AN: I do not own Harry Potter, that honor goes to J. K. Rowling.

A heads up, this is not a harem novel. There will be a love interest, or two, but in the end, there will only be one. Will it be canon? I have mixed feelings about Ginevra and Harry. Ultimately, it will depend on where the characters develop. I plan on changing things. There will be praising and bashing where warranted. Character deaths will happen, some canon, some not. I am a huge fan of Harry Potter and many associated Fan Fictions. This story is mainly for me to improve my writing while I contemplate my various other projects. I am an amateur writer. Please feel free to review on the good and the bad. More Authors Notes (AN) as the story fleshes itself out. There will be new characters, though minor, and there will be changes to major ones. Thank you for your time and I hope you enjoy.

Chapter 1: A Change In Routine

Lightning flashed among the dark clouds, visible through the opaque window of the circular, opulent office. The crash of thunder swept through the room as an old man with half-moon spectacles, a crooked nose, and long flowing silver hair, beard, and mustache looked up from a yellowish bit of parchment unfurled on the desk. A high-pitched squeal sounded over the thunder. His bright eyes searched the office for the commotion. The sound coming from an hourglass-like instrument on a side table by the fireplace. In the middle of the hourglass sat a vial of red liquid, its circular metal holder flashing bright red. A small black weather vane spun above the metal holder. It scraped the glass with each pass as it spun faster and faster, creating an ear-splitting racket.

The old man jumped to his feet, his chair falling back and knocking over a vase on a small side table. His eyes were wide as he stared at the offending instrument. "The boy!" he cried as his heart pounded. "Come Fawkes!" he ordered as he drew his wand from inside his purple robes. Fawkes, having woken up because to the thunder, screeched and took off from his perch. As soon as the phoenix landed on the old man's outstretched hand, they both disappeared with a loud crack. Surprised voices called out to each other from portraits around the office as another crash of thunder echoed around the room. The cacophony of noise ceased for a moment as the instrument on the table stopped its shrieking and went still. The vial in the middle had broken, spraying blood over the glass casing.

XXXXX

Harry James Potter stood in line with six other young boys as they stared at their new home, illuminated by brief flashes of lightning. Life had gone from tolerable to horrible in his opinion since he'd found himself half-naked outside a police station. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia Dursley were not the nicest guardians he could ask for, but they at least took him in after his parents died in the car crash. Their son Dudley, or Dudders, popkins, Duddydums, little tyke, or baby angel, was a beefy boy prone to tantrums to get his way. Harry and his cousin Dudley were both seven, an important age if you ask Aunt Petunia. She would waffle on about how important big boys were once they reached the age of seven. They could stay up later and watch television, go outside with their friends to play for the afternoon, or get as much ice cream at the ice cream shop as they wanted as long as your name wasn't Harry Potter. If your name was Harry Potter, then you had more chores to do as a big boy. Harry's new responsibilities included cooking, cleaning, gardening, sweeping, vacuuming, and a whole list of other daily chores.

The group of soaked and sullen boys trudged through the rain along the paved path. Two tall men in dark jackets flanked the boys as the bus honked its horn and pulled away. It drove around the fountain, illuminating the pristine sidewalk in front of the boys before driving off down the long street. Water soaked through Harry's light shirt as he tried not to cry. Life hadn't been great, but at least he knew what to expect. Harry knew to expect punishments for any infraction of the rules. He couldn't talk back, ask questions, do anything strange, or embarrass the family. Uncle Vernon preferred using his belt, starvation, and locking Harry in the cupboard as the punishments for any infraction.

The night he'd brought home a letter to Uncle Vernon from the Headmistress of a local school changed his life forever. That morning, Harry found himself on the roof after trying to get away away from Dudley and his gang. They chased him around the schoolyard until he attempted to jump into a trash bin. He didn't remember how he got on the roof and knew he hadn't climbed on anything to get there. One moment he was going to jump behind a trash bin, the next he was on the roof. The school called the Fire Department to get him down.

