Disclaimer: The only time you have to read this - I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Hello Mighty People! I hope you like it! With love.

Chapter 1 - An Obscurial or a Poltergeist?

This world is an unsavory soup of opposing realities. It is a medley of acceptance and resistance, hope and misery, joy and apathy, excitement and boredom, love and fear. Unfortunately, it tends to lean to the right for most. The world doesn't care about our rights and wrongs. It continues to float by following its own rules, which guide us while being guided by us. It's up to us to ascertain what rules the world follows, and what rules it should follow.

The words echoed in the mind of a young, black-haired teen carrying a springy bearing. He was kneeling down on a flat circular stone block. This is it. There's no going back now. He inspected the room with a contemplative glance. Everything was in place. Every nook, every detail that he had so meticulously envisioned for the ritual took its shape before him. Yet the stillness and the silence seemed to say something to him. Everything was in limbo, waiting. Waiting for him to choose. Why would I want to go back?

He thought back on to his frantic life. The world had truly given him a rotten hand, crushing his hopes every time he thought he was in for a new round. Here he was, fighting for his life ever since he was 11, having had it even worse before that. All that had sustained him over the years was the faux hope that his tribulations had some meaning, a well-defined purpose, to take him to a better place. In the end, though, life had always administered him the most appropriate reality-inducing dose, pushing him deeper into his self-designed pit of sorrows. Hope! Hope is a mistake. All that had ever given him was misery and pain. What was he even hoping to achieve? He realized now that even receiving a convenient answer wouldn't change anything. His life was what it was. The world would go on without waiting for him to come to terms with his own existence. By trying to define his life and concocting some convenient meaning for it, he was just wasting his life.

He looked down at the triangular symbol drawn on the altar projecting an eerie blood-red glow. The deathly hallows. Lit black candles, encircling the altar, were illuminating the small room, now carrying a sense of excitement with them. I have to do this. The enemy kept getting stronger and the list of people coming for his head kept growing each year. There were times where he truly believed that there was a safe way out of this. But those days were getting rarer and rarer. Who would I believe in, if I couldn't even believe in myself? Adorning a gray mask, he closed his eyes and picked up the shining dagger by his side. Just a touch of it on his index finger and blood was gushing and dripping over on the symbol. He raised the silver chalice to his mouth. His eyes were clouded when he opened them. However, there was a clarity in his thoughts now.

I was so stupid back then… Always trying to do the right thing, without questioning whether it was the right thing to do. Without asking what is right and what is wrong? It is the most difficult question we face, and as we chose the answer, we choose the world we see. Yet, few try to answer this, let alone realize it. This confusion weakens my belief in myself. In my magic! I want to see it clearly. I won't allow my magic to be withheld from me any longer!

He raised his right hand to his chest, and loudly intoned the words to complete the ritual that he had so methodically designed for the past two months. The ritual that was prohibited and yet promised him so much.

"Magick, gift me with understanding. Illuminate the darkness and remove from mine eyes the scales that have been placed upon them."

"Magick, gift me with understanding. Let me know your presence in my life."

"Magick, let me see myself reflected in your glory, and your glory reflected in myself."

"Magick, give the wisdom to see to the core of all issues, and the insight to see the true purpose beyond the veil."

"Magick, give me the ability to know, and the clarity to see, and the will to act without guilt and in total confidence."

"I will draw from within that with which I would have the world know without."

The flames flickered wildly as he gulped the rest of the drink. He could feel the heightened perception. Colors became brighter, edges looked sharper, the burning candles hissed louder. He stared unblinkingly across the room. Everything was different. Everything seemed to demand his attention, calling for his fascinated gaze to turn towards them. Like each had something crucial to tell him. Things started moving as he moved. His mind failed to caution him as he saw a chair whoosh towards him. Yet it didn't touch him. A wave of disorientation passed through him, making him fall to his knees. He could hear voices, some speaking to him, some speaking to someone else. Some blaming him, some praising him. The gentle trill from Fawkes carried the pleasant lull of sleep.

"Don't sleep! Remember! Remember what you were trying to do." A squeaky voice rang out loudly in the room.

