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This fanfic is originally authored by me here in Brazil. I am translating it with the help of an incredible artificial intelligence.
I hope you enjoy it. Happy reading to everyone.
By: BloodDemon.
https://www.spiritfanfiction.com/historia/harry-potter-em-changed-prophecy--livro-01--20270041
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Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, of number 4, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal.
Vernon Dursley was the director of a large firm called Grunnings, located in Surrey, England, which dealt in drills and construction equipment. He was a tall, hefty man with blonde hair, all thanks to his long history in boxing during his teenage years, in which he aimed to maintain a training routine even to this day, which attracted a lot of attention from the public around him.
Petunia Dursley had been a housewife since her little boy was born a year ago. She previously worked at Grunnings since 1970, where she met her future husband. She had a defined appearance, brunette with brown eyes, and had graduated from a renowned medical university, but she chose to give more attention to the new member of the family.
They had a lovely son named Dudley, little Duda, and in their opinion, there wasn't a better boy anywhere in the world.
The Dursleys had everything they wanted: money, their own home, two cars, and a recently purchased van for future family trips. They were happy, but as always, there was a problem. This family had a certain fear that their supposed lineage secret would be discovered. They believed that no one could bear the existence of the Potters. Mrs. Potter was Mrs. Dursley's sister, but they hadn't seen each other for many years. In reality, she pretended to be an only child because she and her worthless husband, as she called him, were nothing like the Dursleys and normal people. This was, of course, after a final incident at a wedding that finally divided the entire family.
They shuddered just thinking about what the neighbors and friends would say if the Potters showed up at their house wearing those strange, dark robes from centuries past.
They knew that Mrs. Potter had given birth to a child about a year ago, but they didn't care about the boy. They didn't want Duda to mix with a child like that.
When Mr. and Mrs. Dursley woke up on the first dull and gray Monday of November, just after significant events had occurred in another part of the world, there was nothing in the gray, cloudy sky. Mr. Dursley hummed as he chose the tie that would best match the suit he was wearing. He was getting ready to go to work while Mrs. Dursley happily gossiped and struggled to fit a screaming Dudley Dursley into the high chair.
They were so distracted by their tasks that they didn't notice a tawny owl passing by, flapping its beautiful wings by the window.
At 8:30, Mr. Dursley grabbed his briefcase, gave Mrs. Dursley a peck on the cheek, and even tried to give a farewell kiss to his son Duda, but couldn't because the boy was having a crying fit like any child would.
- Little rascal! - Vernon said, laughing as he quickly ruffled his son's hair, then left the house towards his matte black wrapped Bentley Continental GT convertible, a highly coveted car by the neighbors and acquaintances. He got in and drove off shortly after.
It was on the corner of the street that he noticed the first sign that something strange was happening. He swore he saw a striped yellow cat so focused on a map that it actually seemed to understand it. For a moment, Mr. Dursley didn't realize what he had seen, but then he quickly turned his head for a second look. There was indeed a striped yellow cat sitting on the corner, but no map in sight.
He didn't even know what he was thinking—a cat reading a map—surely he would laugh if he told anyone. But for his daydreams to continue, he swore he saw the cat staring at the sign indicating that it was Privet Drive and then nodding its head as if it had found the right place. Vernon witnessed everything by looking at the cat's reflection in the rearview mirror. He didn't know what was happening but quickly shook his head to dispel such trivial thoughts. Thus, on the way to the city, he thought of nothing else except the large order of drills he hoped to receive early that day.
But as he left the city, the drills were swept from his mind by something else. Stuck in the usual morning traffic, he couldn't help but notice that there was a fair amount of oddly dressed people walking through the streets. People with long black cloaks like in old times. Mr. Dursley didn't tolerate people wearing ridiculous clothes—the rags seen on young people—he imagined it was some new, idiotic fashion trend.
To his dismay, not all of them were young; there were adults in the same garments, clearly older than him. It was notable that they all seemed extremely happy about something, and this irritated him in a way he had never felt before. He couldn't stand strange and happy people, believing that the best for everyone was to keep their feelings and emotions to themselves so that his family could continue being the "perfect" one.
Putting those thoughts aside, he simply noticed that he had arrived at his private company parking lot, and thoughts about drills returned to his mind.
Mr. Dursley always sat with his back to the window in his office on the nineteenth floor. If he didn't, he believed it would be harder to concentrate on drills and work.
