𝙷𝚊𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝙿𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 (𝔹𝕠𝕠𝕜 1)

𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓫𝓸𝔂 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓰𝓲𝓻𝓵 𝔀𝓱𝓸 𝓵𝓲𝓿𝓮𝓭

Dark at this hour, except for the street lamps that dot the street, spilling deep pools of light upon the ground.

On the far corner, a man materializes out of the darkness. He is tall and thin, with a silver beard long enough to tuck into his belt. He wears a purple cloak and is roughly one hundred and fifty years old. He is Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore removes a small silver object from his cloak—the Put-Outer. He extends his hand and—click—the nearest street lamp goes out with a soft pop. He continues to click the Put-Outer until all the lamps go dark.

He turns, spies a cat, sitting on the wall of Number Four. He smiles knowingly.

"I should have known you'd be here, Professor McGonagall."

The cat leaps forward, transfigures itself into a rather severe-looking woman in an emerald cloak.

"Are the rumors true, Albus?"

"I'm afraid so. The good. And the bad."

"And the children?"

"Hagrid's bringing them."

"You think it...wise...to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"

"I would trust Hagrid with my life, Professor."

A low rumble disturbs the skies. Dumbledore and McGonagall look up and—suddenly—a huge motorcycle plummets through the clouds, hits the ground with a thunderous roar. As the smoke clears, a figure climbs off. He is Hagrid and is, quite obviously, a giant. In his vast, muscular arms, he holds a basket.

"Ev'ning, professor Dumbledore, sir. Professor McGonagall."

"No problems, I take it, Hagrid?"

"No sir. Little tykes fell ter sleep as we was flyin' o'er Bristol."

Hagrid steps forward and Dumbledore takes the bundle, turns toward the doorstep.

"Albus, do you really think it best to leave them here, with these people? I've been watching them all day. They're the worst sort of Muggles imaginable. They're..."

"The only family he has; and the only people that could keep her away from the truth."

"But these children will be famous. There won't be a child in our world who doesn't know their names..."

"Exactly. It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk and talk. Famous for something they won't even remember. No. They'll be much better off growing up away from all that. Until they're ready."

Dumbledore lays the bundle on the mat. Hagrid sniffles.

"There, there, Hagrid. It's not really goodbye, after all."

Hagrid nods. Dumbledore tucks two envolopes into the basket and steps back, his face suddenly dark, serious.

"Good luck, Harry Potter. Good luck, Y/n Black."

Two cuts, still fresh, gleam on the babies' delicate skin. One on the boy's forehead and one on the girl's wrist. They are in the shape of a bolt of lightening.

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