It hadn't been the first time strange or unusual things had happened around Harry. No one believed him when he explained he didn't know how or why strange things happened. When Aunt Petunia had cut off all his hair except his bangs to "hide that horrible scar," it had grown back the very next day. He got a week in his cupboard and a belt thrashing for that incident. Another time he'd made Dudley's favorite toy disappear out of the car on the way to the doctors. His cousin had hit him over the head with the truck in a tantrum moments before the truck vanished. When they found the truck on the road, Harry received a week in his cupboard. He tried to explain he couldn't have thrown the truck out of the car because the windows were rolled up. Uncle Vernon never listened to his pleas.

Aunt Petunia would report any of Harry's wrongdoings to Uncle Vernon the moment he came home from work. Dudley delighted in telling on Harry whenever he could. Harry would spend hours on end staring at the cobwebs above his little bed, thinking, hoping someone would come to take him away. Nightmares of Uncle Vernon chasing him with a belt plagued his dreams. Sometimes, the dreams ended in a flash of bright green light and a high, cruel laugh.

The night Harry returned home with the letter from the Headmistress about climbing school buildings, Uncle Vernon beat him with his belt in the kitchen. Uncle Vernon had pushed Harry down and lashed him with the buckle side of the belt. Harry cried and begged his uncle to stop. It shocked him when the lashings stopped. He remained still, not wanting to anger his uncle again. He lay whimpering in a ball before he realized he could hear cars and people. Peeking through a gap in his arms, he goggled at the world around him. He wasn't in the kitchen with his aunt, uncle, and cousin but instead lay on the sidewalk outside the local police station. One of the policemen approached, his eyes wide and alert.

Aunt Marge had been drunk, horrified, and downright murderous toward Harry when the police informed her of the news. They required her to pick her nephews up as next of kin. She tried to deny ever knowing Harry but the police wouldn't hear what she had to say. Harry stayed in the hospital for days as an army of doctors and nurses ran tests on him. Many of the nurses gave him candy and let him sit with them during their shifts. Aunt Marge, spitting with drunken anger, sent Harry off with an acquaintance of hers to a boarding school before she took Dudley back to her home.

Lights flickered from overhead fixtures as the six boys entered the closest building. The building was three-stories high with narrow, horizontal windows on the second and third floors. The dark brick on the outside made the structure look foreboding in the dark. A shiver ran down Harry's spine as he felt the cool air brush across his wet clothes. "All right, cadets. You will march up the stairs and separate into a group of four. The two of you leftover will be sleeping on cots in the hall. MARCH!" the tall man in the dark raincoat ordered. His voice echoed around the dimly lit atrium. The boys scrambled up the stairs, trainers making horrendous squelching noises on the tiled floor.

Harry was the last one up the stairs, having tripped over his own feet on the bottom step. His hand and elbow felt bruised as he looked down the long hallways to either side of the main stairwell. Light illuminated the dark floors in from windows at the ends of each of the halls. From outside the wide window in the stairwell, he could see a well-maintained lawn and what looked like a playground, complete with walls to climb and tunnels to play in. "Maybe, things wouldn't be so bad?" he thought to himself, a bubble of warmth spreading across his cold chest.

Harry found out that he'd been wrong to hope the next day. It took the better part of three months for him to settle into his new life. Providence Preparatory Boarding School was a harsh, structured school for military bound boys. Aunt Marge, who was now his legal guardian, refused any contact with him when he begged the school to call her. She told the school he was no longer part of the family. When Harry got on the phone, she ordered him to stay at the school and join the military to die when he was of age. It didn't shock him to hear how much Aunt Marge hated him as she used her English bulldog, Ripper, to chase him around whenever she came to visit.

One of the few good things Harry noticed about his new life was the ability to eat three meals a day and didn't have half the chores as he had before. A small, yet significant, change to his daily life that made up for the rest of the poor experience he had at the new school.

