I wrote these first two chapters a really long time ago, so they probably aren't going to mesh exactly with what I write from here on out, but they still work well enough. This is, indeed, that longer HP/WTNV fic I mentioned in Cultural Differences.

Chapter One - Arrival:

In an odd little town known as Night Vale, just down the road from Desert Bluffs, in an unknown corner of the United States of America, decisions are made for you by the vast entities known as the City Council and the Sheriff's Secret Police. That is not to say that any bad decisions can be blamed on them in turn, though they appreciate the thought if something turns out well. Government mandated decisions mean that life in Night Vale is swell. Citizens are less stressed without the pressures of making important life choices. They can live peacefully and safely knowing that the Council and the Sheriff's Secret Police will do the hard yards for them.

Unfortunately, in the rest of the world, humanity is burdened with having to make all of their own decisions. What to eat, what profession they should have, what to do with orphaned children…

Orphanages you say? Well yes, most of the less fortunate areas did possess those sorts of foundations specifically for dealing with that last point. Lost children flourish together or something like that.

But common sense, that strange phenomenon the majority of the planet was infected with, didn't often apply to a certain hidden society. A group of people not native to Night Vale or their neighbour. Wizards. Or more specifically, the wizarding community of the United Kingdom. To them, blood was everything, in one way or another. To some that meant status, to others it meant family. To one elderly wizard in particular it meant a belief in a much deeper intrinsic familial love than most estranged families would ever be capable of.

Albus Dumbledore, a man of many names – mostly those he was born with – had found himself momentarily in the possession of an orphaned child, all of fifteen months old. He believed this child was important, but of course, being an elderly wizard with various commitments and responsibilities, there was no possible way he could oversee raising the child himself. So it only seemed fitting to leave him with what remained of his family – one estranged aunt and her somewhat questionable husband and son. It didn't occur to Dumbledore that the result might be anything other than loving acceptance, because family was important, wasn't it?

He tended to forget, of course, the discord present between himself and his own brother. Aberforth wouldn't be a happy uncle, nor would he even approve of the idea of Albus raising a child after their own tumultuous childhood.

Needless to say the 2nd of November 2001 wasn't a pleasant one for the residents of Number Four Privet Drive.

oOoOo

Upon opening the door on that fateful morning to put out the empty milk bottles Petunia Dursley was confronted with one of the last things she ever expected to see on her doorstep. As her gaze zeroed in on the small form she had nearly tripped over time seemed to freeze. A million thoughts flew through her mind, ranging from what the hell is happening to the neighbours will talk. That last one was the most important for her immediate state of mind. She was lucky enough to be one of the earliest risers on the street, but other people would be out and about soon, and if they caught so much as a glimpse of the child on the doorstep…

Swooping down she lifted the child – being moderately gentle in an attempt not to wake him – into her arms and quickly retreated indoors, shutting the front door firmly behind her. The child remained sound asleep, head lolling slightly to the side from the sudden movement. Petunia frowned down at the mess of blankets, absently noting that there was a letter tucked into the folds, but ignoring that detail for the time being. What caught her attention was the angry red lightning bolt scar on the infant's forehead.

Her frown deepened, brows furrowed in thought. What on earth could create a scar like that?

Shaking herself from her thoughts Petunia deposited the bundle on the armchair in the living room and stepped back, adjusting her dressing gown around her tall, thin form. Still the child slept on, as though mocking her.

Somewhat disturbed by the way the day had turned out, she backed out of the room and headed up the stairs, intent on waking her husband. They had a lot to talk about before he went to work.

oOoOo

Vernon Dursley was easily irritated and not all that accommodating. While he doted on his wife and son and seemed to love his job – or at least attempting to get promotions – there were few things he appreciated outside of that little sphere that didn't involve material goods. Having a child dumped on his front doorstep made his blood pressure soar through the roof.

The letter did little to soothe his rage.

