1 ~Year One~ ||Chapter One|| The Girl Who Lived

Key:

(Y/N) - your name

(L/N) -last name

(W/N)- wrong name

(F/N)-fathers name

M/N-mothers name

Y/F/I- your first initial

Please let me know if I've forgotten to put anything in the key

Mr. and Mrs. Bell , of number five, Privet Drive, were proud to say they were perfectly normal in every way, thank you very much.they were the people you'd least expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they just didn't hold with such nonsense.

  Mr Bell was a director, along side Mr Dursley, at a firm called grunnings,which made drills. Mr Bell was a tall, lanky man with just the right amount of neck, although he had a very small moustache. Mrs Bell was short, medium sized,  (H/C), and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in handy as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbours with Mrs Dursley. The Bells had a small daughter called *Mary-lee and in their opinion there was no finer girl anywhere.

  The Bells had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that someone other than the Dursley's would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone other than the Dursley's found out about the (L/N)s. Mrs (L/N) was Mr bell's sister, but they hadn't seen each other in several years; in fact Mr bell pretended he didn't have a sister, because his sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unBellish as it was possible to be. The bells shuddered to think what the neighbours would say if the (L/N)s arrived in the street. The bells knew that the (L/N)s had a small daughter, too, but they had never seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the (L/N) away; they didn't want Mary-lee mixing with a child like that.

   When Mr and Mrs bell 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 be happening all over the country. Mr Bell hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work and Mrs Bell gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Mary-lee into her high chair.

  None of them,not even the Dursley's, noticed a large tawny owl flutter past the window.

  At half passed eight, Mr Bell picked up his briefcase,pecked Mrs Bell on the cheek and tried to kiss Mary-lee goodbye but missed, because Mary-lee was now having a tantrum and throwing her cereal at the walls. "Little tyke",chortled Mr Bell as he left the house. He walked across the lawn to the Dursley's house, waving to Mrs Dursley as Mr Bell and Mr Dursley get into the car and backed out of number four's drive.

  It was on the corner of the street that Mr Dursley and Mr Bell noticed the first sign of something peculiar- a cat reading a map. For a second, both Mr Dursley and Mr Bell hadn't realized what they had seen- then they both jerked their heads around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Private Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. They asked themselves, what could they have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light is what they told themselves. Mr Dursley and Mr Bell 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 the mirror as Mr bell turned around in his seat and watched through the back window. The cat was now reading the sign that said private drive - no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't trade maps or signs. Mr Dursley and Mr Bell gave themselves a little shake and put the cat out of their minds. As they drove towards town they thought of nothing except a large order of drills they were hoping to get that day.

But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of their minds by something else. As they say in the usual morning traffic jam, they couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Neither Mr Dursley nor Mr bell could bear people who dressed in funny clothes- the get-ups you saw on young people! They supposed this was some stupid new fashion. Mr Dursley drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. Mr Dursley tapped on Mr bells shoulder pointing out the huddle of weirdos. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr Bell and Mr Dursley were outraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older then they were, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck the two that this was probably some silly little stunt - these people were obviously collecting for something...yes,that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr Dursley and Bell arrived in the Grunnings car park, their minds back on drills.

Mr bell always say 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 over head. Most of them had never seen and owl even at night-time. Mr Bell, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important phone called and shouted a bit more. He and Mr Dursley were both in a very good mood until lunchtime, when they thought they would stretch their legs an walk across to road to get some buns from the baker's on the other side of the road.

They had forgotten all about the people in the cloaks until they passed a group of them next to the baker's. Mr Dursley and Mr Bell eyed them angrily as they passed. Neither Mr Dursley nor Mr Bell knew why,but the group made them uneasy. This lot were whispering excitedly, too, and they couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on their way back past them, clutching large doughnuts in bags, that they caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The potters and the (L/N)s, that's right, that's what I herd-"

"-yes their son, Harry, and their friends daughter, (Y/N)-"

Both Mr Dursley and Mr Bell stopped dead. Fear flooded the both of them. They looked back at the whisperers as if they wanted to say something to them, but they thought better of it.

Mr Dursley and Mr Bell looked at each other then dashed across the road, hurried up to their offices, both snapping at the secretary to not disturb them, Mr Bell 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. (L/N) wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called (L/N) who had a daughter called (Y/N). Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece was called (Y/N). He'd never seen the girl. It might have been (W/N). Or (W/N). There was not point in worrying Mrs Bell, she always got upset at any mention of Mr Bells sister. He didn't blame her - if she'd had a sister like that...but all the same, those people in cloaks...

He and Mr Dursley found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at 5 o'clock, He and Mr Dursley were still so worried that they walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry",He and Mr Dursley grunted, as the tiny old man someone almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr Bell and Mr Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile and he said In a squeaky voice that made passers-by stare: " don't be sorry, my dear friends, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even muggles like yourselves should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

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

Mr. Dursley and Mr. Bell stood routed to their spots. They had been hugged by a complete stranger.Mr. Dursley and Mr. Bell also thought that they had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. They were rattled. Mr. Dursley and Mr. Bell hurry to Mr. jerseys car and set off home, hoping they were imagining things,Which they had never hoped before, because neither of them approved of imagination.