XXXXX

Albus Dumbledore paced his office as he cataloged the information he'd discovered. Vernon and Petunia Dursley were serving five-year sentences for child abuse and neglect. The Blood Wards failed the moment Petunia received a guilty verdict. She would no longer shelter the boy in her heart or home. Harry was still missing, having not been with Vernon's sister, Marge, and his cousin when he arrived. When reading Marge's memory, he'd discovered she'd had the boy sent off to a private boarding school.

Dumbledore's chief obstacle was, Marge couldn't remember which associate she'd given Harry to. He was shocked at how much Marge hated Harry. She pawned the young boy off to one of her contacts and washed her hands of him. Dumbledore tried tracing where her money went by questioning Marge's bank manager to no avail. Days later, he still didn't have an answer. He'd questioned anyone he could find that had contact with Harry. After questioning the doctors and nurses who treated Harry as a last-ditch effort, he retreated to Hogwarts to plan.

Harry was alive, of that he was sure, and somewhere within the United Kingdom. He'd tried every boarding school he could think of in the surrounding area, personally visiting many in his search. His worry grew when magic failed to produce results. The scrying spells he used produced inconclusive images. After a week passed, he bowed his head to the inevitable. He'd been putting off informing Cornelius Fudge, The Minister of Magic, for as long as possible. Sitting at his desk, he sighed and drew out a parchment. Dipping his quill in the inkpot on his desk, he penned a rough outline of the recent events surrounding The-Boy-Who-Lived.

XXXXX

"Evans, get back in line with the rest," Instructor Elliot ordered as he paced in front of the column of boys.

Ninety-six boys of different ages stood in nine columns in front of the instructor. Jason Elliot was a tall, muscular man with a pinched face, narrow broken nose, and dark eyes. His graying buzz-cut hair did little to hide the bald spot growing on the crown of his head. Dressed in dark fatigues, he directed the morning exercises with ruthless precision. Any infraction to his many rules would incur a punishment of physical activity, most notably push-ups.

Harry saluted and responded before running back to the fourth column and slipped into the open space toward the back. He'd underperformed in the last set of crunches and had to perform twenty push-ups. James Evans was his name at Providence, no matter how many times he explained that his name was Harry Potter. Aunt Marge, or whoever enrolled him, had entered him in as his middle name and mother's last name. The letters from his new guardian, Mr. Lewis, held little information. He explained to Harry that he was to stay at school and not cause trouble. Harry wrote back, asking how Aunt Marge had the right to remove his last name of Potter or even his first name of Harry. Mr. Lewis ignored all his letters. The short, white-haired older man picked Harry up for the holidays and dropped him back off at school when it was time for the term to start. Harry spent one week at a time in the cheapest motel Mr. Lewis could find for his holiday breaks. He spent his days alone, watching the time tick by and trying to make the best of it. In the three years he knew Mr. Lewis, the older man spoke to him a handful of times in terse, broken sentences.

"We will now do drills for the next thirty minutes, then you are free to go to breakfast. Up-down drills begin… now," Instructor Elliot ordered, looking at his watch.

The entire group of boys dropped to the compacted dirt that made up the training field. They did ten push-ups before standing and doing ten jumping jacks before repeating the process over again. Instructor Elliot required them to do the exercise without rest for the full thirty minutes or face his wrath. With practiced ease, Harry preformed the task, letting his mind wander. He'd noticed, with some pleasure, how tall and muscular he'd become over the last few years. While living with the Dursleys, he'd worn oversize shirts and pants, couldn't lift a cast-iron skillet, and looked like a pale stick. Harry enjoyed his current look. His shirts were tight across his wiry frame and he could lift his body weight with ease.

"Can't wait for the summer break," Gary Perry muttered as the boys jogged to the mess hall after Physical Education.

"Tell me about it," Dennis Owens muttered back as they passed under the wide arch. The stern face of Instructor Pearson watched the boys from the upper floor of the atrium. Her eyes narrowed at the sight of the two talking boys.

"Perry, Owens, you will be disciplined when you reach my class. You know you are forbidden to speak unless spoken to, even to your fellow cadets." Her voice pierced the rhythmic beat of the jogging boys. The two boys she'd called out paled and started, almost falling over one another in their shock.

