Disclaimers: I owned nothing. The book plots are owned by J K Rowling.

Major Pairing: HP/DM Slash

Slytherin! Evil! Harry Bashing Weasleys and Manipulative! Dumbledore

Chapter 1

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were very proud to say they were very normal. They were the last people to be involved in magic or strange things.

Mr. Dursley was the boss of a drill firm called Grunnings. He was a huge, muscular with hardly any neck with a large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had twice amount of neck since she uses it to spy on the neighbors. And their son, who, in their opinion, could do know wrong.

The family had everything, but they had a secret, and their greatest fear was somebody would discover it. They think that they can't bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's half sister, but they didn't meet for several years; in fact Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because the Potters have magic. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had small twin sons, David and Harry, but they had never seen them. David and Harry was the good reason for keeping the Potters away; they don't want Dursley mixed with children like them.

When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on a boring, gray Thursday, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most unexciting tie for work, Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she struggled a screaming Dudley into his high chair.

None of them seem to see a large, yellowish-brown owl flutter past the window.

At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, kissed Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having an outburst and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chuckled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive.

Suddenly he noticed cat reading a map on the corner of the street which was first sign of abnormal. For a second, Mr. Dursley wiped his head around to look again. There was a tabby cat standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. Mr. Dursley 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 his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive- no, looking at the sign; cats can't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a shake, and putting the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town he thought about a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day.

But at the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the morning traffic jam, he noticed that there were a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes-the getups on young people! Drumming his fingers on the steering wheel, his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdoes standing close by speaking softly altogether. Mr. Dursley was angry to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! Then it stuck Mr. Dursley-these people were collecting for something or doing silly stunts… yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills.

Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. He didn't see the owl swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl even at nighttime. Mr. Dursley had a perfectly normal morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted more. He was very good mood until lunchtime, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery.

He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. They made him uneasy. These bunches were whispering excitedly too and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying.

"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard-"

"Yes, their sons, Harry and David-"

Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them about the Potter's sons, but thought better of it.

He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache…thinking…no he was being stupid.

He found it a lot harder to focus on drills that afternoon and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door.

"Sorry," he murmured, as the tiny old man staggered and almost fell. It was few seconds before Mr. Dursley recognized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem to be upset at all. On the contrary, his face split into wide smile and he said in squeaky voice that made bystander started, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today. Rejoice, for You Know Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like you should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

And the old man embraced Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off.

Mr. Dursley stood to the spot, he'd just been cuddled by a complete stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. He was distressed. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping wasn't imaging things because he didn't approve of imagination.

As he pulled up into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same due to the markings around its eyes.

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley noisily.

The cat didn't move, just gave him a stern look. Trying to pull together, he let himself into the house. He was still firmed not to bring up anything to his wife.

Mrs. Dursley had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner about Mrs. Neighbor's dilemma with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word "No!" Mr. Dursley tried to act usual. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room to catch the last statement on the evening news:

"Finally, bird-watchers everywhere have statement that the owls have been behaving weird today. There have been hundred of sighting of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Specialists are unable to give explanation why the owls have suddenly altered their sleeping patterns." The newscaster allowed himself a smile. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffey with the weather. Going to be any more 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 acting weird today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have phoning to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they had shower of a shooting stars. Perhaps people are celebrating Bonfire Night but it is not due until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night."

Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair.

Mrs. Dursley came into the living room, carrying two cups of tea. He had to say something to her. He cleared his throat apprehensively. "Err, Petunia, dear you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"

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

"No," she said harshly. "Why?"

"Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley muttered. "Owls…shower of stars…and there were a lot of people wearing cloaks in town today."

"So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley.

"Well… maybe…it was something to do with her crowd."

Mrs. Dursley sipped tea through her tightened lips. Instead of saying about Potters, as casually as he could, "Their sons they'd be about Dudley's age now would they?"

"I presume so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly.

"Oh yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I have the same opinion on Potters."

He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peering down into the front garden while Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom. The cat was still there; staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something.