Some insane freak with too many names wanted him and Petunia, perfectly ordinary, respectable people, to raise a baby freak because his freak parents were murdered? It hardly mattered that the child was apparently his nephew. It was an abomination! And in their house!

Once he'd finished his third cup of coffee and most of the donuts Petunia had bought from the bakery yesterday he was at least rational enough to think through what Petunia had explained to him.

As far as she knew, none of the neighbours had seen the baby on their doorstep, although she couldn't be completely certain unless someone mentioned it out of the blue at some point in the near future. They could hand the child over to the police claiming it was a missing child that they had stumbled across and that they had no relation to it whatsoever, and there were two ways to go about doing that, but they were both risky. If they called the police to their house everyone in the neighbourhood would know something was amiss. It would be horrible for their reputation. On the other hand, they could drive the child to the police station, but there was still a chance someone might see them taking the child to the car who would question them incessantly if they returned without him.

If, however, they were to raise the boy, even just for a short while until they could figure out some other way to get rid of him, they would be seen as loving and charitable. The neighbours would surely think highly of them for raising their orphaned nephew. They didn't have to be nice to him. Dudley would always come first. The boy didn't need to be pampered or given nice things – it would only be temporary.

And in the end that was that. The letter was burnt after noting the contents – that the boy's name was Harry James Potter, not that it mattered much to them – and deciding to ignore the instructions scrawled within. Until they could come up with a permanent solution to the problem, they would keep the boy alive. But as soon as it was practical, he was gone.

It was a promise.

oOoOo

That promise ended up taking nearly four years to fulfil.

During those four years Harry learnt a lot of things.

He learnt that family was useless, that it meant absolutely nothing. He learnt that no one ever listened to kids, no matter what they had to say. He learnt to stay quiet and keep his emotions locked away inside of him, because his relatives treated him with the least malice when they could easily ignore his existence. Mostly, he learnt that the only way to be accepted was to be perfectly and absolutely ordinary. Oh, and that magic was absolutely not real in any way shape or form.

That last point seemed oddly important, though since he could barely grasp the concept of magic as it was, it hardly mattered what the reasoning behind it all was.

Just after Harry's fifth birthday Vernon was offered a trip to the United States by Grunnings, the firm he worked for. He was supposed to go and negotiate some deals in person, or something along those lines. Vernon hadn't cared too greatly for the minute details. Only one thing stood out in his mind.

This was finally it. The moment when they would be able to get rid of the child that had been plaguing their house.

He accepted the offer without a moment's hesitation, without even phoning to consult Petunia about it. She would understand. If his boss was confused by his sudden certainty, which he certainly was, he didn't say anything. The sooner it was officiated the better, and though Vernon had not been his first choice as a suitable face for the company, if he was willing to drop everything and go at a moment's notice like that then he couldn't exactly complain.

Vernon drove home that day whistling to himself, and only honked at one slow driver. There was an almost palpable sense of excitement surrounding him as he nearly skipped into the living room – which would have been quite a sight to behold, given his impressive girth – where Petunia was keeping a close eye on Dudley while ironing some of Vernon's shirts. Harry was in his cupboard, as Petunia hadn't had any chores she trusted him to do.

Vernon grinned widely beneath his moustache, and Petunia immediately put the iron down, focussing all of her attention on him. He had never been enthusiastic about anything since Harry arrived.

"Vernon," Petunia asked somewhat hesitantly, "What is it?"

Vernon rubbed his hands together gleefully. "My dear, we are going to the United States."

For a moment Petunia simply stared, uncomprehending. But then comprehension lit up her eyes and she smiled too, suddenly free of the heavy weight of stress that had settled over her during the last few years. They were going to leave the country. It was the moment they had been waiting for ever since that horrid day in November of 2001. That hope was the reason they had acquired passports for Dudley and Harry the moment it was acceptable, so that they would be prepared to leave at the drop of a hat.

