"Who the heck are you?" The words burst out of my mouth before I could stop them. "And what's a reader?" I asked, gripping the cold grass tightly between my fingers. I shivered slightly. Hopefully I wouldn't be outside long. I missed my warm room.

The old man smiled a gentle smile. "My name is Albus Percival-"

"Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," I finished with him, slightly skeptical. Was this really Dumbledore? He did look kind of like Richard Harris. I looked him up and down once more and shook my head. This was impossible. Whoever was playing this prank on me had almost gotten me good, but I knew this couldn't be real. I reached up and tugged the beard, knowing it would come off. The old man let out a yell as his head jerked forwards with the beard. It wasn't fake, or at least the glue they'd used was super strong. It didn't look like he was wearing any makeup either.

"Alright, if you're Dumbledore, show me your hand. The black one."

Dumbledore pulled his sleeve back, showing a blackened, withered hand - one I could barely see against the black night sky. "I'm sure this is hard to believe, Miss, but if you'll come with me, I'll explain everything and help you get situated in our world." He met my eyes and held out his other hand. I slowly took it, still slightly wary. There was a tugging in my stomach and a loud bang, then we were in a big office.

I saw a phoenix, books, and portraits hanging over the walls. On one level sat a desk, a wardrobe against the wall; the other level held a large open room with shelves surrounding it. I turned back to Dumbledore, who was now sitting at the desk. "Please, come sit." I slowly made my way over and sat down.

"Okay, maybe I'll believe this. But if I did, what does that mean?" I asked.

Dumbledore smiled gently. "Before I answer all that, I need your name. You know mine, but I don't know yours."

"Charlene. But I prefer Charlie."

Dumbledore slowly nodded. "If you don't overly mind, I think I'll address you by your proper name." I sighed. Of course. "Now, Charlene, what's happened is this. If I understand correctly, there is a woman who has written our stories. She knows them, and knows what has happened. Sometimes, however, my world is in danger of going off track. Harry, myself, Voldemort, or other people do things that aren't in accordance with these books.

"Small things don't always matter, so no reader, like yourself, comes. A reader is someone who has read this woman's books and knows what is supposed to happen."

I nodded slightly. He really was mental. Brilliant, but mental.

"When large, important events are in danger of changing, a reader is sent to us. There have been a few different readers, and the latest, it seems, is you, Charlene." He kept talking, but I wasn't quite listening, trying to process what I'd already heard.

"...to Diagon Alley to get you a wand." My head shot up and I looked straight at Dumbledore.

"I get my own wand? Anything else?" I asked.

Dumbledore smiled softly. "You'll get your own robes and books, as well as any supplies you'll need for this year. You'll also have access to the school's owls and brooms to learn how to fly. I'll also be contacting another of the readers and asking them to help you catch up." I slowly nodded. This would be so amazing!

"I expect you to be attentive in all your classes," I winced slightly, "and to stay out of trouble. If I hear you've gotten yourself detention, you'll be in even bigger trouble than before. We need readers available always to help." I nodded, trying to ignore the small knot that had formed in my stomach. This wouldn't just be all fun and games like I'd thought.

"Can we go get everything now? I think I'm ready for that."

Dumbledore nodded and stood. "Luckily the school year hasn't started. In fact, I just had to find Horace to ask him to come back as Potions Master." I tried not to roll my eyes in disgust. I'd never liked Slughorn as a character. I doubted I would like him any more in person. Dumbledore held out a hand. I took it, and we apparated away to Diagon Alley, excitement bubbling in my stomach, along with a few nervous butterflies. What if I wasn't enough for this world? What if I wasn't a witch?