When Albus Dumbledore first stepped past the thresholds of the London Foster Care and Adoption Clinic, needless to say, he was rightfully apprehensive. But his worries eased once he was met with the smiling face of the branch manager, Mea Rookland, and he was only further assured when they delved into the subject of one Harry James Potter.

"Harry? Oh, he's such a dear," Mea, as she had told him to address her, smiled fondly. "The children all love him; he's got that aura to him that just makes him likeable, you know? The families that he had lived with also adore him. It's a pity, really, that the ones that do take him are always only looking for short-term adoptions."

Dumbledore let out a silent exhale of relief.

Placing Harry with the Dursleys had been a terrible mistake. That had been all too clear when Harry's Hogwarts letter showed, not the address he had been dropped off at as an infant, but the one of the nearest muggle adoption centre.

"Does he have any close friends?" Dumbledore asked, pleased that Harry's childhood didn't seem to be too unpleasant.

"Well…" Mea faltered, and Dumbledore's heart sank. "It's not that he doesn't have friends…rather, he gets on with everyone. But I wouldn't say that he's particularly close with any of the other children. He drifts from crowd to crowd, and they're all more than happy to have him. But there's always been this distance between him and the others." At this point, she let out a sigh. "Perhaps he just hasn't found anyone he's clicked with yet."

Dumbledore nodded along. It wasn't strange for magical children raised in the muggle world to struggle with forming deep friendships. In fact, Harry's apparent popularity was already beyond his expectations. Though, remembering young James and Sirius, who had practically been the crowned kings of Gryffindor, he supposed he shouldn't have been surprised.

"What's he like? Harry, of course," Dumbledore continued his questioning, now more to sate his curiosity than to quell his anxiety.

"Harry, he's…" Mea hummed as they passed the dining room of the adoption centre. A bark of laughter drew their attention. Mea's smile widened as she took in the scene before them. "Well, why don't you see for yourself?"

And Dumbledore did.

The first thing that caught his eyes was a mop of windswept black hair that was nearly identical to James Potter's and a pair of shockingly green eyes dancing with mirth.

Harry stood near the centre of the room, laughing unrestrainedly at something that another boy said. The other children almost seemed to gravitate towards him, pulled in by the crisp ring of his voice and the half-hidden sharpness of his dimpled smile.

Yet at that moment, Dumbledore understood what Mea had meant when she said that Harry had no close friends.

In fact, the other children all subconsciously kept at an arm's length away from him unless he instigated contact. While some looked at him with open admiration, amusement, and others with even hints of exasperation or envy, there was no warm understanding or familiarity in any of their gazes. Harry stood in the midst of the crowd at the centre of attention, but at the same time, he was utterly alone.

A part of Dumbledore's mind may have drawn the connections between that scene and ones he had seen in the Great Hall during Tom Riddle's later Hogwarts years. The children regarded Harry with the same adoration. Their eyes shone with a desperation for his attention and a fierce dependence that would have chilled Dumbledore to the core if it been another dark-haired and sharp-eyed boy who stood in Harry's place. But the thought was banished to the dark recess of his mind as soon as it had come.

Despite everything, at that moment, Harry was just so completely and utterly James that Dumbledore simply could not believe him to be anything more than an outgoing and well-liked child. He convinced himself that it was simply a matter of Harry being inherently different from everyone else. It was nothing to concern himself over. Harry will find his true friends at Hogwarts.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Mea murmured from where she stood beside him. "He's going to be great someday. He didn't always use to be like this."

Dumbledore tore his eyes away from the now widely gesturing boy and met the woman's eyes. "Oh?"

"Yes. When he was just starting out, learning to walk and talk and the such, he was a quiet and observant boy. I would have almost called him shy," Mea's eyes softened as if recalling some distant past. "He always isolated himself during playtime; he didn't seem to get along well with the others."

Dumbledore glanced back at Harry, who had already drifted to another cliche, his laugh carrying easily across the stretch of the room. It was hard to imagine him as the child that the Foster Care branch manager was currently describing.

"At some point, a few of my volunteers had been concerned that Harry was being bullied," Mea admitted soft, causing Dumbledore to start.

That boy and the Harry before him seemed like two entirely different entities, two directing opposing personas. Was it possible for a child to change so completely? Or perhaps Harry was just a slow starter?

"In fact," Mea mused quietly, tapping her chin. "During that period, there was one family that took him in and brought him back, two months earlier than they were supposed to, and no matter what we said they wouldn't budge. They just simply didn't seem to like him for some reason. I would almost say that they were scared, but that's ridiculous. Harry was four."

