Disclaimer: The Harry Potter series and all its characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

AN: I know this has been done before, rewriting Harry Potter so that Hermione's parents adopt him rather than the Dursleys. But, even with all the previous attempts by others, I wanted to try my hand at it, and this is part of that result. I will try to keep as close to canon as possible, but I do know that this won't wind up being a Harry/Hermione thing. There will be a few OCs, but not too many. In regards to Hermione's parents, I do know that they were dentists in the original series; however, I changed those professions-to police officer and nurse, respectively-just for my own desire to make this story unique (at least, unique in my mind). Rest assured, there is a greater purpose to it. Additionally, the names I gave them are my own invention and are in no way canon.

AN2: Any feedback would be most appreciated and I will gladly return the favor for your stories.

Chapter One
An Unexpected Delivery

On the morning of the 1st of November, at seven o'clock, Detective Constable Laurence Granger, of the Metropolitan Police Service, opened the door to his home in Greenwich, eager to obtain the morning's edition of the Times and peruse the stories printed therein, and most definitely get a crack at the crossword. A robust, broad-shouldered man of average height with bushy brown hair, he had been looking forward to the crossword all morning, given that it (along with a very strong cup of coffee) was his favourite way to start the day, but also because of the long night he and his wife had just had.

In truth, much of the day before had been most unusual. That might normally be said all the time about Halloween, but this time it was much more so. The whole day had been punctuated by a great many and highly unusual flocks of owls all around the country. And Laurence saw a great deal of them; in fact, what was more bizarre was that it seemed as if all of them were carrying what appeared to be letters and parcels. (Parliament's busy today, Laurence thought to himself, most amused.) Adding to that, multiple people were seen about Greater London—actually, all over the country, as Laurence would later find out at the end of his shift that day—dressed in what one of his colleagues referred to with a hoot as "something straight out of the Renaissance". Laurence knew all about everyone dressed in this manner. Around one in the afternoon, he had even kept a group of hooligans from antagonising one of them, a little man in a purple top hat. The man had been almost oblivious of the altercation, but did thank Laurence, followed by a string of babbling, which concluded the little man saying "Such a paltry moment cannot bring down my spirits, sir, for today is the day that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has fallen." The little man bustled off before Laurence could ask him what he meant, but not before giving Laurence the strangest gold coin as a sign of thanks. The little man disappeared before Laurence could give it back to him, as he could not accept a gift of any sort while on duty. Laurence ultimately decided to keep it as an odd souvenir.

But, the biggest event of the day came later that night. Laurence had just come home to his wife, Jean, and young daughter, Hermione. Hermione was only two years old, but she was smart as a whip, already reading and eagerly poring over several books, mostly those of Dr. Seuss, but also Maurice Sendak's Where the Wild Things Are and, to Laurence and Jean's bemusement, Homer's Iliad, though she had not yet started on it. Ultimately, it was with a Dr. Seuss book that Laurence entertained his daughter before putting her to bed.

It was about 9:30 in the evening as he and Jean were tucking Hermione into bed. As they did that, several loud screeches and explosions and bright flashes startled all of them. Laurence dashed down the stairs and threw open the front door to find the perpetrators.

As he threw open the door, the first thought that came into his head was, Damned idiots! Bonfire Night is NEXT WEEK!

But, that thought very rapidly took a backseat as he found that someone in the vicinity had set off a large number of fireworks. No, "large" didn't even begin to describe it. The entire night sky was illuminated with bright bursts of almost every colour imaginable. And, somehow, it also illuminated every single star in the northern hemisphere that one would be able to see on a clear, unpolluted night sky. Soon, Jean joined him outside with Hermione in tow and the family gazed in wide-eyed wonder at the spectacle over their street. After a few minutes, Laurence swore he saw the fireworks take on the shapes of animals, both real and fictional, and that those facsimiles moved as though they were alive. Once the fireworks ended, the whole street cheered and applauded. Speaking to his wife later that night, she would confirm what he imagined to happen as she could barely believe her eyes as well. Both swore it was real; either that or someone had drugged the water supply for the neighbourhood and caused everyone to see something straight out of a movie like Yellow Submarine.

