Luna remembered her mother vaguely, she had long pearly white hair and gray eyes that shined like the moon in the darkness. She remembered when her mother had died in front of her eyes from an "experiment" that was a lie that had been told to every person who dared to ask Xenophilous Lovegood.

Sitting next to her biological father and her adopted mother, she couldn't help but curl into a fetal position, knowing that all the secrets she kept of her mother and father would be revealed. She was terrified reaching out to play with the rings on her mother's hand, she could feel the tension in her body relaxing before looking at her father who was going through his inner turmoil.

Luna wasn't necessarily afraid of her father, but it was more of a fear. A fear of disappointing him. Apollo had always adored dreamers and phropesses a subject that if mentioned to her adopted mother would start an argument.

Glancing down at her hands which were covered in various rings, she kept getting glimpses of blood from time to time. It was a mystery why to her, but she knew it had something to do with the upcoming war.

Persephone could only imagine what was going through Luna's head. She knew that she was a seer, but she never knew the extent of what she saw. The only man that could was Apollo, and Persephone wasn't even on speaking terms with him.

Zoning back into what was going on around her, she could faintly hear the clutter of the professors.

"The first movie is Persephone Potter and the Philosopher's Stone." Professor McGonagall stated before glancing around the room.

The screen turns on and the first thing that is seen is "Persephone Potter and the Philosopher's Stone."

"And so we shall begin," Sephie said with a sigh.

"Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that 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 just didn't hold with such nonsense."

As Hermione leaned over to whisper, "Your emotions are displaying on your face. Even a hellhound can sense your uneasiness. You have mere moments till everyone has seen what you faced." Soon she retreated from her sister in all but bloods ear.

While Persephone knew how this would go, she could not help but glance at her partner, wanting to at least hold a piece of him while watching but deciding against it due to the stance she had taken against him. She knew things hadn't mended well, and it probably never would again.

"Mr. Dursley was the director of a firm called Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck, although he did have a very large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin and blonde and had nearly twice the usual amount of neck, which came in very useful as she spent so much of her time craning over garden fences, spying on the neighbors. The Dursleys had a small son called Dudley, and in their opinion, there was no finer boy anywhere."

"Speaking-" "Of-" "... Spying! Persephone, have you ever spied on anyone?" "As -" "Of-" "Late?" Fred and George asked with menacing grins on their faces.

Scowling in their direction, she couldn't help but put up her middle finger at the two, which resulted in laughs from around the halls and a curious look from Apollo.

"The Dursleys had everything they wanted, but they also had a secret, and their greatest fear was that somebody would discover it. They didn't think they could bear it if anyone found out about the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't met for several years; in fact, Mrs. Dursley pretended she didn't have a sister, because her sister and her good-for-nothing husband were as unDursleyish as it was possible to be."

Hearing this caused a lot of commotion in the hall, knowing James and Lily Potter sacrificed their own lives, so their daughter could live.

Jumping into Persephone's lap, "Padfoot" or Sirius couldn't help to feel pain, knowing he wasn't there to stop her from going to the Dursleys.

"The Dursleys shuddered to think what the neighbors would say if the Potters arrived in the street. The Dursleys knew that the Potters had a small daughter, too, but they had never even seen her. This girl was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with a child like that."

"A child like what?" Pansy sneered.

"A magical child, you idiot," Hermione answered.

Before the two could get into an argument, the screen continued. "When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the dull, gray Tuesday our story starts, there was nothing about the cloudy sky outside to suggest that strange and mysterious things would soon be happening all over the country. Mr. Dursley hummed as he picked out his most boring tie for work, and Mrs. Dursley gossiped away happily as she wrestled a screaming Dudley into his high chair."

"My parents would hex me if I had cried like that," A third-year Ravenclaw said, causing some to look at them weirdly.

"None of them noticed a large, tawny owl flutter past the window-"

"How does one not recognize an owl-" "How does one not recognize their child, is spoiled?" Two Hufflepuff's asked, neither getting a response.

"At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase, pecked Mrs. Dursley on the cheek, and tried to kiss Dudley goodbye but missed, because Dudley was now having a tantrum and throwing his cereal at the walls. "Little tyke," chortled Mr. Dursley as he left the house. He got into his car and backed out of number four's drive."

'What has this got to do with έρωτά.' Apollo couldn't help but wonder as his finger grazed the back of her neck, watching her shiver at the feeling. As Persephone glanced over at him, the smirk that came across his face told her everything.

"It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign of something peculiar — a cat reading a map."

"A cat reading a map like a cat in the hat!" Percy exclaimed! Looking over at her brother, she laughed not at what he said, but at the fact that even with what he had been through he kept his childhood innocence.

