Summer afternoons on Privet Drive were typically calm, quiet affairs. The heat of the day drove everyone indoors, seeking what little relief they could find. There was not a soul to be seen. A notable exception to this observation was one skinny, scruffy-looking teenage kid of about sixteen making his way down the street. His piercing green eyes were fixed resolutely on the ground in front of him, his brow furrowed in thought. His messy black hair was sticking up in all directions, the strands near his forehead drenched in sweat. The boy's round glasses partially hid his face, and his clothes, quite obviously several sizes too large for him, hung off his thin frame, his figure obscured by the copious amounts of fabric. Over one shoulder hung a worn-looking navy blue backpack, which even from a distance, looked quite heavy. The only intriguing thing about this boy was the abnormally-shaped lightning scar on his forehead.

The boy made his way slowly down the street, taking his time returning to his house. He had no delusions of being warmly welcomed by his "family", if they could be called such, and was keen to hold on to his freedom for as long as possible. Upon reaching the property, he opened the gate of the white picket fence, striding through it without a thought. He crossed to the door, letting the gate bang shut behind him. Taking a breath, as though steeling himself, he then stepped over the threshold into the house.

"Where have you been?!" came a familiar screech from the kitchen doorway. The boy just shrugged at the woman, his eyes still on the floor, not deigning to answer her. The horse-faced woman glared at him. "Just get in here and finish fixing supper! Vernon and I have a special event to attend tonight at 20:00 and we cannot be late!"

The boy blinked. "Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said dully, setting down his bag by the door. Aunt Petunia scowled at the tone she imagined he used, but for once, didn't comment. The boy quickly got to work washing vegetables and peeling potatoes while a roast cooked in the oven, ostensibly put there by his aunt. As he worked, he let his mind wander, relishing in the familiarity of cooking to allow his consciousness to be elsewhere.

In truth, the reason he'd been late coming home was that he'd made a stop at the city library on his way from work, something he did quite frequently. His relatives expected him to always get lower marks than his cousin, Dudley, which was in fact quite difficult because Dudley rarely did his homework and subsequently did rather poorly on exams, but their vicious treatment could not curb his curiosity. He had still been quite young when he'd gotten himself a library card and began surreptitiously bringing home as many books as he could get his hands on. He loved all kinds; stories, non-fiction, poetry, things about the world and its cultures and people, fantasy novels, do-it-yourself books…anything would do. Currently, his mind was occupied with the story he'd been reading at the library, a novel depicting a saga of dragons and elves, magic, and an ordinary boy who would become king of a war-torn land. He admired this boy's courage to leave his home and his familiar surroundings, such as they were, and make a journey to other lands. The black-haired boy knew his own home life was wretched, but he also knew he had nowhere else to go, so he simply made do with what he had. He had been so engrossed in the fictional world, he'd lost track of time, much to his chagrin.

Just as the boy was finishing up steaming the vegetables, Uncle Vernon made his appearance, Aunt Petunia on his heels.

"So…still here, are you, boy?" Vernon grumbled, his large frame filling the doorway. The boy, having heard his uncle say this many times and knowing he would likely be in hot water no matter what answer he gave, said nothing. Vernon glared. "Answer me, boy! And why isn't supper ready yet? We have to be going soon!"

"Yes, sir," the boy said lightly, his tightened jaw the only indicator that he was bothered by his uncle's speech. "Supper should be ready in about ten minutes."

Uncle Vernon shook his head. "Just set the table, boy, and be quick about it!" He turned on his heel and lumbered towards the television set in the living room, flipping it on.

The boy nodded silently and busied himself with the plates and utensils, setting three places. His cousin rarely ate at home with the family during the summer, preferring to be out with his little gang of bullies and rabble-rousers until he felt like coming home. Petunia and Vernon, who were extraordinarily stupid about their son, allowed him to do, essentially, whatever he pleased, not bothering with trivialities like curfews for their "precious Diddums".

As the raven-haired boy set out the meal a few minutes later, Vernon and Petunia sat down to eat. The boy, preferring to keep some distance between himself and his relatives, busied himself whipping up some sweet bread for dessert while they ate. Uncle Vernon was reading the post while Petunia chattered about the neighbors. The boy tuned them out, mind once again on the story as he expertly stirred the ingredients together. He was shaken out of his reverie by the sound of his uncle's voice.

"You, boy!" He commanded, holding up a letter that the boy could not read from his current distance. "When were you going to inform us of this? And who gave you permission?" The boy's eyes narrowed as he set down his mixing bowl on the kitchen counter, making his way to his uncle's side to take the paper from his hand, which was printed with the logo of a local bank.

