November 1st, 1981

The soft crack that sounded as Albus Dumbledore disappeared from Privet Drive echoed in the still night. Seconds passed, the sounds of the quiet night returned to their normal thrum, and all seemed at peace for the moment. Then the moment ended, and slowly, as the moon slid from behind the clouds, a distinguished gentleman and his dog appeared watching the spot where Dumbledore had disappeared.

The gentleman was immaculately dressed, if a bit old fashioned. His tall slim figure accented by the black trousers, vest, and tailed jacket. The white of his shirt was accented by the blood red Cravat he wore, the only color in his dress. In contrast the dog beside him was shaggy and unkempt, his midnight black hair sticking every which way. The lolling tongue wagged slightly, and a carefree spark glinted in its eye, though they returned repeatedly to the bundle on the step of number 4.

The man looked sadly at the spot that Dumbledore had disappeared from moments before, and shook his head. His right hand flicked out, making a slight hooking gesture towards number 4, and the dog trotted away. He approached the step, looking around to ensure no one was watching, then plucked the basket up in his jaws. The sway of the basket seemed the sooth the child within, who cooed softly in his sleep as he was carried away. The gentleman reached for the basket as his dog returned to his side, and paused as the dog growled ever so slightly. It was not an aggressive growl, more a possessive one. The gentleman merely cocked his eyebrow at the dog before taking the basket.

He looked down and the content toddler. Just over a year old, Young Harry Potter was blissfully unaware of his surroundings as he slept away. A frown crossed the man's face as he studied the young boy. Reaching in with his off hand, the gentleman caressed the lightning bolt shaped scar on the boys' forehead and his frown deepened.

"That won't do." He whisper

Gently, the man pressed a little harder, and his finger hooked into Harry's forehead. Any observer would have sworn they were seeing things as the man's finger sunk through Harry's skin and bone, and hooked a gooey black tar like substance from beneath Harry's skin. It stretched, then coalesced, and the gentleman watched silently as it pooled in his palm, then solidified into a ball. Placing the black orb into his vest pocket, he smiled once more, before idly scratching his dog behind the ears.

Then, as simply as they had appeared, the man and his dog silently faded from view. Death, and his Grim, had departed Privet drive.