Harry jogged past the stricken boys and swallowed his fear. Instructor Pearson was an older, plump woman who enjoyed the liberal use of a switch when disciplining cadets. Harry fervently hoped to make it through each day without gaining the 'interest' of his instructors. Unfortunately, every single cadet had at least one infraction a day, despite their best efforts otherwise.

Harry enjoyed the hour for breakfast, as it allowed his muscles to relax before classes. The cadets had limited personal time. They had fifteen minutes to jog to their classes. Math, Science, English, Social Science, Foreign Languages, and Enrichment Programs were one hour classes. They had Physical Education from 06:00 to 07:00 every day before breakfast and 15:00 to 16:00 every afternoon, including weekends. Providence didn't believe in giving their cadets much time to themselves outside of doing homework and structured activities. The day started at 05:30 and ended at 20:00, seven days a week. On the weekends, Enrichment Programs replaced Science and Social Science. The programs were electives that each cadet could choose from. The vast majority of the boys chose things like Automotive Skills, Life Skills, and Emergency Response, knowing they would be useful in the military. Harry opted for Woodworking and Sports Medicine, a new elective choice available that year.

"When is your guardian picking you up, Evans?" a tall, lean boy asked as he toweled himself off.

"Sometime tomorrow around zero-six, probably," Harry answered with a grunt. He pulled his socks off his feet and tried not to gag at the smell. Their last Physical Education class of the day had been in the rain.

"Last day of the term always drags on," another boy called from a cot across the small room.

"Who are you telling, Franks," another boy muttered and cursed as he rubbed his foot. "Should have worn double socks today."

"You going to follow Freak Evans' insanity?" another boy groused. Harry wasn't one of the more popular cadets at the school.

"Insanity or not, I never see him with blisters on his feet," the boy answered with a laugh.

"Thin wool on the inside, thick wool on the outside. Gray's dad was talking about that over the break," Harry called, rolling his eyes. He knew the other boys didn't like him because of the accidents that happened around him. The Dursely's name for him of "freak" seemed to follow him to his new home.

"Don't bring me into this," Gray called from the far end of the hall. "Dad is always talking about the bloody army."

A loud siren silenced the chatter and noise made by the cadets as they readied for bed. "Lights out," Harry muttered and lay back in his bed. The lights overhead cut off, plunging the entire room into darkness and the sound of locks slamming into place echoed around the room. The small sliver of moonlight from the only window illuminated the metal door nearest his bed. He wondered if his summer break would be as lonely as all the others had been.

"Enjoy your break, freak," one boy called as Harry went to wait by the fountain.

"See you next term, Evans. I'll pay you back for yesterday!" another boy yelled from the window of a passing car.

Harry winced as he shifted his rucksack on his shoulder. Pain lanced down his side where he knew at least one bruise was forming. He fought a grin as he felt his knuckles throb in response. A black Ford Escort with tinted windows came to a stop in front of Harry. A sour, white-haired older man sat in the front seat wearing a black driving cap, his eyes fixed ahead of him. Mr. Lewis didn't speak as Harry loaded his rucksack into the back seat and slid in.

They rode in silence, Harry having learned long ago to never speak to Mr. Lewis unless spoken to. He stared out the window as he tried to guess where the old man would take him for the first week of his break. A bubble of excitement ran through is chest when Harry realized Mr. Lewis turned toward London rather than out into the countryside. An hour later, the car stopped in front of Lennon Bed and Breakfast, a three-story building standing on the corner of the street. Mr. Lewis got out of the car and looked at Harry for the first time. His hard, dark eyes glared at Harry for a moment before turning and entering the reception area. Twenty minutes later, Harry sat alone in the rented room on the second floor, flicking through the limited number of channels on the small television.

It was bright the next morning as he stood in front of the small bed-and-breakfast. It took a few minutes to find where the closest library was. The owner, Mrs. Kennedy, took a liking to him when he explained his guardian was already at work. It was a standard explanation that no one looked too hard into. She praised him for his dedication to his school work and offered to let him use the dining room to study in so he could ask her questions if needed. Harry smiled and politely declined, stating he'd be at the library most of the day.

