Privet Drive.
One by one, the lights went out.
Under the moonlight a long shadow stretched across the pavement.
The shadow on the wall showed, perfectly, the shape of a cat becoming a woman.
“Dumbledore, are you really going to leave him with these people?” The stern woman with her hair in a tight bun looked at the oddly dressed white-haired wizard in front of her.
“I’ve watched them all day.
I don’t believe they can take proper care of a child.” Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts, a severe and excellent witch with years of experience behind her.
The wizard called Dumbledore kept his eyes on the dark house.
“Minerva, we don’t have another choice.
Leaving him in the wizarding world would only draw too much attention—trouble and danger.
The blood protection requires a living blood relative.
The only one left who qualifies is his aunt.
He has to stay with family.” Minerva knew there was nothing better.
She could only agree.
“I hope he grows into a fine boy and isn’t ruined by them.” Dumbledore seemed to remember something and smiled.
“Even if they don’t influence him, Harry will still take after his father.
James wasn’t exactly a model student.
When the boy starts school, we’re going to have headaches of our own.” The moment of warmth faded.
Both of them looked down.
Minerva did her duty and reminded him, “Today in the Muggle world I saw more than a few wizards who hadn’t even bothered with the most basic disguises.
You should warn them.
It’s reckless.” “Forgive them, Minerva.
They’ve been under pressure for years.
They need a little celebration.
People will settle down again.
It’s only these next couple of days.” Only these next couple of days.
Soon enough everyone would go back to the way things used to be.
Without the Dark Lord, everything could return to normal.
No one would have to search for the sun under a darkened sky anymore.
Dumbledore turned to leave, then stopped and looked at another house.
“Minerva, do you know who lives there?” Minerva shook her head.
“I didn’t pay attention.
The neighbors say a new family moved in recently—quite well-off, only stay here now and then.
Why?
Is something wrong?
Do you think they might be leftover Death Eaters?” Dumbledore shook his head.
“Nothing.
Probably just me overthinking it.
Mrs.
Figg will be moving onto Privet Drive soon.
With her keeping an eye on things, there shouldn’t be any real trouble.” Mrs.
Figg was a Squib, and she was reliable.
Among the few members of the Order still left, she was the best person to grow up near Harry.
The Order used to be lively.
Now the remaining members who could still be useful were few.
Death Eaters would never leave Harry Potter alone.
The only protection the one-year-old had was the blood magic that required him to stay with his aunt.
They could only hope he grew up safely—and that once he entered the wizarding world he would have a bright life of his own.
Dumbledore and McGonagall turned and walked away without looking back.
“Vincent, good morning.” The black-haired boy sat in the yard.
On the other side of the low wall, Harry Potter raised a hand in greeting.
Vincent turned his head.
“Mrs.
Dursley not home?” “They’re out.
Just me.” Vincent set his book aside, walked to the wall between the two yards, and worked at something until a low gap opened.
Harry slipped through.
“Thanks, Vincent.
Otherwise I’d be stuck inside all day.” “It’s nothing.
And while you’re here you can help me clean up the yard.” Vincent cut off the thanks.
“I’ve heard enough of those over the years.
Get to work.” Harry was used to the cold manner.
Vincent was genuinely kind.
He had never met Vincent’s parents.
From early on Vincent had told him he was adopted.
The couple who took him in were busy with work and had health problems; they had wanted a clever, good-looking child from the orphanage.
Vincent was the one they chose.
Vincent always insisted he had been the one who chose them.
Two years ago the couple finally had a child of their own.
They left Britain and moved the whole family to America, leaving Vincent a large sum of money and only the occasional letter.
The yard fell quiet again.
Vincent sat in the sunlight reading.
Harry pulled weeds.
He did the same chores at Aunt Petunia’s.
Helping Vincent at least earned him a tip.
Bit by bit he had saved a little money.
When he was older and could get a real job, he would leave the cupboard under the stairs and find a place of his own.
“Vincent, what are you reading?” Harry tried again.
Vincent usually ignored him, but he was still the only person on Privet Drive who would talk to Harry at all.
Harry counted him as a friend.
“Astronomy magazine.
This issue’s about the moon and the Earth, plus photos from the moon landings.” He actually answered?