Trying to do? It required some effort to bring his attention to the question. Yes, he wanted to defeat Voldemort. No. His mind retorted back, the thought accentuated by a dark sinking feeling in his gut.

"No?" He repeated aloud.

"What is the boy doing? This is no fun," the squeaky voice returned.

"Don't call me that!" The groggy reply came automatically.

"Huh… good boy?"

The instinctual reply did bring back some of his awareness, though. No, it wasn't just about defeating Voldemort. His heart thumped as forced his eyes to remain open. This is more important than that. Wisps of black and white smoke had filled the room and were growing. I am weak and I don't want to be. He dropped his metal barriers as the smoke engulfed him. His smoky vision was soon replaced by blurry images, some from his past, some which were imagined. He wouldn't call them memories, or thoughts. They were much too intense for those. He could see them, hear them, feel them.

He was alone…

He was dreading going to school. It turned out to be not as bad as he had imagined…

He was lying sprawled out on the floor, crying. 'That big, mean, bully! If only I was strong enough to hit him. To hurt him…'

He laughed as the teacher berated Dudley in front of the classroom…

He was so happy. He had ranked 3rd in his class…

He screamed. There was a rat in the cupboard…

He was frustrated. The teacher was punishing him for missing homework even though he explained that the light in his cupboard was not working…

He was paying attention to every word the teacher was saying. She was explaining why their education was important, and how it would help them in the future…

'No!' He looked in the mirror. He felt like crying. How was he supposed to go to school with his hair like that…?

Another night without food…

He was lying silently in his cot. He hoped that he wouldn't get blamed for the game he had broken. 'It was worth it though…'

The tornado of emotions seizing him caused his eyes to water. He didn't know for how long they would continue. He had prepared himself for this, but he hadn't expected to feel such raw intensity. He tried to focus on his goal and kept his desire at the forefront of his mind, knowing that a single misstep could have disastrous consequences. A last thought entered his mind as he lost his grip on reality. Did I make the right choice?

June 23, 1991, Privet Drive

Harry was feeling excited today, an anomaly in itself. A whole day of doing what I like! He thought unable to keep the smile off of his face. His dear family was going to leave him alone to celebrate his cousin's birthday. He kept himself from giggling since he was aware of the suspicious look on his aunt's face across the dining table.

"Why are you smiling, boy?" his aunt asked him with a displeased look on her face.

Harry berated himself and searched for an explanation. Darn it! Not smiling in the presence of his family was on the top of CRUEL, an acronym he made for Crucial Rules for Upbeat and Extended Life, an essential list of rules he kept and maintained.

"I am not smiling, see!" he said frowning at his aunt.

She smacked his head. "Don't you act sassy with me! You don't want to be locked in your cupboard while we are gone, do you?"

He really didn't. On some days it'd suit him just fine, but today he could do whatever he wanted. He gestured to the television. "I just liked how cool this Arnold looks wearing his glasses and riding a bike." He paused before adding, "You know, I even saw a flying motorcycle in a dream yesterday."

He regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth. What's wrong with me?!

He tried not to recoil as his aunt sucked in a squeaky breath and his Uncle displayed the strange and frightening ability to turn purple.

"Boy!"

"How many times have we told you–"

They both started shouting at the same time.

"Unnatural–"

"Nothing a beating won't fix, I tell you–"

"The freaks will notice–"

"Stonewall High will beat it out of him, I'm sure–"

Spit flew from his uncle's mouth, while his aunt's high-pitched voice made his ear hurt. He couldn't really make sense of what they were saying, but they could clearly understand each other as they kept adding to the other's point.

"Even Dudley knows motorcycles don't fly!"

He knew it was the wrong thing to say.

Ugh, I am so stupid! He berated himself from within the dark confines of his cupboard. He hadn't even finished his breakfast. In retrospect, he always wondered why he made such mistakes when he knew better.

No, there's nothing wrong with you, he reminded himself for the umptieth time. These people were clearly not normal. Normal for these people was never asking any questions, never being curious, never being imaginative or creative; in short, be a dud or like Dudley. I'd sooner cut my hair then be normal like they want. Them being normal was like saying that this world was a good place to be in, or that everyone would be happy and rich in their life, and love each other, or that magic is real, or good job Harry, thank you.