Dear Mister Harry Potter,

This letter is to inform you that your account with Barclay's Bank is authorized. Your current balance is 1250 pounds. If you have any further questions please call the number below.

Sincerely…

The letter concluded with the name someone on the bank's staff, and included the account number and phone number for questions. The boy, Harry Potter, looked up once again to see his aunt and uncle still glaring at him. He mentally cursed his inattention. He had intended to make sure he was the one to pick up the post so as to keep this from his relatives, but now he would need to smooth things over. He'd wanted to save his earnings from his summer job this year so he might have a chance of attending university in a few years. In the past, his wages had gone directly to his uncle. He knew it was unlikely his uncle would ever give him a pound, let alone pay so he could get a university degree. In fact, he wouldn't put it past them to throw him out on the street as soon as he came of age with only the clothes on his back. He turned his attention to the matter at hand.

"It must be a mistake," he said smoothly, willing his uncle and aunt to believe him with all his strength. "Where would I have gotten a bank account?" By some miracle, it seemed to have worked, because the two adults' faces became suddenly unconcerned, turning back to their meal. Harry's eyes widened almost imperceptibly before he quickly stuffed the letter into his pocket, taking up his mixing bowl again and continuing with his work. He subtly observed his relatives as he did so, his mind whirling.

This wasn't the first time something odd had happened around Harry Potter. He could remember several times when something had happened that he could not explain- a disappearing piece of glass at the zoo and a snake that could speak, his hair growing out overnight after his aunt had shaved it all off, and the day he'd somehow appeared out of nowhere on top of the school while being chased by Dudley, just to name a few. He had been in a significant amount of trouble each time something like this happened, so he'd learned to keep such strange instances to himself. He'd noted a few times that owls had followed him all day from a distance as he wandered the streets on his way to school or work, which was odd in and of itself as he was certain that owls were supposed to be nocturnal creatures. He had quite a few times where he heard sharp bangs in his vicinity, and felt that people were following him, but he never saw anyone.

Beginning when he'd reached his tenth birthday, he'd noted there were more things going on that he was sure weren't supposed to be able to happen, like that vegetable he'd needed from across the kitchen suddenly appearing next to him, or his broken glasses suddenly being fixed after Dudley had broken them one day. He'd even begun to be able to will some of those things to happen intentionally, like lights flipping on at a thought or summoning a book from his desk. But he'd never been able to alter his relatives' moods or be able to get away with a lie that lame before. It made him feel like some kind of Jedi. "These are not the droids you're looking for," he thought humorously as he slid his sweet bread into the oven, a smirk playing on his lips.

When his aunt and uncle had finished their dinner and removed themselves from the table, Petunia turned to her nephew, eyeing him as he dutifully moved to dish himself a plate and clear away the leftovers.

"There's a list of chores for you to do once you finish," she said brusquely, pointing to a piece of paper taped to the fridge. "I expect them to all be completed before we return. When you finish, go up to your room and stay there. You are-"

"Not allowed food, to touch the television, or to go out. I know," he finished in a monotone as Petunia scowled at his interruption.

"Good," she said, turning on her heel and leaving the room. Harry grabbed the paper off the fridge, scanning his list. Essentially, he was expected to clean the kitchen and do all the yard work before nightfall. This only gave him a few hours to complete his tasks. He sighed heavily, tucking into his food.

It was several more hours before he could wearily climb the stairs to his room. He was sorely tempted to just collapse onto his bed, but he was sweaty and sore and definitely needed a shower. Collecting his pajamas, he shuffled slowly to the bathroom and turned on the spray, letting the water run over his aching shoulders. He closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling and letting himself relax. His solitude was suddenly interrupted by a banging on the door.

"Potter, hurry up!" his cousin's voice sounded from outside. Harry sighed. So much for relaxing.

"Hold on," he called back, washing quickly and shutting off the water. He hurriedly dried himself and threw on his shorts and t-shirt before exiting the bathroom. He found his blond and bulky cousin waiting for him in the hall, holding his own bundle of clothing. Dudley said nothing, but bumped Harry's shoulder roughly as he passed. Harry rolled his eyes, heading back down to the foyer to grab his backpack and books. Re-ascending the stairs, he dropped the bag just inside the door to his room, heavily flopping on his bed once he'd retrieved his book. He knew he'd need to get up on time to make breakfast for his family in the morning or risk Aunt Petunia's wrath. As much as he wanted to lose himself in the mystical world of the story, he placed the book gently on the desk and turned out the light. There would be time to read later.