It took about another two hours to set Hermione back to bed, as she was too amazed by the fireworks that she was jabbering about them endlessly. Laurence had to read some of the Iliad to her before she actually began dozing. It would have been a quiet night's sleep, if not for a motorcycle that roared through the street around two in the morning. The sound didn't wake Jean, nor their daughter. Laurence dashed to the window to look out onto the street. The street was dark, all the streetlights were out. No vehicle stood idling on the street, nor did any pass through in that time. So, Laurence did the natural thing and went back to bed.

Yes, last night was something to behold. But now, with coffee brewing in the kitchen, Laurence was ready to step out into the crisp November morning and bring in his much-desired newspaper.

However, just before he crossed the threshold, his eyes fell upon the most unexpected thing. Someone had set a basket at the foot of his front door.

Quizzically gazing down upon this highly unexpected delivery, Laurence stepped over it and walked down the steps to look up and down the street and see if there were any indication of who left the basket there. The street was deserted, with only a few cars parked on the curb, but no one else was outside yet. Laurence, not forgetting his desired objective, quickly picked up his newspaper, tucked it under his arm and returned his attention to the basket. A piece of paper was pinned to the blanket, a letter. It was addressed, in elegant green script, to "Detective Constable Laurence D. Granger & Nurse Jean R. Granger". He bent down cautiously, not wanting to agitate the contents lest they be unfriendly or, in the worst case, deadly. Just as his fingers were about to touch the blanket wrapped around its contents, something within the blanket shifted slightly. Laurence jumped back in surprise, nearly tumbling down the steps, not expecting any living thing to be resting within it. Gathering more courage to examine the basket's cargo, Laurence finally bent down again, pulled back the blanket slightly to reveal...a boy.

A baby boy, at least twelve months of age, with messy, jet black hair, sleeping peacefully in the basket. He was clothed and appeared to be well-fed and in good health. Appeared, Laurence thought, because his eyes quickly fell upon the boy's forehead, which bore a cut. A fresh one, from the looks of it, and an unusual one, as it took on the appearance of a lightning bolt. The cut began at the boy's hairline and arced downward until it ended just above the far point of his left eyebrow. But, despite that, there was nothing outwardly wrong with the boy.

He was beside himself with confusion. This was actually happening? Something like this didn't happen in real life, he thought. Nobody just leaves a child on the doorstep of a complete stranger. Not without looking in on the family on whose doorstep you were leaving the child. That thought sent chills down his spine. He worried about what this person, whoever they may be, saw in their home, and for how long that person watched his family. He stowed those thoughts away and returned to the matter at hand, this child on his doorstep.

Laurence surveyed the street once more and still found no sign of human presence. So, he did the proper thing and picked up the basket, taking it into his home.

He walked to the kitchen and set down the basket gently at the kitchen table, unfastening the letter and tossing it along with the newspaper onto a counter. He poured himself a cup of coffee. After taking a sip of it, he went to fetch his magnifying glass, an anniversary gift from his wife while they were dating, from their office and started examining the basket, seeking any clue about who had left it. There was nothing on the outside of the basket to indicate who brought it to his home. He knew he had to get a look inside but did not want to risk waking the boy. He definitely wanted to make certain the cut was the only injury the boy had. But, in order to do that, he would need help to pick up the boy, ideally without waking him. There was only one person in this household who was the master at that: Jean.

Laurence made his way upstairs, making certain not to put his weight down on the creaky seventh step. Coming up to the master bedroom, Laurence walked in to see his wife still in bed, but awake.

"Morning," Jean muttered, still slightly groggy.

"You would not believe what happened last night," Laurence said to her, crouching down and brushing back some of his wife's honey blond hair.

"Darling," she said, "I was awake last night. I saw the fireworks. Everyone in the neighbourhood saw the fireworks. Everyone from the Orkneys to the Azores saw those bleeding fireworks."

"I'm not talking about that," Laurence said.

"Then, what are you talking about?" Jean mumbled, burying her head in the pillow. "It's too early to play games with me. Unless you have coffee for me, let me sleep."

