Nobody noticed the small, grubby boy sitting outside Houndsditch Home for Wayward Youth for hours. He sat there calmly, patiently, his ankles loosely crossed, and his hands resting on his knees. It was bitterly cold, but he wore only a thin, patched jacket. A grimy envelope was pinned to the collar and flapped in the wind. He had untidy black hair and emerald-green eyes that swam behind round lenses. The left lens was cracked almost straight through, but the boy didn't seem aware of that, either.

It wasn't until Alice Liddell was back from her afternoon walk (to "brighten her constitution" as the damnable Doctor told her) that she noticed he was still there. Her steps slowed as she walked past him. He had turned to look at her for a moment, then abruptly turned back, as if he was afraid of her reaction.

"Hello?" she said tentatively, stepping back and crouching beside him. He looked young. Alice wasn't really a proper judge of age, but the boy looked eight at the most. The scrawniness of his frame further confused the issue-he looked like he'd not been fed in weeks.

The boy smiled at her, revealing slightly yellowed teeth, and then plucked the envelope off his collar and handed it to her. In neat, cramped script across the front, it read "To the Proprietors Of Houndsditch Home."

Shrugging, Alice broke the seal and extracted the letter inside. She wasn't Dr. Bumby or Matron, but really, did it matter? Dr. Bumby would only scold her before leading her off for another session, and Matron had more on her hands than punishing a 19-year-old former asylum inmate. She helped with the orphans and did her chores and Matron let her alone, for the most part.

In the same narrow script, the letter inside read:

Dear Sir or Madam,

I apologize for the abrupt way we are dropping another orphan off on your doorstep, but I fear we have no choice. His name is Harry Potter. He is nine years old, and he has become an absolute menace to our household. He cannot speak, but he falls into "fits" that are terrifying to witness. We have a son of our own about his age, and it has become too much. We hope that you will be able to care for him, while we have not.

Sincerely yours.

There was no signature. Alice snorted in disgust. Of course there wasn't. Then the police could be called on them for abandoning a child they'd been sworn to upkeep.

"So your name's Harry, huh?" she asked the small boy. He nodded and smiled widely, again showing off the fact he dearly needed a good scrubbing. Alice folded the letter and placed it back in the envelope before she reached out her other hand for Harry's. The boy looked at her in shock before he carefully placed his hand in hers, gently squeezing her fingers.

"Onward and forward, or so they say," she murmured, more to herself than anything, before leading the Potter boy into the orphanage. She'd give the letter to Matron and wait for him to be properly assessed. There weren't many other boys around his age at the orphanage anymore. Besides, she'd taken a liking to him as he sat there, waiting so patiently for someone to notice him.

He reminded her of herself.