Disclaimer: If I had a billion dollars... I'd probably buy a lifetime supply of chocolate, but that's not the point. Not J. K. Rowling, folks.

The Chaos Effect

Chaos - /ˈkāˌäs/ n. a state of complete disorder and confusion

Effect - /əˈfekt/ n. a change that is a result or consequence of an action or other cause

A butterfly flaps its wings in India.

This was seemingly inconsequential to the world at large. No human witnessed the world-changing event. The butterfly was the cause of a chain reaction - one that would grow progressively bigger until it became one massive headache for destiny. One could argue that the butterfly flapped its wings for some other reason - it needed more food and had just caught the scent of a wonderful flower, it was scared by the rustle in the bushes nearby.

The truth, however, was that the butterfly, somewhere in the tiny brain it possessed, simply wished to flap its wings. No matter what destiny may proclaim, life always holds the intrinsic ability to decide. This sudden bout of fancy - if you could claim an insect even possessed desire for meaningless pleasantries, could change everything. The butterfly was ignorant of its importance in the universe - small at first though it may seem - and, happy with the results of the first harmless flap, did so again. The Red Lacewing, as that was what it was called, sat contentedly on a log, orange and brown wings spread so as to catch the maximum amount of sunlight. Unfortunately for the butterfly, the first flap of its brilliant wings had been rather eye catching. A nearby male Red Junglefowl, the cause of the rustle in the bushes, saw the orange wings sweep down and back up again. Eye catching, indeed.

With all the stealth that the plump bird could manage, it snuck closer to the innocent butterfly perched on the log. It tilted its head side to side with the stereotypical birdlike twitches. The butterfly began to preen with two black front legs. Brown and orange wings swung back and forth tantalizingly. The Red Junglefowl, no longer keeping to any pretense of stealth, lunged. If butterflies could look startled, this one certainly was. With one flap of oh so bright wings, the butterfly launched its tiny body from the log. Letting out an indignant squawk at the absence of its meal, the Junglefowl gave chase.

The butterfly floated higher and higher, seemingly oblivious to both the indignant fowl and the dangers the high sky posed. It didn't care about the impending doom both above, and if the fowl was fast enough, below - it just liked the feeling of sun filtering through the jungle leaves on its wings. The Junglefowl followed below on hasty feet and short bursts of flight. The butterfly swooped and soared, right onto a gravel road, enthusiastic follower right behind. A blue pickup truck, traveling faster than the speed limit would allow, sped right past the butterfly. The poor Red Lacewing had no chance - it was saved only by luck. The winds of the passing car threw it upside down and away, leaving the unstable insect to a potentially disastrous flight path. Righting itself at the last possible moment, the Red Lacewing, natural beauty intact, winged its way off into the forest.

The hungry Red Jungle fowl was not as lucky. Tires screeching, the pickup tried to stop before creating roadkill. The fowl turned glittering black eyes towards its impending doom, the instinct to freeze clearly overrunning the more logical instinct to move. It tilted its head to the side as the front fender of the car came ever closer. The pickup fishtailed as the driver swerved in a last attempt to avoid the fowl. The back tires slid off the road and into a nearby ditch with a loud squelch, sinking into wet mud. The fowl, enlivened by the terrifying noise, screeched and took off into the surrounding shrubbery.

The driver and passenger got out of the now muddy truck. The driver was in his early thirties, while his passenger was far younger, at only twelve. Both of them glared at the offending tire firmly wedged in the mud.

"Great, just great," said the older of the two, getting down on his knees to inspect the depth that the tire had sunk to. "Now we'll be late."

The younger man didn't seem concerned. "It's okay, dad. The interviews don't start for another twenty minutes."

This didn't reassure the older man, who was pushing with both hands against the back of the car. He brushed off mud flecked jeans as he readjusted his position. "It sets a rather bad example, Amun."

Amun didn't blink. "But father, you're in charge."

The boy's father sighed and resumed pushing against the back of the truck. "I have to report to a boss too, Amun. Just because I manage the engineers in one section doesn't mean I have total control."

He gestured to the car. "Come help - it's stuck real well this time."

Joining forces, father and son leaned against the back of the truck. With a loud squelch, the tire came free, and the truck started to roll. "Damn it!"

Running toward the moving door, the thirty-year-old unlocked the car and moved into the seat. With practiced fingers, he pulled the parking brake. Once again, the poor pickup skidded to a dusty stop.