"Someone left a baby boy on our doorstep."

Jean very quickly sat up, looking her husband square in the eye, and asked him in a most incredulous tone of voice, "A baby boy?"

"Yeah."

"You're putting me on."

"No, I'm not. There was a baby boy tucked to sleep in a basket and left on our doorstep as I went outside to get the paper."

"How old is he?" Jean asked, very suddenly concerned.

"Only about a year old, maybe a few months older."

"How long has he been outside?"

"I don't know, maybe a couple hours," answered Laurence unsurely.

"Did you bring him inside?" Jean asked, more worried than before.

"Of course I brought him inside. I set the basket on the kitchen table. The baby looks fine, except for a cut on his forehead. He's sleeping right now."

Jean quickly got out of bed, draping a bathrobe over her and tying the sash once she was completely up and about. As she did, Hermione began crying. "Would you bring Hermione downstairs, and I'll check on this boy?" Jean said.

With that, she hurried out of the room. Laurence walked out of the bedroom and into Hermione's nursery. At the sight of her father, Hermione held out her arms and began to whine for her father to pick her up. Laurence acquiesced with a chuckle, taking his daughter into his arms. "Come here, pumpkin," Laurence said most affectionately as he scooped his daughter into his arms and gave her a peck on the cheek.

After quickly checking his daughter's nappy and replacing it with a fresh one, Laurence brought his daughter downstairs, humming a tune that made Hermione giggle. The father and daughter came into the kitchen to find Jean gazing down on the basket.

Looking up briefly at her husband and daughter, she walked over to Hermione, smiling sweetly, and gave her a kiss on the cheek. She turned back to the boy and said, "This is the most unusual cut I've ever seen."

"How so?" Laurence asked, his interest piqued.

"Well, this sort of cut can't be made in one fell swoop, but, remarkably, this one was," Jean answered, very perplexed. "It's not made by a blade or anything like that. I have no idea what would leave a mark like that, if anything. It's just...done in one go by...something. I have no idea."

"Car crash, maybe?" Laurence proposed.

"Possibly, but I really couldn't say," Jean said. "You said this was the only injury you saw on him?"

"Yes," Laurence stated. "I wanted you to pick him up so we could see if he's got any others and if there's anything else in the basket that can tell us who left him. There is a letter that was left with him. I didn't want to open it until you were up."

"Why on earth not?" Jean asked.

Laurence walked over to the newspaper and picked up the envelope for her to see to whom it was addressed. "It's addressed directly to you and I."

Jean picked up the sleeping boy, taking great care not to wake him.

Jean looked up at the letter in her husband's hand. She looked at Laurence, who had on his face a look of great concern while hers bore one of perplexity. Stowing that away for a moment, Jean returned her attention to the boy while Laurence took a quick look in the basket to see what else was within it, picking up the blanket, shaking it out, and peering into the bottom, but was left disappointed as nothing but the blanket rested inside. He passed the blanket to Jean, who lay the blanket on the table, set Harry gently down upon it, and began examining him.

"Daddee, who baby?" Hermione asked, as she saw her mother holding a child she had never seen before.

"We don't know, sweetie," Laurence said honestly to his child. "But we'll know soon enough."

He took a seat at the table with Hermione in his lap, opened the envelope, pulled out the letter within, and was about to begin reading, when his daughter tried to take it into her own hands, wanting to show her daddy she could read more than just the picture books read to her by her parents. "I wan' ree! Daddee, I wan' ree!" Hermione cried out, grasping for the paper her father held.

"Daddy is reading the letter, 'Mione," Laurence sternly said to his daughter. "You can look at the words as Daddy reads them." Hermione did not appear too pleased with that suggestion. However, it was apparent she reluctantly acquiesced to her father's edict.

Noting that, Laurence began reading the letter, "'Dear Mr and Mrs Granger..."

Laurence continued, "'Contained within this basket is a boy named Harry James Potter, born last year on the 31st of July. I profusely apologise for not addressing you in person with the monumental request I ask of you in this letter. However, it was very necessary to find a good home for him within what little time was available yesterday, and after exhausting all other options before coming to you, I have come to the decision that yours is the best place in which to raise young Harry.'"

