. I'm not about to eat you. And please speak English, I can hardly understand a word you are saying."

Francis's face regained most of its color. "It's sort of hard when you're always angry, mon cher," he retorted weakly. "I mean, I just thought I could help.."

Arthur sighed, "I know, Francis. But it'd be nice if you told me your plan before proceeding with it."

They both lapsed into a slightly uncomfortable silence, which was broken momentarily by Arthur.

"So is Petunia really that smitten with you?"

"Oui."

"And you think you'd be able to become best friends with her and everything?"

"I already am in her eyes."

Arthur smirked evilly at Francis, who shot him a smirk of his own.

"Perfect."

It was twilight in Little Whinging. The atmosphere was calm and quiet, broken only by the sound of plates clinking and incomprehensible chatter coming from the little homes. A tabby cat silently padded across the street, slinking away purposefully. Positioning itself against the brick wall of Number Four, Privet Drive, it stayed perfectly still, its whiskers barely even twitching.

Pretty soon, the sun settled down, out of sight and the moon took its place, illuminating everything in sight. The distant sounds of families over dinner tables was replaced with light snores and silence. Two owls flew overhead, a car door slammed on the next street, and yet the cat never moved a muscle. It held its gaze unblinkingly at the slight cluster of trees at the end of the drive.

A man suddenly appeared in the cat's line of vision, so quietly one would've thought he came out of nowhere. The cat swished its tail and narrowed its eyes at the newcomer, an old, eccentric person with a beard as long as his arms, who was wearing a long robe, a pointy hat and buckled boots. His eyes were a steely, piercing blue as it analyzed the cat in front of him.

Plucking a small lighter from his cloak, the man clicked twelve times, pointing the lighter at each lamppost on the block. Once the neighborhood was fully dark, he turned back to the tabby, only to find a rather severe spectacle wearing woman with a tight black-haired bun and a green emerald cloak meeting his gaze rather sharply. He smiled.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

The woman did not return his smile, opting for smoothening out her ruffled appearance. "How did you know it was me?" she asked irritably.

"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." retorted Professor McGonagall.

"All day? You could've been celebrating, Minerva! I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Minerva merely sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone's been celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursley's dark living-room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... they're not completely stupid, you know, they're bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I bet my wand that was Dedalus Diggle, the man 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," Minerva shot back irritably. "But that's no reason for us to lose our heads over it. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore, as if hoping he would tell her something. When he didn't, she went on. "A very fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have finally disappeared, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, hasn't he Albus?"

"It certainly seems so," conceded Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I've said, even if You-Know-Who really has gone-"

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person such as yourself can call him by 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."

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, didn't notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name." He popped the lemon drops in his mouth.

"I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, 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 — well —noble to use them."

"You're 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. Do you know what they're saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor 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. Neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. 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 his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James… I can't believe it… I didn't want to believe it… Albus…"

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

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's 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 grimly.

"It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done… all the people he's killed… he couldn't kill a little boy? That's astounding… of all the things to stop him… but how in the name of Merlin did Harry survive?"

"We can only guess." said Dumbledore. "We may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at 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 Professor McGonagall. "I don't 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 Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore, you can't! You simply can't! I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find any other family who are less like us. And that horrid son of theirs — 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," 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 Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a 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 at her 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 you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

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 from Godric's Hollow."

"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 Professor 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 compared to the man sitting on top of 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 too 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 very relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, P'fessor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems were there?"

"None, sir — blimey, the house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. Fell asleep just 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 Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "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 good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He 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.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall frantically, "You'll wake the Muggles!"

"I-I'm s-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "B-but I c-c-can't stand it —Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Harry off ter live w-with Muggles —"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two.

For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I best get this bike away. G'night, P'fessor McGonagall — P'fessor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver lighter. He clicked it once, and the twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He looked back at the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry Potter," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

The next morning, as Arthur finished saying goodbye to Francis and the boys, he heard a shrill scream come from the house next door. Dropping his briefcase on the stairway, he raced over to find Petunia gazing at a bundle of blankets that seemed to be - crying?

Arthur slowly approached the quivering bundle. Petunia had not noticed his sudden presence, but seemed to be in a state of shock. Curious, he stared into the blankets and was face-to-face with a small baby boy with jet-black hair, a lightning scar plastered onto his forehead and the greenest eyes Arthur had ever seen on another human. In fact, it was almost the exact same shade of green that Lily... Potter...

He slowly stared at Petunia, who had gone white. She was clutching a piece of paper like a lifeline, her beady eyes analyzing the words on the letter hurriedly. Finally, she seemed to have regained her senses, for she yelled, "Vernon! Come quick! VERNON!" She still hadn't realized that Arthur was on her doorstep.

The babe in the blankets was grabbing air, in a silent gesture for somebody to pick him up. Squatting down next to the boy, who had focused his attentions on the blond, his mind started racing. Was Dumbledore here last night? How come he and Francis never heard a thing? And why did Dumbledore leave a letter, instead of explaining to the Dursleys about their predicament? To Arthur, it felt as though the Headmaster was just leaving Wizarding Britain's new international hero on the wayside.

"aa...aaahh..." The little baby scrunched up his face and blew raspberries at Arthur, chuckling. The man's ears suddenly picked up the sound of thudding footsteps coming nearer and he stood up, hands clenched at his sides. Little Harry, upon seeing the stranger move away from him, starting to wail pitifully.

"Who's this?" Vernon Dursley asked irritably, jerking his head in Arthur's direction. Petunia turned rapidly with a deer-in-the-headlights expression on her face, staring at Arthur as though she was just seeing him for the first time. "Petunia? PETUNIA!"

Petunia gave a little shake, pointing at the small bundle at the doorstep. "HERE!" she snarled angrily, violently grabbing Harry and thrusting him into Arthur's arms. "KEEP IT!" The door slammed shut.

Arthur looked down at the boy. Both broke into identical grins. "That was easy."

Here. Another huge story. *dies