For my story, there is a Harry Potter, and the prophecy was about him and his twin sister and George are a year younger. Oh, and Neville Longbottom has a twin sister Nina. I don't own HP, that belongs to the wonderful J.K. Rowling.

In the middle of the night on one end of Privet Drive, a man in a long cloak with long, silver hair and beard and eyes that twinkle and pierce you appears out of no where with a 'Pop!' He takes from a pocket in his cloak what looks to be a lighter and opens it up. With a click of the lighter, the streetlamp nearest him goes out, its light flying into the little silver lighter. The man repeats the process until the entire street is only lit by the moon and stars.

Tucking away the silver lighter, the man walks down the street until he stands before Number Four, an ordinary house at best. On the garden wall sits a tabby cat with the oddest circles around its eyes. This tabby watches closely as the old man comes and sits next to it, looking out to the street. "Hello Minerva," says the old man.

In response, the cat morphs into an older woman with glasses and green robes. "How did you know it was me?"

He chuckles lightly. "I have never seen a cat sit quite so still as you."

Minerva brushes this off and instead of responding says, "So are the rumors true, then?"

"That depends on what rumors you are speaking of," he says this lightly but is tone is completely serious.

"That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named tried and failed to kill the girl and was destroyed by trying, and that the girl and the boy now are devoid of any family but these people? That He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gone?"

The old man sighs lightly. "Fear of the name only increases fear of the thing its self. I fear, Minerva, that Voldemort may not be gone forever. But for now, this much is true."

Minerva nods. "Dumbledore, are you sure you want to leave them with these people? They are the worst kind of Muggles!"

"Alas, they are the only family the two have left."

Minerva won't take this answer, "So someone else can take them in! I'm sure there are hundreds of wizards all around the world willing to take these two children in! They're famous!"

Dumbledore shakes his head sadly. "I would take them in myself if it would be best. No, these children need to grow away from all of this fame, it must not corrupt them."

So McGonagle lets the subject drop, checking her watch, only to look right back up at Dumbledore. "He's late. Are you sure you think it safe to leave such an important job to Hagrid?"

Dumbledore smiles. "Now, Minerva, I would trust Hagrid with my life."

McGonagle looks away, muttering, "But is it wise to do so?" She is ignored. Moments later, a thundering noise can be heard. The pair look up at the flying motorcycle in the sky as it comes closer and closer, touching down and skidding to a halt mere feet away from them. From off of the motorcycle steps a giant man, two men tall and three wide with hands like waist bin lids. In his hands are two bundles curled up as one, two babies curled up together, sleeping, clinging to each other tightly. Shutting off his motorcycle, Hagrid speaks in a booming voice, "Fell asleep when we was flyin' over Bristol, these two did. Curled right up to each other the whole time."

"You're late," spats out McGonagle. Dumbledore speaks before Hagrid can reply,

"Thank you, Hagrid. I shall take them from here." Gently, Dumbledore takes the two babies from Hagrid's hands and walks to the door with them. McGonagle and Hagrid watch, Hagrid with tears in his eyes, as the old man sets the two down in a basket on the porch, tucking a letter signed in emerald ink in the folds of their blankets. "Buffy and Harry Potter will grow away from the pressure of our world. It is better that way."

HEYY! I hope you liked the first chapter! Let me know if you did in a REVIEW please! Reviews are chocolate cakes with cherries and other goodies! They inspire me to write more and more quickly!