He imagined what his day would have been like if not for his stupidity. Dudley would have been enjoying getting to bully his parents without restraint, having tantrum-convince them into not taking Harry. Mrs. Figg would have slept her day in a hospital, from what he'd heard. This day couldn't have gotten any better! He felt miserable thinking about it. Such a day came rarely, a day devoid of any nagging remarks and rude frowns. A day where he could have done whatever he wanted. It needed no CRUEL.

Harry waited for the sound of the car to fade before sweeping off Dustin, the 7-legged spider, from his shoulder. He tried to open the cupboard door but bristled upon realizing that they had indeed locked the door. Ugh, I wish I could just smack them on the face! He knew it'd never happen, but still, it didn't hurt to fantasize about it, especially since he had nothing else to do. He had a few hours to himself before the banes of his life would return. He didn't know who he was angry at more, them or himself. I am going to make their life hell. I'd… I'd… He kicked the door with his barefoot leg.

"Ouch…" A click from the door stopped his moaning. Huh. He pushed the door and it opened.

Rage forgotten, he whooped in delight. Oh, wow. All this time I could have escaped the cupboard just by banging hard against the door?

Another problem presented itself, though. How am I going to explain this?! "Ugh, I will deal with it later." At least, he was out of the damn cupboard.

He stepped out and, although he wasn't that hungry, made himself a sandwich. He made sure to use Aunt Petunia's favorite silverware. Ahh, that's what freedom tastes like. Definitely better than usual.

He was shaking with excitement now. He saw the huge pile of gifts in the hall, most of which open, just screaming for his attention. He was itching to try them, but there were so many other options too. He couldn't remember the last time he was spoiled for choices… well, good choices anyway. He could watch TV, have a go at Dudley's computer games, or examine these gifts, and maybe even snitch one of them off.

"Today's going to be so much fun!"He declared loudly, not having a clue as to how different this day was going to end up to be from what he was imagining.

Trying to make the most of what he had, he switched on the TV, and putting some music on, started Dudley's computer. He didn't think he'd be nervous, but his hands were shaking as he switched it on. He had spent nights wondering what it was like to play on a computer, and there were so many appealing games that he had seen Dudley try. Paratrooper, Tetris, Arkanoid and a bunch more. Some games even had a story. How cool was that? There was also a strategy game, Sim-City, a game he had heard his classmate brag about. It was a pre-birthday gift by Uncle Vernon that Dudley had played only once before throwing it into the luxury trash pile that was his second bedroom. Apparently, it was a real-life simulation of a whole city, and you acted somewhat like the king managing its finances, planning its infrastructure, building parks for entertainment. It had the best graphics yet. Even Harry who only got to touch a computer at school got excited about the game! Naturally, Dudley didn't like it. "Who'd play this game? It's like working instead of playing!"

Half an hour later, he finally managed to launch the game. The computer had taken 10 minutes just to start, and the rest was spent in learning to start and play the game. He just hoped he didn't delete anything accidentally. Or I hope I did and they don't blame me for it. He grinned at the thought. This is great actually.

He searched for the game that the dud had been playing. There. Right click, delete. Ha, that should remove the game. "Aha, now try to beat Polkis's records." He had far too many memories of that idiot getting one up on him. He'd do anything to get back on Dudley. Maybe he would get an opportunity to use the new camera to click a photo of his stupid expression on trying to start the game.

Then he got another idea. No, I shouldn't do that, a part of his mind, to which he usually listened to, immediately warned. But he was filled with an irresistible urge to go ahead with it. He was feeling a little mischievous today. Hopefully, they don't find out about it, or at least not too soon, and by then I should be able to escape punishment.

Grinning, he went to Dudley's room and looked for things he could mess up with. Holy moly, what does he do with these many toys?! He had thought Dudley's second bedroom contained all of his old stuff. But that was just the old stuff that he had managed to move.

