A/N: This is to be the first chapter in a broad rewrite of all seven books. I will be attempting to write them without plot holes, and with explanations of things that didn't make sense in the original series. I don't have a beta reader currently, so anyone who would be interested in aiding me in that aspect would be incredibly helpful. This will be a much darker, more serious series.

Chapter 1

The Boy Who Lived

If one were to begin to ask who the Dursleys were, what they did, and how they acted; one would quickly begin to understand that there was little to nothing about the family to recommend them to the world. Vernon Dursley, the father, was a brutish, hulking figure full of anger and fear for that which he didn't understand that showed through his air of general disdain for such things. Petunia Dursley, the mother, had clung to him as if he was a lifeboat in a storm; putting up with even the most bothersome of his quirks in her crusade to distance herself from her sister's family, the only relatives left alive to her after her parents car crash. Rounding out the family was Dudley Dursley, the son. Only a newborn, Dudley had already been trained to be the self-serving, arrogant image of his parents.

Vernon worked for a company that made and sold drills, he had a large moustache and looked vaguely like a walrus with his missing neck and portly figure. Petunia's occupation was to be a stay-at-home mom for Dudley, any passions or ambitions she may have had previously in life had been driven out early on in her marriage to Vernon as she took on many of his most undesirable characteristics. They each loved their son desperately; believing that he would be the image of perfection, having been raised by the two most perfect being either of them had met.

The day was bright and sunny without a hint of a cloud in sight and the Dursleys continued on in their perfect world-hating joy inside their home at Number Four Privet Drive. Dudley sat in front of the television screaming at various animated characters as they darted across the scene. Petunia was busying about in the kitchen: washing dishes, sweeping the floor, and preparing food for the pudgy one-year-old. Vernon Dursley was just leaving for work. Stopping for a moment to kiss his wife and survey his immaculate house.

The sunny day was unmarred by want or worry in the minds of the Dursley family.

As he pulled out of the driveway in his black Dodge Mustang, Vernon Dursley saw something that struck him as being quite peculiar. There on the corner of Privet Drive was a small tabby cat sitting and reading what appeared to be a map. Vernon stopped the car and looked back toward the corner to see the cat sitting with no map. Confused, he muttered to himself that he had been thinking far too much about his business meeting later that day and quickly sped down the road to work.

While on his daily commute to his workplace, Vernon noticed not the several owls swooping over Little Whinging, nor did he see the many cloak-clad figures wandering the street. Vernon was lost within his own mind, oblivious to the world, and unworried about the worrying things around him.

Though the day was far from normal, Vernon neither saw nor heard anything strange until eating lunch at a local delicatessen. While tearing into a Reuben sandwich, Vernon heard someone behind him say "What do you know about him? This Potter boy? Have you heard what he did? Little Harry Potter?"

Vernon spun around in his seat to look at the speaker, only to see a couple wearing long cloaks of emerald and purple. Their lack of propriety and clear rebellion against social dress standards infuriated him. The couple was middle-aged and grinning from ear to ear. A young boy of no more than three or four stood at their knee, staring directly at Vernon Dursley.

"Yes, Amos, remember I met the Potters at Hogwarts? They were just young ones then, but I still knew them."

Vernon was speechless at the mention of the name Potter. He was almost certain that his wife's sister had married a man with the last name Potter. And he thought that their child had been named Harry. He took a step toward the trio before the young boy began to pull on the violet cloak his mother wore. She looked at the child and asked quietly, "What is it Cedric?" before looking up to see Vernon standing in front of her.

"May I help you, sir?" Amos asked Vernon, a note of caution in his voice.

Vernon remained standing before them, "What was that name you said? Something Potter?" he questioned.

Amos shot a glance at his wife before responding "Harry—Harry Potter. Have you heard of him?"

Vernon shook his head stiffly, trudged off to the door, and left without a word. Harry? He thought. Was that the name of the Potter boy? He turned the corner on the sidewalk and began immediately ascending the stairs leading to his office. No, it can't have been. Vernon tried to convince himself. I just recognized the Potter name and assumed. He spent the rest of his work day attempting to convince himself of this very wrong supposition; telling himself repeatedly that the boy wasn't named Harry, but Frank or something else. Anything but Harry.

Still a tabby cat sat outside of Number Four Privet Drive watching the mother and son coming and going throughout the house. Her sharp eyes took in every movement of the pair. Watching, and waiting.

Vernon Dursley rounded the corner leading to Privet Drive and became angry when he discovered that the small, yellow cat that he had seen when he left was still sitting not far from his house. He approached it and attempted to shoo it away. The cat fixed him with a hard look and bared its teeth. Vernon looked at the cat as if it was from another planet and muttered to himself about how the world was on its head.

Upon entering the house, Petunia quickly began to complain of the heat and how they needed a new air conditioner, following her husband into the kitchen when he left the entrance hallway. Vernon attempted to fend off her arguments but, in his distracted state, was unable to keep up with the conversation and ended with a grudging "I'll look into it."

