A thin curl of wood flakes off the table to join a small pile at my feet. My knuckles are covered in saw dust and I try not to rub too close to my eyes when I brush away the bead of sweat slicking down my brow. The shed is hot, even at this early hour, but I'm stubborn in my dedication to this project. I blow sharply across the form in my hands, sending a small scattering of dust into the air.

The thing isn't perfect, a little rough across the back end and the base would probably wobble, but I'm pretty satisfied with how it came out. I flex my hands out, placing both the carving and my hand chisel down. I'll have to sharpen the thing again, but I don't have any oil left at the moment and I'd prefer not to ask my uncle to pick some up.

I poke the front end of the wood, a small chunk of beech I had scrounged out of the park awhile back and admire the grain. I don't think I'll paint this one. I snap open a can of clear varnish instead. It's a small labor of love as I brush a thin coating over the detail work. It shouldn't take all too long to dry in this heat.

The door to the shed rattles hard in its frame, I frown as a wrench falls off a shelf. It should only just barely be breakfast by now, not nearly late enough for my uncle to be looking to dragging me out to do work. I dust myself off and reach the door in the middle of the next knock. I unlatch the door and slide it open.

"Yes Uncle? How can I help.. you?"

I blink rapidly in the sun light. My uncles bulk fills most of the doorway, even at the arms length he's standing at. Behind him the perfectly manicure lawn and the tidy rose bushes still sparkle from when I watered them this morning. It's a perfectly normal view, very boring. The confusion in my tone is due to the rather tall old man in a blue dress standing slightly behind and to the side of my uncle. I calculate my uncles purple expression for a moment.

"I see you've decided to hire a magician to entertain Dudley. A little late for his birthday but I'm certain he will appreciate it. I'd really much rather keep working if it's all the same to you though, thank you."

Vernon lets out a strangled growl that sounds close to a teapot at boil. His hands twitch at his side, definitely resisting the urge to cuff me. I'm fairly confident he won't do so in front of a stranger, but I never really can tell with him. The old man chuckles beside him which appears to send my uncle into a new shade of purple.

"What did you do?"

The words are hissed out from behind gritted teeth. I stroke my chin for a moment, thinking the question over. All I've done so far today was water the yard and work in the shed. Something yesterday? No, I spent most of that in the library looking over books on engines so I could fix the mower. I eye the old man over my uncles shoulder who grins at me with twinkling blue eyes. Hmm.

"If this is about the zoo I'm not apologizing. I can't help it if Dudley is standing behind me when a camel spits and he's too slow to dodge."

Vernon grabs the shed door, holding it in place before I can slid it closed. Not that then. I'm at a loss here, really.

"Why is this man here for you?"

I squint at the old man, readjusting my glasses. He's very tall, taller even than my uncle. He's wearing an eye watering blue number that goes from neck to foot and ties in the front like a bath robe. Half moon spectacles sit on the bridge of a crooked nose. A thick white beard about as long as I am tall is tucked into his belt.

"I've never met him before in my life, but if he's recruiting for a carnival I'll go willingly."

The old man clears his throat and produces a folded up letter from his sleeve. The paper is darker and heavier than the kind you'd find most places these days. I recognize it but I've got my poker face on now and can sense the trouble I'll get in if I acknowledge it.

"I believe you sent this through the post to me my boy."

The mans voice is airy in a way that reminds me of old forests. There's something distant and whimsical there. I refuse to reach out and grab the letter.

"You must be mistaken sir, I have never once written to the carnival. They also tend to move so I'm not certain how one would go about addressing a letter to one in the first place."

His grin is crooked and his eyes twinkle strangely in the light. He unfurls the letter with a deft flick of his wrist that is surprising in both its swiftness and it's lack of accompanying popping of bones. Most men his age would have sprained something doing that.

"So this letter about attending this upcoming year at Hogwarts addressed to one Harry Potter, resident of the cupboard under the stairs at number Four Privet Drive is not yours?"

"It certainly appears to be addressed to me, I haven't any clue how it would have ended up in your hands however, unless you happen to be another Harry that lives under the stairs."

"I am not."

"A mystery of the post then, my apologies for the confusion."

"No trouble, no trouble."

Vernon's eye twitches and a vein throbs on his forehead. He's showing a great deal of restraint considering the strangeness in his yard however. Hasn't even yelled yet. Impressive.

"I suppose I shall just take that letter then, yes?"