Let's go for the new ones first. Hmm… Sensing some movement from the corner of his eyes, he immediately glanced at the red, remote-controlled car on the bedside table. Huh, did it actually move right now? He shook his head and picked it up. It was Dudley's favorite car. No…, he thought. "Yes!" he exclaimed. He removed its batteries and replaced them with the ones from an old discarded cuckoo-clock.

"Hah hah ha ha, take that, cousin." He was breathing hard in exhilaration.

He did the same with some more toys. Yeeeeas!

His heart was beating loud and he was feeling a high he never had. He plopped down on the bed. Wow, this bed is so soft. And what's this?

He had sat down on Dudley's school books. He looked at the homework. Nooo! I shouldn't… He again ignored the restraining voice in his mind. "This is going to be hilariouuus!"

His hands moved on their own, and his mind ran a mile a minute. After he was done, he evaluated his handy work. Pages crumpled. OK. "By" became "Bye", "Hat" became "Hate", Words crossed out or changed. Not bad. Rude remarks added to teachers' remarks. Nice! Ink spilled on the last piece of homework. Brilliant!

He only regretted it after the job was done. Oh no, why did I do that? I am so screwed if they catch me. They won't, though, he thought after hyperventilating for a bit. Dudley never shares anything school related with them.

He also felt a little apprehensive and bad for Dudley. But, not bad. Happy Birthday, Dudley. How did you like my gift? he thought a little spitefully. The last couple of weeks of school were going to be so much fun. I should clean this place of all signs of me entering here, though.

As he was doing that, he was startled by a thud from downstairs. Oh no, did I leave the kitchen's window open again?

He turned to go downstairs to check but had to catch himself. All of a sudden, he felt exhausted. Though, he hadn't done much work since the morning. He noticed he had started breathing loudly too.

His head had started spinning. Was this getting sick? He couldn't recall the last time he was sick. He had to sit to stop his legs from giving out. He felt as if his body would give up any second.

H felt his eyebrows getting heavy, and had to close his eyes. Taking quick breaths, he tried to compose himself. Everything is alright. A long breath. It's just a... You are…

KLANK! He sprang back to consciousness. "Ugh!" What happened? "AAAhhh," he felt as if his head was splitting open. Why am I on the floor?!

The last thing he remembered was ruining Dudley's homework. He looked around the room. Everything was disordered, and just as Dudley had it. Did he fell unconscious? He looked at the clock. It was at least an hour since he had been out.

He felt tired and wanted to lie down for a bit.

Feeling an anxious churning in his stomach, he trudged back downstairs. The TV was on, but no sound came off it. A terrible thought struck his mind.

He warily sat on the sofa and picked up the remote. Please don't let anything be wrong with the TV. Uncle Vernon would have my head! He increased the volume again. Phew.

Thanking his lucky stars, he lounged down.

His eyes went wide. There, lying by his side, was Dudley's new video camera. What was it doing here? He hadn't unboxed it, had he?

He wasn't a stranger to weird things happening around him. This brought down a terrible feeling upon him, though. Then he remembered the sound that had alerted him when he was in Dudley's room. He looked around. No sign of a cat. He entered the kitchen. The window was closed. Weird. Was it a rat again? He seriously hoped not.

He carefully packed the camera again. Examining the living room, he slowly went back to the sofa. His leg got stuck in something and he nearly lost his balance. Only his quick feet allowed him to avoid falling over. Ugh! This day was not panning out as he had hoped.

"EEeeh, hee hee hee!"

He whipped around. He thought he heard a high-pitched giggle.

There was nothing out of ordinary there. If he was previously weirded out, now he was definitely sketched out. Something was very wrong.

"Wh–who's there?" He asked hoping with all his heart that nobody answered.

Silence. Calm down, Harry. No-one is playing Harry Hunting... and ghosts don't exist.

He forced himself to believe that it was just his imagination. Maybe playing those computer games did something to his brain. Maybe that's why the teachers asked them to not play too much video games. He lumbered back to and sat on the sofa. That's it. I would just lie here and watch the TV till the Dursleys came back. He immediately jumped.

The channel on the TV had changed.

He looked around in fright. No, no, no! Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, please come back soon! That thought momentarily broke him out of his delirium and he noticed that the remote was under him, where he had sat. Maybe...