The twelve-year-old was silent for a moment before breaking out in cheers. "Go Dad! That was awesome!" He jumped up and down before sprinting down the hill, completely oblivious to the potential that the situation had for utter disaster. In the front seat, the boy's father closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As the young boy climbed into the passenger side, he allowed a small smile to grace his lips. Tugging the seat belt across his chest to fasten it, he ignored his child's excited chatter and moved the truck to drive. Still smiling, he continued to work.

Amun was still talking about 'his dad's awesome moves' when they pulled into the parking lot. They both quickly jumped out of their seats and headed to the door, rushing past bewildered security guards to an office.

"Amun, you need to stay here until the interview is over."

Amun stomped a foot on the carpeted floor. "But Dad! I wanna see what happens! You said that it wasn't that secret anyway."

The thirty-year-old crumbled. "I'll tell you all about it when it's over, okay? I'm already late - I'll come see you after."

With that, he quickly sped out of the office. He walked briskly toward the interview room, pausing and high-fiving coworkers as he passed. He adjusted his rather twisted tie, and stopped briefly before the door to brush some of the mud off his jeans.

He had no way of knowing that his lateness was going to drastically change the impending interview. One of the men inside, Alan Gunman, was having a bad day. The lateness only made it worse. He was more annoyed and and snappish than usual - and had already put off the other man applying for the job. The late start of the interview put him over the edge. If he had been in his normal mood, he would have been hired. As it was, he made a horrible impression.

The other man, Don Baral, was not particularly bothered by the late start. It didn't affect him anyway - he had all day to do this. He didn't particularly like the other man applying though, and wished they had been given separate waiting rooms. He was much more pleasant to talk to, and made a better impression.

It was no surprise that the company hired Don Baral.

However, if the thirty-year-old father hadn't been late, they would have hired Alan Gunman. Alan would have made a better impression - still not as good as Don, but with his prior experience he would have won against the recent college graduate. As it so happened, Don, while untrained, was the better of the two. Once he joined the team, Don showed himself to be more talented than Alan ever was. So talented, in fact, that he moved up the entire productivity. This was just the little push that the team needed to get out the new product - improved software for drilling machinery. The team's success influenced the rest of the company, allowing the entire corporation to push the exposition date closer. They unveiled their product sooner that the drilling companies expected, causing an all out free-for-all bidding war. The company that everyone believed to be the winner of the rights, an English company called Grunnings, was shifted from the top spot. The unexpected time change allowed a smaller company by the name of Drill Market to take the spot. Drill Market sent out a representative fastest, and the sweet-talking brunette managed to get a deal in the first twenty four hours. The saleswoman got a significant raise for snatching the deal from right under Grunnings' nose - and she was not afraid to celebrate her success with fellow co-workers. It wasn't long before Grunnings learned of the deal and the CEO, Megan Howser, immediately rounded on the man in charge of the sales department. He promptly informed her that the deal was the responsibility of his partner - he was in charge of deals involving other parts of the drill's apparatus.

She turned to the man that he had told her was responsible - a man named Vernon Dursley.

-The Chaos Effect-

12:15 pm, June 1, 1996, Grunnings office, outskirts of London, the U.K.

Vernon Dursley was having a horrible day. First, he had been stopped in the hall by his partner - who was insufferable, thinking himself above Vernon - and informed that he had missed an important deal. Vernon told him, quite loudly, that the deal wouldn't come in for another month, because the company who hosted it had already announced the date. Grunnings always got the top spot, so there was nothing to worry about. His co worker responded - quite rudely, in Vernon's opinion - that the exposition had been moved up a month and had happened yesterday. He also said that the CEO - some woman named Megan - was mad at him. (Vernon didn't know her - and what was she doing in business anyway? It was a man's job, after all.) Megan had come down to the office and politely informed him that he had a month - one month! - to remedy the agreement or he was going to be fired. How could he buy things for his angelic little boy if he was fired? Not to mention feeding the freak. The boy was scheduled to come home today. Vernon had to go out of his way by three hours to drive to Kings cross to pick him up. And he wouldn't even be grateful! The boy would stare out the window like he did every year - not even offering a word of thanks.

Ungrateful brat.

Poor Petunia would have to clean up after that boy for the entire summer...

Vernon slammed his hand on the desk, rattling the computer screen perched precariously on a plastic box and making the gray stapler near it jump. Letting out an angry sigh, he swung his large birth around on his desk chair and prepared to bellow at the top of his lungs.

