Mr. Dursley might have been falling into a troubled sleep, but the cat that was still perched on the wall was showing no sleepiness. It was still sitting as still as a rock, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as flinch when a car door a street over slammed, nor when two owls flew overhead. In fact, it was around midnight before the cat moved an inch.
A man materialized on the corner that the car had been transfixed on. He appeared so suddenly and noiselessly that you'd have thought he's just risen from the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed.
Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, based on the silver of his hair and beard which were both long enough to be tucked into his bed. He was wearing a lengthy robe, a purple cloak that swept across the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind the half-moon spectacles that never left his nose. His nose, on the other hand, was another peculiar thing. It was long and crooked and had to have been broken more than once.
This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.
Albus Dumbledore didn't notice that he had just arrived on a street where nothing, from his name to his boots, was unwelcome. He was preoccupied in rummaging through his cloak, looking for something. But he didn't fail to notice that he was being watched. This was obvious because he quickly looked up at the cat which was still staring at him from the opposite side of the street. For some extravagant reason, the sight made him chuckle and he muttered, "I should have guessed."
He found exactly what he was looking for in one of his inside pockets. It appeared to be a silver cigarette lighter. He jerked it open, held it parallel to his face, and clicked it. The closest street lamp went out with a small pop. He clicked it again and the nearest lamp blacked. He clicked the Put-Outer, again and again, twelve times until the eyes of the cat across the street were the only light.
If anyone looked out into the street, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see a single thing that was occurring below. Dumbledore slipped the silver device back into his pocket and walked down the street toward the Dursleys' house, where he sat on the wall near the cat. He didn't look over at it, but after a moment's silence, he spoke to it.
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
He pivoted to smile at the tabby cat, but it had disappeared. Instead of looking at the tabby cat, he was smiling at a rather acute-looking woman who was wearing square glasses with the same shape as the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, as well, was wearing a cloak, emerald green. Her black hair was put up into a compact bun. She looked distraught.
"How did you guess it was me?" she asked.
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so sternly."
"You'd be stern if you'd been sitting on bricks all day," said Professor McGonagall.
"All day? When you could celebrate? I must have crossed a dozen celebrations on my way here."
Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.
"Of course, everyone's partying, oh yes," she said irritably. "You'd believe that they would be a tad more careful, but of course not - even the Muggles have noticed something's wrong. It was on their news," she beckons to the Dursley's dark living room. "I heard it. Hundreds of owls, shooting stars ... well, they're not completely blind. They were eventually going to notice something. Shooting stars over in Kent - I'd bet that's Dedalus Diggle. He was never that bright."
"You can't hold them responsible," said Dumbledore carefully. "We've had very little to celebrate for more than a decade."
"I know," said Professor McGonagall tensely. "But that's not an excuse to lose our minds. People are being straight careless, out in town for everyone to see, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, exchanging rumors."
She threw a slight, sharp glance at Dumbledore, as though wishing he would tell her something, but he didn't utter a word, so she carried on. "A fine thing it would be, on the same day that You-Know-Who seems to have finally vanished, the Muggles caught us all. I believe he really is gone, Dumbledore?"
"It sure seems that," said Dumbledore. "We have much to appreciate. Would you care for a lemon drop?"
"What?"
"A lemon drop. They're a Muggle candy I'm fond of."
"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall irritably, as though it wasn't the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone -"
"Minerva, surely a rational person like you can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-You' balderdash - for eleven years I have been trying to convince people to call him by his real name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall cringed, but Dumbledore, who was unwrapping two lemon drops, didn't seem aware. "It all gets so nonplussing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never found a reason to be scared of saying Voldemort's name."
"I understand you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half frustrated, half admiring. "But you're divergent. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort was scared of."
"You flatter me," said Dumbledore, relaxed. "Voldemort had many powers I never wish to possess."
"Only because you're too - well - righteous to use them."
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't flourished so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."
