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Cornelius Fudge pondered the papers lying on his desk. On the one hand… the Bristling Broomer. On the other… the Young Merlin Junior Kauldron Kit. What to get his youngest grandchild for his fifth birthday? At least the hottest things for the junior set this year were educational toys; he felt much better spending his hard earned Galleons on them than if it had been three or four years ago while the Harry Potter craze had a revival. They might call them action figures, but they were just overpriced little dolls to him.

Like all rational men Fudge had written off Dumbledore's tale of a valiant little boy fighting off the Dark Lord for the good of all nice little Wizards and Witches. It was obvious that the poor tyke had been killed, which had set off the mother in a berserk and suicidal rage that had managed to catch He Who Must Not Be Named by surprise, and finished him off. The stories Dumbledore told at the time of hiding him in some safe place… well, they say the grave's a fine and private place, after all. It made far more sense than the boy studying in Canada, or with the Ascended Masters in Tibet, or with the Aboriginal Adepts.

When his year came up, when he should have shown up to go to Hogwarts, there had been that little revival in Pottermania, but observers at the train station had seen nobody that fit the description. Some media outlets had even bribed students in place up at Hogwarts to send reports if he suddenly popped out of box or something; not even the Quibbler had tried to make that non-starter run. Even Albus had finally dropped his little teaser campaign to be thought of as having a Savior of Wizardkind hidden away. That gag just couldn't stretch any further.

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/6275865/17/