Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, however I do own the legal rights to JK Rowling's life, and I will sue anyone that disputes it.

Welcome all, to my first fic!

I'm very excited about this as I have spent far to much of my own free time to be healthy lurking and reading on this site, and have decided to finally bless you all with my own attempt at writing. Please note that I have never written anything longer than 2000 words, I am not professional, but I am British (so don't even think about britpicking me). I will point out to anyone that attempts to tell me I am spelling the word 'colour' wrong that the English have been speaking the language longer than anyone else, in fact we invented it, and so your spellings are objectively wrong (also I will delete your comment, account, and life.).

This is a romance story, although it may not seem like one at first, but will also have some rather dark themes. There will be Dumbledore and Weasley bashing, so if you don't like that kind of thing don't read this (not because it may upset you, just because I don't respect your opinion.). Rated M for language, themes, explicit scenes and maybe some smut (I'm not too sure if I'll include any yet, so don't hold me to it.).

I'm not likely to post often, so don't get mad if I'm quiet for, like, 6 months straight. I put a lot of time into planning this fic but would love to hear your suggestions and feedback, and will reply to each and every comment I receive (deleting them counts as replying, right?). If you do spot any typos let me know and I will correct them, but don't forget to let me know how much you hate my writing. Anyway, I hope you enjoy my fic, don't forget to rate and review.

Yours soggily,

Asoggycrumpet

Voldemort stalked up the driveway to the Potters' house, fiddling absently with his wand. On that cold October night, the streets were void of the residents of the iconic wizarding town, and he walked unopposed towards his target. He felt himself pass through the wards surrounding the house, and smirked to himself about the Potters' poor choice of secret keeper. Wormtail was loyal to James Potter, there was no doubt about that, but Voldemort could provide the one thing James couldn't – safety. Peter Pettigrew was a coward through and through, and if there's one thing that cowards want, it's safety. Of course, the Potters' residence was only the first on his list of children to kill. Once he had dispatched with young Harry, he would move on and eliminate his other potential rivals.

The Potters' house in Godric's Hollow was charming, and Voldemort was almost sorry about what he would do inside. Almost. Ivy crept up the side of the Victorian cottage, the once red bricks faded by years of miserable English weather. There would be no resistance of course; James and Lily were at the Ministry along with every other member of the Order. Voldemort had ordered a huge siege of the iconic building, a diversion to leave households empty and children defenceless. Even the old fool Dumbledore was there. Granted, taking the Ministry would still be helpful for him, but the success of his current mission was paramount. Even if he lost all his forces at the Ministry, he would still have succeeded in his mission and be unopposed in the entire wizarding world.

The black painted gate of the front garden swung open without him needing to touch it. He glided into the garden that the Potters had worked so hard to keep tidy, and stood still for a moment to appreciate the fruits of their labour. Such a shame that their memories of the house would be forever tarnished by what was soon to occur there. The night sky was speckled with bright stars, and the full moon cast a romantic light over the serene house. As Voldemort approached the front door, he reached out with his magic and the hinges split and cracked, leaving the door standing unsupported in its frame. Voldemort smirked to himself and pushed it over with a gentle touch, the sound of splintering wood as it hit the floor alien in the deathly quiet night. Slowly taking the stairs, Voldemort reached the landing of the first floor and approached the first door on the right, the only one with any sound coming from behind it.

The soft breathing of Harry Potter was interrupted by the swinging open of the door to his bedroom. The infant opened his eyes, expecting to see his parents returned from their outing but meeting the cold, calculating stare of a stranger. Green eyes met red, and Voldemort sized the child up. He was sitting innocently in his crib, clutching a blanket in his tiny, pudgy fists. Not seeing his mother, he started to cry, wailing for his parents to return and replace the stranger. Voldemort looked down at the child in disgust. Merlin, he hated children. He even disliked the thought that he had been a child himself once. Harry didn't show any signs of stopping crying, and it was starting to get on Voldemort's nerves. Steeling himself, Voldemort raised his wand at the child and muttered the incantation that he had used more times than he could remember.

"Avada Kedavra"

A brilliant, bright green light filled the room and struck the child in the face, before rebounding and hitting Voldemort in turn. He felt his mind being ripped from his body and a floating sensation that was quickly clouded by the unimaginable pain he started to become aware of. Every nerve he had access to was burning with the fire of the Phlegethon, and agony wreaked havoc across his usually well-organised and collected mind. He didn't even have the brain function to wonder what had happened due to every neuron he had trying to alert him of the incredible infliction that had befallen him.

