A/N: All credit for the initial idea for this story goes to kb0; see his story 'Odds and Ends' for the original.

Disclaimer: Not mine

David parked his milk truck between number six and number four. The parking lights on his panel truck made an eerie glow in the early morning fog. Looking to the east, he saw the faint glow that indicated dawn was not far away. That meant he was right on time to finish his shift.

Checking the order sheet, he saw that number six wanted a pint of cream, in addition to their normal two quarts of milk. Number four wanted nothing extra, so it was the usual three quarts for them. Grabbing what he needed, he put the bottles in his wire basket and walked out of his quietly running truck to deliver them.

He dropped off number six's first; where he also picked up a few empty bottles. But when he arrived at number four's porch, he found a surprise. Without thinking he swapped the full bottles for the empties, but his attention was riveted to a wicker basket containing a small face wrapped in a blue blanket. Peeling back the blanket revealed the rest of a sleeping baby with a blood encrusted scar on its little forehead.

David's anger flared. Who would leave an injured baby on a doorstep on a very cool November night, because that was clearly what had happened. Or else, he suddenly thought, did the baby belong to these people and they were trying to give the baby to him, or anyone else who came along early in the morning? Looking again, he noticed an envelope in the basket. It was too dark to read it here, so he picked up the basket of baby and his basket of bottles, and returned to his truck. The bottles were stashed with barely a thought.

The baby basket was put beside his chair in the draft of the warm air from the floor heater. He again picked up the envelope with no name. With a shrug, he opened it and began to read.

Dear Petunia,

OK, that meant this family was not getting rid of the baby, and that it had been dropped off here. The name Petunia rang a bell somewhere too, and it was not because it was on his order sheet. All that was there was "V. Dursley".

I'm terribly sorry to inform you that your sister Lily and her husband James have been murdered. Fortunately, little Harry survived and I bring him to you because you are the last of the Evans line and there are no Potters.

Petunia Evans, Lily Evans. Why did that ring a bell? David kept reading.

I ask that you accept him into your home. If you will verbally say, "I accept Harry James Potter into my home as part of my family," then that will complete his protection for as long as he can call your house his home. That will keep him, and by extension your family too, safe.

Please raise him as your own and tell him of his heritage when he gets older. We will contact you when he turns 11 to make arrangements to send him to school.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

That's some name, David thought. He also considered the situation he was presently in, or rather the situation the baby was in. It was quite cool outside, in fact, he was glad for the heater in his truck on at the moment. He also had met the Dursleys a few times trying to collect payment when they had not mailed theirs in. They had not been pleasant people, although maybe that was just because he had been making a collection. Still, they did not look like pleasant people and they had been very rude to him. Lastly, the names Petunia, Lily, Evans, and Potter seemed familiar for some reason. Then it hit him.

A few years ago, his wife had dragged him to a family reunion on her side. There, they had met a second cousin or something named Lily Evans who was engaged to a bloke named Potter. That Lily had a sister named Petunia. He wondered what the odds were that they were all the same people. In thinking back, he would have to admit that he had not paid much attention to everyone, but there were some similarities between those women and the woman who lived at the Dursley house, at least from what little he could remember.

Figuring it could not hurt; David wedged the wicker basket in among the crates and then slowly started driving back to the plant. He'd drop the truck off and take the baby home. Elizabeth would remember if all the names fit and if this Petunia Evans became a Dursley. If not, he could take the baby back before the Dursleys woke up. If they did all match, then he and Elizabeth were family too and he would bet that he could convince her to keep the abandoned baby.

They had been trying to have a baby for several years and had not been able to, so he all but knew that Elizabeth would say yes. Adopting the baby, Harry he remembered, should be pretty easy. Their home would be far better than an orphanage and probably better than the Dursleys as well. They would be sure little Harry did not lose his heritage, whatever that was. When he got older, David would explain what happened and let Harry decide what name he wanted: Potter or Granger.