Harry Potter One Shots

First Impressions

All rights belong to the author, Taure

They say that history has a way of repeating itself. They say that time is a circle, spinning like a wheel, and that there is no escaping fate. Whoever "they" are, they obviously neglected to tell Albus Dumbledore.

Walking down a long suburban street in Surry with the midday sun on his face, Albus Dumbledore was having what he would call a very good day indeed. The Hogwarts letters had been sent off, and his dear friend Minerva was visiting the Muggleborns. His step slowed for a moment as he thought briefly of all the young witches and wizards around the country whose lives were about to be changed forever. A small smile crept across his wrinkled face as he turned off the road he was on, passing onto a smaller street – a street that announced itself to be named Privet Drive.

It was just as he remembered it. The houses were all replicas of each other, from the number of windows (double glazed) to the shape of the flowerbeds (neatly kept). Even the shiny executive cars parked outside the houses managed to look the same, despite their varying colours and brands. Dumbledore strode down the street at a quick pace, as if he were suddenly in a hurry – not such a surprising thought, considering the kind of comments the residents of Privet Drive might have made had they seen his dark blue robes, dancing with various stellar objects.

It was time for Albus Dumbledore to finish his last task for the day. He had considered sending Hagrid – hell, he'd considered sending a letter just like any other – but in the end he had decided that it was a job for the Headmaster. He was, after all, the one who had left the boy there in the first place.

It was not long until he was standing in front of Number Four, its white walls staring at him like very other house, nothing betraying the miracle within. He thought that he could hear a television playing inside. A group of birds started singing in the distance. Yes, it was definitely a good day.

Still, it couldn't hurt to make a nice impression. With a flick of the wrist, a piece of wood – a wand – appeared in Dumbledore's right hand, and he pointed it at himself. In a blink of an eye his magnificent robes had been replaced by a colourful and flamboyantly cut suit, much like the one he used to wear in the Forties when he introduced Muggleborns to the magical world. A bit dated perhaps, but the latest Muggle magazine Albus had read had told him that retro was making a comeback, and he took their advice to heart.

Feeling ready at last, he walked onto the drive of Number Four, and proceeded at a leisurely pace to the front door. Having arrived, he reached for the bell and rung it twice in quick succession: insistent, but not rude. He did not have to wait long before the door swung open to reveal a large, heavy-set man with an equally large moustache. He appeared to be perspiring heavily. Albus Dumbledore took him to be Vernon Dursley.

"Yes?" Vernon asked, and Dumbledore was surprised by the aggressiveness of his tone, as if he were somehow offended by having to answer the door.

"I apologise if I am interrupting something," Albus said, doubting it very much, "but if I may have a moment of your time, Mr. Dursley, I would be most grateful."

Vernon seemed to look over Dumbledore's suit and, if the frown on his face was anything to go by, he disapproved greatly. Nevertheless, he opened the door wider, and gestured for Dumbledore to enter.

"Come in then!" he said impatiently, turning his back on Dumbledore to walk further into the house. "We're not buying whatever you're selling though!"

Dumbledore merely smiled a generous smile and crossed the threshold of the house, passing into a corridor with cream walls. A staircase was to his left, under which was a small cupboard, and to his right were doors leading into the living room and kitchen. He noticed that, though the walls were covered with framed photographs, not one of them included a boy with bright green eyes. It was into the living room, where the television was still blaring, that Mr. Dursley walked, Dumbledore behind him.