"By all means Mr. Potter, it is yours."

I wipe my hand off and ignore my uncles twitching as I reach out to grab the letter. I half expect my uncle to shred the thing the moment it passes him but he continues to simply bristle in anger. The old man grins crookedly as I fold the thing up and place it in my back pocket.

"Well, if that will be all gentlemen? I believe I have a few things to finish up in here."

"Oh but Mr. Potter, were you not at all curious as to the response to your request?"

The man has certainly played this kind of game before. I shall not be outdone though. I'm too smart to incriminate myself so easily.

"As stated before sir, I did not send this letter to you, so how on earth would I have either a request or expect a response?"

Take that old man.

"So the words 'prove it' written on the back side of the invitation we're not written by you?"

I pull the letter back out and make a showing of slowly opening the thing. I skim the front contents briefly before flipping the page over and readjusting my glasses. I tap my chin and hold the letter a distance away, squinting at it, before bringing it straight to my face. The words 'prove it' are indeed scrawled in carpenters pencil on the reverse side.

"The words do certainly have a passing resemblance to my own handwriting I suppose. Very difficult to say with any certainty that I wrote them however, not without a comparative sample."

"You wrote to this nutter?!" Vernon erupts, spraying my glasses with flecks of spittle. He certainly took his time building steam.

"As stated and evidenced by the distinct lack of stamp on this letter, I did no such thing. This kind man happened upon what I can only imagine to be tampered post and is bringing it to my attention."

I had failed to place a stamp on the letter when I dropped it back in the box that same day, that is absolutely true. I also hadn't addressed the thing, especially not to anyone as specific as this old man. I'm a terrible liar, as such I haven't told a single one.

"You wrote to this nutter and invited him into my home!"

It would appear that my misdirection has failed. No dinner for me tonight. Then again, I could always go for a Hail Mary. Couldn't really get any worse.

"Sir, I believe I have failed in my responsibility as a British citizen and not taken the time to greet you properly. As you know, I am Harry Potter and it is a pleasure to meet you. I'm afraid I never caught your name."

"That would be because I have yet to give it."

The old man stands serenely, eyes still twinkling with unnatural brightness. I can't tell if he's simply keeping the game going or if he's being a bit cruel for my implying he came from a circus.

"Ah, yes. May I have the pleasure of your name then sir?"

"You, in fact, have it."

Of course, that would make sense in some strange way. Get a letter from a school for wizards and witches, write back a snarky reply and drop it in the box. Naturally it would find its way back to the one who sent it out.

"You must be Minerva McGonagall then. My apologies, you are a touch more bearded than one might expect of the," I pause to consult the letter, "deputy headmistress."

I got him with that one. His eyes widen in surprise and he lets out a long laugh from his belly. Vernon looks close to detonation at this point but something is still holding him back from swinging at anything. The mans laughter subsides after a few more seconds and he wipes an eye.

"Oh my, I had quite forgotten that she had taken over that particular task this year. No no, I am the name at the top."

So Albus Dumbledore, supposed headmaster and many varying outlandish titles, had gotten ahold of my letter. All the better.

"Well then Headmaster, not that this is an admittance of course, but I believe there was a request penciled into the back of the letter which you had mentioned. Would you mind, given the nature of this exceedingly strange letter, proving it?"

The headmaster mulls this over for a second or two before producing a slender length of wood from his sleeve. At this Vernon finally snaps and pinwheels to face the old man. His yell dies in his throat as there's now a full grown lion standing between the two men. It gives off a low rumbling growl as it regards my uncle in much the way he looks at a well done steak. I break the sudden stretch of silence that results.

"Well, I suppose that will suffice. Please, join me in my office Headmaster."

My uncle says not a word as I lead the old man into the shed and let the door snap shut.

The headmaster bumps face first into a wind chime. It's above head level for me so I never think about the thing. I catch the wrench that falls off its hook once more as he bumps backwards into the door while trying to disentangle from the jingling metal. I should probably fix that hook at some point.

"Welcome to my office, please make yourself at home."

The wind chime is caught in him beard and he spends a moment tugging it, only tangling the thing deeper. He gives up after a second and taps the metal with his wand causing the thing to dance free on its own. My eyes move to the bandsaw across from him which coughs up a small spark. Weird.

"Please, have a seat. Do you want tea?"