Laurence quickly looked up at his wife, both of them shocked at the passage he just read. "That can't be what it says," Jean nearly shouted, remarkably without startling the boy awake.

"I'm reading it word for word, Jean," Laurence replied. "That's what's been written."

Returning to the letter, Laurence continued, "'Very early yesterday morning, well before dawn, Harry's parents were most unfortunately taken from him and he was left orphaned until help came and I brought him to your door. Sadly, Harry has very little family that could open their door to him. Both sets of his grandparents have long since passed away and his father was an only child. His mother does have a sister..." Laurence's voice perked up at that bit of information, though it quickly vanished as he kept reading, "...but they have spoken very little to each other for the past four years, and her sister has been, at best, resentful toward her since the age of eleven!'"

Jean turned back to Harry, checking his arms, legs, hands, and feet for possibly broken bones. Laurence could not contain his surprise at that tidbit of information, but still read on. "'Her husband has been just as hostile to Harry's parents, if not more so, and would be adamantly opposed to taking in, and here I quote a story Harry's mother related of their only real encounter with each other of late, "a rabid stray from her lot". Thus, it is reasonable to assume that these relations of Harry's would not wish to deal with any news of her sister, let alone take in her sister's orphaned child. Suffice to say, I do not believe this branch of Harry's family tree is a suitable environment in which to raise him, nor is it a suitable environment in which to raise their own child.'"

"I'd have to agree," Jean said.

"Ditto," Laurence responded, before returning his attention to the letter. "'In regards to Harry's health, you will no doubt notice a cut on Harry's forehead. He gained this at the same time he lost his parents to the aforementioned tragic circumstances. Upon examination, it appears to be only superficial, but it will leave him with a scar for the rest of his life. Apart from that, Harry is in perfect health for a boy of his age. His parents looked after him and doted on him every chance they could. He has no ailments of any kind, and neither of his parents have any history of mental illness, diabetes, cancer, heart conditions, hypertension, or any known allergies. Probably the only thing that would hinder Harry in the near future would be his father's poor eyesight, which I would wager Harry will inherit as he bears an almost uncanny resemblance to his father, save for his eyes, which he inherited from his mother.'"

Upon Laurence finishing that passage, Harry finally stirred awake with a gurgle and opened his eyes to the woman caring over him. As she gazed down on the boy, Jean let out a small gasp as the young boy looked up with a pair of brilliant green orbs. Jean could barely keep her heart from leaping into her throat as she looked upon the raven-haired emerald-eyed boy on her table and a smile broke out across her face. Harry looked upon the woman in confusion, assessing whether this was his mother or not. Jean giggled at the sight of this boy. "Hi," she said giddily. "Hi, Harry."

Very shortly after waking, the boy's face scrunched up and he began bawling. Jean quickly picked up the child and began rubbing his back in the hopes of calming him. She made shushing noises as she walked around the kitchen while young Harry kept on crying, which made Hermione put her hands to her ears. Jean said softly over and over, "It's all right, darling. Don't cry. You're in good hands."

It took about ten minutes but Jean finally got Harry to calm down and soon after got a smile from the young boy. She brought the boy over to her husband and daughter. Harry let out a squeal of happiness as Hermione smiled at the boy and said, "Hi, Hawee!" Laurence chuckled as he gazed at the boy waving his hands at Hermione, nearly tangling his left hand in her already bushy brown hair.

With Harry calmed down, Jean got Harry out of his clothes and resumed examining him. She quickly found herself relieved to find young Harry had no injuries, save for the cut on his forehead.

After Jean got Harry's clothes back on, she and Laurence moved into the sitting room. After Laurence set down a blanket and some toys, Jean set Harry very gently on the ground while Hermione clambered over to the baby boy and immediately began playing with him. As Laurence and Jean stepped over to the entryway, they continued their conversation in more hushed tones.

"What's the rest of it say?" Jean asked, pining for a more concrete answer.

