Edited and uploaded on 31 December 2019

AN: Hello from the grave, my darling readers! As stated by my AN at the end of this story, I'm doing a top-down rewrite. You notice for a while that while details (some major, some minor) remain, the general story remains the same. I won't keep you too long now, just enough to let you all know that my pen-name has changed and that you won't be hearing from me again until Chapter 12. I appreciate you all, and I am happy to say after so long, on with the show!

- Pyrdiu Lefquo (previously: Vincent Argeneau)

Chapter 1: That Fateful Night

It was a cold night on Privet Drive, quiet but for the hum of streetlamps, the faint whistling of the night breeze, and the rustle of fallen leaves, candy wrappers, and various pieces of thin fabric as they were carried along the ground to destinations unknown. As well it should be in the early hours following Halloween in Surrey. The residents had long since retired to their bedrooms, their children rendered unconscious by the various sweets they had collected.

With a faint pop, the eerie peacefulness was banished as a figure stepped into the light and made his way slowly down the street, his spectacles glinting in the dim streetlight.

He was tall, slender, and quite old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both astonishingly long and tucked into his belt. He was wearing long, flowing, brightly colored robes, a lurid purple cloak which swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His pale blue eyes were bright and twinkling behind half-moon glasses, and his nose was very long and looked like it had been broken at least twice.

Small clicks from his heels could be heard while the man calmly meandered down the sidewalk. He held up an elaborate, lighter-like object and every so often would depress the button on the top. When he did, the nearest streetlight would go out, cloaking the old man in the darkness that flooded in with the absence of the light. He made his way in this fashion all the way to the residence marked number 4. He then tucked his thumbs into his belt and waited.

It was not too long until a tabby cat slunk around the corner of the house, hiding behind the man as it looked around. The old man glanced down at it briefly, stroking his beard as he chuckled.

"My dear Professor McGonagall" he spoke softly, "I must confess, this is a pleasant surprise. Should you not be out celebrating with the rest of magical England?"

As he turned to look behind him, it became apparent the cat was no longer there. In its place was a stern looking elderly woman, her hair in a tight, immaculate bun. Thin square glasses were perched on her nose as she looked to the man, a severe but pained look in her eye. She wore robes similar to the man's, but hers were a deep emerald green.

"Albus." She nodded her head slightly in greeting, her voice weary and full of restrained sorrow. "You know that I never was one for celebrations, especially ones in poor taste like tonight's." She said, her lips coming together tightly in what seemed to be disapproval. Her eyes then bored into Albus' with a look of desperation. "Is it true, Albus?" She asked, a hardly noticeable quaver evident in her voice.

Albus nodded solemnly, his eyes closing as he sighed heavily. "Lily and James" he started, "were murdered by the Dark Lord Voldemort."

The woman opposite him gasped and her eyes widened drastically. "And the boy?" She queried.

"Safe." Albus stated firmly, then huffed in quiet amusement "And no doubt tired from the excitement of the evening."

Professor McGonagall breathed a sigh of relief. "Albus, what happened there?" She asked, disbelief straining her voice.

"I'm afraid it is impossible to know for a fact, my dear Professor, exactly what occurred at the Potter household. We can only speculate and make educated guesses." The elderly man looked to the sky wistfully.

"I have my own theory, of course, but it is only an old man's take on an admittedly peculiar situation. All we know right now is that by some unknown means, this boy was able to reflect Voldemort's spell back at him and defeat him."

The old man took a deep breath and exhaled, a soft look in his eye. "Magic will always defy our wildest expectations, and this situation is no different." Albus smiled gracefully, looking back down to Professor McGonagall.

"What is to become of him, Albus?" The woman asked slowly, dreading the answer. Albus gestured to the door in front of them.

"Hagrid is bringing the boy here, where he will be cared for by his relatives." He explained . "I believe he will be safe and loved here, without the burden of being famous before he can walk and talk. He should grow up in the embrace of his family, not the media." Albus finished, a sad look on his face at the thought.

