Privet Drive.
One light after another vanished into darkness.
Beneath the moonlight, a solitary shadow stretched along the street.
The silhouette against the wall vividly captured the transformation of a cat turning into a human form.
“Dumbledore, are you truly going to leave him with this family?”
A stern-looking woman with her hair pulled tight in a bun turned to the white-haired wizard in front of her, who was dressed in a rather bizarre ensemble.
“I’ve been watching them all day, and I don’t believe they are capable of taking care of a child.”
Minerva McGonagall, the current Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, was a stern, highly accomplished witch of immense experience.
The white-haired wizard known as Dumbledore gazed at the dark house.
“Minerva, we have no other choice. Leaving him in the wizarding world would only bring him overwhelming attention and danger. Besides, the only person left who satisfies the conditions for the blood protection charm is his aunt. He must stay with his own blood relatives.”
Minerva knew they had no better option, so she could only defer to Dumbledore.
“I only hope he grows up to be a fine boy, untouched by this family’s influence.”
Dumbledore suddenly remembered something and offered a slight smile.
“Even without their influence, Harry is bound to inherit his father’s spirit. James was hardly an obedient student in school, and when his son comes to Hogwarts, I imagine we’ll have our hands full.”
The atmosphere warmed for a brief moment before quiet fell over them again.
Dutiful as ever, Minerva reminded Dumbledore, “I saw many wizards in the Muggle world today who didn’t even bother with the most basic disguises. You ought to warn them—it’s far too risky.”
“Forgive them, Minerva,” Dumbledore sighed softly.
“They’ve been repressed for far too long and need a chance to celebrate. Everyone will compose themselves soon enough—it’s only for a day or two.”
Just a couple of days.
Before long, everyone would return to normal.
A normal without the Dark Lord, where everything could return to its proper course, and no one would have to search for the sun beneath a darkened sky.
Dumbledore turned, about to leave, then paused and looked toward another house.
“Minerva, do you know who lives in that house?”
Minerva McGonagall shook her head.
“I haven’t paid much attention. The neighbors say a new family moved in—supposedly very wealthy, though they only stay here occasionally. Why? Is something wrong? Do you suspect them of being surviving Death Eaters?”
Dumbledore shook his head.
“No, it’s nothing. Perhaps I’m overthinking it. Mrs. Figg will be moving to Privet Drive soon. With her keeping an eye on things, nothing major should go wrong.”
Mrs.
Figg was a Squib, dutiful and reliable—the most suitable person among the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix to watch over Harry as he grew up.
The Order of the Phoenix had once been bustling, but among the few remaining members now, usable strength was scarce.
The Death Eaters would never forgive Harry Potter.
Only by staying near his aunt could the one-year-old infant be protected by the blood charm.
May he grow up safe and well, and may he build a bright life for himself when he finally enters the wizarding world.
Dumbledore and McGonagall turned and departed without looking back.
*
“Morning, Vincent.”
A boy with smooth black hair sat in the yard.
Just across the low dividing wall, Harry Potter raised a hand in greeting.
Vincent turned his head toward him.
“Mrs. Dursley isn’t home?”
“They’re all out,” Harry replied.
“It’s just me.”
Vincent set down his book, walked over to the wall separating their yards, fiddled with it for a moment, and opened a narrow hatch.
Harry wriggled through the gap.
“Thanks, Vincent. Otherwise I’d be stuck inside all day.”
“It’s nothing. Besides, now that you’re here, you can help me tidy up the yard.” Vincent cut off Harry’s profuse thanks.
“I’ve heard your gratitude enough times over the years to tire of it. Get to weeding.”
Harry was used to Vincent’s cold demeanor, but he knew the boy was genuinely kind.
He had never seen Vincent’s parents.
From a very young age, he had learned from Vincent that he was adopted.
His adoptive parents were extremely busy with work, and due to health reasons, they had wanted to adopt a smart and good-looking child from an orphanage.
Vincent was the one they had chosen.
Though Vincent always insisted it was he who had chosen those parents.
Unfortunately, two years ago, the couple had had a child of their own.
They relocated the whole family to the United States, leaving Vincent with a large sum of money and sending only an occasional letter back.
Quiet returned to the yard.
Vincent sat under the sun reading, while Harry pulled weeds for him.
He had to do these chores at Aunt Petunia’s anyway, but working for Vincent earned him a little pocket money.
Over time, Harry had managed to save up a bit.
Once he was older and could work a real job, he planned to leave Aunt Petunia’s cupboard under the stairs and live on his own.
“What are you reading, Vincent?”
Harry tried to start a conversation.
Vincent often ignored him, but Harry knew he was the only person on Privet Drive willing to talk to him.
Harry considered him a friend.
“An astronomy magazine. This issue covers the relationship between the Earth and the Moon, along with photos from the moon landing.”
*He actually answered me?*
Harry waited in surprise, but Vincent didn’t say another word.