Scared? Dumbledore frowned worriedly. Of course, there were more than enough cases of muggleborns being feared by even their own families because of their accidental magic. Had it been the same case with Harry?

"But from there on, Harry changed. He became more social. He smiled more. The other children gradually flocked to him, drawn to his presence, and it's been that way ever since," Mea finished her narrative, leading Dumbledore into the room.

"Ah," the Headmaster nodded. "Pardon me for seeming insensitive-it is merely out of curiosity-but may I ask why Harry was never adopted, then, if he is so well loved?"

Mea smiled wryly. "Sometimes we wonder the same thing. As I've said before, most families that take him are only looking for something short term. The ones who weren't always returned him with some excuse, even though they liked him well enough, with the exception of one. I've had some families claim that they were worried they weren't well off enough to provide Harry with the opportunities he deserves, as he is such a bright child. Others have said that Harry would be much happier in London, or that they felt unprepared as first-time parents to handle such a gifted boy. They all appeared sincere enough, as well."

Dumbledore was silent for a moment before he sighed. "It's a shame that Harry was never able to find a family of his own."

"Indeed," Mea agreed. They were standing close to where Harry was now, with the boy leaning against the wall with his hands tucked in his pockets as he nodded and grinned along to something a young girl was saying. "But fortunately Harry seemed to have no qualms about staying here while the others around him came and went. I'm hoping that boarding school you spoke to me about would do him some good. Scotland, was it?"

Dumbledore hummed.

"Maybe it will be easier for him to connect with other gifted children," Mea let out a sudden chuckle, shaking her head. "I have had adult volunteers tell me that Harry has moments where he even makes them feel stupid. He really is a unique child."

Dumbledore refrained from voicing the 'more than you'll ever know' that was on the tip of his tongue. He had come expecting the Boy-Who-Lived, and he was still surprised how Harry had turned out. Unique seemed almost an understatement.

"Then everything is prepared? A professor will come to take him to pick up his school supplies, then again accompany him to the station on September the first?" Mea confirmed, checking the notes she had made in a small planner. "If it's all settled, then you may speak to him in private and let him know. I'm afraid you'll have to keep it within thirty minutes, though. The centre has a rather strict visiting policy for non-adopters."

"Yes, I understand," Dumbledore assented. "That's fine."

Everything was fine. The Boy-Who-Lived was alive, living a relatively happy life surrounded by friends. The worst hadn't come to pass as Dumbledore had feared.

As he mentally prepared his speech for when he was introduced to the young Harry James Potter, Dumbledore let out a relieved breath, feeling the tension drain from his shoulders.

There was no harm done, and as it turned out, he had worried over nothing.

Everything was going to be alright.

After the door swung closed on Headmaster Albus Dumbledore's retreating back, a thick silence permeated the air.

Harry Potter stared down at the letter of enrolment to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry held in his hands, eyes scanning hungrily over the text once more as if hoping to imprint every word into his memory. He was nearly caressing the letter, his expression was stiff, facial muscles frozen through pure disbelief.

Finally, with a nimble twist of the fingers, he folded the parchment-actual parchment, not paper-in half and slid it into the inner pockets of his jacket.

The polite and interested smile he wore during the older wizard's visit fell away like a cracked mask, leaving behind a vicious grin that was all teeth. There was a wildness to the sharp glint of his eyes, so piercing a green that it left the painted warm yellow of the walls dull in comparison.

He was a wizard.

Of course, he had known since long ago that he could do things others couldn't. But a wizard!? Harry couldn't suppress the sharp laugh that bubbled forth between parted lips. It soon devolved into a near cackle. He had magic, and soon, he was going to learn how to use it, properly.

Harry knew that there was more to it than simply making things float or convincing others into agreeing to requests they otherwise might not have.

After nearly a decade, now he finally knew. He knew who he really was, and what it was that he could do.

A faint tremor ran through his tensed shoulders as the words his future Headmaster had told him finally begun to sink in.

It was the first time he had felt so strongly in many years. His emotions, a complicated mix of exhilaration, irritation, and incredulity that threatened to burst forth and swallow him whole-

"Harry?" A knock sounded at the door before it opened.

Harry plastered his signature grin onto his face, eyes widening slightly. It was a small act and one that required little effort on his part, but as Harry had discovered several years ago, it was also one that easily drew in and captured the attention of the other party. "Yes, Mrs. Rookland?" He asked.

The woman's smile grew when their eyes met.

"Did Headmaster Dumbledore already take his leave? How are you feeling about the news?" She asked.