"MARTHA!"

There was an eep from outside the office as Vernon's secretary dropped the file she'd been holding. Why she'd taken this job was a mystery to all who knew Vernon, and most had concluded that Martha was just desperate. Vernon's last three secretaries before Martha had quit after only a week, leaving Vernon bellowing their supposed faults to the entire office for days. Most were glad that Vernon had someone else to pointlessly yell at when he was frustrated, but they also felt incredibly sorry for her. Vernon was not a nice person, and an even worse boss.

Martha turned the corner and stopped what she felt was a safe distance from the red faced Vernon.

"Yes, Sir?"

Vernon's small brown eyes watered as he squinted at her. "Get me some coffee."

Martha shifted from one heeled shoe to the other. "But Sir, I just got you-"

"NOW!" Vernon bellowed, double chins shaking with anger. He shook a fist at her, making his substantial underarms swing back and forth. Martha watched the flab quiver with her mouth open in horror. Vernon's face turned puce.

"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR, IMBECILE? GO!"

Martha squeaked and tore out of the office as fast as her heels would let her, no longer caring that her boss had asked for coffee just fifteen minutes ago.

Vernon muttered something about incompetence and swung back to the desk, poor chair squeaking as he did so. He clicked on the email box with more force than was necessary, once again rattling his computer. He scrolled through emails, completely ignoring the ones that came from his subordinates, to pull up a new draft.

He had just started typing in the unfortunate receiver's name when he happened to glance at the time in the lower right corner of the screen.

Twelve thirty pm.

He was already half an hour late to pick up the brat, considering that the drive was three hours and the train came at three. Vernon didn't particularly care about letting the brat stew for a while, but this meant that he'd be late to get home for Dudley's tv show.

In an even worse mood than before, Vernon heaved himself out of his chair and lumbered over to the coat hanging by the door of the office. He grabbed his key card off the desk and marched over to the elevator, glaring at each and every one of his fellow co workers he passed.

When he arrived on the ground floor he swiped the card through a scanner and was out the door before the tell tale green light even lit up.

-The Chaos Effect-

3:30 pm, June 1, 1996, King's Cross Station, London, the U.K.

Harry Potter sat on a trunk in a crowded station, head propped up on his elbows, staring at the grungy floor. His uncle was late. Half an hour late. At first, the Order members had wanted to stay to talk with his uncle, but they'd long since left after Harry had told them that it was 'fine,' and his uncle had probably gotten caught up in traffic.

Harry knew perfectly well that his uncle wasn't caught up in traffic. Vernon had probably forgotten about him, or wanted to punish him for something completely out of his control - his magic, for instance.

Nevertheless, the order members and his friends had left, leaving him sitting there feeling lonely and sorry for himself.

They had no idea. None at all. Harry had just lost a person who was a father to him, and they just brushed it off. Sirius was Harry's only experience with someone who actually cared. Sure, he had friends, but they didn't really understand. They hadn't heard their mother's final moments played over and over and over in their heads until their father joined in. They hadn't faced death every year. It was always Harry, by himself, putting up a shiny Gryffindor facade so they wouldn't wonder like everybody else if he was crazy, or going dark, or a cheater.

He was tired. Tired of telling people that he wasn't like of telling people that he wasn't just the Boy-who-lived, that he was mostly Harry - the boy who thought magic was wonderful and just wanted to be normal.

But they wanted a figurehead. Someone to imagine however they desired, and when Harry didn't live up to their imaginations, they ridiculed and scorned him.

And Dumbledore. Dumbledore had kept this from him, had plopped his destiny in his lap like a smelly dead thing, saying, "Here you go! This is your problem now!"

Harry didn't want his destiny. Didn't want the fame or the knowledge. Dumbledore should have told him many things, but this just topped the list. If Dumbledore had told him, he would have tried harder, learned more, understood why his life was so messed up. Here was the reason his parents had died, and he was just now learning about it?

Harry felt like someone had stabbed him in the gut.

And then the thing that topped the cake. They had told him this, right after his only family had died, and they had patted him on the head like a small child. They had left him. Abandoned him to his least favorite people in the world, the people who heard his nightmares about the classmate that had died before his eyes and teased him about it.

It was in that moment, as Harry sat on his trunk in a crowded train station, that he realized no one cared. Sirius was gone, and he was the only one who understood Harry, the only one to really get it. If Harry wanted to change anything, he was going to have to do it himself.