Following his animalistic instincts to get away, Voldemort took his wraith form and burst through the nursery roof, shattering the windows and creating a gaping hole in the top of the Potter household. Not knowing where he was going, half blinded by his agony, he flew wildly away from the ruined cottage and out into the night sky. Unbeknownst to Voldemort, he was flying towards the nearby town of Ottery St. Catchpole, more precisely, a house on the outskirts of the little hamlet, named The Burrow.

He felt himself collide with the roof of the amalgam of rooms that was the rickety house, yet experienced no more pain as he was already at his receptive threshold for it. Splintering wood accompanied him as he burst through the attic into the nursery on the top floor. He crumpled in a heap in the corner furthest from the door, and lay still, finally succumbing to the curse that was intended for another.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump, was confused. He was confused as to why Voldemort had yet to show his face in the battle that he was losing. Not that Dumbledore's side was really 'winning', as they had lost many, many fighters already. But surely, someone as smart and cunning as Voldemort wouldn't wait until he had all but lost to show his face. There were no other forces in the entirety of Britain that he could be saving for the finale; just about every magical creature on the island was present. It simply didn't make any sense for him to wait this long. Unless… unless he wasn't going to turn up at all. Unless Voldemort was on a more important mission. Dumbledore realised Voldemort's plan and apparated away with a sharp 'CRACK'.

An identical sound could be heard outside the Longbottom residence, an old house similar to that of the Potters, yet on the other end of Godric's Hollow. As their secret keeper, Dumbledore had access to the house and opened the door without even needing to unlock it. Bounding up the stairs rather spritely for his age, Dumbledore quickly arrived at the room inhabited by a crying infant. Crying, but alive. Dumbledore breathed out a sigh of relief. It wasn't the Longbottoms.

He apparated to the front of the Potter household, on the opposite side of Godric's Hollow, and realised that he needn't check any other houses. It was clear from the burning husk that was the roof of the house that Voldemort had been and left. But Dumbledore knew the implications that it carried. Voldemort had marked his equal, and the child was dead. A great weight placed itself on Dumbledore's shoulders as he realised by asking the Potters to accompany him at the Ministry, he had sealed the fate of their son.

Dumbledore had to be sure though, and made his way through the ruined interior to the nursery he knew to inhabit the corpse of the cheerful, giggling baby he had known.

But as he drew near, he heard what could only be recognised as the crying of a child. Bursting through the doorway, Dumbledore was met with the sight of a weeping child surrounded by the rubble of his room. A scar, freshly cut, in the shape of a lightning bolt was obvious on his forehead. Dumbledore's mind was racing; putting together the pieces of the situation, trying to decipher what had occurred. The child was alive, but it was obvious Voldemort had been there. The child must have fulfilled the prophecy and defeated him. If that were so, he would be heralded as a hero for the rest of his life. A wave of relief washed over him. He would not have to tell the Potters about the death of their son, and he knew it would break Lily if he did.

However, Dumbledore couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He could sense death in the area, but it was more of a lingering status of the perishing. Those close to death often emitted strong magical auras, the soul's attempt to remain alive, and the bedroom that he stood in was not nearly heavy enough with the eldritch as the site of the defeat of Lord Voldemort should be. Someone that determined to cheat death would put up one hell of a fight. He reached out with his senses, trying to detect what had happened. He felt the trail of magic leave through the roof and travel through the sky, and decided to follow it on the ground, apparating every couple hundred meters to correct the vector of his travel according to the magical breadcrumbs left by the Dark Lord.

The trail grew stronger the further Dumbledore tracked it, and it eventually led him to the smoking building that belonged to Arthur Weasley, a member of his Order. He knocked on the front door, knowing Arthur's wife would be at home. Instead however, it was opened by a young boy with bright red hair, no older than 10.

"What do you want?" demanded the boy, suspiciously. He Dumbledore up and down as if sizing him up for a fight.

"I should like to speak to your mother, young man. It is rather a matter of urgency."

"What's your name?" Dumbledore took on his most grandfatherly smile and replied,

"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I believe that something has fallen through the roof of your house, and I came to investigate."

The boy's eyes widened at the name, and stammering slightly, ushered him in and up the stairs.