Professor McGonagall threw a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls don't hold a penny to the rumors that are flying around. Do you know what everyone's talking about? About why he disappeared? About what actually stopped him?"
It appeared as though McGonagall had arrived at the part she was most worried to discuss, the actual reason she had been sitting on the cold, hard wall all day, for neither as a cat or a woman she had given Dumbledore such a hard stare as she did right now. It was obvious that whatever "everyone" was discussing, she was not going to trust it until Dumbledore said it was factual.
"What they're saying," she continued, "is that last night Voldemort arrived in Godric's Hollow. He went to look for the Potters. The thing going around is that Lily and James Potters are - are - that they're - dead."
Dumbledore's eyes became transfixed on his shoes. Professor McGonagall gasped.
"Lily and James ... I can't believe it ... I didn't want to find it true ... Oh, Albus ..."
Dumbledore stuck his hand out and placed it gently on her shoulder. "I know ... I know ..." he said heavily.
Professor McGonagall trembled as she continued. "That's not everything. They're saying he tried to murder the Potters' twins, Harry and Emmalina. But - he couldn't. He couldn't kill those little twins. No one understands why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry and Emmalina Potter, Voldemort's powers broke - and that's why he's disappeared."
Dumbledore nodded sadly.
"It's - it's correct?" wavered Professor McGonagall. "After everyone he's killed and all the horrible things he's done ... he couldn't kill two little kids? It's just amazing ... of all the things to make him stop ... but how in Godric's name did Harry and Emmalina survive?"
"We can only question," Dumbledore answers. "We may never find out."
Professor McGonagall grabbed a lace handkerchief from her cloak and lightly tapped at her eyes beneath her glasses. Dumbledore gave a rather large sniff as he took a golden watch from his cloak and looked at it. It was a quite peculiar watch. There were 12 hands, but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge. It obviously made sense to Dumbledore because he put his back in his cloak and said, "Hagrid's late. I'm guessing he was the one who informed you I'd be arriving here, by the way?"
"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't presume you're going to let me in on why you're here, of all places?"
"I've come to bring the Potter twins to their aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."
"You can't be - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping on her feet and beckoning over to the Dursley's home. "Dumbledore - you can't. I've been inspecting them all day. You couldn't find a family who is so different from us. And their son - I saw him kicking and screaming at his mother for sweets. Harry and Emmalina Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore finalizing everything. "His aunt and uncle will explain everything to them when they get older, everything's in the letter I wrote them."
"A letter?" repeats Professor McGonagall vaguely, resting back down on the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can tell them everything they need to know in a letter? These people will never understand them! They'll be famous - legends - it wouldn't be surprising if today was known as Potter Twins Day in the future - there will be books about them - all children in our world will know his name!"
"Precisely," said Dumbledore, looking very solemnly over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "It would be ample enough to turn any kid's head. Famous before they can walk or talk! Famous for something they won't remember! Can't you realize how much better their lives will be if they grow up away from all that nonsense until they're ready to handle it?"
Professor McGonagall repeatedly opened and closed her mouth before swallowing and saying, "Yes - yes, you're right, of course. But how are the twins getting here, Dumbledore?" she eyed his purple cloak as if she suddenly was thinking that the twins were somewhere underneath it.
"Hagrid's bringing them."
"You believe it's - clever - to trust Hagrid with something as vital as this?"
"I trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.
"I'm not exclaiming that his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall urgently, "but you can't deny he's careless. He does incline to - what's that sound?"
A small rumbling sound had broken the silence around the pair. It grew increasingly louder as they looked around them for the headlights that had to be causing this noise; it became a roar as both of the Professors looked up to the sky - and a huge motorcycle drifted out of the air and landed on Privet Drive near the pair.