I take the few steps over to the far wall and start opening the small set of mismatched drawers I've cobbled together. I get through six of them (nuts, bolts, hinges, fuses, sandpaper, razor blades) before the seventh yields a few loose tea bags. Now where did I put that camping stove? The floorboards creak on the other side of the shed, drawing my attention.

"I have some here if you don't mind chamomile."

The headmaster is seated in a plush chintz armchair done up in gold and red. It looks just worn enough to be comfortable. A small round table sits before him, a gleaming silver teapot giving off a drifting trail of steam and a few saucers resting a top. My eyes swim slightly as I notice that they shouldn't fit in the space they occupy but they stubbornly manage it. I pull a chipped stool out from my workspace and plop down in it.

"Chamomile is fine, though I'm fairly certain it's considered rude to bring your own refreshments."

Dumbledore offers me an amused smile and stares about the shed with a curious eye. I help myself to the tea as he takes a minute to gaze about. The place is a mess and I know it. Half finished carvings, gutted machines, bucket after bucket of random stuff I've found in trash cans. He doesn't seem to mind though, eyes dancing over everything that isn't tucked away. He points to something over my shoulder as I'm taking my first sip of tea.

"And what is this?"

A small shape darts passed my ear and claps into the mans hand. I let out a snort as he turns the shape over, regarding it with twinkling eyes.

"It's still wet is what it is."

My latest little project glimmers in his hand. It's decent enough for the work of a couple days. I've never before had the opportunity to carve such detail into anything. The owls that have been hanging about the neighborhood recently have been oddly patient with my watching of them though. Patient enough to give me a crack at carving a pretty accurate miniature of one.

"Marvelous work, simply marvelous! You did this by hand?"

Dumbledore doesn't seem to mind the varnish coming off on his skin in the least. He rolls the wooden figure along his open palm and I see something in its form shiver. I have a moment to wonder about that before the figurine spreads its wings and begins to clumsily hop about. It even chirps and bobs it's head.

"I don't think I made it quite as realistic as that."

"Nonsense, it may as well have been jumping around already!"

The little wooden owl preens a few feathers before fluttering a few inches into the air. I can feel my mouth stretching into a smile as I watch my last few days of work manage a lazy spiral. It lands on my left shoulder and chirps, regarding me with wide wooden eyes. Dudley would be quite jealous if he saw. Though he did smash the last wooden rabbit I made the mistake of showing off.

"Now, I believe you had a few questions?"

A few seems like a very large understatement to me. I've always been a bit too inquisitive, or so Uncle Vernon would tell me. Disassemble two remote controls and you never hear the end of it, I swear. I mostly manage to put the second one back together too. But yes, questions.

"I take it you don't send invitations to every boy and girl on the block to attend a magic school, so I suppose I should ask the obvious first. Why did I receive one? I don't even know any magic tricks, let alone anything like this."

The headmaster peers at me over silver frames with a knowing look.

"Why? You're a wizard of course. And as impressive as it would be if you could pull a rabbit out of a hat no one expects you to do anything quite so spectacular just yet. That's why one goes to school after all. To learn."

"Fair enough point, but how exactly do you know I'm a wizard then?"

At this Dumbledore taps the side of his nose and gives a conspiratorial wink. I arch an eyebrow and gesture blankly with my hands in response. I'm going to need a bit more than that.

"Have you never noticed anything strange happen around you before? Nothing peculiar when you were angry or sad or wanted something very much?"

I frown in thought, letting myself think on it for a minute. Then another. The tiny wooden owl hops up on top of my head and picks at a few strands of hair. It flutters and lands as I shake my head. I've got nothing.

"Nope, can't say that I have. Unless you count the spider incident, but that was perfectly natural I think."

Dumbledore leans forward in his seat in response to that.

"Spider incident?"

"No, nothing I'd think of as magical about that. Don't worry about it."

I clear my throat lightly and refuse to make eye contact. No, that was a very bizarre event, but ultimately natural. As was Aunt Petunias reaction to it. Still won't sit in the same room as a spider when she spots one.

"Any other way you can check that I'm supposed to be going to a magical school? Pull a centuries old sword from a stone or wave a wand or something?"

"I assure you Mr. Potter, there is no need for anything like that. Trust me when I say you are a wizard. Your parents enrolled you the very moment you managed to float a teddy bear to your crib."

Now that was something interesting. Involuntarily my head snapped forward and I lock eyes with the headmaster. My green eyes searching his blue for something. Some kind of lie or joke maybe? I'm not sure.