As the car pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing they saw-and it didn't improve their mood-was the tabby cat they had spotted that morning. It was now sitting on Mr. Dursley's garden wall. They were sure it was the same one;it had the same markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" Send Mr. Dursley loudly, after the cat didn't move Mr. Dursley gave up and went into the house.

After Mr. Dursley went into the house Mr. Bell tried to get the cat to move so he loudly exclaimed "shoo!".

The cat didn't move. He just gave him a stern look. Is this normal cat behavior, Mr. Bale wondered. Trying to put him self together, he let himself into the house.he was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

Misspell had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner about Miss next-door's problems with her daughterAnd how Mary-lee have learned a new word ("Shan't!").Mr. Bell try to act normally. When Mary-Lee had been put to bed he went into the living room in time to catch the last report on the evening news.

"And finally, birdwatchers everywhere have reported that the nations 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 an able to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The news reader allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be anymore 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. We were is 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. Bell sat frozen his arm chair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the (L/N)s...

Mrs Bell came into the living room with carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er- *Brenda, dear- you haven't herd from my sister lately,have you?"

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

"No", she said sharply "why?"

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

"So?" Snapped Mrs Bell.

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

Mrs.Bell sceptre to you through pursed lips. Mr. Bell wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name " (L/N)". He decided he didn't dare. Instead he said, as casually as he could, "their daughter - she'd be about Mary-lees age now, wouldn't she?"

"I suppose so," said mrs Bell stiffly.

"What's her name again? (W/N), isn't it?"

"(Y/N). Nasty, common name, if you ask me."

"Oh,yes," said Mr Bell, 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. Bell was in the bathroom, Mr Bell crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden in the Dursley's yard. The cat was still there. It was staring down privet drive a though it was waiting for something.

Was he imagining things? Could all this have to do with the (L/N)? If it did...if it got out that they were related to a pair of - well, he didn't think he could bear it. Is Mr Dursley wondering the same thing about the potters?

The Bells got into bed. Mrs Bell fell asleep quickly but Mr bell lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the (L/N)s were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs Bell. The (L/N)s knee very well what he and Brenda thought about them and their kind...he couldn't see how he and Brenda could get mixed up in anything that might be going on. It couldn't affect them...

How very wrong he was.

Mr Bell might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting still as a statue, it's eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive.it didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed in the next street, not when two owls swooped overhead. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

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. The cats tail twitched and it's eyes narrowed.

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.

　　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."

　　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 the window now, even beady eyed Mrs Dursley or Bell, wouldn't be able the 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."

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

　　Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

　　"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. 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."

　　"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 rumors."

　　She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day YouKnow-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," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

　　"A what?"

　　"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." 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 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, was frightened of."

　　"You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have."

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

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

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

　　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 and the (L/N). The rumor is that Lily, James Potter, (M/N), (F/N) (L/N) are - are - that they're - dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

　　"Lily and James... I can't believe it... (M/N) and (F/N)...I didn't want to believe it... Oh, Albus..."

　　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 Potter's son and the (L/N)s daughter , Harry and (Y/N) .But -- he couldn't. He couldn't kill those chip. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter and (Y/N) (L/N) , Voldemort's power somehow broke -- and that's why he's gone.

　　Dumbledore nodded glumly.

　　"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 boy?or a little girl? It's just astounding... of all the things to stop him... but how in the name of heaven did Harry and (Y/N) survive?"

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

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?"

　　"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 Harry and (Y/N) to theur aunts and uncles. They're the only family they have left now."

　　"You don't mean -- you can't mean the people who live here and who lives next door?" 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 four people who are less like us. And the one family have this son -- I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, and the other family has a daughter who was doing the same thing to her mother and they were both screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here! And (Y/N) next door!"

"It's the best place for them," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older same goes for the girl with her aunt and uncle. I've written both families 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 them!they will be famous -- a legend -- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter and (Y/N) day in the future -- there will be books written about Harry and (Y/N) -- every child in our world will know their names!"

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

　　Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes -- yes, you're right, of course. But how are the children getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Harry and (Y/N) underneath it.

　　"Hagrid's bringing them."

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

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

　　"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.

　　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.

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

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

　　"No problems, were there?"

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

　　Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the two bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy and a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over boys forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. Under a tufts of (H/C) they could see the same scar on the girl.

　　"Is that where -?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

　　"Yes," said Dumbledore. "They will have those scars 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 them here, Hagrid -- we'd better get this over with."

　　Dumbledore took Harry in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house. While McGonagall took (Y/N) in her arms and turned towards the bells house.

　　"Could I -- could I say good-bye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and then over (Y/N) and gave them both what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.

　　"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 Harry off ter live with Muggles - (M/N) an' (F/N) dead aswell - - an' poor (Y/N) gettin sent off tee live with muggles aswell-"

　　"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 Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, McGonagall doing the same with (Y/N) and then both McGonagall and Dumbledore come back to hagrid. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the two little bundles; 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."

　　"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. 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.

　　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 and number five.

　　"Good luck, Harry and (Y/N)," 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. Harry Potter and (Y/N) rolled over inside their blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside each child and they slept on, not knowing they were special, not knowing they were famous, not knowing they would be woken in a few hours' time by Mrs. Dursley's and Mrs. bells screams as they open their front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that they would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by their cousins Dudley and Mary-lee... They 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 Harry Potter and (Y/N)-- the boy and girl who lived!"