Well, it has now been three days, and no one else has published this, so I guess I must. Now, since I'm impatient, this isn't like my normal stories. I don't have anything written before hand and will *not* be able to do my usual daily updates. I do intend to update frequently, however, so fear not.
Please enjoy, because we all know we've been thinking is since seeing Fantastic Beasts
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I wish I did more than life itself, but I do not.
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number 4 Privet Drive were proud to say they were perfectly normal thank-you-very-much. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they simply did not hold with such things.
Which is why it was most peculiar when their house was torn apart by an apparent gas explosion.
The couple and their young son, Dudley, were not home when it occurred, but much to their neighbor's surprise their nephew, a young boy named Harry Potter, was. Now, if any of the neighbors knew the truth about number 4 Privet Drive, they would not have been so surprised that Harry was home. They did not, however, have a clue what occurred behind the doors of the Dursley home. In fact, the neighbors had been under the impression that Harry had died a number of years before, so they were quite surprised when the young boy just sat there in the middle of the rubble.
Harry seemed confused, but did not move from the destroyed house, as most ten-year-old boys would do. The neighbors flocked around, all staring and pointing at the boy, but they too did not make a move towards him. The inhabitants of Privet Drive were not all quite so terrible as the Dursley's, but they were also made of the same kind of stuff as Petunia and Vernon. Really the only difference between the couple of number 4 and number 6 Privet Drive was that one family had never considered the possibility of magic existing, and the other was forced to recognize its existence every day.
Harry Potter had been left on his Aunt and Uncle's doorstep after his magical parents were brutally murdered by the most feared wizard of the age. Neither Dursley particularly wanted the boy or his oddity but they never felt as if they really had a choice in the matter. In the end the couple had decided to keep the boy, but squash the unnatural magic out of him.
They had not succeeded in doing so through mild punishments or lies, so when the boy ended up on the rooftop of his school, the Dursleys had enough. They faked the boy's death, an endeavor that was far easier than it should have been, and locked him up in their house. That had been two years before, and, as far as the Dursley's were concerned, Harry had been cured of his magical affliction. It hardly ever seemed to burst out of him with wild rage as it once had. No, Harry was nearing a normal boy, with regards to magic at least. He hardly spoke, nor did he seem to even be capable of speaking anymore, but at least he did not do magic.
And Harry did not do magic. Harry did not even know magic existed. He knew he was different. He knew he was a freak who had to leave school before he hurt someone. He knew he was bad. He did not, however, know that he was a wizard.
Nor did any of the police officers approaching the boy, which, in retrospect, was a very, very bad thing. "Young man," one of the officers called out, stepping over what had once been the doorstep Harry was left on. "Are you hurt?"
To the officer it seemed like a ridiculous question. All the witnesses said the boy had been in the house when it was destroyed. Surely the boy had to be injured. Few could come through such a disaster with their lives, never mind without a scratch.
But the closer the officer got to the boy the more he realized the boy was unharmed. His first thought was that the boy must have wandered into the house right after it was destroyed, because any other possibility would have been simply illogical. "Hey kid, how did you end up here?"
Harry looked up at the officer who spoke to him, the brightness of the sun bothering him after so many years inside. "I live here sir."
Another officer came running up to the pair, and whispered something in his partner's ear. Harry could not hear what was said, but it caused the first officer to kneel down before Harry and speak with softer tones. "Are you Harry, Harry Potter?"
Harry most definitely knew that was his name, though he'd been called 'freak' more often over the past few years. Still, he wasn't about to forget his own name. "Yes sir."
The officer's eyes softened, though Harry wasn't sure why the man was so incredibly confused. "Have you ever ridden in a police car before, Harry?"
The boy jumped to his feet, his heart pounding against his chest in terror. As his heart rate rose, so did the creature inside Harry. It did not have a chance to burst out, however, because the officer, realizing his words, grabbed Harry's shoulder to sooth him. "You're not in trouble Harry, but there has been some confusion, and I need you to come with me so we can figure out what has happened, okay?"
"Okay," Harry answered. He didn't really want to stay at Privet Drive. He'd always hated the place, and he was terrified of what he'd seen right before its destruction. If that thing came back… Harry was frightened just thinking of the possibility. "Are my Aunt and Uncle going to be there?"
The police officer looked at Harry, reaching out to offer his hand as he did so. "We need to find them and ask them a few questions, but I don't think you're going to have to see them if you don't want to. Do you want to?" Harry shook his head so fast the officer worried the boy would hurt himself. "Harry, can you tell me why you don't want to see your Aunt and Uncle?"
Harry hesitated for a moment, but when he looked back upon the ruins of his house, he figured it could not hurt to tell the truth. Uncle Vernon had always punished him for lying, even if he was telling the truth, but perhaps this police officer would be better. "Uncle Vernon is going to blame me for what happened to the house. He's going to say I did it."
The police officer laughed, probably thinking that the idea of a little boy like Harry blowing up his house so expertly was a ridiculous notion. "Why would he think that? Did you?"
Harry again shook his head, biting his lip while he did so. He wondered if he should tell his next truth. Usually it was the weird truths that Uncle Vernon punished him for. But this officer was obviously not Uncle Vernon, and so Harry decided to tell him the truth. "Of course not, sir. It was the darkness! I was scared because Uncle Vernon had locked me in my cupboard again, and then the darkness was all around me, and the house was gone!"
The police officer nodded his head, and Harry could tell his story had not been believed. At least the officer didn't punish Harry for lying though. No, he just led Harry to the back of his car and made sure the boy was truly unhurt. (He was, more proof that the boy's story was just a lie to hide the far more gruesome truth.)
"So what do you think, did the kid do it?" the officer's partner asked.
The officer gave his partner a look that clearly said 'are-you-kidding-me'. "No way. I think the Aunt and Uncle were trying to do away with the kid for real, and he was just lucky enough to get out of the house before it blew."
"People are really crazy, aren't they?" the partner asked, climbing in the car and introducing himself to Harry.
The original officer stood for a moment more looking at the destroyed house."Yeah, some people are really nuts," he decided before climbing in the car and driving off.
If either officer had stuck around for a moment longer, they might have known for sure just how odd people could be. A few moments after they drove off, a 'pop' sounded from across the street from the ruins of number 4. No one noticed the man, which was quite good considering his peculiarity. Few people had such long silver hair, and those who did generally did not tend to wear long flowing robes.
But this man, of a different kind of peculiarity from what the officers spoke of, did dress in such a fashion. If he'd had a chance to plan ahead he might have changed into muggle clothes, but this man, Albus Dumbledore had been doing paperwork in his office when one of the wards he'd placed around Number 4 broke. He'd rushed to the scene, but only after checking the Hogwarts register to ensure that Harry Potter's name was still there.
That register was the reason he'd never believed the tales of Harry Potter's death. Albus Dumbledore had only ever cared that Harry Potter was safe, and the registered had always assured him of this fact.
Or at least he'd thought it had. Looking upon the ruins of Number 4, however, Albus Dumbledore came to the conclusion that he was a terrible, terrible fool to assume that Harry Potter was safe because he was alive. He'd learned long ago that there was another kind of ill that could befall surrounding wizarding children surrounded by muggles.
And if such a fate had fallen upon Harry Potter, then Albus Dumbledore knew he could never forgive himself. Summoning his patronus, he spoke to the phoenix with a small tremble in his voice, "Please inform Mr. Scamander that I desperately need his help. I think the Boy-Who-Lived is an obscurial."