-The Chaos Effect-

Vernon pulled into the parking lot with a loud squeal from his car's tires. He was late! He couldn't believe how slow some drivers were, pausing and looking both ways like five year olds while he had somewhere to be. He'd run a grand total of three red lights on his way to the station (those traffic workers had no idea about lights anyway) and he was still going to miss his show with Dudley!

Vernon swung into a spot and was out the door without even touching the seat belt he hadn't bothered to fasten. Slamming the door harder than necessary, he stormed toward the station to 'find the brat' as he had told Petunia this morning.

A mother with two young boys gave him a heavy glare when he nearly knocked over her luggage. Vernon did not apologize.

It didn't take long for him to find the boy, lounging on his trunk in the middle of the station, getting in the good, normal people's way. Just the sight made Vernon's blood boil.

"Boy!"

Harry jumped off the trunk with a start. Vernon snorted. The brat looked like he had been deep in thought. Probably thinking about what he could do to the nice regular folks, thought Vernon. I'll show him.

Lunging forward, Vernon seized his nephew's arm and started hauling him toward the exit of the station. Harry grabbed his trunk just in time, taking it with him. While there was no doubt that Vernon was a large man, he also had a fair bit of strength.

They made a strange sight - a large, blustering man who was swiftly turning an angry puce, and a scrawny fifteen year old with taped glasses and a trunk nearly bigger than he was. And that was without mentioning the owl cage or Harry's unusually green eyes.

Harry's eyes were very, very green - like his mother's. When he had been younger, Petunia had called them the 'mark of the devil,' and taken him to a priest to be exorcised. Luckily the priest was a kind man, and just took Harry into a room where Petunia couldn't see and gave him a lolly.

Petunia never tried to 'cleanse' Harry again, stating that it was impossible and it was best not to waste their hard earned wages on the freak. Harry thought it had something to do with the fact that the priest had given Petunia one of the most scornful looks Harry had ever seen.

Vernon let go of Harry's arm to open the boot, stepping into the driver's side before Harry even had the chance to consider asking for help. Harry cast a glance from the heavy trunk to the open space in the boot. There was no way he was going to be able to lift it by himself.

From experience, Harry knew that Vernon was prone to driving away if Harry wasn't quick enough. The only reason that Vernon had come back after Harry's second year was that a passerby had shouted, thinking Vernon was leaving Harry behind on accident. To save face, Vernon had come back. The drive home was even less pleasant after that.

Grabbing the sides of the trunk, Harry lifted it up in the air. He swayed for a second, wavering back and forth, before he stumbled forward towards the boot. Attempting to control his swaying direction, Harry directed his falling towards the open space. In a moment of luck (or was it magic?) Harry's trunk just barely slid into the boot.

Breathing a sigh of relief, he lobbed Hedwig's cage in on top of it (his beautiful owl having already left while Harry was on the train) and headed to the backseat. Harry always sat in the back, because the day he sat next to Vernon was the day he risked the beating of a lifetime. Despite Harry's many adventures, he did not, in fact, have a death wish.

Vernon didn't even acknowledge Harry before peeling out of the parking lot.

Harry sat back in his seat without a sound, wondering why on Earth he'd expected Vernon to say something.

This was pretty much how the drive home went, with Harry staring out the window, and Vernon casting nasty glances at Harry and passing drivers.

Finally, Vernon pulled into Privet Drive. Screeching to a halt at number four, Vernon leapt from the car and waddled as fast as his girth would allow to the front door. He never even spared a glance to the fifteen year old in the back seat. Harry tilted his head to look at the ceiling with a sigh. For a moment he imagined never getting out of the car - staying there just to avoid the Dursleys.

Reality set back in after a moment however, as the lady from number six gave him a suspicious glance from behind the her car window.

Sighing again as he watched her drive away, he open the door and began to tug the trunk out of the boot.

It would take a while for him to lug it up the stairs, even longer if Dudley interfered again...

Harry sighed.

-The Chaos Effect-

It had taken him a total of twenty minutes to get the trunk into his bedroom. Dudley had managed to knock him down the stairs twice, and he made so much noise Vernon came and yelled at him for disrupting his show on the telly. Uncle Vernon seemed like he was in an even worse mood than usual, which did not bode well for Harry.