"For a second, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen — then he jerked his head around to look again. A tabby cat was standing on the corner of Privet Drive, but there wasn't a map in sight. What could he have been thinking of? It must have been a trick of the light. Mr. Dursley blinked and stared at the cat. It stared back. As Mr. Dursley drove around the corner and up the road, he watched the cat in his mirror. It was now reading the sign that said Privet Drive — no, looking at the sign; cats couldn't read maps or signs. Mr. Dursley gave himself a little shake and put the cat out of his mind. As he drove toward town, he thought of nothing except a large order of drills he was hoping to get that day."

"Cats can't read at all, therefore it is not a cat, but what is it?" Amelia Bones muttered to herself while scribbling on her notepad.

"But on the edge of town, drills were driven out of his mind by something else. As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help noticing that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people about. People in cloaks. Mr. Dursley couldn't bear people who dressed in funny clothes — the get-ups you saw on young people! He supposed this was some stupid new fashion."

"Stupid fashion, seriously, do you people know how to dress?" Aphrodite exclaimed, looking around.

"He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and his eyes fell on a huddle of these weirdos standing quite close by. They were whispering excitedly together. Mr. Dursley was enraged to see that a couple of them weren't young at all; why, that man had to be older than he was, and wearing an emerald-green cloak! The nerve of him! But then it struck Mr. Dursley that this was probably some silly stunt — these people were collecting for something. . . Yes, that would be it. The traffic moved on and a few minutes later, Mr. Dursley arrived in the Grunnings parking lot, his mind back on drills."

"He's as dimwitted as Ares when someone asks if Aphrodite was married to him or Hephaestus" Hermes chortled. While said God glared at him while the others laughed.

"Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't, he might have found it harder to concentrate on drills that morning. He didn't see the owls swooping past in broad daylight, though people down in the street did; they pointed and gazed open-mouthed as owl after owl sped overhead. Most of them had never seen an owl, even at nighttime."

"Their life must be very miserable" Nico sighed while Persephone ran her fingers through his hair.

"Mr. Dursley, however, had a perfectly normal, owl-free morning. He yelled at five different people. He made several important telephone calls and shouted a bit more. Not only that, but he was in a very good mood until lunchtime when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to buy himself a bun from the bakery."

"He jerks off to himself by putting people down for a living."

"He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a group of them next to the baker's. He eyed them angrily as he passed. He didn't know why, but they made him uneasy. This bunch was whispering excitedly, too, and he couldn't see a single collecting tin. It was on his way back past them, clutching a large doughnut in a bag, that he caught a few words of what they were saying. "The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard —" "— yes, their daughter, Persephone —" Mr. Dursley stopped dead. Fear flooded him. He looked back at the whisperers as if he wanted to say something to them, but thought better of it."

"He dashed back across the road, hurried up to his office, snapped at his secretary not to disturb him, seized his telephone, and had almost finished dialing his home number when he changed his mind. He put the receiver back down and stroked his mustache, thinking. . . No, he was being stupid."

Trying to ease the tense atmosphere, "Who knew he could run...?"

"Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a daughter called Persephone. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his niece was called Persephone. He'd never even seen the boy. It might have been Penelope Or Priscilla. There was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley; she always got so upset at any mention of her sister. He didn't blame her — if he'd had a sister like that. . . But all the same, those people in cloaks. . ."

"Why hasn't he been killed yet" Slytherin asked and he received a bark from a dog wagging his tongue.

"He found it a lot harder to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he walked straight into someone just outside the door."

"That must've hurt that poor human being trampled by an elephant"

"Sorry," he grunted, as the tiny old man stumbled and almost fell. It was a few seconds before Mr. Dursley realized that the man was wearing a violet cloak. He didn't seem at all upset at being almost knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face split into a wide smile, and he said in a squeaky voice that made passersby stare, "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!"

"What happened to the Secrecy rule, or whatever it's called?" Persephone asked aloud, making Hermione shake her head.

Honestly, the girl was quite tired of Persephone's lack of knowledge of this world.

"And the old man hugged Mr. Dursley around the middle and walked off. Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the spot. He had been hugged by a stranger. He also thought he had been called a Muggle, whatever that was. Furthermore, he was rattled. He hurried to his car and set off for home, hoping he was imagining things, which he had never hoped before, because he didn't approve of imagination."

"So what does he believe in? Eating to his death, being a meany pants and a jerk to those around him?" Percy asked while looking at Persephone, who could only shrug at him.

"As he pulled into the driveway of number four, the first thing he saw — and it didn't improve his mood — was the tabby cat he'd spotted that morning. It was now sitting on his garden wall. He was sure it was the same one; it had the same markings around its eyes."

"Shoo!" said Mr. Dursley loudly. The cat didn't move. It just gave him a stern look. Was this normal cat behavior? Mr. Dursley wondered. Trying to pull himself together, he let himself into the house. He was still determined not to mention anything to his wife.