Seven AM rolled around much too quickly for Harry. His sleep had been filled with strange dreams, as it often was, of an evil-looking figure in a black hooded cloak with his face obscured, a flying motorcycle, an old man with a long white beard who reminded him of Gandalf the White (if Gandalf had worn half-moon spectacles), or maybe Merlin, and a brilliant flash of green light accompanied by a woman's screams. The boy peered blearily at his alarm clock as he reached for his glasses, running his other hand through his messy hair as he sat up. He knew he had only minutes before Aunt Petunia would be at his door demanding he make breakfast, so he slowly pulled out his clothes and dressed. He opened his door to find Petunia, her hair in rollers, hand raised to bang on his door, and a look of surprise crossing her features. He rarely made it out of his room before she summoned him. This particular morning, though, he hoped he could sneak a few minutes to read on his way to work, so he had a motivator to get up and going for the day.

"Vernon wants steak and eggs for breakfast," Petunia ordered as Harry slid past her and made his way down the stairs. He made a gesture to show he had heard while he continued on his way. "Don't burn the eggs this time," she called after him as he reached the main level.

He set to work, pulling out his ingredients and, after checking to make sure he was alone, pointed a finger at the stovetop to light the burners from across the room as he pulled tomatoes and juice from the fridge. The stove flared to life. He grinned happily. He wasn't sure how he was able to do things like this, since everything he'd learned and read about science said it should be impossible, but it never failed to boost his spirits when he had the chance to practice. As often as his aunt and uncle told him he was a burden or worthless or freakish, it brightened his outlook on life to know he could do something that should only exist in fiction.

In no time at all, breakfast was ready. Harry forwent breakfast, snagging an apple from the fridge as his "family" sat down at the table, not wanting to spend more time at home than necessary. He headed out the door, slinging his bag over his shoulder. About halfway through his walk to the carpenter's shop where he worked, there was a municipal park with a few benches. Harry had escaped here on his way to and from his job or school many times, knowing the path well as he wound his way through the mature trees to a bench half-hidden behind an oak. Digging out his book, he was just making himself comfortable when something caught his eye- a slight shimmer just in the corner of his vision.

Turning so fast that he pulled a muscle in his neck, he focused on the place he thought he'd seen movement. There wasn't anything there. He slowly scanned the area again, but was distracted from his mission by another shimmer from the same location as before. This time, he could sort of make out an outline of a person…someone moving about almost invisible. The person was taller than he was, but that was about all he could tell.

Harry's heart was hammering in his chest, his mind spinning as he tried to make sense of what he was seeing. How was it possible for someone to be invisible? There wasn't any technology that he knew of that was able to do what he was currently witnessing. Did that mean...was it possible… that there were others like him? Others who could make things happen that shouldn't- couldn't- be possible?

If that was the case, why would this person, whoever they were, be near him? Were they looking for him? Were they friendly, or should he be running for his life right now? He couldn't be sure since the person was practically invisible, but it was almost like the person couldn't see him. They were moving about on the periphery of where he was, almost like he, Harry, was inside a bubble. The person was walking a few paces in one direction and then turning and retracing their steps.

"Who...who are you?" Harry whispered, but the person didn't look up. Well, at least, Harry thought they didn't. It was difficult to tell. They didn't pause in their pacing, at any rate, continuing their path back and forth. Was it possible that this person couldn't actually see or hear him?

Harry watched the person's progress for some minutes, his muscles taut as he followed the figure with his eyes. His survival instincts were telling him to stay put, to not move an inch, but another part of him was insanely curious. He had thought that maybe he was some sort of freak- Dudley called him that on a regular basis, after all- the only one who was different. But now...now part of him wanted to grab that person, whoever they were, and force them to answer his questions.

Before he could decide what he should do, the person stopped pacing abruptly, then the shimmer disappeared into thin air. When he was relatively sure he was once again alone, Harry slowly began to relax, forcing his tight shoulders to release the tension they held. What had all that been about? Was there someone else with powers like his? Evidence was pointing to a definite "yes". Was there more than just the two of them? Why hadn't they spoken to him? Why were they invisible? Would they help him, or hurt him?

With all these questions swirling in his head, he jumped when his watch beeped a warning.

"Crap," he muttered, jumping to his feet and packing away his book. He had just barely enough time to make it to work. Slinging his bag back over his shoulder, he raced away down the street, glancing back over his shoulder briefly as he ran. He wondered if he would ever get the chance to find out.

Many miles away, an old man with a long white beard and half-moon glasses paced his office in one tower of a castle. He seemed to be waiting for something. Behind him on a golden perch, a fire-colored bird trilled happily, it's red and gold plumage splayed out behind it.