For this reason, he did not notice the enormous movement of owls flying swiftly in broad daylight; people on the streets were looking and pointing at the owls. It was astonishing that such animals appeared at such a time of day; even at night, it was difficult to spot one, let alone in the morning. Mr. Dursley's day was going perfectly well; he woke up happy with his wife, made several phone calls while closing contracts with other companies, and once again managed to dodge HR inspections regarding the hiring of minors for auxiliary services in the company. He was in an excellent mood all day and decided to stretch his legs and cross the street to buy some sweet bread.
He had completely forgotten about the people in cloaks until he passed by a group of them near the bakery. He glared at them as he passed, not knowing why since it had been a long time since he had controlled his temper, something he aimed for since his bully teenage years, which he let go of when he decided to invest in a relationship with Petunia. But these people... these clothes... this way... everything about them made him unusually nervous. These people were whispering excitedly, and as soon as he could buy his sweet bread, he overheard some of their words:
- The Potters... is it true what I heard? - One of the hooded men asked.
- Yes, it seems their son saved all of us, Harry if I remember correctly... it's still very hush-hush. - Replied a hooded woman.
Mr. Dursley suddenly froze, fear invading his being, and quickly left that place. He didn't know what it was or what was happening, but it couldn't be anything good. He quickly crossed the street, ran to his office, and harshly told his secretary not to disturb him and that no one was to enter his office. He quickly grabbed the phone and almost finished dialing his home number but changed his mind and began thinking about the situation. He was acting like an idiot; just because someone was talking about the Potters, it didn't mean they were his Potters. He was sure there must be many families with that peculiar surname and, especially, with a son named Harry. Maybe that arrogant man's child was named Ernesto or even Eduardo. It made no sense to worry his dear wife over something so simple; he knew she would be upset with the mere mention of her sister.
He found it quite difficult to concentrate on drills that afternoon, and when he left the building at five o'clock, he was still so worried that he lightly bumped into an old man standing at the door of the building.
- Sorry. - Vernon mumbled as the old man staggered and nearly fell. It took Mr. Dursley a few seconds to realize that the man was wearing a purple cloak and didn't seem at all upset about nearly being knocked to the ground. On the contrary, his face broke into a wide smile, and he said in a shrill voice that made passersby look.
- No need to apologize, dear sir, because nothing could bother me today! Rejoice, for 'You-Know-Who' is finally gone! Even Muggles like you should be celebrating on such a happy day. - The old man said as he strangely hugged Vernon.
After the old man left, Mr. Dursley stood rooted to the ground, having just been hugged by a stranger and called a Muggle, whatever that meant. He was shaken, ran to his car, and drove home, hoping he was imagining things. However, to his discomfort, the cat was there again, this time on the wall of his garage, staring at him mysteriously, making him even more uncomfortable.
- Scat! - Vernon shouted, waving his arms towards the cat, all in an attempt to scare it away. To his surprise, the cat didn't move and even gave him a stern look.
- "Is this normal cat behavior?" - Vernon thought, deciding not to continue with this nonsense and quickly entering his residence.
Mrs. Dursley had had a normal and pleasant day, recounting during dinner the neighbor lady's problems and how she seemed much better after being properly advised. She also mentioned that Duda had learned a new word: never. Mr. Dursley tried to act normal all evening, and after Duda went to bed, he went to the living room in time to hear the last of the nine o'clock news:
- And finally, bird watchers everywhere have reported that the country's owls have been acting very strangely today, being spotted flying in large swarms. Although they usually hunt at night and are rarely seen in daylight, hundreds of these birds were seen today flying in all directions since dawn, and they strangely appeared to be carrying something with them. Experts cannot explain why the owls suddenly changed their sleeping pattern. - The newscaster concluded with a smile that seemed very mysterious to the Dursleys, who doubted that this man really didn't know the reason for such an unusual event. - And now, with Jorge Mendes, our weather report. Will there be more owl storms tonight, Jorge? - The presenter asked, again with a hint of sarcasm or joke in his voice, making it clear that he knew the reason for all this and couldn't hide his joy.
- Well, Eduardo. - Began the weatherman, also with a mysterious grin. - I can't say for sure, but it wasn't just the owls that behaved strangely today. Callers from all over the country have complained that instead of the heavy rain I promised yesterday, they have had star showers and various strange occurrences of colorful, silent firework explosions.