"He left just a moment ago," Harry replied, standing from his seat and lazily stretching out his limbs. "I'm quite excited. Of course, I'll miss everyone here, but I'll be back during the summers. It'll be strange not having my friends with me, but I think with some practice, I'll manage."

The lie slipped through his lip smoothly, a perfect mix of embarrassment and feigned nonchalance. Harry could see the effect of his words taking hold as Mrs. Rookland's eyes softened.

While his excitement was entirely sincere, Harry held no issues over leaving behind the crowds of naive, simpering children who were always seeking to please him. In all honesty, he never really minded them. They were simply just there, a constant presence throughout his years at the Adoption Clinic. He acted the same towards everyone, be they children or adults, and within days they would always be eating out of the palm of his hands.

Besides, it wasn't as much an act as it was an exaggerated, filtered version of him. Harry had always lived with a sort of freedom that stemmed from an utter indifference to the opinions of others.

He had been called reckless, unrestrained, unfettered-

And perhaps he was, but just not for the reasons they believed.

He had always been too dissimilar to the other orphans in foster care. The volunteers looked at him differently, as did the visitors who were looking to adopt.

The children were worse.

They caught quickly onto the fact that he was given special treatment, so to say, and they took it out on him, although it was just as beyond his control as it was theirs. He hated the adults for isolating him so completely from the rest, and he hated the children more for treating him as such when he had always kept to himself.

At first, he had felt the weight of their judgement; he wanted to fit in, to be treated the same as any other child his age.

But as he discovered more and more of the things he could do that others couldn't, more and more of the things that he could see and others can't, he realized that the other children and he have never been the same.

From then on it was as if he was looking into the world around him through a glass pane. His hatred for everyone else morphed into disregard, which then dwindled to a dull insouciance. At one point, the same nonchalance leaked into his actions as well.

So he simply did what he wanted, voiced whatever was on his mind-and that was apparently enough. Others began to look at him differently. They began to orbit towards him, and as long as they didn't cross a line, Harry let them be. Naturally, there were always the few that did, the few that pushed too hard or were too open with their hostility. They got to experience Harry's rare but sharp anger, and they never made the same mistake twice. As for everyone else, they no longer dwelled on how the unexplainable always seemed to occur around Harry and only Harry. Instead, they focused on his loud laughs, his easy grace, and his quick smiles.

But Harry understood that what they truly envied was his freedom.

People, Harry thought decidedly. Were easy.

And they were. They were easy to understand, easy to trust others, and easy to influence. Harry, naturally, didn't include himself in that generalization. He was different from them. He wasn't born to be a follower. But he wouldn't be a leader, either. He was an external factor, a lone element isolated from the general equation of everyone else.

But Dumbledore had obviously expected him to lead, eventually. Of what, exactly, Harry wasn't quite sure yet.

He wasn't sorry to know that the old wizard will one day find himself disappointed.

"And we will miss you, too," Mrs. Rookland's reply pulled him back from his spiralling thoughts. "Promise to write?"

Harry complied. He wasn't too concerned over having to keep his promise. After all, there was still another good two month to go before he had to leave for school. He was certain that he'd be able to let slip something about his school not allowing international postage due to expenses or some other nonsense.

"You'll do well, no matter if it's here or at a private school abroad. If you have any concerns, let us know, alright?" At Harry's nod, Mrs. Rookland beamed. "Then, let's head back to the dining hall," she continued, gesturing down the corridors. "Lunch is being served an hour early today."

Just as they arrived at the door leading into the dining room, there was a considerable dip in the noise.

Harry strolled in, allowing himself to be swallowed by the crowd of eager children. He returned the others' greetings and brief comments, but there was a distant shine to his eyes that had not been present before he had left.

While his body and mouth went through the motions, so familiar he was with them that he could practically do it with his eyes closed, his mind drifted to Hogwarts, and the world that awaited his arrival.

His lip pulled upwards, more of a smirk than a smile. A predatory light flashed through his eyes, unnoticed by the clamouring children that pressed in around him. Soon, he would find others who were like him. There, perhaps he could be just another face in the crowd, no longer constantly drawing jealous or worshiping side glances from everyone that passed by.

After all, while Harry enjoyed his current unreserved freedom, the fact remained that he would have liked nothing better than someone who could understand him and who didn't automatically place him on a pedestal. It would be a welcomed and refreshing change to his established reputation here at the adoption clinic. The thought was enough to elevate his mood for the rest of the day. And it would last until the morning he set foot onto Platform 9 and 3/4.