Arya Black and the Philosophers Stone

The Children Who Lived

A.N. I don't own any of these characters in the story, except for Tom, Arya and possibly some others. All the others belong to J.K. Rowling or other authors on Wattpad. :(

The Children Who Lived

This story starts on an ordinary street, in an ordinary town, filled with ordinary people. But this is no ordinary story. It is an extraordinary story filled with extraordinary people. And it all starts outside 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

It was midnight and all was quiet. Suddenly a man appeared, as quietly as if he had always been there. He was wearing the strangest clothes: cream and brown pinstriped trousers, a bright purple shirt, long leather boots and a midnight blue cloak covered in little gold stars and moons. His man’s name was Albus Dumbledore. He dug around in his pocket for a minute and pulled out what looked like a silver cigarette lighter. He clicked it once and a globe of light from one of the street lamps. He clicked it twelve more times and twelve more globes of light soared into the put-outer, leaving Privet Drive in darkness, other than the light from in between the curtains and the pinpricks of light from a cat’s eyes. He walked over and sat next to the cat on the wall.

“Hello, professor McGonagall,” said the man, glancing at the cat. But it wasn’t a cat anymore. In its place was a stern looking lady wearing green robes, a pointed green hat and square spectacles, with her grey hair tied in a tight bun.

“How did you know it was me?” she asked curiously.

“My dear professor, I’ve never seen a cat sit so stiffly.”

“You’d be stiff to, if you’d been sitting on a brick wall all day. Where’s Hagrid, anyway?”

As if to answer her question there was a loud rumbling roar and they saw a very odd sight: a flying motorbike. The bike was big, but the man riding it was massive. He had beetle black eyes that crinkled at the edges in a smile, hands the size of dustbin lids, wildly knotted hair and a messy beard and his feet were like baby dolphins in shoes the size of boats. In his arms were two bundles wrapped in baby blankets. One was still, as if it’s occupant was asleep while the other was squirming and making noises like a whining wolf cub that couldn’t open its mouth properly.

The two professors walked over to Hagrid and took a look at the faces poking out of the blankets. One was the pale face of a boy with messy, jet black hair and a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead. The other was the face of a wolf with black fur and bright green eyes that glowed like a cats. Clasped around its neck was a chain holding a black obsidian pendant in the shape of a wolf’s paw and a gold locket. It had its muzzle tied gently shut with a length of string to stop it biting anyone and, as they watched, it rolled over in its blankets, revealing a pure white mark in the shape of a howling wolf with bat-like wings on its back.

As they watched, Dumbledore conjured up five objects: a piece of parchment, a quill, an inkpot, an envelope and a Hogwarts cloak. He quickly wrote a letter to the Dursleys, explaining that they had to keep Arya wrapped in/ wearing the cloak on the full moon (wolf’s time). He also told them that they must leave the necklace alone at all costs. He then muttered a spell under his breath, pointing at the cloak which wrapped itself around the little wolf like a second blanket. As soon as that was done, the wolf cub changed back to a human baby with glowing green eyes and dark brown, almost black hair. On the back of her neck was the wolf scar, only this time it was black.

“Could I… could I p’raps say goodbye to them?” Hagrid asked tearfully.

He gave each of them what would have been a very whiskery kiss on the forehead before letting out a howl like a wounded dog.

Arya let out a faint cry and clasped her hands over her ears to block out the noise before curling up and going to sleep.

“Hush Hagrid, I know it’s sad, but you’ll wake the muggles,” professor McGonagall scolded gently.

“Sorry. I’d best give young Sirius his bike back. G’night professor McGonagall, professor Dumbledore, sir.

Dumbledore bent over and placed the letters on Arya’s chest before walking to the end of the street and flicking the put-outer once to return the balls of light to their respective lampposts. The two children slept on, not knowing they were special, not knowing that all over the country people were raising their glasses to toasts of ‘to Harry Potter and Arya Black, the boy and girl who lived’, not knowing they were going to be woken up in a few hours by Aunt Petunia’s scream when she went to set the milk bottles out and not knowing that they were going to spend the next few weeks being poked and prodded by Dudley.