- Maybe someone is celebrating a very special occasion for someone very important. - The meteorologist said again with a double meaning in his voice. - But I can promise a rainy and extremely cold night ahead, so keep your pets indoors and warm, as the temperature will drop drastically in the early hours of the next few days. - The meteorologist finally concluded, still appearing extremely content and cheerful about something mysterious.
Mr. Dursley froze in his armchair, shooting stars across the country, colorful fireworks, owls flying during the day, mysterious people wearing cloaks everywhere, and finally, cheerful whispers about these so-called Potters. Even if he didn't want to admit it, it was undoubtedly related to them and those crazy things they were involved in. Mrs. Dursley entered the room, bringing two cups of tea. It was no use keeping secrets; he would have to tell everything that was happening and that something was connected to his wife's sister.
- Petunia, dear, you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you? - As expected, Mrs. Dursley looked shocked and upset. After all, they usually pretended she didn't have a sister.
- No. - Petunia replied curtly. - Why? - She continued, not hiding her discomfort or disdain in her voice.
- A funny thing... - Murmured Mr. Dursley. - Owls... shooting stars... colorful, silent fireworks... And I saw a bunch of strangely cheerful people in the city today...
- So what? - Mrs. Dursley cut him off, with doubt in her voice.
- Well, I thought... it might have something to do with, you know... her 'kind'. - Vernon said, trying to find the best words to express himself, seeming to fear that if he called them by any name, such beings might actually appear.
Mrs. Dursley sipped her tea with pursed lips. Mr. Dursley wondered if he had the courage to tell her he had heard the name "Potter." He decided not to; instead, he spoke as nonchalantly as he could:
- Their son... would be about Duda's age now, right?
- I suppose so. - Mrs. Dursley replied, still curtly.
- What was his name again? Ernest, wasn't it?
- Hadrian... no... maybe Henry Potterer... or Harrison Potter... - Petunia tried to remember in pure doubt and disgust. - Well, who knows... a nasty and vulgar name if you ask me. - She replied finally to her husband.
- Oh, right. - Said Mr. Dursley, feeling a horrible pang in his heart. - I agree with you. - He continued as he finished his tea.
So, Mr. Dursley didn't say another word about the matter on the way to the bedroom where they went to bed. While Mrs. Dursley was in the bathroom, Mr. Dursley slowly went to the window and peered into the garden. The cat was still there, watching the beginning of Privet Drive as if it were waiting for something.
Was he imagining things?
Could all this be related to the Potters?
Why this strange feeling that an invader would enter their lives and affect them negatively from now on, and that the lifestyle they aimed to create was about to crumble in the coming years?
The Dursleys went to bed. Mrs. Dursley fell asleep quickly, but Mr. Dursley stayed awake, thinking about what had happened. His last consolation before falling asleep was thinking that even if the Potters or Potterers were involved, there was no reason for them to come near him and his family. They knew very well what they thought of them and their kind... Mr. Dursley quickly yawned and turned. This couldn't affect them... right?
Oh, how wrong he was, because right now a bond between his wife and an unseen child was finally completed, a blood protection bond that even the brightest minds from another world couldn't understand, and by a mother's desperate acts, just condemned her son's and sister's lives to a decade of decadence.
Mr. Dursley might have been plunging into a restless sleep, but the cat on the wall outside showed no signs of sleep. It remained sitting still like a statue, its eyes fixed on the far corner of Privet Drive. And it didn't even flinch when a car door slammed on the next street, nor when two owls swooped from above.
In fact, it was almost midnight when the cat finally moved.
A man appeared at the corner the cat had been watching. He appeared so suddenly and silently that one might think he had risen from the ground. The cat's tail twitched slightly, and its eyes narrowed.
No one had ever seen anything like this man on Privet Drive. He was tall, thin, and very old, judging by the silver of his hair and beard, long enough to be tucked into his belt. He wore long robes, a purple cloak that swept the ground but seemed to barely touch or drag dirt on the hem. His blue eyes were clear, bright, and twinkling behind half-moon glasses, and his very long and crooked nose looked as if it had been broken at least twice. And his name?
He was: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
Dumbledore did not seem to be aware that he had just stepped onto a street where everything, from his name to his clothes, was frowned upon. He was busy feeling around in his cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to be aware that he was being watched, as he suddenly lifted his head to the cat still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat amused him. He chuckled and murmured:
- I should have known. - Dumbledore murmured softly.
