The Boy Who Lived
Summary: Harry was one when he became a big brother. His sibling is named Bloom. She, of course is a year younger. Harry does go to Hogwarts while Bloom still has to wait a year. They both share the cupboard. Dudley still picks on them, but not as much to Bloom as he does to Harry. While Harry's at school, he'll write to Bloom, telling her his adventures. She'll be able to visit him during vacations and be able to watch him play Quidditch.
(A/N) I will follow the books, but it won't be word for word… but pretty damn close. I hope. This story will be Bloom's point of view, cause I'm sure you already know what happens to Harry. This will be a short story but they'll be a sequel, if you want. Going to book two, when Bloom finally get to go to Hogwarts.
The Boy Who Lived
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number four, Privet, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal. They were the last people you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because they didn't hold with such nonsense.
Mr. Dursley was the director of a form called, Grunnings, which made drills. He was a big, beefy man with hardly any neck but had a large mustache. Mrs. Dursley was thin, blonde and had nearly twice the neck, which came in useful when she spied on the neighbors. They had a small son called Dudley and in their opinion their was no finer boy anywhere.
The Dursley's had everything they ever wanted, but they also had a secret, their greatest fear was that someone 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 haven't seen each other in 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. They Dursley knew that the Potters had a small son too, and a new born daughter, but they had never seen them. Those children was another good reason for keeping the Potters away; they didn't want Dudley mixing with children like them.
When they 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.
At half past eight, Mr. Dursley picked up his briefcase and left to work. It was on the corner he noticed a cat reading a map, he double check but the map was gone, he tried to scare the cat but the cat didn't even flinch.
As he sat in the usual morning traffic jam, he couldn't help but notice that there seemed to be a lot of strangely dressed people out. People in cloaks. He couldn't stand people who dressed funny.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the ninth floor. If he hadn't he wouldn't be able to concentrate on drills that morning, he didn't see the owls swooping pass him in broad daylight. He was in a good mood until lunch time, when he thought he'd stretch his legs and walk across the road to the bakery. He'd forgotten all about the people in cloaks until he passed a lot of them by the bakery. 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, 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 son, Harry.-"
Mr. Dursley stopped dead, fear flooded in him. He looked back, wanting to say something, but thought better of it.
He dashed back to his office and almost dialed his home number, when he changed his mind. Potter wasn't such an unusual name. He was sure there were lots of people called Potter who had a son named Harry. Come to think of it, he wasn't even sure his nephew was called Harry. He never seen the boy, it might be Harvey, or Harold. He didn't even know his niece's name. there was no point in worrying Mrs. Dursley, she always got upset whenever her sister was mentioned. He didn't blame her- if he had a sister like that - he left the office at five o'clock, he was still worried and walked straight into someone.
"Sorry" he grunted, as the old man almost fell.
"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, on this happy, happy day." then he hugged him and went off.
Mr. Dursley stood there shocked, a strange just hugged him and called him a muggle, whatever that was. He quickly went to his car and hurried home. The cat was still there, watching his every move when he got home.
Mrs. Dursley had a normal day, she told him about the problems the neighbors were having with their daughter and that Dudley learned a new word "won't" , when Dudley had been put to bed. Mr. Dursley went to the living and heard the last evening news: owls all over Britain? Shooting stars? People in cloaks? And a whisper, a whisper about the Potters.
Mrs. Dursley came in carrying two cups of tea.
"Er- Petunia, dear.- you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?"
As he expect she looked shocked and angry, "No," she snapped, "why?"
"Funny stuff on the news," he mumbled, "Owls. Shooting stars. And lots of funny-looking people all around."
"Well, I just thought…maybe…it was something to do with…you know…her crowd."
She sipped her tea. Mr. Dursley wondered to whether he dared to mention he heard the name "Potter." he decided he didn't care.
"Their son- he'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't he?"
"I suppose so" she said stiffly
"What's his name again? Howard, isn't it?"
"Harry. Nasty, common name, if you ask me."
"Oh yes" he said as his heart sank, "yes, I agree." he bite his lip, "and the girl"
She looked at him then back at her tea, "Bloom. As in when flowers bloom… flower related."
The Dursleys got into bed, but Mr. Dursley was still awake, thinking. Even if the Potters were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and Petunia. The Potters knew what they thought of their kind. He couldn't see how he and Petunia would get mixed into their lot- it couldn't affect them.
How very wrong he was.
A man appeared on the street, near the cat. He was tall, thin and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, where it was long enough to be tucked in his belt. he was wearing long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground, and high heeled, buckled boots. His blue yes were light, bright, and sparkling behind half moon spectacles and his nose was very long and crooked. His name was Albus Dumbledore.
The sight of the cat seemed to amuse him, he chuckled and muttered, "I should have known." he took out a silver cigarette lighter, flicked it, raised it into the air and clicked it. As he clicked it each time, the lights from the lamps disappeared into it. He turned back to the cat, "Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall."