"Fawkes," the old man murmured, pausing to stroke the bird's soft crown as it let out a sound that almost mimicked a purr. The old man gave a small smile. "What are you so happy about, my friend?" he asked, slightly amused. Fawkes made no reply, but continued to trill a joyful song. Suddenly, the fireplace glowed, green fire spewing up from the grate. The next instant, a man stood there, the green fire disappearing as quickly as it had come.

The newcomer was a tall man with longish black hair and a large, hooked nose. He was wearing a sweeping black robe and cloak. His shrewd obsidian eyes glinted in the lamplight as he surveyed the old man.

"Severus? What news?" the old man asked calmly. The younger man fought to keep his expression blank, but his mentor could see him hiding a sneer.

"It is as Arthur reported, Albus," Severus replied. "I could neither see nor hear the boy, but I am certain he was there. The wards are quite extensive, and very powerful." He looked at Albus thoughtfully. "You are sure those wards were placed by Potter himself? How can that be? He has never had any magical training!"

Albus nodded solemnly. "As sure as I can be. I have visited myself, and have found the same as you and Arthur," the old man revealed. Severus looked incensed.

"Then why, pray tell, did you send us? If even you can't break through the wards…" he trailed off, raising an eyebrow. Albus's eyes twinkled.

"Come now, Severus, I do not pretend to be an expert at everything," he said dryly. "In any case, I thought it prudent to get a second and third opinion." Albus continued to pace as he spoke. "I visited Surrey when it became apparent that Harry would not be joining us at Hogwarts his first year because none of the letters could get to him. It soon became obvious to me that the wards surrounding the boy are practically unbreakable by anyone other than Harry himself. Even his relatives' house has seemingly vanished while he is there, though it seems the Muggles who live in the neighborhood and the postman can still get there somehow..." Albus sighed. "In the end, I felt it was best to leave the boy where he was. While not an ideal situation, he would be safe there. Voldemort himself wouldn't be able to find him if he tried," he added, ignoring the younger man's wince at the name. "I have had Arthur checking up on him now and again, or attempting to, just to be sure. Now, though, circumstances have spurred me forward." Severus nodded reluctantly.

"According to that prophesy, he will be needed," he said, scowling. "The Dark Lord will soon begin to move openly against us; his plans are complex, but his main objective will be to take down Potter, once he gets wind that the boy still lives."

Albus stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Ah, yes. Harry does have that advantage." His mind wandered to how the entire Wizarding World had easily believed that Harry Potter had died somehow when he failed to return for school, a rumor that Albus Dumbledore himself had (discreetly) encouraged. "However, I do not believe Voldemort to be gullible enough to fall for that. It is only a matter of time before Harry is found by the wrong people. We need to train him, and quickly, before it is too late."

Severus' scowl deepened. "There seems to be few ways of doing that, seeing as we can neither see nor hear him, nor get letters to him by owl post. We can't be sure he will come unless we talk to him in person."

Albus' eyes twinkled. "Ah, but he could likely see and hear us, provided we go about this the right way." He looked over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "Tell me, Severus, exactly how did things go when you checked up on the boy?"

If Severus was confused his face didn't show it. "As in...what spells did I use?" Albus nodded.

"Could Harry see or hear you, provided he was paying attention?"

Severus nodded back. "I believe so. I disillusioned myself and placed a silencing charm. But if Potter had the presence of mind to pay enough attention, he probably saw me. I was moving around and not hiding myself, other than with the disillusionment charm. As we discussed, I was unable to see his reactions."

Albus smiled. "Then you have already planted the seeds necessary." Severus eyed his mentor warily.

"Even if we do find a way to get through to Potter, what makes you think he'll be able to defend himself against the Dark Lord? He is miles behind all the other students his age! He hasn't even learned a basic shield charm, let alone how to duel!" Albus merely looked at him, raising an eyebrow.

"Severus, if that boy can create wards so powerful that not even Voldemort nor I can get through them, I think this becomes a moot point. He will be able to do it, you'll see." Snape looked skeptical, but then appeared to have another thought.

"Albus, if what I remember about Petunia is still accurate, it is likely that Potter has no idea the magical world even exists. Otherwise, he probably would have come to us long ago. We have no idea if Petunia has poisoned him against magic entirely, or possibly kept him in the dark about it. Hell, he may not even know much about his own parents. Lily and Petunia never made up, as far as I am aware. We will have to tread carefully."

Albus nodded, and Fawkes let out a reassuring song. "Of course we shall, my friend. Harry must come to us, and of his own volition. Now, here's what we're going to do…"