"My parents?"

"Yes Mr. Potter, your parents. James and Lily were very excited when it happened, they called me rather immediately as I recall. I believe James was less excited the second time when you managed to launch a dirty diaper at his head."

My mouth is suddenly a little dry and the many questions I had intended on asking evaporate. My throat clenches a bit and I have to clear it before I can speak.

"That was my fathers name then? James?"

Across from me the headmaster stills, arm stretched to grab his cup. A flicker of something crosses his eyes so quickly that if I wasn't watching his every move I would have missed it. I smell something heavy and electric in the air for a moment and the shed seems somehow darker, even with the early morning light pouring in through the dusty windows. The cup by his hand rattles on its saucer. The hairs on the back of my neck raise.

"Sir?"

The moment passes like an exhaled breath.

"My apologies Mr. Potter. I shall have to have a talk with your relatives before we depart today."

His tone is tight and short. If I had ever envied the Dursley's, I cant say that I do anymore.

"Yes, your fathers name was James. Last of the Potter family before yourself. Quite the prankster when he was at school. He once blew up three floors worth of toilets. His head of house at the time never quite managed to actually prove that though. You're his spitting image, besides the eyes. You have Lily's eyes."

James Potter, a prankster. Looked just like me besides the eyes. I have my mothers eyes. I drink it in like water.

"What happened to them?"

The headmaster sags into himself at that. He looks old, far older than I had first guessed when I saw him on the lawn. Deep lines run across his brow and there is no twinkle in his eye. His mustache twitches into a frown. He sets his cup back down untouched.

"That is a story you deserve to know, but one which I cannot give in full. There is still much I don't understand about that night. I shall tell tell you what I can."

And he did.

It was not a happy story, though I suppose, I knew that from the start.

It was Halloween, a time of great importance to magic kind. A time of power and change. My parents were in hiding, wrapped up in a war that threatened to boil over into the muggle (what we call non magical) world. A faction of blood purists (those who believe that the magical world is meant only for those born into it) were terrorizing the local population. My parents belonged to the opposite camp.

They had struggled against these terrorist, fought their leader, and escaped several times over. They were now major targets. Thus they went into hiding. It involved a powerful spell, something that would make them impossible to find if you didn't already know where they were. It didn't work.

A select group marched into the home, catching my family by surprise. They fought, as best they could, but were unprepared. This group managed to take out both my parents before they could run or call for help. And that just left me.

If that were all, I would have met the same fate. As it was, something happened. Some backfiring of a spell or some unknown protection kicked in. I was left untouched. My assailant was less fortunate. As was the house. I was found in the smoldering wreckage of my parents home and taken to my relatives. The rest is history.

"So why am I still alive?"

"That, my boy, is the complicated part I can only guess at."

We sit in pregnant silence.

"So what happened to the terrorists?"

"Their leader was defeated that same night. By the hands of another boy oddly enough. It's a bit of a mystery as well, the boy-who-lived. The group fell apart within days."

I have no idea what to make of that. I say as much.

"I have no idea what to make of that."

The headmaster stroke his beard and nods. The wooden owl had fluttered back to him at some point and chirps as he plucks it from his beard.

"I'm sorry I don't have more answers for you."

I give a half hearted shrug. I'm not used to receiving answers anyway. Often enough I have to find them myself in this house. Maybe there's an archive of old newspapers or something. I'll have to look into it.

"S'alright sir. You've given me more answers than most would, even if they all provoke questions."

He drinks the remainder of his tea. I place my cup delicately back on its saucer, mostly untouched. I'm not in the mood for it. I push the stool out from under me with a scrape. His chair simply winks away as he stands. The space it occupied returns to jarring normalcy. I blink a few times as my brain adjusts.

"So, what next?"

Dumbledore taps a bony finger to his beard in thought.

"I suppose, Mr. Potter, that all depends on you. The invitation for your attendance is, of course, still open. If you have other plans.."

"I don't!" The words rush out of me as he reaches the door. I feel myself redden from the outburst. Way to play it cool in front of the powerful wizard. I try again. "Have other plans that is. I accept the invitation."

The man beams at me, eyes shimmering like a pond at noon.

"I don't really know where to go for all these supplies though. Nor do I really have much in the way of money at the moment."

