One year later, eleven-and-a-bit-year-old Harry was living at an orphanage in Manitoba.

After the reserve had been shut down, Harry had been sent to a small orphanage on a farm right on the edge of a city.

Harry liked that, because it meant that he still had the wide open space and the nature had he had grown up on on the reserve, but now he wasn't quite in the middle of nowhere anymore, and he could go into the town whenever he wanted to.

At the orphanage, though, there were a lot less people than he was used to, only twenty or so kids and four guardians.

Harry had become quite powerful among the twenty-four people he now lived with, between his quiet confidence, his physical strength, his fearlessness, his leadership abilities, his intelligence, and of course, his well-developed magic.

Harry had soon given up on trying to interact with the orphanage children, most had lived there their entire lives and had never even left the farm, not even to go to the city.

They worshipped Harry for being new and different and so Harry thought of them as mindless goons. He didn't enjoy interacting with the children a lot, so he spent majority of his time alone, listening to music and working on his magic.

By August, when Harry was eleven years old and a bit, he had a wide range of magical talents that he felt made him practically unstoppable.

Not only could he now fly quite effortlessly, he could light up his entire body in different colours and used the different colours to heat or cool himself as needed.

He could turn a breadcrumb into a loaf of bread by "widening" it, as he liked to call it, although really he had no idea what he was doing.

He could also do this with water, turning one drop into an entire glass.

He had found a way to use his levitating powers to control movement of people and animals, as well as fix broken bones or stop windpipes (when hunting, this was very useful).

Not to mention, he could do any or all of these things at the same time.

Right now, Harry was working on making himself invisible.

He had flown up to the roof, staying close to the wall so it looked like he was climbing to anyone who happened to notice him.

Up there, the orphanage building was so tall (it had twenty-seven stories, with one person's room on each floor. Harry's was on the twenty-fourth, which was a real pain when he had to climb all of those stairs to get to his room.) that no one could see him or anything he was doing there, which made it the ideal place to practice magic.

He didn't mind, though, because the twenty fourth flour was the most private. Who wanted to walk up that many stairs just to see him, after all?

The problem was, Harry had been working on invisibility for a few months now, and he could do no more than a few fingers at a time, or occasionally all of his toes.

Invisibility was also extremely draining, so when he had to do his chores after practicing he was so exhausted that he sometimes fainted in the mud.

But Harry didn't care about these problems, he was very hardworking and ambitious and really wanted to turn invisible.

He had a feeling that if he could do this, then he could accomplish almost anything.

He felt like he could be the most powerful person in the entire world - maybe even the universe.

It made his heart beat with excitement. He wasn't quite sure why he liked this feeling of power so much, but he didn't worry about it too much and instead used it to focus his concentration.

So it was there, while practicing on the roof, when the letter came.

Harry had magicked a place in the roof thinner and in his bedroom wall near the vent, so that he could hear almost anything in the entire house.

So even though Madame Agatha was on the first floor, Harry heard her quite well while on the roof, and soon slipped down stairs to see what she wanted.

"Ah, there you are, Harry, I was about to go looking for you," Madame Agatha said. Her voice sounded light, like she was joking, but her face stayed quite serious. No one in the orphanage had ever seen Agatha smile, even though she was really quite friendly and nice.

Madame Agatha held out a letter.

"Here, this came in the mail for you, Harry," Her eyes twinkled. Every other child in the orphanage had gotten at least a few letters, from long-lost relatives or old friends who had been adopted.

Harry was the only one who seemed to have no roots, no family. He had been very happy with this setup, glad that no one knew who he was well enough to send him a letter.

Until now.

With a twinge of fear and also a bit of excitement, Harry took the letter. "Thank you, Madame Agatha," He replied, giving a tiny smile that barely moved his lips.

Madame Agatha puffed out her chest a little at that. Harry also rarely smiled, but he wasn't quite as friendly as Agatha. Still, he was quite adored by all in the orphanage, so getting a smile was a high honor.

Harry had no doubt that rumours would be circulating by dinner.

Harry climbed all twenty-four flights of stairs, went into his room and locked the door. He then picked up his red backpack and pulled out his pocketknife.

Harry looked at the letter. On the front, in bright green cursive, were the words: Harry Potter, 56 Olde Lane, Twenty-fourth Floor, Roome 27.

Harry bit back his surprise. Who had sent him this letter? He didn't recognize the handwriting as anyone's from the orphanage, and he didn't know anyone with such coloured ink.

But who else knew that there were three rooms on the first floor, and therefore the twenty-fourth floor was room 27? And who else would bother with the original spellings of the ancient orphanage, such as Olde, and Roome?

He opened his pocketknife to slit the letter when he heard wheezing and a knock at the door.

"Harry, open up, dear. You've gotten another letter," Harry heard Agatha's muffled voice through the door, sounding almost as surprised as he was.

Harry opened the door to a red-faced, puffing Agatha, who presented the second letter. This one had an old-looking yellow envelope, and looked as though it were going to fall apart any second.

Harry took the envelope, thanked Agatha, and shut and locked the door.

This envelope had a similar enough inscription on it. In dark violet ink, so dark it almost looked indigo as it reflected the light, it read: Harry Potter, 56 Old Lane, M7P6F5, Room 27

Less specific than the crisp, white envelope, but still, Room 27? Harry wondered if this was some sort of joke.

If it was, he swore that he would get his revenge for getting his hopes up with not one, but two letters.

Harry had never gotten a letter before, not before this orphanage either. He couldn't help but be a little bit excited.

Harry decided to open the envelope he had gotten first, first. He took his pocketknife and slit the seam. Inside were two pieces of old, yellowed parchment paper.

Harry was a bit confused, as it was a similar paper to the envelope of the second letter, but he picked up the first page and started to read his first-ever letter.