Looking back over, he saw that Vincent was already engrossed in his book once more, oblivious to everything else.
Harry shrugged and went back to his work.
When it was time for him to go, Vincent handed him his tip.
Ten one-pound notes.
It wasn’t a huge amount, but it was plenty for Harry.
Doing chores for Aunt Petunia never paid a single penny.
Harry took the money with a smile, feeling something unusual tucked between the bills.
“Let me guess, Vincent—chocolate again?” Harry shoved the cash straight into his oversized, worn-out pocket, unwrapped the chocolate, and took a bite.
The flavor was comforting and familiar.
Vincent was one of the few people who remembered Harry’s birthday.
Ever since Vincent had moved next door when Harry was one, and especially after they became friends three years ago, Harry had received a present from him every year.
In Harry’s mind, Vincent was the boy who had suddenly appeared next door, though it wasn’t until Harry turned eight that he truly got to know him.
A treat he could swallow in a single bite brought Harry a sense of relief—a gift like this couldn’t be stolen by Dudley.
“Thanks for wishing me a happy eleventh birthday in advance.”
He would be eleven soon.
“Vincent, where are you going to school? A private school like Dudley?”
Harry knew Vincent was rich, even though he lived alone and Harry had never seen an adult in the house next door.
“No. You don’t learn anything there. Besides, any school that accepts Dudley Dursley is bound to be full of idiots.”
Vincent’s disgusted expression made Harry laugh even harder.
Just as he was about to say something else, Vincent slid the hidden hatch open.
“They’re coming back.”
Harry was certain he hadn’t heard a thing, but he dutifully crawled back through anyway.
He had barely slipped into his cupboard and hidden the money when Aunt Petunia’s sharp, cloying voice rang out.
“Come in, Dudley, darling! You were simply wonderful today!”
Harry was more convinced than ever that Vincent must have some sort of superpower.
Maybe he was a vampire or something.
After all, his skin was pale and he didn’t talk much—though he could stand in the sun…
*Click.*
The door swung open.
Vernon Dursley’s portly frame was wider than the doorframe of the cupboard under the stairs.
His voice rasped gruffly, “Boy, you haven’t been messing around in the house, have you?”
Harry looked up at him.
“No, sir. I’ve been in the cupboard the whole time.”
Uncle Vernon muttered a few words and shuffled away, sounding thoroughly dissatisfied.
Harry decided that his birthday wish this year would still be to leave this home as soon as possible.
…
He had never expected that wish to come true so quickly.
Sitting in the dilapidated wooden hut, thinking about the letter he had received, Harry couldn’t sleep at all.
Vincent had once said that people who stayed up late at night would encounter surprises others never got to see, and his words had actually come true.
By the time he was led into The Leaky Cauldron, Harry was still in a daze.
“Harry Potter! It’s Harry Potter!”
“Good heavens, I’m actually seeing Harry Potter!”
Outbursts of astonishment rose all around him, every pair of eyes fixed on his face.
At a complete loss, Harry could only offer a dry, awkward smile.
The owner of The Leaky Cauldron knew Hagrid, and everyone seemed to know Harry.
They called his name with feverish enthusiasm, leaving him overwhelmed for the very first time.
Why were they all so passionate?
He hadn’t done anything at all!
On the way to Diagon Alley with Hagrid, Harry gathered quite a bit of information from the big man’s rambling explanations.
Vincent had taught him how to maneuver conversations to gather the information he wanted.
Hagrid said, “Headmaster Dumbledore is the greatest light wizard there is.”
Hagrid had repeated that line at least three times since they met.
Headmaster Dumbledore clearly held a monumental place in his heart, and appropriate compliments would help gain his trust.
Vincent’s advice spun in Harry’s head, yet he couldn’t quite bring himself to put it into action as instructed.
Everything here was simply too magical—a completely foreign world he had never laid eyes on before.
Harry stared with wide eyes, taking in the sights of Diagon Alley.
The magical sights were almost too much for him to process.
He spotted a figure in a black robe and pointed hat stepping out of a shop with a wand in hand.
The wand looked nothing like Hagrid’s umbrella.
Harry wondered what his own wand would be like.
There was also a strange-looking little creature busily hauling goods outside another shop.
Hagrid told him that was a house-elf.
Harry knew that even if he wanted to understand everything right now, he couldn’t possibly digest it all at once.
The top priority was getting a wand of his own.
Standing in the middle of Diagon Alley, amidst the din of voices echoing from all directions, a single sentence crystallized in Harry’s ears—*Hello, Harry Potter.*
*Hello, magical world.
I’m Harry Potter.*
He still hadn’t figured out why everyone regarded him with such reverence, and he knew he probably wasn’t ready for this new life so vastly different from anything he had ever imagined.
But no matter what lay ahead, it couldn’t possibly be worse than living with the Dursleys.