Bold is books

italics are notes/letters/ flashback

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Harry Potter, JK. Rowling does. Don't know why this is needed, I'M NORWIGIAN, NOT BLOODY BRITISH! ( no hate to British people! :) )

"The Girl Who Lived"

Read prof. McGonagall.

"owuuu we-"

"get to-"



"Our amazing-"


"Hazy- poo"

The twins finished together.

Mr And Mrs Dursley of nr. 4 privet drive were perfectly normal, thank you very much.

"Normal is so overrated"

"Totaly agree, Nev"

They were the last people you would expect anything odd or abnormal from. They simply didn't care for such nonsense.

"booring"( insert eye-roll here)

"sush Fred, George"

"sorry mum" (don't mean it at all and you can hear it)

Mr Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills.

"What are drills?" To no one's surprise, this was asked by Mr Weasley.

The two muggle-raised girls shared a look that didn't need any translation. Are you telling him or am I? In the end, Hazel explained it.

"Muggels use drills to make holes of all sizes."


He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large moustache. Mrs Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours.

"Still the same I see, Tuny." snape, said at a low volume.

The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere.

"He is now" Hazel muttered, but only Hermione, who was sitting next to her, heard it.

The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret,

" Ohh, blackmail, take notes Gred" (George takes out a note block and pencil)

and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it.

The twins were now steering avidly at the book.

They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters.

At that there was a multitude of shouts, the most frequent being " there's nothing wrong with the potters!"

the reading only re-started once everyone had calmed down. ( involving Hazel casting a sonures on herself and screaming " shut up!" Plus a few calming droughts and a couple of well-placed links.)

Hazel dreads what will happen when they find out about the cupboard.

Mrs Potter was Mrs Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister,

Multiple people seethed at that but didn't say anything in fear of another one of her in-famous hexes.

because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband

" James was not a good for nothing! He was one of the best Aurors there was! He was trained by mad-eye moody himself!"

Hazel nodded along to madam Bones's words, having already known this due to reading her mother's journals.

were as unDursleyish

"Not a word" Hermione and every Ravenclaw in the room, including Flitwick, stated. (Please note that they said it at the same time)

as it was possible to be. The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small child too, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that.

"Hazel dear, what do they mean by a child like that"

"A child with magic, Mrs Weasley"

An eerie silence stretched.

"And what, pray tell, is wrong about magical children"

"I'm sure the book will tell you, prof. McGonagal"

No one looked happy about this answer, but they didn't push further, knowing it will do more harm than good.

When Mr and Mrs Dursley woke up on the dull, grey Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work,

"Why would you consciously pick out a boring tie?!" The twins said as if it were a crime against humanity.

"Because he's boring" Hazel answered in a deadpan.

The twins tilted their heads as if to say "fair enough". (tilted/shrugged/raised their eyebrows)

and Mrs Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke,"


Surprisingly enough, it was Mr Weasley who said (*cough*screached *cough*) that. Not Mrs Weasley, who looked like the only reason she hadn't joined her husband is that she is too mad to form the words.

chortled Mr Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a cat reading a map. For a second, Mr Dursley didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light.

"Muggels really do have the strangest explanations"

"That they do"

Mr Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive

Immediately you hear:

"100% prof. McGonagal"

"There's no way that ain't prof. McGonagal"

"if that's not prof. McGonagal I'll eat my gran's hat"

"the one with the vulture"

"yep, the one and only"

"We want to know why prof. Minnie McKitty is in private drive?"(said it like 5-year-olds)

"Do NOT call me prof. Minnie McKitty or Any alterations of it messers Weasley!"(pissed)

"yeah, but why are you there professor?"

"Yes, why private drive prof. McGonagal?"

"Did the nargals tell you to go there?"

"I'm sure you'll find out soon enough if you let me read."

— no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

"He's at least focused on his work?" said prof. Sprout trying to find one redeeming quality and coming up short.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the getups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion. He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was,

"How dare he?! An elderly man wearing a cloak! The audacity!" What cracked them up the most was the fact that they said it with a completely straight face.

and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt — these people were obviously collecting for something . . . yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

No one was surprised anymore.

Mr Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more.

Mrs Weasley frowned at that.

He was in a very good mood until lunchtime when he thought he'd stretch his legs

" prof. McGonagal can you repeat what you just read?"

when he thought he'd stretch his legs

"This is it, the world's ending!"