The summer was shaping up to be a good one for Harry as the days passed. His "holiday freedom" as he liked to call it was always fraught with worrying about being caught without a guardian and staving off boredom. Mr. Lewis or Marge paid for his hotels, his meals, and any small expenses. One of the few things he looked forward to was the chance to watch television whenever he wanted. He'd always wondered where the money they spent on him was coming from. Harry couldn't imagine any of the Dursleys paying out of their pocket for him if they could avoid it. He knew Providence was an expensive school by the talk between other cadets. Many parents felt honored to enroll their children in the prestigious school.

At the start of every vacation, he received a little money to buy clothing or other personal items, but it was never much. Mr. Lewis ordered Harry to stay inside and never cause trouble during the holiday breaks. Harry learned to talk his way out of having his guardian called by passing peace officers and concerned mothers. When he got in trouble, Mr. Lewis always showed up within a few hours, complaining about being pulled away from work. He scolded his charge for running away from the babysitter. It amazed Harry how the old man got away with abandoning Harry every holiday.

His nightmares lessened as he settled into the various motels, bed-and-breakfasts, and guest houses he stayed at. The bruises on his body and knuckles faded as the weeks flew by. Every morning, he kept his routine like he was still at Providence. It was a familiar routine and helped him cope with loneliness and unfamiliar beds. One of his favorite pastimes was reading a fantasy book while listening to whatever was on the idiot box.

Harry's eleventh birthday was fast approaching. He had two close calls with concerned adults since the start of his summer. He'd been walking back from the library one day when a patrol car had stopped him. Able to bluff his way out again, he escaped back to the cheap motel and holed up for a day or two before adventuring back out to the closest library. The second time was an overly concerned mother, demanding to speak to his mother about letting a child wander off alone. He'd escaped the zealous woman and from then on stopped going to the local park to exercise.

Mrs. Duncan stopped him on the way to his room, narrowing her eyes at him. "Excuse me, Mr. Evans. I haven't seen Mr. Lewis in the last few days. Who has been watching you?"

Harry froze for a moment before flashing a smile at the older woman. "He's been home every night, late. You haven't seen his car? Maybe Mr..." he trailed off trying to come up with a name, "Oh right, Mr. Elliot was his name, might have been carpooling early." The image of his Physical Education Instructor and Mr. Lewis sitting in the same car made him laugh a little. "You couldn't miss Mr. Elliot. He's bigger than me and you put together with all those muscles."

Mrs. Duncan looked taken aback and pursed her lips. "I haven't seen any one like that or Mr. Lewis recently. I watch over my tenants, all of them." She eyed the boy before her and shook her head. "If you will have Mr. Lewis come round in the next day or so. I have some choice words for him." A scowl crossed her face before shaking her head. "Either way, one Mr. H. Potter has a letter addressed to your room number. You wouldn't happen to know who that is?"

Harry started, shocked at hearing his real name after so long. "Uh, I go by Harry Potter sometimes. My, uh, friends think it's a joke and all that," he answered, his voice going flat toward the end.

"Hmmm," Mrs. Duncan hummed and eyed him. "Here is your letter then Mr. H. Potter." She thrust an envelope into his hands that was thick and heavy. The yellowish parchment felt as old as it looked. The emerald-green ink on the front of the envelope read:

Mr. H. Potter

Room 21

Alwyn Guest House

Chiswick

London

Turning the envelope over, he saw a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, an eagle, a badger, and a snake surrounding a large letter H. Turning the envelope back over he realized it had no stamp. "Thank you," he muttered to Mrs. Duncan and walked toward his room. He turned the envelope back over to look at the crest again. In the last three years, no one had called him Harry or even Potter. The crest was a mystery to him. He tried to remember all the crests he'd studied in Social Sciences class. Once he was inside his room, he sat down on the bed and slit the envelope open.

