When Lightning Meets Silver

The Girl Who Survived

A tall figure appeared at the corner of the quiet street so suddenly that even the watchful cat stiffened. One moment the pavement was empty; the next, a man stood there as though he had risen straight from the ground.

Privet Drive had never seen anyone like him. He was long and thin, with hair and beard the colour of moonlight, tucked neatly into his belt. His robes shimmered faintly beneath a deep purple cloak, and his buckled boots clicked softly against the pavement. His sharp blue eyes sparkled behind half-moon spectacles, and his crooked nose looked as though it had been broken more than once.

This was Albus Dumbledore.

He did not seem concerned that every inch of him looked wildly out of place. Instead, he rummaged through his cloak, searching for something. Then, as though sensing he was not alone, he glanced up.

The cat at the end of the street stared back at him, unblinking.

Dumbledore’s mouth twitched.
“I should have known,” he murmured.

From his pocket he produced a small silver device. With a soft click, the nearest streetlamp went dark. Another click, and the next lamp faded. One by one, the lights vanished until the entire street lay in shadow, save for two small glowing points—the cat’s eyes.

He slipped the object away and walked toward number four, settling onto the low wall beside the cat.

“Fancy meeting you here, Professor McGonagall.”

The cat vanished in a blink. In its place stood a stern woman in emerald robes, her hair pulled tightly into a bun, square spectacles perched on her nose.

“How did you know it was me?” she demanded.

“My dear Minerva,” Dumbledore replied lightly, “I have never seen a cat sit with such indignation.”

“You would too if you had been perched on a brick wall since sunrise,” she snapped. “While everyone else has been celebrating.”

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled. “Celebrations are difficult to avoid tonight. I passed several on my way here.”

Professor McGonagall sniffed. “Yes, and they’ve been careless. Even Muggles are talking about it. Shooting stars. Owls flying in daylight. Rumours everywhere.”

She glanced toward the darkened house behind them. “If the Muggles discover us now—”

“They will not,” said Dumbledore gently. “Not tonight.”

Her voice lowered. “They say he went to Godric’s Hollow. That he found the Potters.”

Dumbledore’s expression softened.

“They say Lily and James are dead.”

For a moment, neither spoke.

“Oh, Albus…” Professor McGonagall whispered. “I hoped it wasn’t true.”

“I know,” he said quietly.

She swallowed. “And the children?”

Dumbledore looked up at the dark sky. “They lived.”

Professor McGonagall stared. “Both of them?”

“Yes.”

“They say he tried to kill Harry… and failed. That his power broke because of it.” Her voice shook. “But there were two babies in that house. How did both survive?”

Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap. “That is the question the world will ask.”

“They are calling Harry the Boy Who Lived already,” she said bitterly. “What of his sister?”