Laurence flared out the letter and finished reading, "'I ask that you take Harry in as your own and care for him, as he truly deserves it. It is crucial that you do so within a day of reading this letter as he will not have any greater protection any other way.'"

"'Any greater protection'?" Jean queried. "From what?"

"I don't know," he replied. "That's all it says. It doesn't specify." He continued, "'He is a very special boy and he will amount to many great things in the future. Please care for him and give him a good home.'

"'I give you my greatest thanks and wish you both, your daughter, and young Harry many years of happiness.'

"'Yours, respectfully, Brian White.'" Laurence finished with a tone of confusion.

"I've never met anyone by that name," Jean said, mystified by the letter's conclusion.

"I haven't either," Laurence replied.

"Was there anything else in the basket?"

"Just Harry, the letter, its envelope, the blanket he was wrapped up in, and the clothes he's wearing."

"What are we going to do?"

"First, I'm going to call my precinct," Laurence said, before picking up the telephone. "We need to find out as much as possible about his parents. And find Brian White, while we're at it."

***HPG***

Laurence and Jean sat at their sofa in the sitting room as Inspector Neil Roth read the letter, hoping to glean any other clues that Laurence and his wife might have missed. A tall, slender man with an aquiline nose and neatly coiffed sandy brown hair, Neil Roth was one of Laurence's best friends, newly promoted to Inspector and eager for further promotion within the Service. At present, Neil was trying to prompt Laurence to do the same, at the very least to make Sergeant. But, Laurence playfully batted those encouragements of ambition away, as his mind was always more focused on his current work and his family. At present, though, it was more focused on the baby boy that made a sudden appearance at their home.

"Not much to go on here," Neil finally said, looking up from the correspondence. "I can take all this to Forensics. Maybe they can find something more from what you found. Questioned Documents would love to have a look at the letter and envelope."

Neil took a deep breath and asked, "You say your neighbours didn't see anyone set that basket at your front door?"

"I asked everyone I could this morning," Laurence answered. "No one saw a man, or anyone for that matter, even approach our house early this morning."

"And the baby's all right?" Neil asked Jean.

"There are no bruises or broken bones," Jean explained. "Nothing that indicates he was maltreated. He's right as rain, except for that cut he got some time yesterday. The letter said it was around the time his parents died..."

"Nothing funny happen around here last night?"

"You mean before or after the fireworks?" asked Laurence.

"Between when they ended and when you found the boy," the Inspector clarified.

"There was one point last night when I heard, or thought I heard, a motorcycle drive by the house. Must've been around half past three. When I looked out, the street was empty. Jean was asleep. None of the neighbours heard anything like that, either."

Neil took a seat in the chair to the left of the sofa and stared at the ceiling for a brief moment before returning his attention to Laurence, who asked, "Anything come up on the boy?"

Neil quickly answered, "We're asking around if anyone has filed any report of a missing child named Harry James Potter, and we're also looking for 'Harold James Potter', 'Harrison James Potter', 'Henry James Potter', and any other variation that comes to mind. There's been nothing so far."

"What about Harry's parents?"

"I don't know how soon we'll find them. All we truly know about them is that their surname is Potter and that the mum has green eyes and the dad's got black hair. We are checking the morgues, but if we had first names to add to our search, we could find them much faster. With what we have now, it would take a while to run down any possible matches."

Neil looked over at the two children playing and smiled.

"Are you two absolutely certain you haven't met anyone by the name of Potter in the past few days or weeks, or in your school years?" Neil said, turning back to the Granger parents.

"No," Laurence and Jean said simultaneously.

"And no relatives or distant relations by that name?" Neil asked, to which the Grangers shook their heads. "And the same goes for anyone named Brian White?"

"I haven't had any school friends by those names, nor any relatives," Jean replied. "Laurence hasn't either."

"I was thinking Brian White might be an alias," Laurence mused. "I've got a feeling a search will turn up a long list of people with the same name."

"Why put down an alias if you're asking someone to do this?" questioned Jean.

"Maybe he's responsible for what happened to Harry's parents."

"Laurence, please don't talk like that," Jean said in a worrying tone.