The paper was the same heavy and yellowing parchment as the letter. He realized there were two sheets of paper as he unfolded the letter to read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. Of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress

"What the bloody hell is this," Harry cursed and turned the first page over, looking for a joke card or something to make sense of the letter. Turning the letter back over, he reread the page. "Supreme Mug… what?" he questioned, a bubble of laughter rising in his chest. "Oh, I wonder if it's like one of those Myth books, with all those crazy names. Skeeve the Wizard, well Magician I guess he was. Still, what an awesome prank. I didn't realize any of the other cadets knew I liked to read fantasy."

Chuckling, he put the page down and shook out the second, yellowish page. He frowned, not expecting the prank to continue. The frown deepened as he read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Uniform

First-year students will require:

Three sets of plain work robes (black)

One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupils' clothing should carry name tags.

Course Books

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1) by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi by Phyllida Spore

Magical Draughts and Potions by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection by Quentin Trimble

Other Equipment

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"That is by far the coolest book list someone has come up with. Granted, those names are dreadful. Phyllida Spore sounds like a venereal disease Mrs. Burke would talk about." He flipped over the heavy page to look for the prankster's name. When he had no luck, he opened the envelope and peered inside, looking for clues. Stymied at every turn, he shrugged and tossed the pages on the bed next to the envelope. A knock at the door made him jump. With a curse, he rubbed his shin from where he hit the metal bed frame.

"Uh, who is it?" he called, his voice trembling. Anyone who knocked on his door would be bad news for him. Mr. Lewis entered with his key and never knocked.

"I am looking for Mr. Harry James Potter. My name is Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," a muffled voice called through the door. Harry thought the voice sounded a little old to be continuing a prank.

"Hah, pull the other one Mr. uh, Dundledoor?" he answered, trying to remember what the person had said. The last few minutes had been very confusing.

"Dumbledore, but you may call me Professor instead if you like," the voice called with a small chuckle. "May I come in, Harry?"

Harry blinked and weighed his options. "I don't think that would be safe, ah, Professor. My guardian is in the shower and he doesn't like guests," he lied, trying to come up with a reason, any reason, for his day getting weirder.

"Vernon and Petunia Dursley are still in prison, Harry," the voice called again, sounding patient and not at all upset by Harry's refusal to open the door.

"They are what?!" the young man yelped and stared at the door. "Uh, I'm going to open the door. I've got a weapon if you try to hurt me though and my guardian is in the shower!" He took a step toward the door and unbolted the latch. Turning the handle, he peeked out of the door and froze when he saw the person standing outside his door.

Bright blue eyes stared down at him behind long silvery hair. The old man's beard was impressive, almost reaching his stomach. He wore purple clothing that looked like it might have been a window curtain at one point. Harry had never seen a dress that looked so bulky. He supposed it might be a magician's robes, but that was only in fantasy books. The odd cosplayers of Dungeons and Dragons popped into his head as he looked the older man up and down again. He'd heard about sightings of groups of these odd people from old news reports. Dumbledore's eyes seemed to twinkle behind his half-moon glasses as he peered down at him. "Uh, what?" Harry asked with growing alarm.

"I can explain if you let me in, Mr. Potter," Dumbledore chuckled. "I mean you no harm."

"Uh, sure," Harry answered and took a step back, taking the sight of the older man in again. He wondered if he was doing the right thing, letting a loon like this Dumbledore character into his room.

"I assure you, I am not crazy. Now, I have a few questions, if you don't mind indulging my aging curiosity. You see, you've been missing for a little over three years now." Dumbledore said, taking a seat in one of the old reclining chairs by the curtained window.

"Huh?" Harry asked, closing the door while keeping his eyes on the odd man. He didn't think he'd been missing at all. Mr. Lewis enrolled him in Providence and he'd received a letter from Aunt Marge about Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia disowning him.

"You were living with your uncle and aunt, Vernon and Petunia Dursley until the Muggle police arrested them for child abuse. I would first like to say I am deeply sorry for anything I put you through by sending you to your uncle and aunts. It was a hard choice to make as I knew they weren't perfect, but I never knew you'd be hurt. Have a rough life, yes. Grow up with few friends, maybe. I'd hoped my fears were unfounded, but there was a chance. Never in my wildest dreams did I expect you to be abused. For that, I humbly ask for your forgiveness." The old man stood and bowed to Harry, his eyes sparkling with moisture.