The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly but Mr. Dursley lay awake. Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no signs of sleepiness. It was sitting as a statue, its eyes fixed on the far corner of Privet Drive. In fact, it was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all.

A man emerged on the corner the cat had been watching, emerged so suddenly and silently. The cat's tail shuddered and its eyes thinned.

He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his beard, which was very long to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long violet cloak that swept the ground, and boots that are high heeled and buckled. His blue eyes were light, bright, and luminous behind the half-moon glasses. His nose was very long and broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore.

He was busy look through in his robe, looking for something. Then he realized that he was watched by the cat which it was still staring at him from the other end of street. The sight of the cat seemed to entertained Albus. He laughs quietly and speaks softly, "I should have known."

He found what he was looking for in his robe pocket. It is seemed to be a silver lighter. He flicked it open, held it up and clicked it in the air. The nearest lantern of street went out with a pop. He clicked the Put-Outer 13 times until the illumination left on the street were pinpricks in the distance which were the eyes of the cat watching him. Albus slipped the lighter back inside his robe and walked off down toward number four where he sat down on wall beside cat. After the moment he spoke to it.

"Imagine seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at a rather-severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses where the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She was wearing the emerald cloak. Her black hair was a tight bun. She looked disheveled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"My dear Professor, I have never seen a cat sit so awkwardly like you."

"If you've been sitting on a brick wall all day, you will be rigid," said Professor McGonagall.

"All day? You could be celebrating with your friends? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way."

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily.

"Oh yes, everyone was celebrating, all right," she said impatiently.

"They'd be a bit more careful but even muggles noticed something's going on. It was on the news." She yanked her head back to Dursley's window of the dark living room. "I heard it. Flocks of owls…shower of stars…well they were bound to notice something. I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle did shooting the stars down in Kent. He had no much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore smoothly. "We've had little value to celebrate for eleven years."

"I do know that," said Professor McGonagall angrily. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being careless, outside in the daylight, even not dressed like muggles, and swapping the rumors."

She threw a sharp peek at Dumbledore as hoping he will telling her something, but he didn't say anything, so she went on. "You-Know-Who seems have disappear on the very day, the Muggle found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

"It is seemed so," said Dumbledore. "We have been thankful. Would you want a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

"I'm rather fond of the Muggle sweet called a lemon drop."

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone-"

"My dear Professor, can you call him by his proper name? All this nonsense- I have trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore seems not to notice, unsticking two lemon drops. "If we keep saying 'You-Know-Who', it will be confusing. I haven't seen any reason of saying Voldemort's name."

"I know that you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "You're the only one Voldemort was frightened of."

"You compliment me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers that I can't have."

"Because you are too noble to use them."

"I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me that she liked my new earmuffs."

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

Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss about the real reason that she had been waiting on the cold, hard wall all day. She won't believe the rumors until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore was choosing another lemon drop and didn't answer.

"What they're saying is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James are- that they were dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall breathed sharply.

"Lily…James…I don't want believe it…Oh, Albus…"

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on her shoulder. "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 one of twins, David. But he couldn't kill one of them. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill David Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded miserably.

"It's true?" hesitated Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done…he couldn't kill little twins? It is astounding…but how in the name of hell did David survive?"

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

Professor McGonagall pulled out a handkerchief and wiped at her eyes below her glasses. Dumbledore took a golden watch from the robe pocket and examined it. It was very odd watch that had the twelve hands, instead of the numbers; little planets were moving around the edge. It must make sense to Dumbledore, because he put it back in his robe pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was him who telling you that I will be here, by the way?"

"Yes, why are you here, of all place?" said Professor McGonagall.

"I've come to take Harry and David to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family they have left now."

"You don't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumped on her feet and pointed to number four. "Dumbledore-you can't. I have been watching them all day. You can't find two people who are less like us. And they have this son who kicking his mother, screaming for sweets all way up the street. Harry and David Potter come and live here!"

"It is the best place for them, their aunt and uncle will able to explain everything to them when they are older. I written them a letter," said Dumbledore firmly.