"A STERN LOOK FROM A CAT?!" Yelled a Ravenclaw.

"Mrs. Dursley had had a nice, normal day. She told him over dinner all about Mrs. Next Door's problems with her daughter and how Dudley had learned a new word ("Won't!"). Mr. Dursley tried to act normally. When Dudley had been put to bed, he went into the living room in time to catch the last report in the evening news: "And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern." The newscaster allowed himself a grin. "Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight, Jim?"

'Merlin, help us all'

"Well, Ted," said the weatherman, "I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early — it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight." Mr. Dursley sat frozen in his armchair. Shooting stars all over Britain? Owls flying by daylight? Mysterious people in cloaks all over the place? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters. . ."

"Mrs. Dursley came into the living room carrying two cups of tea. It was no good. He'd have to say something to her. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"As he had expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and angry. After all, they normally pretended she didn't have a sister."

"No," she said sharply. "Why?" "Funny stuff on the news," Mr. Dursley mumbled. "Owls. . . Shooting stars. . . And there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today. . ." "So?" snapped Mrs. Dursley. "Well, I just thought. . . Maybe. . . It was something to do with. . . You know. . . Her crowd."

More hushed whispers came from around the hall as those who had known Lily Potter had been the complete opposite of her sister that was being shown on the screen.

"Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea through pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered whether he dared tell her he'd heard the name "Potter." He decided he didn't dare. Instead, he said, as casually as he could, "Their daughter — she'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?" "I suppose so," said Mrs. Dursley stiffly." What's his name again? Penelope, isn't it?""Persephone. The nasty, common name, if you ask me."Oh, yes," said Mr. Dursley, his heart sinking horribly. "Yes, I quite agree."

"I came up with that name you know." Posideon huffed while looking at his daughter.

"He didn't say another word on the subject as they went upstairs to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley crept to the bedroom window and peered down into the front garden. The cat was still there. It was staring down Privet Drive as though it were waiting for something. Was he imagining things? Could all this have anything to do with the Potters? If it did. . . If it got out that they were related to a pair of — well, he didn't think he could bear it."

"The Dursleys got into bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly, but Mr. Dursley lay awake, turning it all over in his mind. His last, comforting thought before he fell asleep was that even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Mrs. Dursley. The Potters knew very well what he and Petunia thought about them and their kind. . . . He couldn't see how he and Petunia could get mixed up in anything that might be going on — he yawned and turned over — it couldn't affect them. . . . How very wrong he was."

"Well that was quite mysterious indeed"

"Mr. Dursley might have been drifting into an uneasy sleep, but the cat on the wall outside was showing no sign of sleepiness. It was sitting as still as a statue, its eyes fixed unblinkingly on the far corner of Privet Drive. It didn't so much as quiver when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped overhead. It was nearly midnight before the cat moved at all."

"It's now unusual as to how long that cat has been sitting there..." Draco said confidently.

"A man appeared on the corner the cat had been watching, appeared so suddenly, and silently you'd have thought he'd just popped out of the ground. The cat's tail twitched and its eyes narrowed. Nothing like this man had ever been seen on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, which were both long enough to tuck into his belt. He was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high-heeled, buckled boots. His blue eyes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half-moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked, as though it had been broken at least twice. This man's name was Albus Dumbledore."

While his supporters cheered for him to be brought on screen very few stayed quiet for either they knew the real Dumbledore or they were supporters of Voldemort

"Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."He found what he was looking for in his inside pocket. It seemed to be a silver cigarette lighter. He flicked it open, held it up in the air, and clicked it."

I want one multiple people around the hall stated while Jermes himself tried to figure out how he could make a replica of the creation.

"The nearest streetlamp went out with a little pop. He clicked it again — the next lamp flickered into darkness. Twelve times he clicked the Put-Outer, until the only lights left on the whole street were two tiny pinpricks in the distance, which were the eyes of the cat watching him. If anyone looked out of their window now, even beady-eyed Mrs. Dursley, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement. Dumbledore slipped the Put-Outer back inside his cloak and set off down the street toward number four, where he sat down on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at it, but after a moment he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead, he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses, exactly the shape of the markings the cat had around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a tight bun. She looked distinctly ruffled."

"Minnie" Persephone, George, and Fred squealed while getting a disapproving look from Mcgonagall but if you looked closely you could see the small hint of a small.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked." My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." "You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said Professor McGonagall. "All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

The current professor blushed upon seeing herself on screen.