"Uh, yeah, I forgive you, I think," Harry muttered, baffled by the course of the conversation. How had this old man been responsible for sending him to his aunt and uncles? "Wait, did you hit my mum and dad with your car? I thought the man that killed them was dead," he questioned, his eyes narrowing.

"Hit Lilly and James Potter with a car?" Dumbledore questioned, his voice raising an octave. "Why would I hit them with a Muggle car? Lord Voldemort murdered them on Halloween ten years ago."

Harry stumbled back a little. His legs hit the side of the bed and he sat down, crushing the letter under him. "Murdered?" he questioned. The sense of wrongness to his day increased. He felt dizzy like in one of his many nightmares.

"Yes, has your aunt and uncle not explained anything to you? I left them a letter."

"A letter?" Harry questioned. He felt the scar stretch as his eyebrows rose. "You left them a letter for me? Or for them to explain what happened to me? I'm getting a little angry now. First, the prank with the spell book things and now some Dungeons and Dragons wizard wannabe is sitting in my room!"

"Dungeons and Dragons?" the older man questioned. "We have dungeons at Hogwarts but tend to stay away from dragons as they have a nasty habit of breathing fire and eating nearly everything they come across."

Harry groaned and shook his head, wondering if the old man was crazy despite his claim otherwise. He felt the conversation was going nowhere, fast. "Okay, let's start from the beginning. I am Harry Potter, you are Albus uh, three names? Four names? Dumbledore. I'm a cadet at Providence Preparatory Boarding School and you are…" he trailed off remembering what the older man had said. "Headmaster of this Hogwarts School of Wizardcraft. A School of Wizards… like whatever this letter was?" he asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yes, a school for wizards. Harry, you are a wizard and I have come to invite you to our world… now that you are old enough," Dumbledore said with a small smile.

"Oh… kaaay," Harry answered and frowned at Dumbledore.

"I believe a demonstration will explain more than words could ever convey." With that, an ornate white wooden stick seemed to appear in the old man's hand. He waved it once and a large, gilded throne appeared beside the bed next to where Harry sat, stunned.

"BLOODY HELL!" Harry shouted and fell back onto the bed. He scooted away from the strange man and the even stranger appearing chair.

Dumbledore chuckled and shook his head. "Language, but I think I'll let it pass for now."

"Uh, yeah, sorry, sir" Harry muttered, staring wide-eyed at the chair. It was high-backed with red cushioning, bronze rivets, and made from ash. "I like the joint work," he muttered, casting a critical eye over the legs and backing to the chair.

"Thank you, some don't appreciate the subtle details involved in conjuration," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "Now, I do believe you'd want to touch the chair to ensure I am not playing tricks on you, no?"

Eyeing the old man, Harry got off the bed, on the opposite side from where Dumbledore sat. He ran a hand over the chair's back. The fabric was silky and soft, more so than it should be from the look of it. The wood was hard and didn't appear to have any tool marks around the joints. The only nails he saw were small ones that held pieces of cloth in place. "So, magic is real, and I'm a wizard. I guess that explains why everyone thinks I'm a freak? Doing magic without meaning to. I'd wondered, dreamed, I could do magic, but this is the real world and not a fantasy."

"Accidental magic during your childhood manifests in different ways. High stress or extreme emotional events in young witches and wizard's life may cause them to perform magic. You, however, are not a freak. Muggles, non-magical people like your aunt and uncle, have trouble understanding magic and see it as something... different. Many times humans are afraid of what they do not understand."

"You left me with them, knowing they might hate me for being, well, me?" Harry questioned, his eyes narrowing. He felt his chest growing tight.

