Ꭺ NᎬᏔ ᏞᏆFᎬ ᏴᎬᏩᏆNᏚ

3

Walking down the street after pulling out what looked to be a silver cigarette light from the pocket of his purple robe, Albus flicked it open, held it up, and clicked it. Twelve times, after each click of the Put-Outer, the streetlights cut off without a sound. The only lights left on the street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, the eyes of a cat.

If anyone looked outside, even the bleary-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Slipping the Put-Outer back inside the fold of his robes, Albus continued down the street where number four was and sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it nor acknowledged its presence but after a while, he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile down at the tabby, but it was gone. In its place, a rather severe woman wearing square glasses exactly like the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one at that. With her black hair drawn into a tight bun, she looked unmistakably ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" She asked.

"My dear, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on this wall all day."

"All day? You should have been out celebrating. I know that I must have pasted a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily before replying.

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right. You'd think they'd be more careful but no, even the muggles have noticed that there is something going on." Pausing, she jerked her head back towards the Dursley's dark living room window. "I heard it all. Shooting stars...Flocking of owls...Well, they're not completely stupid and bound to notice something."

"You can't blame them," Dumbledore said gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate over the years."

Time seemed to pass more quickly as they continued to converse. Not too long after, they heard the distinct rumble of a motorbike break the silence around them. Steady growing louder, the pair of them looked up and down the street for some sort of headlight before finding none and looked up into the night sky. The moment they looked up, however, a huge motorbike fell out of the sky and landed on the road in front of them.

If you thought the motorbike was huge, then you should have seen the man. Almost twice as tall than any normal man and as five times as wide, he looked too big and so wild - long tangles of bushy black hair and beard his most of his face, hands the size of dustbin lids and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms, he held a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," Dumbledore said, sounding relieved. "At last. May I inquire, just where did you get that motorbike?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore," the giant of a man replied, as he carefully stepped off of the motorbike. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, I assume?"

"No, sir. The house was almost destroyed but I got him out just before the muggles started swarming around. He fell asleep as we were flyin' over Bristol."

Bending forward, Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall look at the tiny bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuff of ebony hair over his forehead, they could see a curiously shaped cut, almost like a lightning bolt...or the motion to cast the killing curse: Avada Kedavra.

"Is that where-?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar for the rest of his life."

"Couldn't you do anything about it, Albus?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in useful. I many myself and one above my left knee which is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well- give him here Hagrid- we'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry into his arms and just as he turned towards the Dursley's house, Hagrid interrupted him.

"Could I- Could I say goodbye to him, sir?"

He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid gave a howl like a wounded dog.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall. "You'll wake the muggles!"

Nodding his head at her, Hagrid buried his face into a large handkerchief as sobs racked his rather large body.

While Professor McGonagall was calming down Hagrid, Dumbledore had already crossed the low garden and was almost to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, and tucked it into Harry's blankets before returning to the other two. For a full two minutes, the three of them stood and watched the tiny bundle on the doorstep; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously and the twinkling light from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have disappeared.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business standing around here any longer. We may as well go join in on the celebrations."

"Yeah," Hagrid agreed, voice muffled. "I'd best get this bike back to its owner. G'night Professor McGonagall and to you, Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his leather coat, Hagrid swung himself back on the motorbike and kicked the engine to life; with a roar, it rose into the air and off into the night.

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

With that, Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once and 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 could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, Harry," he murmured, before turning on his heel, and with a swish of his cloak, he too disappeared.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him as he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that the next day, he would be sent to live in an orphanage. He couldn't know that at this very moment, people were meeting in secret all over the country, holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices:

"To Harry Potter – the boy who lived!"

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Hello everyone!!! I know that it's been a while since I have updated and many of you have wondered if I have abandoned this book or my other one, but this chapter should be proof enough that I've not abandoned my books. However, I am going to take a break from this book for a short while so that I may focus on my other book, Unforgiving Desires.

Also, as I said before in the previous chapters, please tag 3-4 people in the comment section or share this book so that others may view it.

Thanks again and have a nice day/night!

P.s. Happy early Christmas!

- & -

Song for the chapter: Tears In The Rain by The Weeknd

Word Count: 3372