Harry waited, surprised, but nothing more came.
When he looked over, Vincent was already lost in the pages again.
Harry shrugged and went back to work.
When he finished, Vincent handed him the tip.
Ten one-pound notes.
Not much, but more than Harry ever got at the Dursleys’.
He smiled and took them, then felt something else tucked among the bills.
“Vincent, let me guess—chocolate again?” He stuffed the notes into the pocket of his oversized, worn clothes, peeled the wrapper, and took a bite.
Same familiar taste.
Vincent was one of the few people who remembered Harry’s birthday.
Ever since he had moved in when Harry was one, and especially after they became friends three years ago, there had always been a gift.
In Harry’s memory Vincent had simply appeared next door one day.
They hadn’t really known each other until Harry was eight.
A treat small enough to finish in one bite.
Harry was glad.
Dudley couldn’t snatch this one.
“Thanks for the early eleventh-birthday present.” He would be eleven soon.
“Vincent, where are you going to school?
Some private place, like Dudley?” Harry knew Vincent had money.
Even living alone, Harry had never seen an adult at the house next door.
“I’m not going.
Nothing worth learning.
And any school that would take Dudley Dursley is probably full of idiots.” The look of pure disdain on Vincent’s face made Harry laugh harder.
He was about to say something else when Vincent suddenly opened the gap again.
“They’re coming back.” Harry hadn’t heard a thing, but he crawled back through without arguing.
He had just hidden the money in the cupboard when Aunt Petunia’s sharp, sticky voice cut through the house.
“Hurry up inside, Dudley, you were wonderful today!” Harry was more sure than ever that Vincent had some kind of strange ability.
Maybe he was a vampire.
Pale skin, quiet, didn’t talk much—except he could sit in the sun… Click.
The door opened.
Vernon Dursley’s bulk was wider than the cupboard door.
His voice was hoarse and ugly.
“Boy.
You haven’t been messing about in the house, have you?” Harry met his eyes.
“No.
I’ve been in here the whole time.” Vernon muttered something under his breath and left, clearly displeased.
Harry decided his birthday wish this year would be the same as always: to get out of this house soon.
… He never expected the wish to come true so quickly.
In the cramped wooden shack, staring at the letter he had received, Harry couldn’t sleep.
Vincent had once said that people who stayed awake at night met surprises most people never saw.
The words had come true.
When Hagrid led him into the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was still half in a daze.
“Harry Potter—it’s Harry Potter!” “Merlin’s beard, I actually got to see Harry Potter!” Excited voices rose on every side.
Every pair of eyes fixed on him.
Harry had no idea what to do with himself and could only manage a stiff smile.
The landlord knew Hagrid.
Everyone seemed to know Harry.
They called his name with real warmth.
For the first time in his life he felt completely out of place.
Why were they all so happy to see him?
He hadn’t done anything.
On the way to Diagon Alley, Hagrid’s scattered comments gave him pieces of the picture.
Vincent had taught him how to steer a conversation and pull out the information he needed.
“Headmaster Dumbledore’s the greatest white wizard there is,” Hagrid said.
He had repeated that at least three times since they met.
Dumbledore clearly stood high in Hagrid’s regard.
A little sincere praise would help win trust.
Vincent’s advice circled in Harry’s head, but he couldn’t make his mind work the way it was supposed to.
Everything around him was simply too astonishing—another world he had never even imagined.
Harry’s eyes stayed wide as they walked through Diagon Alley.
Strange, wonderful sights kept pulling his attention in every direction.
A man in black robes and a pointed hat stepped out of a shop carrying a wand that looked nothing like Hagrid’s.
Harry wondered what his own would look like.
A small, odd-looking creature was hauling crates outside another shop.
Hagrid told him it was a house-elf.
Harry knew he couldn’t take everything in at once.
The first thing he needed was a wand of his own.
Standing in the middle of the noisy street, the roar of voices around him somehow narrowed to a single clear thought.
Hello, Harry Potter.
Hello, magic world.
I’m Harry Potter.
He still didn’t understand why everyone treated him like someone important.
Maybe he wasn’t ready for a life so different from anything he had ever pictured.
But no matter what it turned out to be, it couldn’t be worse than living with the Dursleys.