Immediately after, he found what he was looking for in the inner pocket of his cloak; it looked like a silver lighter. He opened it, raised it into the air, and lit it. The nearest street lamp went out with a small, sharp snap, as if the very energy was being sucked out. He lit it again, and the next lamp flickered and went out. Twelve times he clicked the put-outer until the only lights left on the entire street were two tiny pinpoints in the distance. If anyone peered out their window now, even Mrs. Dursley, with her eagle eyes, wouldn't be able to see anything happening on the sidewalk because of the chilly, mysterious darkness that cloaked any presence in that shadow.
Dumbledore put the put-outer back in his cloak and walked down the street to number four, where he sat on the wall next to the cat. He didn't look at the creature, but after a while, he spoke to it:
- I imagined I would find you here, Professor McGonagall." Dumbledore said and turned to smile at the cat, but it had vanished. Instead, he found himself smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses. She too was wearing an emerald cloak. Her black hair was pulled into a tight bun, and she looked distinctly irritated.
- How did you know it was me? - The woman asked doubtfully.
- My dear professor, I have never seen a cat sit so stiffly." The old man laughed at her suspicion that there was some kind of conspiracy going on, when everything was revealed by the mysterious look of that cat compared to the normal ones.
- You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a stone wall all day! - Minerva replied without any positive emotion on her face.
- All day? When you could be celebrating, I've passed at least ten parties and banquets on my way here. - Dumbledore said, curious about the fact that the woman showed no happiness on such a special and tragic day at the same time.
The professor sniffed, annoyed:
- Ah, yes, I see everyone is celebrating! - She said impatiently. - You'd expect them to be a bit more cautious, but no, even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was even on the news with those Muggle-borns exposing all the stories with double meanings and jokes that they knew more than anyone else. - She nodded toward the darkened Dursleys' living room. - I've heard, flocks of owls, shooting stars, colorful fireworks... well, they're not completely idiotic to not notice something's wrong, and it wouldn't be surprising if some Muggle government organization wasn't already looking for answers. - Minerva finished, as if scolding them for their actions.
- You can't blame them. - Dumbledore pondered politely. - We've had very little to celebrate in recent years.
- I know that! - The professor retorted grumpily. - But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being completely careless, walking out in broad daylight, not even wearing Muggle clothes, and spreading rumors with double meanings. - She glanced sideways at Dumbledore, as if expecting him to say something, but he remained silent, so she resumed: - It would be hilarious if just when You-Know-Who seems to have finally gone, the Muggles discovered our existence with their strange technological inventions and monitoring systems. What good is Obliviating them if our appearances are automatically recorded? I suppose he really is gone, isn't he, Dumbledore? - Minerva finished, asking something serious and even fearful about the answer to such a mal being finally expelled from the planet.
- There seems to be no doubt about such a fact and celebration, we have much to be thankful for. Fancy a lemon drop? - Dumbledore replied cheerfully, completely ignoring her belief in the No-Maj's shrewdness and intelligence, as that was a matter for another time.
- A what? - Minerva asked with a curious expression like that of a kitten.
- A lemon drop, it's a type of No-Maj sweet I've always liked very much. - He replied, amused by the severe professor's resemblance to her animagus form, noticing the attention she blushed and reshaped her severe features.
- No, thank you. - Minerva said coldly, as if she didn't think the moment called for lemon drops.. - Even if You-Know-Who is gone, we shouldn't lose our heads and celebrate irrationally.
- My dear professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by name. All this nonsense of You-Know-Who, I've been trying to convince people for years to call him by the name he was given, that is... Voldemort. - The professor frowned, but Dumbledore, who was handing out lemon drops, seemed not to notice. - Everything becomes so confusing when everyone keeps saying You-Know-Who. I've never seen any reason to be afraid of saying Voldemort's name.
- I know you don't. - Said the professor, looking half exasperated and half admiring. - But that's because you're different. Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know-Who... oh, alright, Voldemort is afraid of. Do you really think that the curse of such a name would make him fall into your trap?"
- Is that a compliment? - Dumbledore asked calmly, but with a mischievous smile. - Voldemort had powers I never had! A prodigy in many areas of magic which I, as a leader of the light, cannot engage in... and the fact that I am the only one he fears because of my experience, I believe that will change from today. - The gray-haired man finished mysteriously with something deep in mind.
