Prologue:

The Dark Lord raised his wand on the baby boy. The One With The Power To Vanquish just sat there gurgling, not even acknowledging his impending death or the murder of his mother before his own two eyes.

Without even a speech on how there is no good or evil (only power!), Voldemort cast the Killing Curse. It rebounded off the boy and shot back towards the Dark Lord, who didn't even have time to register the amazing feat of magic before he was blown to bits, as was the wall behind him. The house groaned, half the roof collapsed, and in the midst of the destruction, the Boy-Who-Lived vanished.

Chapter 1: Orphaned! Again, but for the First Time!

St. Brutus Orphanage was a quiet place, except during the day and often during the night. This was an odd night, then, for several reasons, one of which was the new baby. If you were to believe Paul- six years old, one of the orphans- the baby just appeared out of nowhere, but Mrs. Tate thought it much more likely that a distressed mother abandoned the poor boy in a moment of panic and Paul just couldn't see her. Maybe Paul needed glasses? That wouldn't do, the orphanage couldn't really afford much, and if Paul got a pair then everyone would want a pair even though they don't need a pair. And glasses break so easy, so they would have to constantly get replaced and so no, it wouldn't do at all.

The blanket the baby was found in struck Mrs. Tate as odd. ("When was it ever fashionable to have brooms and flying tennis balls sewn onto things? Kids these days!") It was only slight less odd than the bleeding scar in the shape of a lightening blot on Harry's (at least that was the name stitched on the baby's onesie) forehead.

The bleeding did eventually stop, though Mrs. Tate doubted it was because of anything she had done; it was a very good thing it had stopped , as she was running out of clean cloth. The boy did need a last name; but what name to give an abandoned orphan? You would think she would know, but Mrs. Tate didn't like knowing things, and she was awfully forgetful, like that one time she tried making caramel for the kids as a summer time snack, but she let the water over boil because she had to go shoo away a cat- horrible pests!- and then completely forgot about the caramel in the first place, and by the time she came back to make her tea, the room was half filled with smoke and the pot was ruined. It was a shame; good pots are hard to come by. Pot! Harry Pot! That's the boy's name!

No, that's a ridiculous name. Clock? Harry Clock? No, that's even worse. How about table? Harry Table. Harry Table. Harry Table. Mrs. Tate stopped trying to give him the name of household items and moved on to bigger and better things. Harry Mountain? Harry Sky? Harry Space?! If only she knew more about the boy. Where did Paul find him? She closed her eyes and imagined the tragic beginning of Harry's life. There was a woman- a beautiful woman, she corrected herself- face obscured by a hood. She was running through the forest, baby Harry held close to her chest. It was all very dramatic. In the background, one could hear the loud bark of dogs and men shouting. She comes to a stop a creek. It's a dead end! "It's safer this way," the mother coos. "You will never know us, but this way is best." A lock of brilliant red -no,blonde- hair drops elegantly as she bends to kiss Harry on the forehead. She takes the basket- okay, minor correction, she was actually running though the forest with baby Harry in a basket- and she places it into the creek. With a soft push, the basket floats away down stream. Tears falling down her face, the mother hugs herself tightly as the barks and shouts of dogs and men draw closer.

Harry shifted in her arms and snapped her out of her thoughts. She walked over to a crib and carefully placed him down. Mrs. Tate covered Harry in a blanket as she mentally corrected a tiny error in the little story. The creek's current wouldn't be strong enough to carry a baby. Easily fixable, though. Instead of a creak, it's a river. There, done. Just a matter of water. And as Mrs. Tate walked away, content at finally finding a last name, Harry Waters was born.

Chapter 2: Just a Tad Odd

Harry Waters was just a tad odd. Anyone could tell you that. Simon- age nine, orphan- would tell you that Harry smiles too much. Rosa-age eight, orphan- would tell you that Harry eats bugs. Simon would then say that only girls don't eat bugs, and Rosa would then punch Simon, and Simon would pull Rosa's pigtails and Harry would sit in the corner, smiling and eating bugs.

So when a tall, stern-looking woman in a dark robe walked into St. Brutus Orphanage asking for Harry Waters, Mrs. Tate was uncharacteristically wary. The lady- McGonagall, as she introduced herself- insisted that Harry did nothing wrong and was being offered a placement in a select boarding school in Scotland.

"But why?"

"Pardon?"

"Why Harry? I'm not saying that he won't do well at your school-"

"Hogwarts."

"Pardon?"

"The school's name is Hogwarts"

"Oh. So I'm sure he'll do fine- Hogwarts? That's a funny name for a school"

McGonagall bristled as if personally offended, though Mrs. Tate saw no reason for it. People got offended for the craziest things, she thought. Why, just the other day, as-

"It's been called Hogwarts for over a thousand years and we've had some of the finest pupils the world has ever seen!"

"Name one."

"Albus Dumbledore!"

"Who?"

"Nevermind this, back to Mr. Waters. Where is he?"

"Nevermind that, how do even know about Harry?"

"Mr. Waters is a very special boy, and he popped up on our list, so to speak."

"But how?"