Making a mental note to stay clear of his relatives for the rest of the evening, Harry had just shut his bedroom door when Petunia hollered up the stairs for him to come make dinner. According to his aunt, he was to make meatloaf, one of Dudley's favorites.

Harry, relieved, because meatloaf was one recipe he knew by heart, started immediately. In no time at all, the Dursley's spotless kitchen was filled with the smell of sauce and cooking meatloaf. Like two oversized pigs who have heard the sound of the slop bucket, Vernon and Dudley drifted into the kitchen. By then Harry had already set the table and laid out the salad and chips, the former of which Harry knew neither Vernon nor Dudley would touch. Why Petunia kept trying was beyond Harry, because Vernon had made it very clear what he thought of 'rabbit food' and Dudley followed his lead.

Dinner was an awkward affair, with all the Dursleys ignoring Harry, and Harry ignoring them. As predicted, only Petunia even touched the salad, and even she didn't take that much. Vernon and Dudley both ate all of the meatloaf, leaving none for Harry, who ended up eating the salad.

Harry was clearing the plates when disaster struck. Vernon, who had more than a little whiskey in his system, whacked Harry on the shoulder when the boy got in his way. The sudden motion jarred Harry's arm, and he dropped one of Petunia's prize plates in surprise.

Vernon had been drinking because of his bad day at work. He was furious at his boss, furious at his secretary, and pretty much mad at the world. In his opinion, he'd deserved a little drink. However, nothing was little when Vernon and food were involved, and one drink had turned into three.

This pushed him over the edge, and in his drunken stupor, he'd decided to take it out on the thing that was to blame for everything in his mind - Harry.

Harry was numb as the plate slipped from his fingers. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized he had made a terrible mistake, but the was too shocked to really notice.

The plate cracked cleanly in half, splitting along one of the delicate green vines painted along the edges and through the middle. With a sound like tinkling wind chimes, the shards settled on the floor.

For a moment, neither the Dursleys nor Harry moved.

Vernon let out an ear shattering roar. "OUT! OUT OF THIS HOUSE THIS INSTANT!"

His Uncle was angrier than Harry had ever seen him. His large hands were balled into fists, and he was advancing menacingly toward Harry, spittle flying from his mouth. Harry decided that Slytherin self preservation was probably a better choice than Gryffindor bravery, because Vernon was a lot bigger than him. Despite was people might think, Harry did have a self preservation instinct, one that was currently tingling like crazy.

Eyes wide, he shot toward the door, and was over the threshold before Vernon said another word.

Vernon slammed the door behind him, rattling the door frame, which was followed by a clean snick as he locked the door. Harry flew off the porch, and skidded on the driveway, nearly tripping to land on hands and knees. It was a warm night, and a faint breeze ruffled Harry's hair. He could hear cars far off on the highway, but other than that Little Whinging was silent. Harry thought it strange, because usually there was a dog barking, or some neighbor bidding guests goodnight. It was just a passing thought, however, because Harry was now quite aware that his Uncle had locked him out of the house, possibly for the night. He padded down his pockets, searching desperately for his wand. If he didn't have it on him, there was no telling what the Dursleys might do to it, and he didn't fancy being out alone at night without some means of protection. Finally, in his jacket pocket, he found the thin length of Holly.

As Harry's lingering fear faded, anger took its place. Anger at the Dursleys, anger at Dumbledore, anger at his friends, anger at the world. How dare they! How dare they treat him as a hero and then discard him without a second thought! How dare Dumbledore brush off his pleas about the Dursleys as nothing! And after Sirius… Sirius, who he'd never see again. Sirius, who was his godfather, who had asked Harry to live with him once. Sirius, who was gone.

It was too much.

Harry shoved his hands into his jeans with more force than was necessary and walked down the driveway. He felt like he wanted to explode. All of his emotions were just mixing and swirling together, his guilt for Sirius, his anger and Dumbledore and his relatives, the lingering sadness of his friend's betrayal the previous summer, fear that they'd do it again…

Harry clenched his fists, absentmindedly noting that tears were falling down his cheeks to hit the sidewalk illuminated by the streetlamps.

He wanted to curl up in a ball and cry - he wanted to break something, he wanted to fall down on his knees and never get up.

It felt like something was building inside his chest, getting ready to burst. He clenched his fists so tight it hurt, letting his nails bite into his palms while tears slipped down his cheeks.

He just couldn't.

He took a step forward, then stopped. He didn't know what to do. For the longest time, he stared at the street lamps, letting tears make tracks down his face that reflected orange in the artificial light.