Professor McGonagall sniffed angrily. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the Dursley's dark living room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls. . . Shooting stars. . . . Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting Stars Down in Kent — I'll bet that was Daedalus Diggle. He never had much sense." "You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years." "I know that," said Professor McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors." She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he has gone, Dumbledore?" It certainly seems so," said Dumbledore. "We have much to be thankful for. Would you care for a lemon drop?"

"A what?"

  "Pardon?!"

"A lemon drop. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of." "No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for lemon drops. "As I say, even if You-Know-Who has gone —"

"Voldemort is his name so you might as well use it," Persephone said

"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years, I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: Voldemort." Professor McGonagall flinched, but Dumbledore, who was unsticking two lemon drops, seemed not to notice. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who.' I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."I know you haven't," said Professor McGonagall, sounding half exasperated, half admiring. "But you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know- oh, all right, Voldemort, was frightened of." "You flatter me," said Dumbledore calmly. "Voldemort had powers I will never have." "Only because you're too — well — noble to use them."Luckily, it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs." Professor McGonagall shot a sharp look at Dumbledore and said, "The owls are nothing next to the rumors that are flying around. You know what everyone's saying? About why, he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

Those around her sucked in sharp breaths from constantly hearing the name of said Dark Lord.

"It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day. Neither as a cat nor as a woman had she fixed Dumbledore with such a piercing stare as she did now. It was plain that whatever "everyone" was saying, she was not going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true. Dumbledore, however, was choosing another lemon drop and did not answer."

"Bloody lemon drops" Snape whispered under his breath.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're — dead." Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped."Lily and James. . . I can't believe it. . . I didn't want to believe it. . . Oh, Albus. . ." Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know. . . I know. . ." he said heavily. Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' daughter, Persephone. But — he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Persephone Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."Dumbledore nodded glumly."It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all, he's done. . . All the people he's killed. . . He couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding. . . Of all the things to stop him. . . But how in the name of heaven did Persephone survive?"

"And there goes the question of my existence!" Sephie stated sarcastically earning a giggle from Luna and Ginny. While others glanced at her weirdly or with a strange sense of admiration.

"We can only guess," said Dumbledore. "We may never know."Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles. Dumbledore gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very odd watch. It had twelve hands but no numbers; instead, little planets were moving around the edge."

"His acting skills are almost superb-" "If only it wasn't for his twinkling eyes." Hermione and Persephone stated the latter feeling a little more disturbed by the fact.

"Not only that, but it must have made sense to Dumbledore, though, because he put it back in his pocket and said, "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?" Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?" "I've come to bring Persephone to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."

"But I did have a godfather isn't that right Professor?" Persephone questioned the old man to which he nodded his head while no words came out of his mouth.

"You don't mean — you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four. "Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son — I saw him kicking his mother up the street, screaming for sweets. Persephone Potter, come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter." "A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall. "Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Persephone Potter Day in the future — there will be books written about Persephone— every child in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She eyed his cloak suddenly as though she thought he might be hiding Persephone underneath it. "Hagrid's bringing her." "You think it — wise — to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?" "I would trust Hagrid with my life," said Dumbledore.

"Just not my secrets" Sephie and Hermione whispered.

"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," said Professor McGonagall grudgingly, "but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"A low rumbling sound had broken the surrounding silence. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of a headlight; it swelled to a roar as they both looked up at the sky — and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of them. If the motorcycle was huge, it was nothing to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild — long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had ha feet in their leather boots that were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"I want one now ASAP!" George stated before getting shot down by his brothers.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

Some people sat up waiting to hear his answer.

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir." "No problems, were there?" "No, sir — the house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we were flyin' over Bristol." Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby girl, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over her forehead, they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"You were a cute baby" Apollo whispered into Persephone's ear "Are you saying that I am now ugly?" she asked with mock confusion causing him to stutter before turning bright red.

"Is that where — ?" whispered Professor McGonagall. "Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever." "Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?" "Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."Dumbledore took Persephone in his arms and turned toward the Dursleys' house."Could I — could I say goodbye to her, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then, suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog. "Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall, "you'll wake the Muggles!" "S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it — Li little Persephone off ter live with Muggles —"

"Were they that bad?"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back to the other two. For a full minute, the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We have no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations." "Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'd best get this bike away. G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir." Wiping his streaming eyes on his jacket sleeve, Lily and James dead — an' poor Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar, it rose into the air and off into the night.„

"I would kill for a bike like that honestly I would"

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply. Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner, he stopped and took out the silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their streetlamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange, and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four."Good luck, Persephone," he murmured. He turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.

"Did he just..."

"A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Persephone Potter rolled over in his blanket without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside her and she slept on, not knowing she was special, not knowing she was famous, not knowing she would be woken in a few hours by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley. . . . She couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Persephone Potter — the girl who lived!"

"In three... two... one"

"You Decided to leave a mere baby on a doorstep?!" The shrill voices screamed