He went down from being absolutely terrified to being completely anxious. With trembling hands, he picked it up. There was a trickle of sweat on his brows now. Taking deep breaths, he moved to change the channel again when the channel changed on its own.

He made a squeaky voice and crouched on the sofa hiding his face between his knees. His body was shaking. He was sure that he hadn't pressed any buttons. He remained in this position moaning, waiting for anything to happen to him. Why? Why did I open the cupboard? He thought.

Nothing happened for a few minutes with him sitting there, trembling. Then the channel changed. Harry shivered. And changed again. He made a whimpering noise. And again. He stood as still as a log. He hadn't been this terrified his whole life. And then, the thought that was previously so terrifying came back as a last ray of hope. Maybe… Maybe there was something wrong with the TV. That was far more likely than a ghost haunting in him in bright daylight. Yes, that was it. He was being stupid, freaking out for no reason. That wasn't much better though if he really thought about it. There would nothing be worse than the Dursleys coming home to find a damaged TV. The channel changed again. No, there was something worse. There definitely was.

He opened his left eye minutely and glanced from the gap between his legs. Everything looked the same. He slowly raised his head. There was no sign of anything out of the ordinary. He looked at the TV waiting for the channel to change. It didn't. Dammit, change! The channel changed. He let out a huge sigh of relief. Thank God, the TV is faulty.

He stayed there for a few moments gratefully. All he wanted now was to have a good nap. He had enough excitement for today. He was about to turn off the TV when he felt the hair stand on his back. He sensed the presence before it smacked his right hand.

He gave a frightful yelp and shrunk back into the couch. "AAAagh…" he cried. There was nothing there. Oh my god! Oh my god! His body felt paralyzed in his fright. "Please don't kill me!" he whimpered pathetically.

"Booo," the ghost whispered… in both of his ears! Harry screamed and bolted into his cupboard, slamming the door hard. The interior was filled with dust and spiders. Harry wasn't about to sit around and collect dust, though. His heart was thumping, and his mind was in overdrive. He jumped on his bed, which made a protesting screech and covered himself in his blanket.

He didn't know for how long he stayed, unthinking, unmoving. Nothing ghostly happened. He replayed the events of those 10 minutes over and over, trying to find some way to make sense of them. But with each remembrance, his foreboding only grew. I hope the ghost can't come into his cupboard. He felt like crying. I hope he can't get into my blanket!

He could only hear the sound of TV from outside. He waited. The channels weren't changing. Am I going bonkers? Trying not to make a sound, he softly lied down and closed his eyes, and waited. Maybe this is all a nightmare and it will be over when I wake up. It was a long time before his heartbeat slowed down, and he drifted off to sleep.

Harry was jerked awake by the sound of a car pulling into the street. The first thing he remembered was – Oh no! I left the TV on. He kicked open the cupboard door and scrambled out, gliding the spiders back into the cupboard. The TV was on, but no sound was coming from it. He then distinctly remembered the weird events of the morning and halted in his tracks. No...

He could hear the car being parked in the garage, and… was that the tire bursting? He didn't know what to do. Did he imagine the events in the morning? After a few moments of calming himself down, he sneaked into the living room and glanced around carefully. Nothing was out of the ordinary.

He could hear voices coming from outside. Come on, you just have to run and switch off the TV. He forced himself to dash into the hall to pick up the remote but froze at the scene in front of him. The remote was now flying away from him, and the volume was going up. Oh my God! Oh my God! It's a ghost!

Hands trembling, Harry hastily pulled the television plug from the socket. He had heard of a movie where the ghost was in the TV. A loud baby-wail echoed through the hall. I am so dead! He had never felt such a combination of helplessness, confusion, and terror in his life.

He heard the sound of keys in the doorknob. Deciding it best to leave Dursleys to face… whatever it was, Harry bolted for the cupboard. But, as was becoming the norm today, he couldn't. The thing tripped him in the middle of the hall, and he fell face flat onto the pile of gifts.

