A/N: Nothing belongs to me, etc, etc. Quotes from Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone (mainly dialogue) is (c) J.K. Rowling. This is a three-way-fusion between Harry Potter, Assassin's Creed (the general 'Verse, not the plot of the games specifically), and His Dark Materials (the idea of daemons, mainly). Enjoy.

The wind rustled through the trees on Privet Drive, making some of the dead leaves still clinging to the branches flutter to the ground. Four figures silently made their way through the shadows and over the leaves, moving lightly as they walked. Their dæmons either flew or padded along beside their humans; their leader had a barn owl that glided quietly alongside her on silent wings. A hand motion from the leader had the group suddenly scattering; two crossed the street and disappeared into the shadows, while their leader and her second-in-command quickly made their way up to the nearest rooftop. All four humans wore dark-colored clothing that helped them to blend in with the night, so they were barely visible in the darkness.

The group watched in tense silence as a silver-haired and -bearded man in long robes suddenly appeared at the end of the street, his macaw dæmon perched securely on his shoulder. He raised a small silvery object into the air and, after activating it a few times, darkened Privet Drive even further. The four watchers let their eyes adjust to the lowered levels of light and continued to watch the scene below. The leader let out a soft snort of recognition at the sight of the cat-turned-woman interacting with the man, drumming her fingers against the rough shingles covering the roof she lay on. They watched and waited for several more minutes until the sound of a motorbike rumbling nearby broke the silence.

"Wha-?" The leader perked up, her dæmon turning his head this way and that at the familiar sound. "I know that engine," the owl muttered to his human. "That's-"

"It can't be," the leader murmured, and indeed, the person who was actually piloting the flying motorbike was not the one who normally owned it. The pilot was a giant of a man, and his brown bear dæmon sat shotgun in the sidecar, though she looked rather uncomfortable in the confined space. As soon as the bike landed, the man and his dæmon got off (and out) and headed over to Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore; a bundle of blankets was held carefully in the man's large, muscular arms.

"Hagrid," Dumbledore said, and the watchers could hear a note of relief in the elderly man's voice. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid said. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"See, I told you," the barn owl dæmon hissed, a note of satisfaction prominent in his deep-pitched voice.

"Yes, you're very clever. Now shut up," the leader muttered, returning her attention back to the conversation in time to hear Hagrid say, "-Lily an' James dead- an' poor little Harry off ter live with Muggles-"

"Not if I can help it," the leader growled softly. Her second-in-command glanced over at her, an odd look passing across his face before he shrugged and then continued watching what was going on below. Dumbledore took the bundle of blankets containing Harry from Hagrid and laid it gently on the doorstep of number four.

"Well," Dumbledore said when he rejoined the others, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," Hagrid muttered. "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall; Professor Dumbledore, sir." He clambered back onto the bike, his dæmon settling into the sidecar. Hagrid kicked the bike into life and then took off once more, quickly rising into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore said to his remaining companion. McGonagall merely nodded and blew her nose into a handkerchief. At that, Dumbledore turned on his heel, leaving Professor McGonagall and her raven dæmon alone. Once Dumbledore reached the end of the street, he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer.

"Close your eyes!" the leader commanded, knowing that she would be heard thanks to the Listening Charm that had been cast on every one of the group's cloak hoods. She pushed her face against her arm just in time, because Dumbledore activated the Put-Outer, relighting the streetlamps he had extinguished earlier. Both he and McGonagall had gone by the time the four watchers had reached the ground, but not one of them cared. The leader darted over to number four, her dæmon flying a few meters ahead of her. The young woman- even with her leadership role, she was barely twenty-two -carefully scooped up the bundle containing Harry and his dæmon, who was currently sleeping in the form of a small mouse curled up under the blankets. She slipped the envelope Dumbledore had left into her pocket, intending on burning it the first chance she got.

"Let's go," the leader's dæmon said, landing on his human's shoulder and ruffling his feathers. "We need to get him to a Healer, and possibly a Curse-Breaker as well."

"Understood," the second-in-command's dæmon, a surprisingly solemn bluebird, replied. The leader looked down at the bundle in her arms, an odd look passing across her face before she sighed and Disapparated. Her teammates followed after her, leaving the quiet Muggle neighborhood behind. In the main bedroom of number four, Vernon Dursley rolled over in bed, a soft snort escaping him. His pig dæmon snuffled in her sleep and snuggled closer to Petunia's collie dæmon, burying her snout in his warm fur. The street outside was empty and only a few leaves floated on the wind, leaving neither Dursley none the wiser how close they came to having to raise Harry in their house.