"Well, we can't really rule it out," Laurence said.

"As much as I have to agree with your sentiments, I have to agree even more with Jean," Neil stated. He held up the letter, and added, "He speaks of them fondly in here, like he cared deeply about them all. Why would he do that?"

"Jealousy, maybe?"

Neil and Jean could only give an odd look to Laurence.

Laurence threw up his hands and cried, "Look, I know it's nothing but conjecture, but what else can we think? That boy was stripped of his parents and his home by somebody or something, and we know nothing about them, or their family. And until we learn otherwise, I can't justifiably rule that out."

"Maybe not," Neil replied. "But, you can't deny it sounds like he cared about Harry and his parents in the letter."

"If he cared about them so much, why not take Harry in himself?" Laurence asked in frustration.

"You read it yourself. He says he 'exhausted all other options' before coming to us," Jean said. "Stands to reason he thought himself one of those options."

This answer left Laurence without a retort. It was a good reason for Brian White not to take the boy in himself, but without knowing for certain the motives of Brian White, it was still just idle speculation.

"When is Child Protection coming?" Laurence queried, turning to Neil.

"It should be another half an hour," Neil muttered. "I'll stick around with you until they get here." Neil looked once more upon the children. Harry seemed to be drifting off, as did Hermione. The fact wasn't lost on Jean as she bent down to pick up both children. Laurence quickly got up to help her and took Harry as she passed him off.

"Look, Larry," Neil began, using the nickname Laurence would have hated anyone but Neil and Jean if they used it when speaking to him. "I'm certain you don't want to hear this, but I think you should do what the letter says."

Laurence looked at his friend as if he just said Laurence should jump into the Thames in the middle of winter.

"You're joking, right?" Laurence said to his friend, shocked at the suggestion made.

"Come on, Laurence," Neil lamented. "You know how bad some of those foster homes can be. Not to mention, you hear some of the horror stories that come out of places like Wool's Orphanage? No, Harry is better off with you. With you two as his parents and with a sibling like Hermione."

"Neil—" Laurence started, before his friend cut him off.

"This Brian White bloke chose you," Neil riposted. "He must have watched you being a mum and dad to Hermione before he even considered setting the basket down at your door. He saw you both for what you were. Deeply caring, loving parents. The kind that really would give a child like Harry a good home. And I know you can."

What Neil had said left a sick feeling Laurence's gut as he pondered his friend's words.

"All I'm saying is that you should think about it," Neil added, sensing his friends' trepidation toward the suggestion. Neil slipped the letter into a protective plastic sleeve and placed it inside the empty basket.

"Do you mind if I visit the loo?" Neil asked.

Laurence gestured vaguely behind him and Neil went quickly to the lavatory.

While they waited for Neil to return, and for Child Protection to finally arrive, they took Harry and Hermione to Hermione's room, moving silently, contemplatively, and set the two children down for a nap.

Laurence and Jean did want to have another child. They had spoken about the subject on multiple occasions, between themselves and with Neil on one occasion. Laurence always did want a son, or another daughter, he wasn't very picky. Jean was just the same in those regards, though she was more keen on having a boy than another girl. Ideally, though, they were waiting until Hermione was a little bit older before they would really consider it.

They didn't speak, until Jean spoke up. "We always wanted to have another child."

"Yeah, the traditional way," Laurence quickly retorted. "Not like this."

"I know," Jean conceded, "but that doesn't mean we can't try again later."

"Jean," Laurence began, before his wife cut him off and spoke.

"This boy needs a home, Larry. I can't just send him away. Neither of us can."

With a sigh of resignation, Laurence looked upon the sleeping boy. His wife was right. He couldn't just bring this boy into his home, and then turn him away to complete strangers. Not that they weren't complete strangers to the child themselves. But, they couldn't leave this boy to another family. Not after he had lost so much. His parents, his home. They did owe it to Harry to give him that.

"Whoever this Brian White person is, I seriously hope he knew what he was doing," Laurence said.

"He must have," Jean replied. "This isn't a decision you make lightly."