What happened next was the stuff of his horrid nightmares. There was a ghost crying in baby's voice; he was gripping onto Dudley's new bicycle whose handle his fall had broken, holding a broken computer game in his hand; the Dursley's were gaping at this scene from the doorway, and Dudley had started bawling.

KLUNK! Some kitchen wares went rattling to the floor in front of the door. Aunt Petunia had her hands over her mouth, and his Uncle was shaking with a flushed face. "WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT NOT BLOWING UP THE HOUSE?!" his Uncle bellowed.

Harry stood rooted to the spot. He didn't know what to do next; scream, save himself from his Uncle, run as far as possible from the ghost, or pinch himself to check if this was a dream. Strangely, all he could do was to say, "Happy birthday, Dudley."

The room was filled with emotions ranging from confusion, fury, and fear to elation as everyone watched the new camera floating in the air to the top of the sink. "Say CHEESE," a squeaky voice shouted. There was a flash of the picture clicking, and the house was filled with uproarious laughter that seemed to come from everywhere at once.

You desire in your life that which you think you lack, and the severity of it inflates as time passes. He desired the love that he was so cruelly denied. Love was the truth in his life then, in whatever weird shape it could be in living with the Dursleys. True to the reality of our world, its opposite could have been true too: he could have desired for fear from others. The toss of the coin was in his favor, and a poltergeist was created instead of an obscurial. Oh, how you work Magick, weaving the threads of fate so flagrantly, but which can only be obvious in retrospect.

June 23, 1991, Privet Drive

Lyanna Traymere, a tall girl, with a freckled face of twenty-two years, with thick dark hair, and swift, agile movements apparated at No. 4, Privet Drive with Norman Macmillan, a twenty-seven-year-old man with curly brown hair and similar alert movements. This was the first case of a spirit disturbance this month, and Lyanna was glad for the reprieve. She was getting knackered of just sitting and pushing papers. She had always hated paperwork, mainly because she had never ever managed to finish it in her two years of service. It always appeared to expand to fill the time available to her.

"Let the show start," she said as she observed her muggle surroundings with expectant eyes.

Spirit disturbances in muggle homes were very rare and they always provided her with a much-coveted entertainment in her life and equipped her with stories to tell. And it was her turn to take charge of the situation.

"You seem far too pleased for a slytherin among muggles, Lyanna," Norman observed as he looked around.

"There's only one thing I like more than scaring the shit out of muggles," she said flashing him a smile, "and that's muggles shitting their pants."

Norman raised his eyebrows.

"Don't tell me you don't find our job entertaining?" she asked.

"Yeah, I do, kind of. I just didn't expect you to be so candid."

She smirked. She just loved not meeting the expectations of people.

He whistled as he looked around, "No signs of any destruction. That narrows it down to a ghost, a token spirit, or maybe a poltergeist."

"There'd be more of a ruckus in case of a poltergeist, and well, we aren't that lucky."

The sun was about to set and a cool breeze was flowing in Little Whinging, whirling their dull black robes. She could feel Norman surveilling the surroundings while keeping an eye on her as she casted a protective barrier around the house. She didn't mind having his eyes on her. He was not too hard to look at either, and he was definitely not like the douchebags she always had the misfortune to meet.

Two weeks ago, she was paired up with him in the Spirit Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, when Norman's previous partner had gone AWOL. It was a lot more relaxing working with him and she felt more in control compared to working with her previous supervisor. She had already hinted that she liked working with him, and would love to make their team permanent.

Their attention was drawn to the noises coming from the small walled structure situated near their house (garage). Norman casted a disillusionment charm on both of them.

A big, round, and heavy blond kid came waddling out and started kicking the wall as he cried, "That was boooring. You couldn't even make the snake move! That was the worst birthday eveeeer." He sniffed theatrically.

A large man, who could only be the kid's father judging by the size, tried to calm him. "It wasn't really boring, Dudders, was it? Piers seemed to have fun. And we got to eat your favorite dish at your favorite restaurant. We even bought two more gifts for you." He smiled as he ruffled Dudders' hair. "And you know what? Daddy's wonder boy deserves two more," he coaxed further.