Dumbledore entered the room at the top of the stairs, and took in the scene that presented itself. Splinters of wood covered the floor, and dust from the attic above masked the colour of the walls. By the cot in the corner of the room stood a dumpy, redheaded witch who was cradling a child in her arms. She was smiling, but there were tears streaked down her face. In the adjacent corner was a stain that could only be described as dark. It seemed to suck at the light of the surrounding walls, and was accentuated by a pile of ash that Dumbledore realised to be the remains of the Dark Lord he had been fighting since the 60s.

Dumbledore turned to the redheaded witch.

"Mrs Weasley?" The woman looked up and realised there was someone else in the room.

"P-Professor Dumbledore? What's g-going on? W-what happened?" she stammered, holding the child tight to her as if he might attempt to steal it. Thinking fast, Dumbledore put together a plan in his head.

"Mrs Weasley, I am pleased to tell you that your son has defeated the Dark Lord. That scar he bears," he pointed to a small gash on the right cheek, "will forever represent the foe that he overcame and will stay with him for life. It is the result of the killing curse that he survived, and that rebounded to end Voldemort's life." Molly gaped at him.

"You mean," she said in disbelief "that my infant child defeated the most powerful dark wizard alive? Oh Ron, I knew you would achieve something amazing, I knew it from the moment you were born!" Dumbledore, slightly shocked at how gullible Mrs Weasley was, bid her goodbye and returned to the Potters' residence

Now for the second part of his plan. It was regrettable, what he had to do, but it was for the greater good. He took young Harry in his arms, wrapped him in the blanket he clutched and apparated to an establishment that he knew would suit his purpose perfectly, an orphanage in London, one that had a reputation for accepting children with criminal behaviour. Dumbledore had visited before to meet with potential students at Hogwarts, and had been shocked at the amount of bullying that occurred from the older residents.

In order for his plan to work, Harry would have to have no sense of self-worth, and be willing to sacrifice himself for the first people to show him kindness. This place would be perfect for such a purpose. Once Dumbledore showed up in ten years to collect the boy, he would become his hero immediately. Not wanting to have anything lead back to him, he left Harry on the doorstep of the large house. Before he left, Dumbledore levelled his wand at Harry and started muttering incantations. It was old magic, a series of spells he had learnt of whilst travelling Bulgaria. They would make sure no one discovered the boy's true identity, no matter how hard his parents looked. Satisfied with his work, Dumbledore apparated back to the Ministry.

Upon arriving at the battlefield, he was met with the sight of wizards and creatures ripping each other apart. Such a waste. Casting the sonorous charm on himself, he spoke across the battlefield that was still locked in its mortal coil.

"Lord Voldemort is dead." He announced, the sound of his voice echoing across the cavernous ministry hall. This caused much of the fighting to stop and look up at him, "I have just returned from the Weasley residence, where he attempted to do off with their youngest son, Ronald. Young Ronald, only an infant, managed to survive the killing curse that was cast at him, and rebound it upon Voldemort. The Dark Lord is dead, the war is over."

A cry came from the ranks of the death eaters,

"He lies, no child could defeat the dark lord!" A roar of agreement came from his comrades, but many looked nervous. Suddenly, there was a loud crack as a death eater apparated away. Then another. And another. Soon the air was filled with the sound of scared death eaters fleeing the battle, unsure weather to heed the words of their enemy or to fight. A cheer of victory rose from the Ministry's forces, and they attacked the remaining foe with newfound vigour.

James and Lily sat together on the bottom step of the fountain that occupied the lobby of the Ministry. Once housing a huge golden statue, the fountain had been reduced to rubble and was now little more than a pond with chucks of marble in it.

"He's gone." Whispered Lily, her head resting on her husband's shoulder "He's really gone." James squeezed laced his fingers through hers and squeezed her hand. He put an arm around her back and pulled her closer.

"We can be a family now. Just you, me and Harry." He rested his own head on the top of hers. Lily loved it when he did that, it made her feel safe. She knew that if the whole world collapsed he would still try to protect her. After a while of simply enjoying each other's company, Lily extricated her head from James's and pulled him into a kiss.

"I love you." She told him, looking into his deep brown eyes. James grinned,

"Bet I love you more. Not that it's a competition or anything…" Lily rolled her eyes and kissed him again. He never failed to make her laugh; it was one of the things she loved most about him.

"Mr and Mrs Potter?" said a voice. Lily looked up to see the sombre visage of Albus Dumbledore.

"Albus," replied James before frowning, "what's wrong?"