- Only because you're too... well... noble to use them. - Minerva replied. - But don't think you fool me with that aura of a kindly old grandfather, we know well your true powerful and youthful face hidden under those layers of magical charms. Really don't make me believe that in so few years after Grindelwald's defeat, you simply succumbed to human old age and mysteriously weakened to play those games of pretending to be senile at the start of school years that you've been doing for so long.
- It's lucky it's dark, I've never blushed so much since Madame Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs. - Dumbledore said amusingly, but with such a youthful and powerful look that shone in those light blue eyes like a person in the prime of life fully aware of his power and capabilities, but who carried unparalleled humility to hide it so the world wouldn't cling to him and depend on their lives just because he had the power in his hands, when everyone should be independent and strong on their own. - But, I don't know... I think I've gotten used to acting this way so much that it became my true identity.
The Professor gave Dumbledore a stern look, as she was one of the few people who knew this secret of his, and said:
- The owls are nothing compared to the rumors flying around. Do you know what everyone is saying? Why did he leave? Who finally stopped him? - Apparently, the professor had reached the point she was eager to discuss, the real reason why she had been waiting all day on a cold, hard wall. It was obvious that whatever everyone was saying, they wouldn't believe it until Dumbledore confirmed it. Dumbledore, however, was selecting another lemon drop and did not respond. - What they are saying is that on the night of October 31st, or rather, at the stroke of midnight, Voldemort appeared in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters who were there for some unknown reason. - Her voice now was as somber as someone in mourning, fearing this was true. - The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are... that they are... dead. - Minerva finished, apprehensive and alarmed that this had happened to two of her best and dearest students in many decades.
Dumbledore nodded without saying anything, leaving Minerva breathless.
- Lily and James... I can't believe it, I don't want to believe it. - Minerva tried to say. Even Albus Dumbledore had a sad expression; he simply patted the woman's shoulder in comfort.
- I know... I know... - The gray-haired man affirmed, depressed, lacking the spirit to continue the lemon drop, as Minerva's voice trembled while she proceeded.
- And it's not just that, they say he tried to kill the Potters' son, Harry. - She said, looking at him entirely to understand the situation. - But... he couldn't. He couldn't kill a little boy. No one knows why or how, but they say that when he couldn't kill Harry Potter, for some reason, Voldemort's lethal power rebounded, and that's why he went away for good.
Dumbledore nodded, too serious for her to know that the news was true, yet without any affirmation from him to explain the situation better.
- Is... Is it true? - The professor stammered. - After everything he did... All the people he killed and families he destroyed... to not be able to kill a little boy? It's simply astounding... of all things that could stop him, but, by Merlin, how did the boy survive?
- We can only imagine. - Dumbledore finally responded before the woman could continue with more questions. - Maybe we'll never know! One of the universal mysteries that even I would like to understand, but can't fully comprehend since we only found the bodies of Lily and James, together, Voldemort's cloak and wand scattered in front of the baby's crib... and all that sense of death. - The professor took out a lace handkerchief and gently wiped her eyes under her glasses. Dumbledore gave a great sigh as he took a gold watch from his pocket and examined it. It was a very strange watch; it had twelve hands but no numbers. Instead, small planets moved around the edge.
But it must have made sense to Dumbledore, because he put it back in his pocket and said:
- Hagrid is late. By the way, it was he who told you I'd be here, I suppose. - Dumbledore said in a tone that suggested he already knew the answer, because as reliable as Hagrid was, he was terrible at keeping secrets.
- He did, and I suppose you're not going to tell me why you're here and not somewhere else? - Minerva asked again, fearing to know the answer, but still aiming to ask.
- I came to bring the boy to his aunt and uncle. They are the only family he has left, and I firmly believe it will be the best place to serve as a protected base since it is his blood that can keep him hidden from ill-intentioned people. - Albus said this time with a hint of bitterness, hinting at what kind of blood magic he was referring to.
- You don't mean to say, you can't be referring to the people who live here? - Minerva asked, exasperated. - And their blood? Weren't you the one who abolished those cursed rituals forever? How can you do something like this after fighting so hard to end it?
- It's the best place for him, my dear professor, and as much as such a ritual goes against all my virtues, I cannot disregard the desperate merit of a mother. - Dumbledore affirmed firmly, putting an end to any argument that he would do such a thing to a child. - The uncles can explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter.
- A letter? - The professor repeated weakly, sitting back down on the wall. - Frankly, Dumbledore, do you really think you can explain all this in a letter?