The pampered boy dropped his theatrics at that, "So, now I will have… I have…"

"Forty-four gifts, my sweet pumpkin," a sugary voice responded, as a tall, large necked woman exited.

Lyanna blinked. That was the weirdest conversation and the most dysfunctional parenting she had ever seen. She wished her parents were like that. Though, none of her would be kids would ever have such a pleasure. She shook her head. Well, the prologue of my new story is definitely original.

Their attention turned to the house, from where a loud cacophony of sound was coming. Or was it a weird song? She focused her attention on the task at hand, wand at ready. The story begins.

The large man started muttering curses under his breath. "I told the boy to stay in his cupboard!" He cursed darkly, veins throbbing in his neck.

Lyanna's eyes darkened. It's one of those stories! There goes the story all to pot.

She followed the newly christened doughnut, as he rushed to the door, fumbling for the keys in his hands. He better stays away from the kid!

The song had stopped now, and instead, a loud bawling sound came from within, as if an infant was crying.

The doughnut stopped, looking perplexed, and glanced at his wife, who looked scared. He jammed the keys into the lock and turned.

A small boy, no more than 9, wearing horribly faded baggy clothes was gripping a bicycle, whose handle seemed to be twisted at an awkward angle. His eyes looked comically wide in those round glasses. Several boxes were lying scattered on the floor. Hmm, way too thin and shabby for a protagonist, Lyanna thought, growling under her breath.

She sensed a movement towards the kitchen. A fuzzy displacement in space, inhuman shape, partially corporal. Looks like a poltergeist.

KLUNK!

The young wizard was looking like a hufflepuff who had just made an Unbreakable Vow to kick Severus Snape in the face while calling Gryffindor the best house.

"WHAT DID I SAY ABOUT NOT BLOWING UP THE HOUSE?!" the doughnut bellowed.

Oh no, you won't do anything! She would break his ugly neck first.

"Happy birthday, Dudley." Doughboy was looking like a 3-year-old who had just lost all his toys. She had to restrain herself from laughing when she realized that this was indeed the case.

She sensed a presence picking up a camera and carrying it to the kitchen. Definitely a poltergeist.

"Say CHEESE," the poltergeist shouted, and then started laughing hysterically on clicking the photo. She smirked despite her anger. It did create a pretty amusing picture.

"AAAAHHHHHH, there's a ghost, there's a ghost, there's a GHOST!" Doughboy ran outside the house, followed by his pale mother and his swollen father. The scrawny boy came running a few moments later, keeping a distance from others.

"It's not a ghost. It's a poltergeist." A voice came from thin air.

Doughboy jumped and fell on his butt whimpering, and a shrill squeak escaped his mother.

Lyanna rolled her eyes and removed the disillusionment charm from them. "Don't worry. We are not ghosts," she said appearing in thin air.

The muggles were looking like house elves who had not followed their master's orders. Doughboy had fainted, unable to handle any more birthday surprises. She laughed. This story is getting amusing.

The mother screamed, "Dudley! Dudley! Sweetie, are you okay?!" She pointed her finger at them. "What have you done to him?!" came her invasive shrill voice.

She waved her wand to cast a barrier at the front door, while Norman, who was looking amused, explained to the hysterical mother, "He's alright, I reckon. Looks like the shock was too much for him." He paused, stroking his beard. "Can't be a heart attack, could it? I don't think kids can get them… But, then, I haven't seen a kid this plumpy… Nah, he'll be alright." The only problem with Norman was that he wasn't funny, especially when he wanted to be.

"We are from the Spirit Division of the Department of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures in the Ministry of Magic," He said as if it was the most important department in the ministry. He waited for some recognition from them.

The doughnut looked like he had swallowed a pint of his own piss, and the woman, if it was possible, looked even more scared. The smaller boy who was blinking his eyes owlishly, and kept pinching his arm asked, "Are you like, Ghostbusters?" And then exclaimed, as if on second thought, "What to do you mean by magic?!"

The doughnut interjected before Norman could reply, "I demand, sir, that you do whatever you came to do. Do your hokey pokey, and rid us of whatever abomination is in the house. After that, I have to ask you to leave us alone, and not say a word of this freakishness!"