Dumbledore sighed resignedly, looking all his 100 years. Lily wasn't sure when she'd ever seen him look so sad, and she had fought a war by his side. Whatever was troubling him, it must have been bad.

"I'm afraid that the Weasley house was not the only residence that Voldemort visited tonight. There was another, one where the child was not as lucky as young Ronald." Dumbledore gave them a moment to digest what he had just said before continuing, "I'm so sorry."

Lily was confused. Who was he talking about? From the expression on James's face it seemed he knew, but Dumbledore hadn't told them which house was attacked.

"Who was attacked?" she asked looking between James and Dumbledore. Dumbledore looked at his feet sheepishly, obviously trying to avoid eye contact. She met James's eye and saw the pain in them. The obvious grief that he felt over what Dumbledore had told them was evident in his eyes, and she realised all of a sudden who they were talking about. Lily felt her knees give out. She felt James catch her. She heard James ask Dumbledore if he was sure. But she didn't register any of it. Harry… her Harry was gone. No. He couldn't be. She refused to accept it. The overwhelming grief of the situation addled her brain, constricting her thoughts and creating a raging tempest of sorrow in her head.

"Lily!" she snapped back to attention at the sound of James's voice, "Check the locket." He added softly, holding her up. She tentatively reached one shaking hand into her robes and pulled out a locket.

It was gold, with swirling ribbons wrapping across the front. She opened it, praying she wouldn't see what she believed she would. Inside the locket were two pictures, one of her and James, another of their son Harry. Harry's photo was as clear as it ever was, which meant… Harry was alive. He was alive. Her son, Harry James Potter, was alive. It was the only thing she could think about. "See?" James said, "If he was gone then the picture would go dark. It's enchanted to do so." He had a pleading expression on his face, as if convincing Dumbledore of the fact would bring Harry to them.

"I don't know what to tell you," replied Dumbledore, sorrowfully. The anguish in his eyes was real, he hated to see two of his most loyal followers suffering like this, but he knew it was for the greater good. "I saw your house. The door was blown off its hinges, and there was a gaping hole in the roof above young Harry's room. When I looked inside, I found no child."

"So he's out there somewhere." James concluded, wrapping his arms around Lily and pulling her gently into his embrace. "We need to go find him."

"I will try my best," said Dumbledore, eyes twinkling. He knew the Potters would never find their son, he had made sure of that, but he needed to keep up the pretence that he wanted to help. After all, he was Albus Dumbledore, and Albus Dumbledore helped everyone.

10 years later

James found Lily reading a book on the living room sofa when he came home from the Ministry. As head of the DMLE, James was always working late hours, often to sort out meaningless conflicts between squabbling departments. His wife looked up at him as he entered the room, and she smiled brightly.

"Hey love, long day?" she asked, shuffling across the sofa to make room for him and patting the space next to her. James obliged, sitting down heavily and putting an arm around her shoulders. She snuggled in close to him and placed her head on his chest, her arm wrapping around him. After coming home from her job at the Daily Prophet, Lily liked to sit and just read, taking in the peaceful silence that was their home, though she would have preferred it if she could hear her son upstairs.

James sighed and kissed the top of her head; "The treasury is still refusing to increase funding for the DMLE despite the increase in crime recently. I had a look through what the Ministry is currently spending, and it turns out Arthur Weasley is being paid the same salary as half my aurors combined. He's the head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts for crying out loud! The only reason they pay him that much is that his son is the Boy-Who-Lived." Lily was quiet after this, and James realised he had been ranting again. "Sorry Lily, I know you hate it when I do that." She looked up at him and kissed him.

"I don't mind about that, it's just all that Boy-Who-Lived stuff. It gets on my nerves." She choked slightly on the last word, and James saw her eyes were red from crying.

"Lily? What's the matter?" he asked in a concerned tone. James knew she had never gotten over the loss of Harry, and was very protective of her. Lily looked at him and smiled sadly; glad she had him to talk to and to look out for her.

"Harry would be getting his Hogwarts letter today." She all but whispered, tears starting to form in her eyes. James pulled her into a tight hug but didn't say anything, knowing that Lily just needed someone to hold on to and a shoulder to cry on.

"J-James?" She asked, looking at him expectantly, "Could we maybe… could we go to the platform? If he's alive, there's a chance he'll be there and we can find him. I think that it's worth-"

"And what if he isn't there?" James interrupted, looking at her seriously, "What if we wait until the train has left and he still hasn't shown up?"