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back to the wall. "Dumbledore, you really think that you can explain all this in a letter. These people will never understand them. They didn't know about David. They thought that Potters have one son. David will be famous- a legend-I will be not surprised that today will be known as David Potter day in the future-there will be books written about David-every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly, it would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Famous for something that he can't even remember! Can't you see how much better they'll be growing up normal until they are ready for our world?"

Professor McGonagall changed her mind, swallowed her mouth, and then said, "Yes, you're right, of course. But how are the twins getting here, Dumbledore?"

"Hagrid's bringing them."

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

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

"I am not saying his heart isn't in the right place, but you can't pretend he's happy-go-lucky. He tends to-What is that?" said Professor McGonagall reluctantly.

A low echoing sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky and a big vehicle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them. If the vehicle was huge, it was nothing to the giant sitting on it. He was taller than normal male and five times wider than the normal male. He looked so wild-long interweave of bushy black hair and a beard hid most of his face, he had hands were the size of trash can lids, and the feet in the leather boots were like baby dolphins. In the gigantic, brawny arms he was holding two bundles of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding pleased. "At last. And where did you get that vehicle."

"I borrowed it from young Sirius Black, Professor Dumbledore, and sire,." said the giant, climbing off the motorcycle, "I got them, sire."

"No problem, were there?"

"No, sire- the house was almost destroyed, but I got them out all right before the muggles started investigating around. They fell asleep as we were flying over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over two bundles of the blankets. One blanket has a baby boy, fast asleep. Under the tuft of ebony hair over his forehead, they could see a shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning. Another blanket has another baby boy, also fell asleep. Under the tuft of amber hair over his forehead, they could see a shaped cut, like a V.

"Is that where-" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes, they will have that scar forever," said Dumbledore.

"So which is the boy who lived?" said Professor McGonagall.

"I have suspicious that David Potter is the boy who lived because he has the curse scar shaped like a V. Harry Potter who has the scar of a lightning bolt."

"Well-give them here, Hagrid-We'd better get this over with."

Dumbledore took Harry in one arm and David in another arm and turned toward the Dursley's house.

"Could I say goodbye to them, sire?" asked Hagrid. He gave them a very scratchy and whiskery kiss. Then Hagrid let out a howl like an injured dog.

"Shhh, you'll wake up the Muggles!" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Sorry, but I can't stand it… Lily and James dead- and Harry and David living with the Muggles."

"Yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on you, Hagrid or we will be found," Professor McGonagall said, touched Hagrid gently on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry and David gently on the doorstep, and took a letter out of his robes, and tucked it inside Harry's blanket, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and watching at two bundles. Hagrid's shoulder shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the glimmering light has gone out of Dumbledore.

"Well, that's that. We have no business staying here. We may go and join the celebrations," said Dumbledore finally.

"Yeah, I'll taking Sirius his bike back. Goodnight, Professor McGonagall-Professor Dumbledore, sire," said Hagrid in a very barely audible voice.

Hagrid wiped the flowing tears from his eyes on his jacket sleeve, jumped himself onto the vehicle and kicked the machine into life; it rose into the air and off into the night with a roar.

"I shall see you soon, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodded to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down to the corner, stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked once, and the twelve lights came back to their street lamps so that the street glowed orange suddenly and he could see the tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other street end. He could see the two bundles of the blankets on the step of number four.

"Good luck, David and Harry Potter," he whispered. He turned on his heel and he was gone with a swish of his robes.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the sky, the last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over to his brother David, in the blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside Harry and slept on, not knowing that they are very special, not knowing that his brother was famous for death of Voldemort, not knowing they would waking up in the few hours by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the bottles of milk, not that he would spend the next few weeks being poked and pinched by David and Dursley…He couldn't know in that moment, people meeting in secret all over the England were holding up their glasses and saying in soft voices: "To David Potter-the boy who lived!"

AN: The Wizards and Witches thought that David Potter is the boy who lived. But Harry Potter is the real boy who lived. Next chapter will be about Harry Potter meeting somebody. And I am not telling you about it. You have to find it out in the next chapter.