- These people will never understand him! He will be famous, a legend. I wouldn't be surprised if today became known in the future as Harry Potter Day. They will write books about Harry. All the children in our world will know his name! - Minerva continued trying to make the old man understand the voice of reason in this absurd choice.
- Exactly. - Said Dumbledore, looking very serious over his half-moon glasses. - That would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can even walk and talk! Famous for something he won't even remember! Can't you see he'll be much better off growing up away from all that until he can understand and not become a spoiled boy with an ego bigger than the world? - Dumbledore finished, ending any argument from the professor.
The professor opened her mouth but then changed her mind, swallowed, and said:
- Yes... Yes, you're right, of course. But how will the boy get here, Dumbledore? - She looked at his cloak suddenly as if it had just occurred to her that he might be hiding Harry there.
- Hagrid is bringing him. - Dumbledore said, smiling.
- Do you think it's wise to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?
- I would trust Hagrid with my life. - Dumbledore replied.
- I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place. - The professor conceded grudgingly. - But you can't pretend he's careful. He has a tendency to... - Minerva tried to say, but a noise in the distance interrupted her. - What was that?
A discreet rumble broke the silence of the street. It grew louder and louder as they looked up and down the street for a sign of headlights; the rumble turned into a roar as the two looked up at the sky, and a giant motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the street in front of them.
If the motorcycle was enormous, it was nothing compared to the man sitting astride it. He was almost twice as tall as a normal man and at least five times as wide. Simply too big to be allowed, and so wild—tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, his hands were the size of trashcan lids, and his feet in their leather boots looked like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms, he was holding a bundle of blankets.
- Hagrid! - Dumbledore exclaimed, looking relieved. - Finally, and where did you get the motorcycle?
- I borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore. - The giant replied, carefully dismounting from the motorcycle as he spoke. - Young Sirius lent it to me; he was a bit alarmed, saying he had to capture a rat or something... but I avoided pushing the matter considering what happened and how it must be affecting him so negatively. Anyway, I managed to bring him safely, professor. - Hagrid finished his mysterious explanation, smiling contentedly.
- No problems? - Dumbledore asked as he approached.
- No, sir. The house was nearly destroyed, but I managed to get him out whole before the Muggles invaded the place and the Aurors created an investigation perimeter. He fell asleep when I took him to Madam Pomfrey, and we spent a day running all the tests. I think the calming potion also worked well when we left and were flying over Bristol. - Hagrid replied as Dumbledore and Professor Minerva bent over the bundle of blankets.
Inside, just visible, was a boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead, they saw a curious cut shaped like a lightning bolt, mysteriously emitting small greenish sparks that lightly traveled over the child's body but didn't seem to harm him.
- Is that where...? - The professor whispered, impressed by the display of magic, confusing it with accidental magic so early in life, little knowing it was something more... ominous.
- It was... - Dumbledore confirmed enigmatically with the curious color of the magical energy. - He will have the scar forever."
- Couldn't you do something about it, Albus? - Minerva asked.
- Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can be useful. I have one above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground... as memorable as surviving the most deadly and powerful magic in the world... not something to hide... - Dumbledore explained with apparent pride. - Well then, give him to me, Hagrid, we better get this over with. - Dumbledore finished, receiving Harry in his arms and turning towards the Dursleys' house.
- Could I... say goodbye to him, professor? - Hagrid asked, with the old man nodding and handing over the small bundle.
He bent his enormous head over Harry and gave what must have been a very rough and hairy kiss on the forehead, causing the boy to stir unconsciously, moving his tiny arms cutely, wanting to touch whatever was intruding on his sleep. Then, without warning, Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog, barely holding back when it should have been possible to hear throughout the hidden and silent neighborhood.
- Shhh!- Hissed the Professor. - You'll wake the Muggles! - She said reprimandingly, but with a smile on her face as the sleeping boy stretched his little arms toward her, still with his eyes closed.
- S-s-sorry... - Sobbed Hagrid, pulling out a huge handkerchief and hiding his face in it as he wiped the tears from his eyes. - But I c-c-can't bear it, Lily and James dead, Sirius tormented with that talk of a rat, Remus drinking again after so long of stopping that habit, Peter missing since the last Order mission... and the poor boy having to live with these Muggles. - Hagrid recounted the facts that had been bothering him since he collected the boy shortly after midnight and was now here.