Petunia nodded and said, "Now, dear, I'm sure you've heard, but the next door neighbors are adding a bathroom and third bedroom onto their house. We must be sure to tell them that they must be sure not to cause noise while Dudley is asleep. We wouldn't want him losing his precious sleep."

Vernon nodded seriously, his mind elsewhere. "Yes, I suppose we must." He prepared himself a small sandwich before plopping himself on the couch and absent-mindedly watching the cartoons still playing on the screen.

After Dudley had been put to sleep, Vernon changed the channel to the evening news and was joined by Petunia on the couch.

"Bird-watchers report that a startling amount of owls have been seen today, despite their generally nocturnal habits." The news anchor babbled out. "Owls have been seen at the wing all across the country, going in every direction, and that's not the only oddity of the day! There have been reports of fireworks being set off en masse throughout the day and night…" the news anchors voice faded into the background as Petunia asked "Vernon, is something on your mind?"

"What was the name of your sister's husband?" Vernon asked suddenly. "And their son?"

Petunia gave him a vaguely disgusted look, "Why would it matter what their names are? They have nothing to do—"

"Just answer me woman!" Vernon cut her off angrily.

Petunia paled and sank into the couch a small amount. "Potter, her husband's name was Potter. And their son was Harry."

Vernon nodded. He had known as soon as he had heard that group of freaks say the name. He wanted to deny it, but he knew then. He looked at Petunia, "I heard a group of people wearing strange cloaks talking about a boy named Harry Potter in the city today." She gasped.

"Do you think it's one of their kind?" He asked with trepidation.

"It couldn't be." She said immediately. "They're all about staying secret."

Vernon nodded grimly. "Must just be a coincidence." He said. "Harry Potter has to be a fairly common name." Petunia nodded and announced that she would be going to sleep. Vernon continued to sit on the couch, staring at the television screen, but not seeing.

Outside, the tabby cat sat staring at the house. Suddenly a man in a blue robe appeared as if from nowhere. He was old, tall, and thin; with white hair and a matching beard stretching nearly to his waist. He wore a pointed hat and held a wand in one hand. The tabby cat looked up at him, almost as if he was a party guest who had arrived late. Suddenly, the cat lurched forward and its form shifted to that of an older woman in a black robe. She stared at the old man with a stern look.

"Dumbledore," she said slowly. "You have certainly taken your time getting here."

"I have arrived exactly when I meant to, Minevra." Dumbledore said, eyes twinkling. "I see that you have arrived early. What are your thoughts from your observations?"

"You must tell me again why this boy must live with these horrible muggles." Minevra said. "They hate us, everything about us. I fear for the boy if he must stay here. That horrible Dursley child already strikes his mother and he's only a babe! What will he do to someone his size?"

Dumbledore nodded, but said, "Ms. McGonagall, this is the only way that this boy will continue to be safe. If we put him anywhere that is known to Voldemort's followers, he will die. There is protection here."

"But if we contacted the ministry they could place protections around whatever house the boy is placed in!" McGonagall said angrily. "They could—"

"The ministry is corrupt. You know that very well Minevra." Dumbledore interjected. "Just yesterday you were convinced of this option. What has changed?"

"They are horrible, horrible people, Headmaster. The boy will not be able to live the life he deserves with them. He will be changed. Every child in our world will know his name. He will be celebrated. If you leave him here, he will be away from that world. He will be no one!" McGonagall said passionately.

"That is as it should be." Dumbledore said. "He will be protected from what that kind of fame can do to a child. He will be protected from his enemies. I have written a letter explaining to his aunt and uncle what has happened. They will be able to tell him when he grows older."

McGonagall looked as if she was about to protest, but suddenly she heard a rumbling noise above her head. She looked up, only to see the streetlights all suddenly wink out, their light drifting into a device held in Dumbledore's hand. As she again looked to the sky, a motorcycle appeared out of the darkness, floating through the air. Atop it sat a man that was easily above seven feet tall with a mane of dark hair flowing down to his shoulders.

"Hagrid?" McGonagall asked darkly, "You had Hagrid bring the boy here?"

"I trust Hagrid with my life." Dumbledore said simply.

Hagrid landed the bike close to Dumbledore and McGonagall. He stepped off of the motorcycle and pulled a small bundle of cloth from the sidecar. "I brought 'im 'ere. Just like you asked." He said.

Dumbledore smiled. "Thank you Hagrid. Please give him to me."

Hagrid looked down nervously. "Can't I 'ave a moment? So as ta say goodbye?" He asked.

Dumbledore nodded and Hagrid looked down at the bundle in his arms. "It's time fer goodbyes now." He said quietly. "I'm sure I'll be seein' ya again. I'll tell ya all about yer parents."

Hagrid passed the child off to Dumbledore, who carried it to the front step of Number Four Privet Drive. He placed the child on the step, setting a letter on his chest.

"Until we meet again." Dumbledore said quietly. And then they disappeared.