If you called the motorcycle huge, you obviously hadn't noticed the man sitting on it. He was basically two average-sized men stacked on each other and five wide. He looked solely too big to be allowed, and so untamed - long, tangled bushy hair and beard hid almost all of his face. The man's hands were the same size as trash can lids, and his feet in his leather boots were about the size of baby dolphins. In his ginormous, brawny arms, there was a bundle of blankets.
"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relaxed. "Finally. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Got lended to me, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant as he carefully clambered off the motorcycle. "Young Sirius Black gave it to me. I've got them, sir."
"No conflicts, were there?"
"No, Professor - house was in ruins, but I got them both out finely before the Muggles started gatherin' around. They fell asleep as we were over Bristol."
Professor Dumbledore and McGonagall leaned forward to inspect the bundle of blankets. In the bund;e barely noticeable was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a piece of dirty-blond hair over her forehead was a curiously shaped cut, like a lightning bolt. Right next to her, also barely noticeable was a baby boy, still asleep. Under his tuft of jet black hair on the opposite side of his forehead was the same lightning bolt scar.
"Is that where -?" muttered Professor McGonagall.
"Yes," Dumbledore answered. "They'll have those for the rest of their lives."
"Can't you do anything about those, Albus?"
"Even if I had the power, I wouldn't. Scars can be useful. I have one above my left knee that is an identical map of the London Underground. Well - hand them over, Hagrid - we'd better finish this."
Dumbledore took the blanket that had the twins and turned towards number four.
"Can I - can I say bye to them, Professors?" Hagrid asked. He bent over the twins and gave them what probably was a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then Hagrid gave a huge howl as he began to sob.
"Be quiet!" shushed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the whole block!"
"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a handkerchief about the size of a tablecloth and buried his face in it. "But I c-c-can't believe that Lily an' James died - an' the poor twins have ter live with Muggles -"
"Of course, it's all very terrible, but get a hold of yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be seen," Professor McGonagall hissed, patting Hagrid tenderly on the arm before following Dumbledore over the low garden wall and walking to the front door.
Dumbledore laid the bundle on number four's stoop and grabbed a letter from inside his cloak and tucked it between the twin's blankets.
Both of the Professors walked back over to Hagrid and all three of them stood looking at the bundle for a good minute; Hagrid's body shook with tears, Professor McGonagall blinked back her tears rapidly, and Dumbledore's twinkling light had gone out.
"Well," said Dumbledore after a while, "it's final. We've got no business standing here any longer. We may as well go join celebrations."
"Yes," said Hagrid in a whispery voice. "I'd best get the bike back to Sirius. G'night Professor McGonagall, Dumbledore."
Hagrid wiped his streaming tears on his sleeve and swung himself on the motorcycle and roared it to life; with a final roar, the bike rose in the sky and eventually disappeared into the clouds.
"I believe I'll see you soon, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding off to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in response.
Dumbledore turned from her and started back down Privet Drive. On the same corner, he stopped and grabbed the silver Put-Outer again. He clicked it once and the lamplights went speeding back into their lamps making the street glow orange and Dumbledore could once again make out the tabby cat that was now slipping around the corner on the opposite side of the street. He could barely see the two identical bundles of blankets on the stoop of number four.
"Good luck, Harry and Emmalina Potter," He muttered. He turned around and with a swoosh of his cloak, he disappeared.
A breeze lightly ruffled the identical hedges on Privet Drive, which laid identical and tidy under the dark sky, the very bottom of the list that you'd be looking at for unexpected things to be happening.
Harry Potter rolled over inside blankets without waking up. Emmalina Potter rolled over to face him and both had one hand closed over the letter and the other near their sibling. They both slept on, not having a clue just how special they really were, not knowing how famous they were, or the fact that they would both be awoken in a few hours by Mrs. Dursleys scream as she put out the milk bottles, nor that they would both spend the next few weeks being prodded at by their cousin Dudley. ... They couldn't be clued in that at this very moment, people having secret meetings all over the country were holding up glasses and saying in whispered voices,
"To Harry and Emmalina Potter - the twins who lived!"
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