- It's... it's... it's very sad, but control yourself, Hagrid, or they'll discover us. - whispered the professor, giving Hagrid an awkward pat on the arm while Dumbledore climbed over the stone wall and walked to the front door. He gently laid Harry on the doorstep, transfiguring a basket around him, took a letter from his cloak, tucked it between the magically warmed blankets of the boy, and then returned to the company of the other two who were a little behind.
For a full minute, the three of them stood looking at the small basket holding the most important young person in the world. Hagrid's shoulders shook, Minerva's eyes blinked madly, and the twinkling light that always shone in Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have extinguished in a heavy feeling of failing in some decision. Dumbledore didn't understand such a feeling, but something screamed inside him that everything was about to change, that he should be a bit more suspicious and open his eyes to the fact that not all families were loving and protective as his father had shown in the past when protecting his sister. Whatever would happen, he felt he couldn't comprehend it, and amidst all he felt, one thing was certain: It scared him to face the small presence of the young survivor, but of a powerful and deadly aura in his full sleep, which seemed not to abandon the sense of death present in what would one day be known as the downfall of the Dark Lord.
- Well... - Said Dumbledore with a deep sigh. - It's over. We have nothing more to do here. We can now join the others to celebrate the end of such an important day... this time in all our lives."
- Yes! - Said Hagrid, with a very muffled voice. - I'll return Sirius's bike... whatever he was looking for, he'll need his bike... Good night, Professor McGonagall, Headmaster Dumbledore... - Wiping his eyes on his jacket sleeve, Hagrid mounted the bike, kicked the engine into life, and with a roar, it rose into the air and vanished into the night.
- I hope to see you soon," said Dumbledore, nodding his head. Minerva sniffled in response, as not even her warm robes could protect her from the cold that had settled that night, along with the sorrowful and tearful state that very few could see in such a woman.
Dumbledore turned and walked down the street. At the corner, he stopped and pulled out the put-outer. With a click, twelve spheres of light returned to the lamps, so that Privet Drive suddenly lit up with an orange glow, and he saw the striped cat slinking away at the other end of the street. It was barely possible to see the small bundle of blankets on the doorstep of number four from a distance, but again he couldn't help but feel that he was making a great mistake and that this place was beginning to infest with such a sense of death that greatly displeased him.
- Good luck, Harry. - He murmured with another sigh. He turned on his heel, and with a swish of his cloak, he disappeared silently as if he had never been there.
A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, quiet and silent, the last place in the world one would expect amazing things to happen. Harry Potter turned over in his blankets, facing up, and opened his eyes, which were emerald green as bright as the lightning of a mysterious deadly curse. However, they briefly shifted to a bright and powerful crimson but soon failed when his little hand grabbed the letter next to him, and he closed his eyes again, barely noticing the slight greenish electric flashes spreading back to his scar.
He continued to sleep, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous, not knowing he would wake up in a few hours with Mrs. Dursley's scream as she opened the front door to put the milk bottles outside, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being poked and pinched by his cousin Dudley... or that one person's unconscious act had condemned him to a future of neglect, torture, abuse, humiliation, and traumas that would reshape him into a completely different person than everyone from this day would theorize and create fictional tales about his life in a golden cradle, when the reality was much darker and brutal, stripping the innocence of such an important boy for the universal stability.
Little did the boy know that at this very moment, people were gathering in secret all over the country, people who adored him as a deity and who hated him as a monstrosity. They raised their glasses and said in hushed voices, celebrating at the stroke of midnight and the end of such an important day:
- To Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived! - Everyone celebrating said at that exact moment throughout the country, raising their glasses to the sky. This act caused a certain unconscious smile from the boy, who felt the exact location of each person who called his name, barely knowing that his newly awakened and sealed potential was empowering him for something far beyond a wizard. Being so young, he went back to sleep calmly in the basket, completely unaware that this was one of his last happy smiles for the long, tortuous years that no child should be subjected to.
And with that, I bring the first chapter of Changed Prophecy to a close. I hope you are enjoying it and don't forget to comment. Whether it's an opinion, criticism, or any observations.
So, below is the main cast of the chapter. XD
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Vernon Dursley 1981 (Dolph Lundgren):
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Petúnia Dursley 1981 (Mia Khalifa):
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Albus Dumbledore 1981 (Richard Harris):
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Minerva Mcgonagall 1981 (Animago):
Minerva Mcgonagall 1981 (Maggie Smith):
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Hagrid 1981 (Robbie Coltrane):
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Harry Potter 1981 (Saunders Triplets?):
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