This fic will tie into Usagi's Destinies. A lot of my readers from that wanted to hear more about Lee, so here is Lee!

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If you were to see me now, you'd think that I've always been like I am. But let me tell you, I couldn't have been any more different…

"Hey, look guys, there's Jordan!"

Lee looked up and groaned. Not again, he thought.

It was the same every day: Spencer and his gang would come up to him and push him around, then steal any money he had. It wasn't often he had any, though.

"What's the matter, Blackie? Mommy didn't kiss you good-bye?"

Lee ground his teeth but restrained himself. They were a lot bigger than he was. But they'd used two insults that were based on his touchiest subjects: race and parentage. His parents- adoptive parents- were Caucasian and very poor. He was African. When he was about two, they'd been on a trip to Kenya to write an article on orphanages there. For some reason that is inexplicable, they'd fallen in love with him and adopted him. No one knew who Lee's biological parents were, or what happened to them, or what his real name was. He'd just appeared on the doorstep about three months before he was adopted, which wasn't even long enough to give him a name he'd respond to. So the Jordans had named him Lee. Obviously.

Sometimes, late at night, Lee could remember deep brown eyes floating above his face. His eyes. His father's eyes. He'd also feel the long, soft, black hair of his mother. His hair.

"I don't have any money today," Lee responded, hoping they wouldn't see through his lie.

"So Mister Dreadlocks hasn't got any money?" Spencer said in a mocking tone. "You know you have, so give it here." The bulky boy held out a pudgy hand.

Lee was hesitating between giving in, sticking to his lie, or running away, but none of the choices seemed appealing. I wonder why, he thought sarcastically.

"Is something the matter, boys?" a kindly voice said. Lee felt a weight on his shoulder and looked up into the face of a short, plump woman. She'd been his second grade teacher. {A/N: That's seven going on eight years old. Would that still be second grade in England?}

Spencer spoke before Lee could even think about how to respond. "Lee and I were just talking, weren't we?" he said, sending a meaningful look at Lee.

"But we're done now," Lee put in, at last finding an escape from Spencer.

"That's good, dear. I was actually just coming out to fetch you," the teacher said in an oblivious manner.

Lee's heart seemed to sink to his toes. What had he done this time? It wasn't that he was a bad student- one of the tops ones, actually- or that he picked fights. But he tended to do things like sending a boy sprawling on the grass about five feet away. He couldn't even explain any of these things, and it didn't seem likely that he'd be able to do something like that by sheer strength. He was very small- not in height, but build. He was actually an average height.

Lee's heart did a flip-flop as he said, "All right." Next came the usual march to the office, and then the slip of paper for his parents to sign. He always forged the signature. They thought that their shy son was perfect, and he hadn't the heart to shatter their illusion. {A/N: I know, I know, Lee Jordan and shy, but whatever.}

"Have a seat," the teacher said as they entered the office. "Mister Turney will be right in."

Lee obediently sat in the nasty fold-up chair, his heart thumping so hard you could have heard it in Timbuktu if you were deaf and in a cave that went down under ground about a mile with soundproof walls and door, and had a pillow over your head. {A/N: let's just say, it isn't likely you could hear something in England from Timbuktu at all, so that can tell you how nervous he was.}

After a few minutes of Lee twiddling his thumbs, singing the same part of a song over and over again ("Charlie Brown, Charlie Brown, he's a clown, that Charlie Brown. He's gonna get caught, just you wait and see. Why's everybody always picking on me?"), and shifting uncomfortably in his chair, Mister Turney came in.

"Jordan," he said with a nod. "I would like to talk to you about what you're going to do next year. Your academic records are up high enough that you should be able to attend any secondary school you want to, but your behavior records are less than satisfactory." Lee gulped and nodded. "I'm afraid that you won't be allowed into the public school, Lee," the man continued gently, "and I don't think there's much chance of a private school admitting you."

"So what am I supposed to do, then?" Lee exploded, growing furious.

"There is a place called Saint Brutus's. I think that we should send you there."

"I am not an incurably criminal boy!" Lee shouted. "Why on Earth should I go there?"

"There isn't anywhere else to send you," Turney responded, passing a hand wearily over his eyes. "It's really a shame they wouldn't accept you in any of those private schools. You're smart, Jordan. Real smart. But you do things that you shouldn't do, shouldn't be able to do, and there's only one thing to do to fix that."

"I'm not going," Lee said stubbornly, crossing his arms.

"But you can't not go to school."

"Just watch. I bet Mum or Dad would get me a tutor if I asked." Lee knew this was a lie. They hadn't the money to get a tutor, nor to send him to a private school. His only hope had been the public school.

"Take this home to your parents. I would like to schedule a conference with them," Turney simply said in reply, holding out a pink slip of paper.

Lee took it, his heart falling through the floor. There was no way he could get around scheduling a conference. He certainly couldn't do it without his parents' knowledge, because they'd have to go to it.

He was suitably late getting into lunch, glad that he at least had the little money he'd been given still with him.

~*~ ~*~ ~*~ ~*~

"Mum? Dad? I'm home," Lee said, peering into the gloom of his front hall. No one answered. Lee sighed and put his coat on the hook by the door, kicked off his shoes, and dumped his books and the pink slip he'd been given on the kitchen table. He flopped onto the couch and flicked on the television, flipping through the stations but finding nothing good on. He clicked it off and wandered into his small bedroom. He ran his hand over his books. He'd read them all at least ten times over, and had nearly memorized many of them. He wasn't in the mood for reading a story he'd read too many times, so he grabbed a pair of sneakers and ran out the door, not even bothering to put them on or wear his coat.

