Privet Drive slept under a calm, moonlit sky. The neat houses stood in perfect rows, their gardens trimmed, their curtains drawn. It was the sort of street where nothing unusual ever happened — and where the residents liked it that way.
But tonight, something unusual was already here.
A tall, thin man in a deep purple cloak appeared at the far end of the street, walking with unhurried steps. His long silver beard caught the light as he paused beneath a lamppost. From his pocket, he drew a curious silver device and clicked it once, twice, three times. The lamps winked out, one by one, until the road lay in darkness.
A tabby cat, sitting stiffly on the garden wall, leapt down and, in a ripple of motion, became a stern-faced woman in emerald robes.
"Good evening, Professor Dumbledore," she said, her voice low but precise.
"Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore replied warmly. "I had a feeling you'd be here."
"I've been watching them all day," she said, glancing toward Number Four. "The Dursleys. Perfectly ordinary. The sort who'd never dream of anything strange happening under their roof. Are you certain this is the right place?"
"They are his only living family," Dumbledore said. "And he will be safe here, away from the attention our world would heap upon him."
McGonagall's lips thinned. "Safe, perhaps. But happy? I'm not so sure. He's… special, Albus. Even without what happened tonight."
Dumbledore's eyes softened. "Special indeed. But he must grow up without the weight of his name pressing on him. Let him have a childhood free of fame, if nothing else."
A distant roar broke the stillness, growing louder until a flying motorbike descended from the night sky. The rider was a giant of a man with wild hair, cradling a bundle in his arms.
"Hagrid," Dumbledore greeted. "No trouble, I trust?"
"No, sir," Hagrid said, his voice rumbling. "Little tyke slept the whole way. Didn't make a sound."
He handed the bundle to Dumbledore. The baby stirred, revealing a shock of white hair and bright emerald eyes with narrow, vertical pupils.
McGonagall's breath caught. "Merlin's beard… his eyes."
"Yes," Dumbledore said quietly. "A mark of what saved him. And perhaps… of what he may yet become."
Hagrid sniffled, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Poor little thing. No mum, no dad… but he'll be looked after here, won't he?"
"I believe so," Dumbledore said. "They will raise him as their own."
He laid the baby gently on the doorstep of Number Four, tucking a letter beside him. "Good luck, Harry Potter," he murmured.
The three of them stood in silence for a moment, the night air heavy with unspoken thoughts. Then, without another word, they turned and vanished into the shadows, leaving the boy to sleep on — unaware that the people inside would one day decide his bedroom would be a cupboard under the stairs.