I have a bit saved up, mostly from collecting whatever my relatives forget in the wash. A decent amount from patching up the worst of Dudley's hand me downs and selling them to consignment shops too. It still doesn't sound like enough to buy a wand though. I can only imagine how expensive a magic stick is.

"Ah yes, school shopping. I don't have anything planned for today, it would be nice to stretch my legs and shop around for a bit. I shall take you. As for money, your parents left you an ample amount to cover anything I believe."

The headmaster turns away from me and swings the shed door open while I rub at my eyes. My parents left me money? I've been thinking they went off and died in a car accident leaving me to my relatives this whole time. But they cared enough to set me up at a school and left behind enough for me to go? I don't know what to even think. I sniffle as I step out into the yard.

The lion has gone, off to where I don't know, as is my uncle. I'm not sure if those two things are connected. I stop just short of hoping so.

"Now, I believe I need to have a talk with your family, if there's anything you need to grab I'd recommend doing so. I'm not certain we will be coming back given the address on your letter."

I almost feel ashamed at that. Cupboard under the stairs doesn't sound all too confidence inspiring of my life here. It is a fairly decent assessment however.

"Where will I stay until school starts? It's a whole month away, isn't it?"

"I have a suitable place in mind, worry not."

The headmaster follows me across the yard to the back of the house. The moment I open the door the shouting starts.

"YOU!"

Well I found my uncle.

The man is standing in the door way to the kitchen, face an unhealthy shade of purple, eyes bulging and mustache flecked with spittle. I can't help but notice that he has changed into a different pair of pants. He takes a heavy step towards me.

"Do you think that was funny boy! After all we've done by taking you in?! I always knew you'd bring this freakishness with you someday! Should have tossed you out on your ear the moment you arrived on the porch!"

He makes it half way across the kitchen before a thunderous boom comes from behind me. I can feel the headmaster looming in the doorway just over my shoulder. All the lights in the kitchen flicker. Despite the undercurrent of something buzzing over my skin, the man speaks calmly.

"Mr. Potter, if you wouldn't mind collecting your things, I shall be with you in a moment."

Vernon doesn't make a move as I edge passed him out of the kitchen and into the hall. His face has gone incredibly pale. Aunt Petunia bumps me as she rushes into the kitchen. I stop for a moment to listen at is sure to be a shouting match to end all shouting matches but there isn't a single sound coming from the kitchen besides a low buzzing.

It doesn't take me very long to pack. All of the clothes that I've sewn to fit fill half a backpack. My only decent shoes are already on. I do stuff a few half full note pads and a set of paints in as well. I'll have to grab my hand tools from the shed before I go but that's everything.

I smooth the worn sheet on my cot. I can't help but sit down and look about. Almost eleven years in this tiny room and I could fit all my comforts into a school bag with enough room left over for twice that. I give a little knock against the underside of the stairs. A couple spiders poke out from the cracks and creep down to dance over my knuckles. I'll be taking them with me I think.

I boost up a loose board in the floor and grab a small wad of bills and a pouch of coins. Fat chance I'm leaving that behind. One last look around the room and I step back out into the hall and make my way into the kitchen. The headmaster is waiting for me, my relatives are not.

"All set my boy?"

"Just have to grab something from the shed and I'll be ready."

He nods his accent and I lead him back out into the yard. The house stands behind us looking for all the world like something out of a model neighborhood. It's too clean, the corners are too neat, the dirt doesn't even spill an inch passed the flower beds. Far too normal.

As I gather the handful of well worn hand tools I've gathered from yard sales and bargain bins my little wooden owl flutters down from a shelf to rest on my shoulder. I let it tuck between my collar and my hair, nipping lightly at a few wild strands. A little chunk of strangeness in all this placid normalcy.

The headmaster regards me serenely as I step out of the shed, my pack slung across one shoulder. He holds out a hand, eyes twinkling.

"Now, if you are all set, we shall be off. Much to do my boy, and so much for you to see."

I grab his hand in mine. I'm oddly surprised by how calloused it is.

"How will we be traveling sir? I didn't actually see how you got here in the first place. Is your car out front?"

His smirk holds a bit of strange humor behind it in that moment. I feel my skin prickle and something electric in the air makes my hair stand on end.

"Nothing so simple as that, though I wouldn't mind giving a car a try one of these days. Hold tight Mr. Potter."

I don't have time to ask why before there's a crack of air and the world drops away into a sea of color.