All the breath flew out of his lungs in one loud whoosh. With a steady hand, he reached up to touch his cheeks. His fingertips came back wet and glistening, and without a glance, he wiped them on his jacket.

It was as if a dam had broken. With a lurching footstep, Harry took off, running like the devil himself had come. He tore through the streets, paying no mind to the glowing windows he passed, filled with families, nor the darkened alleyways and broken lights. He ran and ran, never knowing what he was running from - himself, the world, or perhaps fear, and tried to drown everything in the harsh breaths from his throat and the beating of his frantic heart.

His sneakers slapped the pavement in a constant rhythm, mixing with the near hysteric intakes of breath, faster now, as he pushed himself farther and farther. He passed not a single person in his flight, and cared not for which street he turned down or where he ran. He was quickly irreversibly lost, running down streets he'd never seen before.

His mind was blank of everything. It was a wonderful feeling, not to care, and Harry relished it, ignoring the pain in his chest and the dark places along the road where anything could lurk.

Finally he came to a breathless stop, far from home with the tear tracks on his cheeks dried by the wind.

At first all he cared about was doubling over to catch his breath, but he soon came to the realization he had absolutely no idea where he was.

Looking around, he tried to catch sight of a street sign or some sort of marker to give him a hint as to his location, but found none. All the houses looked exactly the same, with equally shiny cars and well manicured lawns. Nothing seemed to be even a little out of place, and it gave the entire street and eerie feel. It was too perfect, in Harry's opinion, too pristine. It was a monster hidden under a shiny facade, which Harry likened to what others saw when they looked at the Dursleys - perfect and nice on the outside, with a festering secret on the inside.

Harry was the secret, he knew. Whether it was the treatment he received, or his freakishness.

Still panting, Harry began to traipse down the street. Vernon ought to have calmed down enough by now to let Harry back in if he begged enough. He was going to be quiet, though, because the Dursleys hated 'making a scene.' Harry skipped over a crack in the sidewalk, suddenly remembering a rhyme from when Dudley was younger.

Step on a crack, break your mother's back!

It was a foolish thing to think of, and avoiding cracks was something Harry never did on a daily basis, especially since his mother was dead, but tonight everything seemed strange. Harry shuffled his sneakers on the sidewalk and kept walking.

From behind him, there was a loud whoosh sound.

Harry whirled, wand in hand before he'd even turned around. Using his other hand, he covered his eyes. There was an extremely bright light floating behind him - an extremely bright something. Harry squinted, preparing to take a step forward, before the loud whooshing sound increased. He froze.

The things closest to the light - rocks, pebbles, a stick - were being sucked in. He couldn't see where, but the objects glowed blue before they disappeared. He had a feeling it was to nowhere good. His instincts were screaming that this was bad. Very bad.

Feeling terror grow in his gut, Harry attempted to take a step backward, but couldn't. The whooshing sound increased. Abandoning all pretense of silence, Harry let out a loud cry. His sneakers were slowly moving towards the vortex of light despite his best efforts to the otherwise. He fell to the ground, landing heavily on his back, and scrabbled at the concrete. His fingers found no purchase and he let out another yell, trying to grab the edge of the curb. The wind increased and he flew clean off the sidewalk, tumbling towards the brilliant light.

He was blinded by brilliant, glowing blue for a millisecond. And then he started to fall.

-The Chaos Effect-

10:21 pm, June 1, 1996, Little Whinging, Surrey, the U.K.

On a road where nothing really happened, in a town where nothing really happened, the wind blew a small piece of paper down the sidewalk. The paper was quickly lodged in a crack, one which Harry Potter had jumped over moments before.

It was in this place that a phenomenon that had not been seen since the time of Merlin had occurred. It lasted for a few seconds before disappearing. The chances of it happening above the ground where a person could happen upon it were astronomical. The Earth's core is many times larger than the surface, after all. That a person would be there was even more unlikely. The chance that this person would just happen to be close enough to be pulled in was in the far reaches of probability - out there with all the other things that would never really happen.

But a butterfly flapped its wings in India.

Oblivious to it all, the residents of Little Whinging slept on.

Aaaand, cut! I've been working on this for a while, and I finally got around to posting it. I even planned it out and everything! Unlike my other stories where I go in with 12% of an idea (Guardians of the Galaxy reference!) and improvise. Hope you liked it! If not, go eat a pineapple.