A person's nature is a strange thing, subject to change yet also firm. Some are born with wills unbreakable and others are born far more malleable. The same can be said, in a way, about the nature around us – rigid, yet changeable; after all, humans are perfectly capable of knocking down forests and subjugating the earth to yield that which it desires, yet controlling the weather remains far out of reach.

But for that which remains unchangeable to the majority of humanity, a group of people live upon the planet capable of molding the very fabric of reality to their whim. In a small suburb in England lives one of those very beings, capable of the most curious magic and born with a most rigid nature.

"Potter!" yelled Mrs. Dursley, "Go finish working on the garden."

Harry gracefully stood up from where he was laying down in the backyard and answered, "Yes aunt Petunia." He proceeded to walk through the house which he had never called home and began to tend to the garden he loved so much, the fruit of his labor and his one true friend. He quietly sung to it of his love and appreciation and smiled as a small sapling grew and blossomed within seconds, producing petals of the most vibrant red imaginable. He loved his garden and knew that it cared for him as well.

Throughout the years of his stay at the Dursleys, he had come to recognize a few certain truths, most of which would be categorized as depressing. The family he had bore no love for him. The situation he was placed in would not change on its own. Finally, he was capable of things others weren't. Of course, the truths themselves were hardly important on their own – after all, he considered truth that which was not changeable. What mattered to the young boy of a tender six was what he would do in response. He knew that he scared the Dursleys and that that fear would not engender kindness.

He responded to the first truth rather simply; a family that does not love you is hardly a family at all, he acknowledged. As a result, he decided to no longer consider them family. When he had pondered the second truth quietly in his small abode, the cupboard under the stairs, he had resolved to consider it further. He knew that he had developed much faster than those of his age group normally would, but he would do himself a disservice in making a decision too quickly. Lastly, he had decided to explore his abilities further, at least as far as he would be able too.

While he worked on the garden, his aunt bristled inside, watching as he quietly sung his garden and provided it with life, literally of course. She remembered what her sister had been capable of in their youth, before she had even attended that school, and recognized the same abilities and talent in her son, though based on the garden he tended to her talent had been exceeded in her son. She couldn't stand even looking at him for more than a minute and bitterly walked away, resolving to think no longer of that blasted boy and his…differences.

Harry continued to ponder the nature of his magic and of how he would soon begin attending elementary, something which excited him very much. Once he had finished taking care of his garden, he walked back to the backyard and enjoyed the view of the trees he had planted and the grass, an ever-vibrant green. He thought again of what to do about his living situation and of how he longed to truly just live amongst those who would love him and who he would love in return.

The emotions sparked a fire in his heart and he began to sing, a melancholy and desire filled melody, carried around the neighborhood by his voice and magic. Petunia, still upset inside, heard the tune and it brought up within her the feelings she had still not dealt with upon hearing of the death of her sister. It brought naught but rage to the forefront of her mind, a rage that her sister's son would dare invoke those painful memories and emotions within her. She resolved to put an end to the song, but upon reaching the window facing the backyard saw something she had not expected.

Harry, continuing to pour fourth his emotions and desires through what one particular mage would label a magic all creatures are capable of, would not realize how it happened for a very long time, but he did know that he very truly longed for a place to live that would be more welcoming and free than number four Privet Drive. He sung of that craving and need for a short period, but his magic responded and the tune he released gave it form. A golden, swirling dust-like mist swirled around him and a wind began to encircle him. The trees nearby began to bend towards him and the grass of the neighborhood all pointed to that one spot where the young Harry Potter stood and sang. And as Petunia Dursley, née Evans watched from the window where she had been ready to yell in a rage, the golden dust coalesced around him, shielding him from view. When finally Harry's song had risen to a peak, the tune suddenly stopped, the golden dust faded from view, and where he had once been standing stood no one and nothing. The magic of the moment had dissipated, and everything had already returned to its usual normality, as if nothing unusual had occurred in the backyard of those whom many considered to be more boring than normal. Petunia Dursley felt nothing but loss at the abrupt ending of the song, though she would never regret the young Potter's disappearance. Of course, that could not have been said about everyone who would learn of his vanishing.