"But if he's alive-"

"I won't set you up for failure, Lily." Said James, and then he added, "I care about you too much." Lily looked angrily at him and made to say something, but James continued, "That doesn't mean that I don't care about Harry too. I do, I really do. I want nothing more than for us to be reunited with him. But I know that if he's at Hogwarts, Albus will tell us." Lily looked down and drew circles with her finger across the back of his hand.

"I know," she murmured quietly, "I just want to be able to see him." She took out the locket, as she did every day, and opened it. The picture of Harry remained as it was that fateful night almost 10 years ago, but both her and James had aged in their frame. The locket showed the person how you remembered them, and as she hadn't seen harry since he was one, that was how it showed him. Just the fact that she could see his picture gave her hope that she might one day find him, but as the years past she grew less and less sure. She missed her happy, giggling baby that she had loved.

Harry looked at his own picture in his locket, the only evidence that he had ever had a real family. He certainly didn't consider his fellow orphans family. Between the daily beatings he received from Craig and his gang and the meagre meals the social workers gave him, Harry hadn't ever looked forward to arriving back at Payne's Institute for Disreputable Orphans, and that was, in his view, the most important part of a home. Harry had always dreamed of finding his parents, but knew there was little chance of him ever meeting them. He'd settle just to be fostered, just to get away from this place, but for some reason whenever visitors came to adopt a child they always seemed to look over him, like their eyes had simply not realised that a child stood before them.

He'd always thought that strange, why wouldn't any of them look at him? It wasn't like he was particularly ugly or badly behaved, and compared to the other orphans he was positively an angel. He stared down at his image in the locket, his bright green eyes and lightning scar obvious to anyone who looked at him. Craig loved making fun of Harry's scar, told him it was because his parents had dropped him on his head when he was very small and as a result Harry had become incredibly stupid. In reality, Harry was actually quite intelligent for his age and had already surpassed Craig, who was 16. That wasn't saying much though as Craig had had to repeat Year 7 twice, and planned on dropping out of school as soon as he had passed enough GCSEs.

The strangest thing about his locket was the fact that it always showed him at his current age, and moved. The social workers had told Harry that the locket had been in the folds of the blanket he was wrapped in when they found him on their doorstep, and he had had it ever since. So how, he wondered, did it show a picture of him aged ten-and-almost-eleven when he had never changed the photo since the age of one? And how did it move? Maybe there was a camera hidden in the locket, and it took a photo of him when he looked at it, or maybe one of the social workers was changing it when he was asleep. Maybe it wasn't a picture and just a screen, and that's why it moved. None of those sounded particularly likely to Harry, but then again, the only other explanation would be… magic.

He pulled his eyes away from his unusual memento of his parents and looked around his room. 'His room' wasn't really the best way to describe it; it was more the room in which he slept. Lining the walls on three sides were five bunk beds, inhabited by the other preteens that the orphanage housed. In total, the small room had 9 orphans between the ages of ten and twelve sleeping in it, which made sure that Harry never had any privacy. Currently in the room with him were three others, two helping the other to pack as he was leaving the orphanage. There was a knock at the door, and Harry turned to see one of the social workers, a short, overweight woman named Sarah. She looked around the room before spotting him and saying "Harry? There's a man here to see you."

Harry stared at her in surprise. Someone was here to see him? No one had ever even looked at him before, let alone asked for him.

"A-Are you sure? He asked for me by name?" Harry asked in disbelief, searching her face for some kind of cruel trick or joke. Sarah looked at him as if he was being stupid, before continuing,

"Well, not exactly by name, but he said he was looking for a ten year old boy with green eyes and black hair. He said he had come to offer you a position at his school." Harry was confused; he didn't know why someone would come to the orphanage to offer him a place at a school. It wasn't like he had applied to any.

Tentatively, he followed Sarah downstairs into the large hall that housed the front door. Sarah led him through one of the side doors into the meeting area where he saw the person who had requested him, an old man who looked to be at least a hundred years old. He stood near the window, gazing out of it at the bleak, dreary Saturday afternoon, and when Harry entered he turned and smiled. He wore long grey robes that fell to his ankles with a gold trim, and had a long grey beard that reached his waist to match. He had half-moon spectacles balanced delicately on his nose, and a benevolent smile on his wizened face that further added to his grandfather demeanour. All in all, he looked rather bizarre.