"The screening process is a complex one," McGonagall said, starting to lose her cool. "It's one that I am not intimately familiar with, now if you'll be so kind as to let me speak to Mr. Waters."

So Mrs. Tate walked McGonagall to Harry's room, muttered something about cooking potatoes, and walked off.

Harry was lounging on his bed, reading some worn Muggle book, when Professor McGonagall walked in. She gave him a good hard look, nodded, and then spoke.

"Hello Harry, my name is Professor McGonagall."

"Hi, I'm Harry."

Things got off to a rocky start, but the witch kept going.

"I am here to inform you that you have accepted to Hogwarts, a school of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"Thank you."

"Do you have any questions for me?"

"Like what?"

She would persevere.

"Many like to know when school starts?"

"When does school start?"

"The first of September."

"This year?"

This will not be my Waterloo.

"Yes, this year. The school itself is in Scotland, but there is a train that takes students there."

"I see."

"You do?"

"No. Why take a train? If magic is real shouldn't there be a quicker way? Or is it a tradition? How can I know for real that magic even exists? Do I need to pay? Because if I do, this sounds an awful lot like a scam. If there is magic, how can you possibly know I can do it? How many students are there? How come I've never seen magic? Why does everyone say magic isn't real if it's real? Why are you dressed funny? What's the exact difference between Witchcraft and Wizardry? Is the school really called Hogwarts, or is that a joke?"

McGonagall took a small step back.

"The Hogwarts Express is part tradition, yes, but it also gives a chance for the first years to get to know each other. Yes there are quicker ways, but they are not nearly as pleasant or organized."

She then whipped out her wand, waved it, turned the wardrobe into a pig, and continued.

"There is a fund for orphans who cannot pay, don't worry, all will be provided, though many things will have to be second-hand. There will be about sixty in your year, seven years overall..."

She went on, but Harry was too busy watching the pig to pay any attention. He hoped all of his clothes were okay. Midway through her lecture on the history of Hogwarts, Harry pointed to her wand and asked, "Where can I get one of those?"

Chapter Three: Swishy!

They were waiting behind a black-haired first year in Ollivanders for a quite a while before the boy- the creepy old man called him Snape- found a suitable wand. As he went to leave the store, Snape bumped into Harry, who stumbled onto the ground. Snape just sniffed in disgust and, without a thought for the boy he ran into, exited Ollivanders. Harry picked himself up and made his way to the counter. The old man looked at him funny before asking for his wand arm.

It was dark by the time Harry got back to St. Brutus. When he turned around to thank Professor McGonagall, she was already gone. He grabbed his trunk (which had W.G.P. etched on the side) and made his way inside. He passed by Saul - age sixteen, orphan- who immediately wanted to know why Harry had left with the strange lady. Saul was the same boy who, ten years ago, had found Harry in a flash of light and fire. His changing of his name coincided with the start of his bullying of Christian- age twelve, orphan.

Harry described all the wonders of the Wizarding World: the magic barrier in the Leaky Cauldron, the mail-carrying owls, flying brooms, and the fancy ice cream shop. He was so engrossed in his story of the banana split with three flavors and chocolate syrup that he didn't notice the small of crowd that was forming around him.

Mrs. Tate smiled softly. Harry didn't see the effect he had on people. They flocked to him naturally, unknowingly. He would make a great politician one day, and she was glad that Harry didn't have a mean bone in his body, unlike some people she knew. Pastor Johns wanted to introduce her to a friend of his and went on and on about nice he was, how he was a pillar of the community, how he gave such a generous donation just last Sunday. Then when she finally agrees to see him for afternoon tea, all he talks about is his money. Honestly, if she had half as much as him, she would make real change in the world. Like make a law against loud cats. Why, just the other day, the ugliest cat imaginable attacked her, clawing at her ankles like some mad dog. She could just imagine its thought process. "Oh, look here, a perfectly respectable lady, beloved by her friends and family alike, having a leisurely stroll on her way to the market. You know what, I should ruin her day and ruin her stockings. And, while I'm tearing her to shreds -with absolutely no sense of propriety, I might add- I'm gong to make a horrible screech reminiscent of dying pigs slowly stabbed with hot needles." The only thing worse in her book than loud cats are quiet cats. Those are the ones that trick you. You think, "Oh, what a pleasant cat. So unlike those loud and dangerous ones." And then when you leave a bowl of milk out at night, you wake up the next morning with broken china and spoiled milk all over the floor.

Mrs. Tate came back down to Earth just as Harry Banished Lindsey- age fifteen, orphan- into the wall. Everyone was silent. A couple of kids went to see if Lindsey was all right. She wasn't, but that wasn't because of Harry. Lindsey seemed to think that since Harry could do magic, Harry had to do all the chores. Some kids had laughed at that, but no one thought she was serious. At least not until she shoved Harry when he had refused. She had never really liked Harry; she remembered a time when she was the favorite. Mrs. Tate would go on and on about how Lindsey was the lost daughter of Princess Margaret, born from a passionate love affair between her and Elvis Presley.

This was Harry's first bout of accidental magic, or rather, the first time he noticed it. He wasn't really paying attention all those years ago when an angry couple came to the orphanage wanting to adopt a boy, and he had Disillusioned himself.