"Hazel, surely it can't be that bad?"

" Vernon Dursley? Willingly exercising? Mione, you've seen the man!"

"you have a point"

and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

"Never mind"

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the bakers. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy.

This made the twins cheer. ( 'til Mrs Weasley scolded them)

This bunch were whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard —"

"— yes, their daughter, Hazel—"

Mr Dursley stopped dead.

(note the twins excited


Fear flooded him. He looked back

(excitement disappears)

at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialling his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his moustache, thinking . . . no, he was being stupid.

"First step to recovery is admittance

"Try putting that philosophy on yourself, Charlie"

"I'm wounded Bill, I am not stupid"

"Ehh, 'kinda are"


Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a daughter called Hazel. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece was called Hazel He'd never even seen the girl. It might have been Harly Or Hariel.

"They didn't even know your name! Please tell me they know it now at least."

"Well, either way, they don't use it. Not looking too bright, Mrs Weasley."

The only one without a dark/murderous look on their face at this point is Luna, who is just humming softly.

There was no point in worrying Mrs Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that . . . but all the same, those people in cloaks . . .

He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.


"He knows the word!" (Deffo, not Neville being a drama queen, nope, nuah, not here)

he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being al- almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare,

"prof. Flitwick is that you?" The two ravens Politely inquired.

Their professor's red face was all the confirmation they needed.

"Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Re- joice, for You-Know-Who, has gone at last! Even Muggles like your- self should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man hugged Mr Dursley around the middle and walked off.

"How did your arms fit?"

"They didn't, miss Lovegood."

Mr Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination.

"How did you survive?"(surprise, surprise! It's Percy)

"it was hard"

As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw — and it didn't improve his mood — was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look.

"someone's in trouble" Ginny sounded entirely too gleeful for any sane person to be comfortable with.

Was this normal cat behaviour? Mr Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

"whimp" Snape snarled lowly.

Mrs Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news:

"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."

Mr Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters . . .

"Well, he's not entirely stupid."

Mrs Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

"I take it back."

"We know, 'milia."

As he had expected, Mrs Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister.

"No," she said sharply. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr Dursley mumbled. "Owls . . . shooting stars . . . and there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today . . ."

"So?" snapped Mrs Dursley.

"Well, I just thought . . . maybe . . . it was something to do with . . . you know . . . her crowd."

Mrs Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare.


"We know Severus!"(exasperated to boot)

Instead, he said, as casually as he could, "Their daughter— she'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so," said Mrs Dursley stiffly.

"What's her name again? Harmony, isn't it?"

"Hazel. Horrific, if you ask me. Suppose she thought it would be funny to make up the Evans naming tradition with a tree.

"there's nothing wrong with the name Hazel!" Snapped Blaise, who, until now, had watched the drama unfold from the sidelines. Never breaking his perfectly calm, pureblood mask.

This served to shock the others enough to snap them out of their riot act.

"Oh, yes," said Mr Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did . . . if it got out that they were related to a pair of — well, he didn't think he could bear it.

Luna was now braiding Ginny's hair while humming a soothing tone.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind. . . . He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them. . . .

" Jinx it, Jinx it, Jinx it!"

How very wrong he was.

The kids, ('sept Percy) started cheering.

Mr Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet

The twins were giving the book the same looks, which made Neville chuckle.

Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

"Woah! Prof. McGonagall, your still there!"

A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground.

There was a pause as people thought through the image that gave. The common conclusion is that that is an amusing image.

The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.

A general of "uh oh" when through the younger generation, thoroughly amusing the adults.

Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

"Why would Dumbledore bother with the stupid muggles?"

"Shut up and find out." Hazel could not stand the idiot. Why, oh why had she not put a silencing charm on the idiot?

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

"Minnie is not gonna' like that" chuckled Sirius while Remus hissed at him to shut up.

He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it. The nearest street lamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it.

"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

"knew it!"

"told ya'!"


"Mr Black! Don't call me Minnie!"

She then started reading before someone could say anything.

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled.

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

"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," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day?" Ginny asked quietly " what in merlins name made you think that was a good idea, prof." This time she was talking much louder and in an indignant tone.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

The troublemakers in the room started muttering something along the lines of " no, no, get outta there"

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursleys' dark living room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls . . . shooting stars. . . . Well, they're not completely stupid.

Hazel blinked owlishly and asked, "you sure about that"

They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

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

Solem nods passed around the room.