Lyanna gave a cold laugh. "You demand! Do we look like someone from whom you can demand?" She asked while casting an intimidation spell on herself. The doughnut spluttered, scrambling back, barely preventing himself from falling on Doughboy.

Lyanna glanced at Norman apologetically. They weren't exactly allowed to do that, but the muggle was getting on her nerves. But Norman was staring transfixed at the bespectacled kid. She would have been chastened if it had been her old supervisor.

She turned to the cause of this chaos. He was looking at her wide-eyed, with his jaw dropping to the floor. She undid her spell, looking as if it was business as usual. "Ghost busters? You could say so. But as Norman," she gestured to her partner, "was saying before, the spirit in your house is a poltergeist."

She paused before continuing, "A poltergeist is a nature spirit which loves to create chaos, as evident from our situation." She waved her arms for illustration. "It usually manifests in children's homes where chaotic energy is abundant and is repressed. It is extremely rare for a Poltergeist to appear in muggle homes with just one magical child though, as was the case here. And yes," she said conspiratorially, leaning close to him, "magic exists. There's a wholly different magical world out there." She got a good look at the protagonist's face and gaped. Merlin's saggy pants!

Everyone was silent for a while, before Harry Potter, who was now receiving two glares, and two amazed stares, allowed, "What exactly do you mean by a magical child... or a mogul?"

It took a few moments before realization hit her like a ton of bricks. This boy, the Boy-Who-Lived! the savior of the freaking wizarding world! didn't know anything; about himself, or magic, or about his fame. She glanced at his family, who looked terrified at what was going on. And these… MUGGLES were his family! Norman looked equally gobsmacked besides her… Well, this story got a whole lot interesting.

Norman muttered, "He is the boy who lived." And as if truly realizing it, said loudly, "He is the boy-who-lived!"

Lyanna composed herself and asked herself what she should do now. Norman was her senior, but she felt she needed to take charge of the situation. He was the boy-who-lived! She didn't want to imagine what he must be thinking of them gaping like this at him. She began, "Harry… umm, I know the day has been very unusual for you, and you have lots of questions. But there's a more pressing problem looming in the house. We will answer all the questions you have after solving that," she assured him. She hoped she sounded friendly to him.

Harry Potter could only nod.

"I am afraid, I must ask you to go back in the house," she said in her usual routine, taking in the panicked expression of the Boy-Who-Lived. "A poltergeist only appears in the vicinity of the primary magical source, one who caused the disturbance. We can only capture it in your presence." Think quickly!

The boy was looking at the house frightfully. "I'm not going back in there. The source could be any of them," he pointed to the muggles. "You can take any of them."

The boy-who-lived's family had horrified expressions on their faces. There was something wrong with the situation. But for the life of her, her mind wouldn't cooperate. Ok, next step. "These muggles don't have the capability to that. You, Harry, are different than them, better than them. Don't worry, Poltergeists are not dangerous. They just like to play pranks. And we'd be protecting you in there."

Harry Potter needed just slight persuasion after that, "No one has ever been harmed by a poltergeist… at least physically." What can I do?

It was an alien and surreal scene for Lyanna as they went inside. The sun had dipped lower, and the street lights were turning on. Numerous thoughts were crashing inside her head obscuring her way – about Harry Potter, about how he knew nothing, about his family being abusive. What was Dumbledore's deal? What is the ministry playing at? There was a confluence of these thoughts with other parallel thoughts – her connections in the ministry, the scandals it would cause, the chaos. Still more thoughts were coming into play originating from her feelings and the emotions bubbling up inside her – anger at the muggles, pity, and gratefulness for the boy who lived, excitement at the potential outcomes, a chance of escaping her mundane job, anxiousness at the possible repercussions, disbelief at Dumbledore. Each thought worked together feeding her the answer to what she should do.

And as usual, in situations like this, it is what you identify with, that decides the outcome. Lyanna's inner Slytherin started plotting.

She matched up Dumbledore against the Ministry, tried to find opportunities in the scandals and chaos, thought of advantages and disadvantages of spreading the news for herself… and for the savior of the wizarding world.

A/N: Thank you for reading it :)