***HPG***

Sure enough, two social workers from Child Protection came within a half-hour and took twice that time examining Harry and questioning Laurence and Jean about everything they knew about the boy. Neil spoke with the social workers about the beginnings of his investigation into finding Harry's parents, his relations, and Brian White before wishing Laurence and Jean well and excusing himself. Seemingly satisfied with the answers they had been given, the social workers spoke among themselves in hushed tones. Laurence listened as surreptitiously as he could.

From what he heard, he quickly began to worry. The social workers spoke of where they ought to put Harry, but from their tone, he inferred that they spoke not of what would be best for him, but what would be most convenient for them. The entire conversation finally took hold of him and Jean, both of them wanting to kick the two people out and keep the boy as their own. Laurence felt the innate need to stay his tongue as he listened to the social workers' conversation, until one of them said something that could not keep Laurence from speaking up.

"I heard that Wool's has a few openings," the younger of the two uttered.

The moment he did so, Laurence and Jean shot each other a frightened look. They had to step in and keep Harry with them.

So, Laurence spoke up. "Excuse me," he said at the top of his voice.

The social workers turned to him, looking slightly bewildered. "Is the letter that was included with the boy not an issue?"

"Well, of course it is," the first social worker said. "But, seeing as neither you nor your wife are blood relatives, we can't justify placing him in your care."

"If the letter were written by the boy's parents," the second social worker added, "you would naturally be allowed to take legal custody of him, as was stated in the letter. But, as that's not the case, and as there's no proof that Brian White was the executor of their estate, we have to take the boy with us."

"Please don't," Jean said impulsively.

"We're sorry," the first social worker said. "Our hands are tied. We have to take him with us."

"Perhaps we could make it legal in some way," Laurence said. "Perhaps, we could fill out some paperwork to become foster parents before we go through the proper adoption process."

The social workers looked at each other and began a rapid whispered conversation. Laurence looked over at Jean and saw her smiling sweetly at him, which quickly spread to his own face. The social workers quickly stated that that was more than helpful to Harry (thought Laurence was certain they meant it was more than helpful to the both of them). Another hour and a half after that, Laurence and Jean had filled out everything form the social workers set in front of them, writing down every pertinent fact about the both of them and their child. Once everything was done, they shook hands with the social workers, who then left, and quickly embraced each other, overjoyed at the fact that they now had a son to add as part of their family. They soon went upstairs once they heard both children waking and brought them downstairs to celebrate.

***HPG***

From the window outside the sitting room at the front of the house, a man watched the family welcome their newest member. If the family had looked up at the window, or if someone from outside gazed in the direction of the window, they would not see him, as he had cast several powerful charms upon himself to ensure he remained invisible to all. If he were visible, one would see an old man with long silver hair and beard and a crooked nose upon which half-moon glasses rested. His attire would be considered odd and receive stares from passersby, as he was dressed in deep purple robes adorned around the waist with yellow moons of every phase and black leather boots with silver buckles.

At the moment, the old man was caught up with the joyful sight of the Grangers welcoming their new son and brother into their home. Hermione was especially gleeful at the prospect of having a baby brother, as she hugged her new brother constantly. Jean doted on Harry as well, ruffling his hair and blowing raspberries onto his skin, which made the boy giggle and squeal. But, the most satisfying reaction came from Laurence, who took Harry in his arms and began playing with him as he would his own son. He would toss Harry into the air and catch him, much to Harry's amusement and Jean's apprehension, again and again. When the time came for all to go to bed, Laurence and Jean settled Hermione and Harry into the crib in Hermione's room, just for the time being until they could get a new crib for Harry.

When the lights went out in the house, the old man checked his watch. To any other person, it would make no sense as the watch had seven hands and was circled by all sorts of planets. But, it apparently did make sense to the old man, as he tucked the watch back in his pocket, pulled a wand out of his other pocket, and began casting spells around the house. When he was done, he stepped back, satisfied by his good work, and whispered under his breath, "Good luck, Harry...", before he disappeared on the spot.

AN: Hopefully, you enjoyed this. If so, please let me know, and I'll post some more.