"I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something,

"yeah, not happening. Dumbels is way too fond of being a mysterious arsehole."

"Miss. Potter! Language!"

"Do you expect me to say sorry, Minnie? 'Cause, that's not happening."

McGonnagal let out a resigned sigh, knowing it was a lost cause, but curious as to why she seemed to detest the headmaster.

but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"


"It certainly seems so,"

"you're wrong"

said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what"

"A what?"

Ronald seemed very embarrassed of havneinvesteringer said the same thing as his head of house. McGonnagal read on to answer his question.

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of."

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

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his 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."

Everybody except the Semurs (it's what I decided to name their pranking group), and currently present marauders, flinched.

Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to 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 (flinch) name."

"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, (another flinch) was frightened of."

"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort

The Semurs had had enough of the flinching.

"Oh, for Merlin's sake! It's just a name!"

"A very stupid name."

"But a name nonetheless."

Ronald said, "It's you-know-who!" Like that explained everything. The Semurs exchanged very annoyed glances and started canting "Voldemort" until no one was flinching. It took a while.

had powers I will never have."

"Only because you're too — well — noble to use them."

"noble my ass" the Semurs Muttered.

"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."

"Oh God, that's disgusting!" Exclaimed Neville looking disgusted, and even a little green. The other Semurs weren't fairing any better. Ronald just looked confused. The lucky bastard.

Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

Hazel turned pale as a ghost, making the other Semurs share a worried glance.

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, for neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true.

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 rumour is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're — dead."

There was not a single, remotely happy face left in the room. The tension was thick enough to cut with a butter knife.

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James . . . I can't believe it . . . I didn't want to believe it . . . Oh, Albus . . ."

"No one did."

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 Potters' daughter, Hazel. But he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Hazel Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"Glumly, my arse!" Luckily, no one heard Hazel's muttering.

"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 girl? It's just astounding . . . of all the things to stop him . . . but how in the name of heaven did Hazel survive?"

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

Everyone looked at Hazel, silently asking if she knew. She just shrugged, as if to say "who knows!".

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?"

"Hagrid is the best source if you want to know what is going on in Hogwarts."

The Semurs nodded in agreement to their member, earning bewildered looks from the professors.

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Hazel to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she 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. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son — I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets. Hazel Potter come and live here!"

"Thanks for trying prof."

Hazel's earnest tone spooked prof. McGonagall.

"It's the best place for her," said Dumbledore firmly. "Her 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 her! She'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Hazel Potter Day in the future

"Oh no! Please tell me there isn't!" Hazel begged.

At last, it was Mr Weasley that answered, " that paperwork was lost during an episode when the post owls went crazy."

Upon hearing this, the twins sported identical proud grins.

there will be books written about young Hazel — every child in our world will know her name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"

"Good point doesn't mean I have to like it."

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. But how is she getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Hazel underneath it.

"Hagrid's bringing her."

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

"I would trust Hagrid with my life!" The Semurs happily pronounced, then added quietly, "just not my secrets."

"I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

The Semurs looked disgusted at the fact that they said the same thing as the headmaster.

"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.

Sirius sighed wistfully at the mention of his motorcycle.

If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride 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 so 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.

"I love your descriptions, Hazel!"

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir — the house was almost destroyed, but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where — ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "She'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 her here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."

"I don't think that is the case for me."

Dumbledore took Hazel in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house.

"Could I — could I say goodbye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Hazel and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

Sirius looked incredibly offended, making Remus hit him over the head.

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

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it — Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Hazel off ter live 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 Hazel gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Hazel'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."

"You left a baby on a doorstep to go and celebrate her parents' deaths." Molly's calmness scared everyone way more than it would have if she was screaming.

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall—Professor 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.

"Ahh, the best reply of them all." The Wesley twins said as they blew their noses.

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, Hazel," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

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. Hazel Lillian Potter rolled over inside her blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she 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 she would bring a big change to the Dursley household in a few years,. . . She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Hazel Potter — the girl who lived!"

"Well, that was... Informative."

"What is the next chapter called, prof. McGonnagal?"

"The Best Brother"

"Dudley should be here for this." As Hazel said that, there was a flash of light. When the light died down, Dudley Dursley was standing there, looking confused as ever.

Next chapter we dive into the character of Dudley. I decided to make him a bigger character than in original. Hope you enjoyed reading this chapter.

Please comment nickname suggestions for the Semurs!

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