This was the best news they had had in a long while.

oOoOo

Even at five years old Harry could tell that something important was happening when his Aunt and Uncle began packing up all his meagre possessions (some clothes that sort of fit, a pack of crayons, a half-full pad of paper, and a handful of broken green soldiers). They had never done that before. Then there was the smiles that lit their faces. In all his life Harry had never once seen his Uncle smile. His Aunt did from time to time, normally to the neighbours or his cousin, but never to him.

When they were ushered into the car, Harry briefly wondered, with childlike innocence, if he was going to die.

The airport was terrifying. It was absolutely full of people, with crowds the like of which he'd never seen before in his short life. He kept getting jostled by people hurrying in every direction, and it was only his Aunt's unusually firm grip on his wrist that stopped him from getting lost. Without the anchor to his family he would have been swept away in the rushing masses. What would happen if he got lost? He wasn't willing to tempt fate and find out.

It was a long flight. The longest amount of time Harry had ever had to spend both in close proximity with such a large amount of people, and sitting in one place while travelling. He spent plenty of time sitting listlessly in his cupboard, but this was a completely different experience. Thankfully he did manage to sleep for a long portion of the flight, because it gave him an escape from his fidgety cousin, who hadn't seemed in any hurry to try and sleep. Dudley was the worst suited to the flight, his chubby build uncomfortably restricted in the plane seat mixing with his displeasure from not knowing what was happening and his inability to annoy Harry.

oOoOo

Upon landing, and once the odd family had made their way through the lengthy customs process, they packed all their stuff up into a rented car, picked a direction, and started driving. Vernon wasn't due for the meetings for another week, which they had been grateful for, since it gave them time to figure out what they were going to do.

oOoOo

Route 800 came along nearing the end of their second day of driving. Harry was restless, knowing that something was going to happen to him, but not knowing what.

Then they encountered the sign, down the road, just off one of the turn-offs.

Welcome to Night Vale.

Frowning in confusion Vernon pulled over onto the desert dirt at the side of the road, turning the engine off. Petunia handed him the map they had procured at his unspoken request. He scanned it for a long time, eyes flicking back and forth, forehead scrunched in confusion.

"Pet," he muttered softly, "It's not on the map. At all. This, this Night Vale place, it doesn't exist."

She stared at him, eyes wide, breath catching momentarily. It was unprecedented. Only it wasn't. Whatever was happening, this would be the best place to leave the boy, for better or for worse. Because like it or not this seemed like one of their towns, existing when it wasn't supposed to.

(They were, of course, wrong on both counts. Maps purchased in Night Vale were very clear about where exactly Night Vale was – if you could read the multiple layers of instructions in Double Spanish, Reverse Latin, and Ancient Runes. And despite their belief, no wizard had ever stepped foot in the strange town. A coincidence perhaps. If you're the sort who believes in that sort of thing.)

Shoving the map into Petunia's arms Vernon unbuckled his seatbelt and climbed out of the car, slamming the door behind him. He opened the boot, pulled out Harry's small bag of belongings, and set it on the ground. As he shut the boot he glanced once more in the direction of the sign. It seemed like it was mocking them somehow. He shuddered, and quickly opened Harry's door, motioning for the boy to get out of the car. Harry did so without protest.

"Pick up your bag and come with me," Vernon instructed, setting off toward it. Harry shuffled along just behind him, bag strap draped across his shoulder, wondering what was happening.

It didn't take long, maybe five minutes or so, to reach the welcome sign. Once there Vernon smiled nastily, rubbing his hands together.

"I want you to sit here boy, and whoever comes along, you go with them. Understand?"

He understood the words, but he couldn't fathom why. His relatives' behaviour had always confused him, it never made sense. Nevertheless, he did as instructed, and watched, first as his Uncle walked back to the rental car, and then as his family drove away.

Leaning back on his arms Harry looked up at the sign, and hoped fervently that someone would find him. Kind or not, anyone was better than what he could only imagine would happen if he were left out in the sun without food and water.

And though he didn't know it, Night Vale heard his prayer.