The cat was now a rather severe looking women who was wearing square glasses, she was wearing an emerald cloak, her black hair in a tight bun.
"How did you know it was me?" she asked
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." he answered
"you'll be stiff too, if you had to sit on a brick wall all day."
"all day? You should have been celebrating"
The real reason she had been waiting in the cold hard brick wall all day, for neither as a cat nor a women had she fixed Dumbledore with a piercing stare. It was plain that whatever 'everyone' was saying, she wasn't going to believe it until Dumbledore told her it was true.
"What they're saying," she said, "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 cant believe it… I didn't want to believe it… oh Albus.."
He patted her shoulder. "I know… I know…."
Her voice trembled as she went on, "that's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potter's son, Harry then he was going to kill little Bloom. But- he couldn't. he couldn't kill that little boy. No one knows why or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke- and that's why he's gone."
Dumbledore nodded glumly
"it's- it's true" she faltered, "after all he's done.. All the people he's killed. He couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding. Of all the things to stop him. But how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"
"we can only guess," Dumbledore answered, "we may never now."
"Albus…" she whispered, "what about little Bloom? She's only a few weeks old, barely three months… what happened to her?"
Dumbledore looked at the night sky, "she was unharmed." he smiled
Professor McGonagall sighed in relief, 'those poor children…too young to be without their parents. What would happen to them now?,' she dabbed her tears as Dumbledore took out his watch.
"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here."
"Yes" she answered, "and I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here?"
"I've come to bring Harry and Bloom to their aunt and uncle, they're the only family they have left now."
"You don't mean- you can't mean the people who live here!" she cried, pointing to the house, "you can't, I've been watching them all day. They're awful. Harry and Bloom Potter come and live here!"
"It's the best place for them." he said firmly, "their aunt and uncle will be able to explain to them when they're older. I've written them a letter."
"A letter?" she repeated, "really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? There people will never understand them! Harry will be famous- a legend- I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in the future- there will be books about him and his family- even child in our world will know his name and Bloom's, she also survived him."
"Exactly," he said, " it would be enough to turn any child's head. Famous before they can walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off they'll be, growing up away from all that until they're ready to take it?"
She opened her mouth, but changed her mind, "Yes-yes, you're right, of course. But how are they getting here, Dumbledore?" she eyed his cloak, thinking he had them hidden.
"Hagrid's bringing them."
"You think it- wise- to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"
"I would trust Hagrid with my life."
"I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place," she said grudgingly, "but you cant pretend he's not careless. He does tend to- what was that?"
A low rumbling sound had broken the silence around them. It grew steadily louder as they looked up and down the street for some sign of highlight; 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 on it. He was almost twice the size as a normal man and at least five times wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild- ling tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids and his feet in their leather boot were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding two small bundles of blankets.
"Hagrid," Dumbledore said, sounding relieved, "at last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sire" Hagrid answered, "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got them, sir."
"No problems, were there?"
"No sir- house was almost destroyed, but I got them out in right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. They fell asleep as we were flyin' over Bristol."
Both professors bent forward over the bundles of blankets. Inside, just visible was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet black hair over his forehead they could see a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.
"Is that where-?" McGonagall whispered
"Yes," Dumbledore answered, "he'll have it forever"
"Couldn't you do something about it?"
"Even if I could, I wouldn't. scars can come in hand. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of London Underground. Well pass him here, Hagrid. Professor McGonagall can you please get Bloom"
She looked down at the little girl in her arms. Flaming red hair sat on top of her head.
Then they turned to the house.
"Could I- could I say goodbye to them, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great shaggy head over each of them, one at a time. He gave them a very scratchy, whiskery kiss. Then suddenly, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog.
"Shhh!" McGonagall hissed, "you'll wake up the Muggles."
"S-s-orry," he sobbed, "but I can't stand it - Lily and James dead- an' poor Harry and Bloom off ter live with Muggles-"
"yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be found," McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid, with one hand.
They walked quietly to the door, and place the small bundles on the door step. Dumbledore took out the letter and place it in Harry's blankets. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked down at the small bundles; 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, "that's that/ we've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations"
"Yeah," said Hagrid in a muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his bike back. G'night, Professors."
Wiping his streaming eyes on his sleeve, 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 shall see you soon, I expect. Professor." said Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.
Dumbledore return the light to the lamps. Privet Drive was now glowing orange. He looked back and looked at the bundles of blanket.
"Good Luck, Harry… and you too, Bloom." he murmured, he turned on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry rolled over on his side making him get closer to his sister. One small had closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he and his sister would be woken in a few hours time by Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put out the milk bottles, nor that he and Bloom would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley… he 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 Harry Potter- the boy who lived!"
(A/n) oh please review, I know its just the beginning. But I want to get ideas from you guys. I'll try to update it soon, probably within a few days. Not weeks. Ummm. I thinks that's all for now…. Please review…