"Ah, hello young man. It's a pleasure to meet you." The old man smiled at him, his eyes twinkling. He reached out his hand, which Harry shook, before sitting down on one of the sofas. Harry mirrored his action and looked at him expectantly, wondering what on earth he could want with him.

"I'll leave you here with Professor Dumbledore, okay Harry?" Sarah asked, placing a hand on his shoulder. Like the rest of the social workers, they feigned care for Harry whilst in the company of those who weren't resident at the orphanage, but showed their true disdain when in private. After her mentioning his name, he thought he saw a flicker of fear in the old man's eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly. Harry murmured his assent without taking his eyes off the old man, 'Professor Dumbledore' as Sarah had called him. So he was a Professor then?

He dressed in such an odd manner that Harry thought he might just be mad.

"My name, Harry, is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, but you should just call me Professor Dumbledore. I am headmaster at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, and it has come to my attention that you have earned a place there. That is to say, Harry, that you are a wizard." Harry thought he was joking and waited for the old man to smile humorously, but Dumbledore simply looking at him as if gaging his reaction. Harry realised he was being serious; he genuinely believed that Harry was… a wizard? So like someone that could use magic? But magic wasn't real; he must have been referring to something else.

"What do you mean 'I'm a wizard'?" Harry asked,

Dumbledore smiled at him again in his grandfatherly manner.

"Have you ever done anything that you couldn't explain… anything that simply happened because you hoped it would?" Harry thought about it. Often strange events occurred when he was nearby, but he had never seriously attributed them to himself. His life in the orphanage hadn't been pleasant, the others had labelled him a freak for the things that seemed to happen around him. Maybe he really was a wizard.

As if he knew what Harry was thinking, Dumbledore smiled and continued, "At Hogwarts, you will be able learn how to use magic in the finest institution for it in the world."

"How do I know you aren't just making this all up?" Harry said, realising he had yet to be shown any proof that magic was indeed real. He knew it should have been the first thing that occurred to him, but for some reason the idea that he was magical didn't really seem that alien to him. Dumbledore smiled at him knowingly and drew a long, thin, knotted, wooden stick from inside his robes. He raised it into the air, and waved it in a strange pattern whilst saying "Orchideous."

A bouquet of flowers burst from the tip of the stick, and landed in Harry's lap. Harry stared wide-eyed at them, his expression a vision of disbelief. He looked back up at Dumbledore who was amusedly watching Harry's reaction.

"How-How did you do that?" Harry's jaw was wide open. The implications of magic being real had only just occurred to him, and he was well and truly stunned. Dumbledore smiled, his eyes twinkling and replied,

"Magic. And with training Harry, you can do the same. At Hogwarts you will learn all about magic and how to use it. You will learn a great deal on many subjects, such as Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Herbology and Runes to just name a few. So- what do you say?"

Harry thought about it before coming to a conclusion. Harry was very exited at the prospect of going to a school for magic. For one, Harry would be able to get away from this place and he might finally meet people like him if he went to a school for wizards, and maybe even make some friends. He had never had friends before, Craig had made sure of that, and the chance to finally meet people that liked him was more enticing than anything he had ever experienced.

"I accept. As long as I can stay away from here as much as possible, I think that it'll be a good idea."

"Excellent! I shall come pick you up from here in two days time, and we shall go shopping for your school things." Harry looked thoughtful for a second before asking,

"Sir… well I don't have any money for school things… or even for school fees. How am I going to pay for all of those?" Eyes twinkling, Dumbledore gave his best grandfatherly look before assuring Harry,

"I shall pay for them myself, Harry. You needn't worry about it."

Harry was overjoyed. He was finally leaving this place, to learn magic no less. And all for free! No one had ever shown Harry so much as concern before, let alone paid for his education. Professor Dumbledore truly was eternally kind if he would do such a thing for Harry after only just meeting him.

"Thank you so much, Professor. I look for to seeing you on Monday." Dumbledore smiled benevolently at him before replying,

"And I you, Harry. Well, I've taken enough of your time up and I must take care of some errands myself, not to mention explaining the situation to your guardians. I'm sure you have a lot to think about, so I will leave you be. Goodbye, Harry."

"Goodbye, Professor." Dumbledore left the room, and Harry lent back on the sofa he was sitting on, sighing to himself. He was a wizard. And it felt great.

Word count: 5534

I hope you liked the first chapter, there will be more but I don't know when.

Review or JK Rowling will hunt you down.