The unnaturally large man approached the almost destroyed house under the cover of dark. The house looked like it had been bombed; the back half almost completely gone. In the distance he heard a series of small pops, followed by fireworks lighting up the sky. The celebrations had begun, but there would plenty of time to celebrate after he completed his mission. He was nervous about entering the house, knowing who had recently been there, but he had been given an assignment, and he was going to complete it if it was within his power. As he approached the house, he saw the front door was wide open, blowing in the breeze. Stepping over some rubble, he noticed a mass in the front room that was vaguely shaped like a man. He went over and saw that it was indeed a man, a man with black hair and glasses with a spider web of cracks in the lenses covering his open eyes that stared off into space. He was clearly a victim of Avada Kedavra. The large man sniffed, wiping a tear that was falling down his cheek as he recognized his friend. I have to keep movin’ and complete my task, he thought to himself. He looked around the first floor some more, not finding anything of interest other than debris from the battle. They’re probably upstairs in his room, he thought and started the climb up to the second floor. At the top of the stairs, he looked into the main bedroom, again not finding what he was seeking. He trod further down the hall to the other bedroom, seeing more wreckage. As he entered, he saw another body, this one a woman with dark red hair, her green eyes also glazed over as if looking into the distance. He choked back a sob, pulled out a handkerchief the size of a tablecloth, and wiped away more tears and blew his nose. He then looked across the room and saw his goal, the crib, but it was totally destroyed and empty. Oh, no, not Harry too! he thought and started searching frantically for the toddler. He looked everywhere and found no sign of him. He called out, “’Harry, Harry! Come ter Uncle Hagrid!” but no response came. He searched every room thoroughly, but he found no clue as to where Harry was could be. There was no body like his parents; it was if he just disappeared.

After hours of sifting through the wreckage, Hagrid gave up, and left the house. As he was leaving, he heard a slowly increasing roar coming up the street and saw a man on a motorcycle flying down the street. The motorcycle landed and stopped just short of Hagrid’s feet. Hagrid greeted Sirius, who asked, “Am I too late?”

Hagrid told Sirius what he found, James and Lily dead, and no trace of Harry. “I reckon he musta’ met the same fate as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, ‘cause there weren’t no sign of him either, other than the destruction,” conjectured Hagrid. “I must tell the Headmaster right away!” Sirius muttered something that sounded like “Peter” surrounded by cursing, offered Hagrid his motorcycle, and then apparated away with a pop.

Almost 10 years later

Professor McGonagall walked briskly through the hallways of Hogwarts leading to the Headmaster’s office. As she arrived at the gargoyle guarding the staircase, she struggled to remember the new password, which had just been changed last week. “Darn that man’s love of Muggle candy! What did he change it to?” she muttered. “Oh, yes. Wine gum,” she announced to the gargoyle which then turned and allowed her to enter. At the top of the staircase, she knocked and heard “Come in, Minerva.”

“What can I do for you today, Minerva? You look fretful this morning.”

“With good reason, I assure you, Albus. I was looking at the next few Hogwarts letters to be sent out to the upcoming first years and look at what I found.”

She showed him an envelope that looked like all the other letters that would be sent out, made from yellowed parchment paper, the Hogwarts seal on the back, and the student’s name, written in emerald green ink. However, this letter only had a name and no address.

Dumbledore’s eyes widened, but just for a moment before he regained his composure. “That is most puzzling. Let me check the book,” said Dumbledore.

Dumbledore went to a pedestal on which an open book and quill laid. He paged back to the year 1980. “Let’s see, Ronald Weasley, Draco Malfoy, Terry Boot, Lavender Brown, Gregory Goyle, Hannah Abbott, Neville Longbottom. . . ” Then a pause. “That is curious,” pointing to the entry and showing it his colleague.

“Why is that curious? Doesn’t that book record the birth of every wizard and witch in Britain? Why wouldn’t he be in there?”

“It is not the fact that he is in the book that is curious; it is the fact that his name does not have a line through it. See this name, Aiden Smith? He was a Muggle born who was killed with his parents in a motorcar accident this spring. His name has been crossed out. That is what should have happened if he indeed was dead. This suggests that he is still alive! That is why a letter was created for him; the book and quill are part of the magic that creates those letters.”

"Oh my goodness! How can we find him?”

“Unfortunately, his address is not on the envelope, which indicates that his location is unknown. As a first step, let’s go ahead and give the letter to one of our best owls; they have magic that even we don’t understand and can find people when we can’t.”

But, that summer, and every summer for the next five, an owl was sent out, and each owl returned with the letter still attached to its leg. The letters bearing the name of Harry Potter were never delivered.