"Albus, no. No, no, no." Professor McGonagall stated vehemently. "I have sat here all day watching these… people. They are the worst guardians imaginable. They cater to their son to the point of criminality. The young boy is absolutely insufferable. He wails like a banshee when he does not get his way, and continues until his parents acquiesce."

The woman began pacing in agitation and huffed before continuing, "And the parents themselves are no better! They bully the neighbors, and sneer at anyone that does not conform to their way of thought. They are not a healthy family, Albus." Professor McGonagall ranted, her voice reaching a point that Albus sighed and pulled a stick out of his sleeve and waved it, causing a hazy barrier to form around them, then disappear.

"A privacy charm, my dear Professor. I was not expecting you to lose your composure like that." Albus chided, a light amusement behind his words. "Even though you bring up those points - and they are all valid ones - the Dursleys are still Harry's family. The only direct family he has left. Therefore he will be left with them until such a time he should come to Hogwarts." Albus stated. His voice was such that it brooked no disagreement.

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth to begin arguing the point, but a curt look from Albus silenced her, and her teeth came together with an audible click. She was not happy, and knew nothing good would come of this placement, but she trusted Albus enough to accede the point.

At that moment, a dull roar could be heard in the distance. Turning their heads, the two elderly magicals saw a pinprick of light getting bigger as the noise increased.

Professor McGonagall leaned toward Albus, saying "Are you sure it was a good idea for Hagrid to deliver the Potters' child?"

Albus turned his head toward Professor McGonagall and said serenely "Minerva, I would trust Hagrid with my life. I am absolutely confident he will bring Harry here not only unharmed, but as discretely as possible."

The air then seemed to shake as a large motorbike could be seen coming toward them not from the ground, but the sky, rattling the nearby windows with a revving of its engine. Its front wheel dipped down, and it approached the ground at an alarming pace.

Minerva exhaled forcefully and pinned Albus with a look of intense consternation. Albus, for his part, sighed lightly and hung his head, looking defeated.

The excessively loud machine hit the ground, front wheel first. A shrill squeal of the rubber gaining traction rang in their ears as the two-wheeled vehicle rumbled to a stop, an impossibly large figure swung his leg over the seat and approaching them.

He was tall, a giant of a man really. Standing easily over ten feet tall, the man seemed like he would be able to fit five men in his trousers. His shaggy black hair was long and wiry, as was his ample beard. Two beady black eyes resembling beetles, peered out from his craggy, darkly tanned face. In one of his hands he held a small bundle that he had cradled to his chest. In his massive arms it seemed to be no more than a balled up bit of green cloth, but Albus smiled gently upon seeing it.

"Headmaster Dumbledore" the man began, his voice gravelly and sad, tinged with an indescribable hurt. "I brought Harry, jus' like ye asked. He's out now, mussa fell 'sleep as we was passin' Bristol." He said quietly, glancing down at the bundle in his hand. It moved a little, and a tuft of messy black hair was revealed, a yawn issuing from deep inside the blanket.

"Ah, Hagrid," Albus greeted, "thank you. If you'll hand him to me, we can get him taken care of and be on our way."

Hagrid nodded sadly, and lifted up the bundle to his lips, placing a tender, but very whiskery kiss on the small boy's head, causing the lad to squirm in his sleep. He then stooped down and handed the boy to Albus, who took out his stick again, waving it and making a small basket appear out of thin air. He then placed the small boy in it with a note, and waved his stick again.

"A warming charm," he explained to Minerva, "so he might evade the chilled air of this night." Albus then walked up to the door of number 4 Privet Drive, and set the basket with its precious cargo on the stoop, to be discovered in the morning.

"Sleep well, Harry. A great destiny awaits you in the future." He whispered to the infant. Albus stepped back and motioned Minerva and Hagrid to the corner where he'd appeared. Hagrid took his motorbike with him, and Minerva followed slowly, a worried look on her face. There was a click, the roar of an engine, and two faint pops. Then, all was as it should be on Privet Drive, save the slightly rustling bundle on the stoop of number 4.

As the moon made its nightly journey across the sky, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter – the boy who lived!"