As soon as I saw him, I recognized him. Not from the scar on his forehead, but when he took off his glasses. Those eyes, I'll never forget those eyes. Harry Potter. The memory of how I first met him flashed through my mind, a memory that, even though I was only two years old, I'll never forget.

It was early evening in the Granger household, Mr. and Mrs. Granger were sitting in the living room watching Hermione draw a picture.

"What are you drawing sweetie?" Mrs. Granger asked her daughter.

"A dragon!" Hermione exclaimed as she held up the picture. For a two year old, Hermione was very intelligent and skilled. Instead of just scribbles, Hermione's dragon actually resembled a dragon.

"It's beautiful honey," Mr. Granger smiled, "why don't we hang it on the fridge with the other art work?"

Hermione nodded enthusiastically and handed her father the picture. As Mr. Granger walked into the kitchen to hang the picture up, an explosion rang throughout the house, shaking the floor and ceiling. Mrs. Granger screamed and Mr. Granger ran into the living room to se her huddled on the floor, Hermione in her arms. Mr. Granger stood there, shocked, until he glanced out the window to see the house next door in rubbles.

"Stay here!" he yelled to his wife as he took off outside. He had lived next to this couple for a few years now. James and Lily Potter were lovely people. He wondered what had happened and had to make sure they were alright.

Mr. Granger ran across the yard and into the Potters' yard. He cautiously stepped into the house, looking around.

"James?" he yelled. "Lily?" As he stepped over the threshold, he saw a mans body lying in the living room. James. "Dear God!" he exclaimed. He looked around in horror, wondering where Lily could be.

"What're you doin' in 'ere?" he heard a gruff voice ask. Mr. Granger turned to see a very large man there. "Get out of 'ere, it's not safe!"

"Sir, James Potter is lying there!" Mr. Granger said hurriedly. "I don't know what happened. I'm Jonathan Granger, I live next door."

"It's not safe for you to be 'ere!" the man said again.

"What about Lily?" Mr. Granger asked, "A woman, and she has a son! Harry!"

"I'll find them," the man said and pushed Mr. Granger out the door. Mr. Granger watched as the big man walked carefully towards the stairs, a pink umbrella in his hands. Sighing, he walked outside to see his wife, Hermione in her arms, standing by the gate to the Potters' yard.

"What happened?" his wife asked him horrified.

"James is dead," Mr. Granger sighed.

Hermione started crying suddenly. Both Mr. and Mrs. Granger glanced at her and then behind. The large man walked put of the house, carrying a small bundle in his arms.

"It's best you het away from 'ere. Move from this place if you must," the man said.

"I have to call the police!" Mr. Granger said.

"S'all ready been done," the man said before turning and walked towards a motorbike.

"Wait! Who are you and where are you going with Harry!" Mr. Granger asked.

"I'm takin' 'im somewhere safe," the man grumbled. "It's best you don't know where." With that, he kick started the bike and drove away. Mr. Granger watched as he turned the corner, and the rode was left in silence. Hermione had stopped crying as soon as the man started talking.

"What do we do Jon?" Mrs. Granger asked, as she clutched onto Hermione, who had closed her eyes now that it was quiet.

"We wait for the authority to come," Mr. Granger said. "They must need witnesses!"

A second later, pops were heard and voices were shouting.

"Obliviate!" a man said twice, "Back to your home, Sir and Madam, there's nothing to see here."

"Of course officer," Mr. Granger said and took his wife's hand. Hermione sat there, in her mothers arms. As they turned around, she opened her eyes to take one last look at the house where the boy had been taken by the big man.

"You're Harry Potter, I'm Hermione Granger. And you are?" I asked, looking at the red head.

"Ron Weasley."

"Pleasure… you two better change into your robes, I expect we'll be arriving soon." I got up to leave, and glanced back once more. "You've got dirt on your nose…did you know? Just there." I said, rubbing my own nose. I turned to leave as Ron reached up to rub him nose. All that was running through my mind, though, was how I had witnesses something no one else had. I knew I had to be friends with him, if only because of this connection we shared.