Once he reached his destination- a huge set of steps with a ridiculously long railing- he pulled on the sneakers, ran at the railing, and jumped. He landed on it and rolled his ankles so they were angled downward. When he jumped off the bottom, he muttered to himself, "Not a bad Fahrvergnugen… now let's try a fast slide."

He ran back up and slid down once more, this time with his ankles rolled back from where he was sliding. About halfway down, he heard a startled shout of, "You, boy! Stop that! Get off right this instant!"

Distracted, Lee glanced up and saw a tall, rather bulky policeman running down the stairs towards him. In that precious second, he lost his balance and began to fall off the railing. Just as he was about to land on his head and probably begin to roll down the concrete stairs, Lee stopped falling. He cautiously peeked one eye open, then opened both of them wide. He was floating about twenty feet in the air, drifting towards a fountain. The policeman was standing stock-still on the stairs, staring after the flying boy.

Lee noticed he was beginning to lose height. When he was about three feet from the ground, he fell, landing in the fountain with a loud SPLASH! Many shocked people stared at him, not noticing that they were dripping with water left over from Lee's descent.

"Er, sorry?" Lee said, stepping gingerly out of the fountain. He ran back home, mostly bemoaning the possible ruination of his Soaping shoes.

When he at last reached home, still sopping wet, his parents stood in the doorway glaring.

"And a fine way to come home, too!" his mother said as he stepped up on the porch. "First the conference over your behavior, and then no note telling where you've gone, and then you come back all wet and most likely with ruined Soaps."

"Calm down, Jess," his father said soothingly. "It's no big deal. Although I would like to know how you managed to get so wet."

Lee decided to go with the truth, as he'd concealed plenty from them. "I was Soaping on the big railing over there, and then a police officer came. I fell off the rail, and right before I hit the steps I was floating really high in the air. When I finally got down, it was right into a fountain."

"And I'm the Queen of Sheba!" Jess Jordan added to this announcement. "I won't have any of this foolishness, Lee. Tell me the truth."

"I did," Lee said indignantly.

"Now, Lee-" his father began, but was cut off by the sudden appearance of an old man.

"Good day. I am Albus Dumbledore, headmaster at a school called Hogwarts. I need to talk to the three of you about young Lee here."

The Jordans gave the strange old man a stunned look. They hadn't realized that they had been standing on the porch arguing, but the sudden appearance of the old man was truly baffling.

"Hogwarts?" Lee's father finally mustered up.

"Yes. It's a school for young witches and wizards."

"I know. My father went there."

"Jordan! You never told me that your father was a wizard!" Jess cried out.

"There was never any need. So, Headmaster Dumbledore, do you mean to say that Lee is going to go to Hogwarts?" Jordan Jordan {A/N: imagine the trouble he must've gotten as a kid about his name… poor Jordan Jordan.}

"If we could please go inside, that would be exactly what we will talk about," Dumbledore said. He waved a long stick of wood at Lee quickly, and then they all proceeded inside. Lee was astonished to find himself completely dry, and his Soaps totally in tact.

"Brilliant!" Lee muttered.

When they were all settled in, Dumbledore began. "We were receiving rather large amounts of magic from Lee, but what we got today made us decide that we had to talk to you about him. He is down to attend Hogwarts, my school. It is up to you three to decide whether he will go or not. Hogwarts is a boarding school, but you can come home for the Christmas and Easter holidays, as well as the summer. You will need a few supplies, but the list will be sent along later, as well as instructions to reach key locations."

"Can I go, Mum? Dad?" Lee asked pleadingly, looking at his parents. Being a wizard sounded cool, and if he could do stuff like he did today… that would be awesome.

"Well…" they seemed a bit reluctant.

"Please? I really, really, really, really don't want to go to Saint Brutus's!" Lee begged.

"Saint Brutus's? Is that where they want to send you? No way, you are definitely not going there," Jess said determinedly. "You, sir, are going to go to Hogwarts whether you like it or not!"

"You will be receiving a letter shortly. I just thought it might be nice if you all didn't make each other miserable until it came. Good day!" Dumbledore said pleasantly, disappearing with a POP!

"That was odd," Jordan stated.

"Yep. Do I have to go to school the last week? It's awful, and it's not like I need to," Lee said, turning puppy-dog eyes on his parents. "There's just a few assignments we get, and they can't very well fail me because I was 'sick' the last few days."

"Erm," Jordan began.

"Fine," Jess said at the same time. "You'll be getting a liver transplant."

"Yes! I'm out of school early! Wait, a liver transplant?" Lee celebrated, then looked uncertainly at his mother as if to see whether she was jesting or not. "A liver transplant? Why? That sounds painful. A liver transplant?"

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A/Ns

Soaps are special shoes used to do tricks on railings like one might do on a skateboard. Soapers are those who use Soaps. Soaping is what Soapers do when wearing Soaps. Confusing enough? Anyway, Soaps came out in '96, so we'll have the story be set around then. After all, Lee is turning eleven and going to Hogwarts during this story, and he's only a couple years older than Harry and them. Two, to be exact. So, R&R! Lemme know what you think.