"The situation was not ideal. Your parents had just been murdered. Voldemort's followers were still on the loose, still angry at his disappearance. I decided to trust in your family's blood to protect you during your darkest hour. Again, I had no idea it would ever escalate to what happened to you." Dumbledore said, his shoulders slumping a little. He seemed to age a little as he stared into nothing in front of him. "I regret that decision; however, I can't say I wouldn't make it again. Your survival was of more importance than any possible outcome that might occur in the future. I was wrong but I stand by my decision."

Harry took a moment to work through what he'd heard. "So, this Voldemort kills my parents and his followers wanted to find me to kill me? I'm missing something."

"I have done a poor job explaining. Harry, please sit." The older man gestured to the conjured chair. After Harry sat down, he continued. "Voldemort is a Dark Lord, one of the worst of our time. Wizards have a habit of doing what is worst for them at the best of times. Humans, in general, do this but I digress. Your parents were two of the strongest and bravest witch and wizard I have ever had the pleasure to teach and know. We fought against Voldemort. He was trying to take over by any means necessary. He bribed, blackmailed, promised, and controlled anyone he could to get what he wanted. Dark days, Harry. Witches and Wizards were disappearing. Muggles were being murdered for sport. At the height of his power, he attacked your parents. Something happened that night, something he didn't expect. Love is the strongest and most ancient form of magic. Your mother protected you and when he went to kill you, it rebounded upon him. That night Voldemort was defeated."

"Why did he go after my mum and dad? After me?" Harry questioned, leaning forward in his seat.

"Ah, that," Dumbledore trailed off, his eyes searching Harry's face. "I know you don't want to hear this but, when you're older, when you are ready. Then we will discuss the why. Suffice to say, the fact that you defeated Voldemort has made you into a hero among our community. Some were even calling to rename Halloween into 'Harry Potter Day'. That, thankfully, was rejected."

Harry started and blinked. "Harry Potter Day?" he questioned. "I'm a hero? But it was mum who saved me? How am I the hero?"

"The killing curse, a dark and horrible spell, has never been stopped. We can't shield against it with magic. It is an unforgivable spell that takes the life of anyone it hits. Except when it hit you that night. It rebounded upon its caster… Voldemort. That makes you famous, that makes you a hero."

"Kinda dumb if you ask me," Harry muttered.

Dumbledore laughed and smiled. "It simply is. You are a hero to the wizarding world. Now you know how you got to the Dursleys. May I know what happened after?" His eyes searched Harry's, a look of concentration forming on his face.

Harry sighed and leaned back into the chair. The cushion seemed to become softer and wrapped around his body in a light embrace. "I guess you couldn't call it horrible. They had me do chores and stuff. Dudley got whatever he wanted and I cleaned. I lived in a cupboard under the stairs and he lived in a bedroom with a spare one for all his toys. Uncle Vernon was, strict. I was a freak and was disciplined for it. Aunt Petunia didn't like me but she," he trailed off trying to come up with words to express his feelings.

"What happened that night three years ago?"

"I don't know, really. One moment I was being disciplined by Uncle Vernon's belt and the next I was outside the police station. They bundled me off to the hospital. They got my name and where I lived. By the time I got out, Marge or Mr. Lewis enrolled me in Providence as James Evans. Vernon and Petunia disowned me and gave me to Aunt Marge to be my new guardian. She gave me to Mr. Lewis, my current guardian. Mr. Lewis brought me to a hotel, sometimes six to seven different ones for the holidays. I do whatever they tell me at Providence, get decent marks, and stuff."

"That is all behind you now. Hogwarts is a school where you can learn to harness your power and join the community and family you were meant to have. You are not a freak. If you had that many accidental magic occurrences, then you very well may be a strong wizard. Both your mother and father were. I offer you a chance, a chance to become what you were meant to. If I heard you correctly, the subject of spell books interested you. Would you like to learn how to conjure things like the chair you sit upon? Change the very fabric of reality with a wave of a wand?"

"I'm a wizard, huh?" Harry chuckled and shifted his weight around on the chair. Looking up into Dumbledore's bright eyes, he smiled. "Yeah, I think I'd like to learn how to do magic."