Terry awoke the next morning to the sounds of muted 'oinkings' and curses.

"It wasn't a dream," he said wanting to cry. "I dreamed a giant and an even greasier man came to torment me about my stump... and it wasn't a dream at all!" He exclaimed some more, but who wants to hear that? Exactly.

Terry's quiet sobbing woke up Professor Snape, who, in turn, tried to kill Grudley, thinking it was some beast from the depths of hell. Snape usually tried to kill something every morning. It was a tradition born of habit. It started off with first years and ended with a pig.

"Why do your grandparents own a pig?" he snapped at Terry, but then immediately regretted asking him anything. The pig, sensing that Snape was distracted, attempted to attack him.

"It's their late-life child," Terry began to explain as Snape grappled with Grudley, but stopped when he was given a scathing look.

"Can you move independently without your appendage?" he asked Terry with a grimace, as he stunned the pig with the blunt end of his wand, even though both ends were blunt.

Snape was at his wits' end. He was a potions master, not a garbage collector. He was sick and tired of Albus Dumbledore ordering him around like he was some sort of minion of the Light Lord, even though he was more earth toned. At that point in time, he was completely fed up with the situation at hand, which, of course, was Terry. "If you can't move independently, I'll just toss you into the ocean, and call it a day."

"I can! I can!" Terry said, quickly getting to his feet...er...foot. "Thank you for rescu-"

"Keep quiet, or I'll toss you into the ocean anyway," Snape said, cutting off Terry.

Suddenly there was a loud thumping at the window, and a large crow burst through the glass, squawking like a crazed fiend of a mammal.

"Professor Snape there's a-" Terry began.

"That's it, to the ocean with you," Snape muttered, attempting to grab Terry, but the crow barreled into him, knocking him flat on his robed arse.

"Why is there a crow-" Terry tried again.

"Start him on fire!" Snape yelled, and then realizing what he had just said, sat back in amusement as Terry tried to start the bird on fire. "Look at him go," Snape thought aloud as the boy hobbled around the room after the bird. Finally, Terry managed to throw the black winged creature into the fireplace, and it burst into flames.

"Sir," Terry began, watching the bird pop and sizzle, "What was that bird carrying in its beak?" Snape quickly realized the crow had Terry's Hogwarts supply list, and absentmindedly threw the fiery bird and Terry out the window into the ocean.

"That ought to put out that fire," he mumbled, watching Terry swim for his life in the churning sea.

Then Professor Snape suddenly realized that his Christmas bonus was riding on little Terry's sinking shoulders, so he heaved himself over the window, and rescued Terry from his soggy demise.

"You rescued me aga-" Terry tried to thank Professor Snape.

"Please, shut up," said Professor Snape, swimming for his life and sanity.

When they finally got to shore, Professor Snape collapsed, heaving, onto the sand. Terry looked at him panting, and took the opportunity to speak.

"Thanks for saving me twice!" he said enthusiastically. "I tried to help you swim. I was kicking my leg really hard!" Terry pantomimed swimming, and accidentally kicked sand into Professor Snape's gnarled face.

"One leg never got anyone very far," said Professor Snape when he got his breath, rubbing sand out of his eyes. "We have to go into town. I should make you carry me, you lard sack." The sand was absorbing his grease, and there was a dark stain in the sand around Terry and the ill begotten potions master.

Suddenly, a dozen seagulls swooped down from the sky. One began picking at Snape's robes.

"I'm not even dead, you blasted aviator of the sea!" Snape snarled, shaking his fist at the bird.

"You could have fooled me!" commented a lone bird out of the side of his beak. He had a dangerous gleam in his eye as he flew off with his flock.

"That's it," Snape said. "When animals start trying to scavenge my living flesh, I know I've been in one spot for far too long."

And so they left.

The trip to downtown London was uneventful, unless you count the people staring and pointing at Terry's absent leg. Of course, when a one legged boy is hopping around without crutches, it does cause a stir.

"Here we are!" said Professor Snape, opening a door. "Right then, in you go, and if you just look away from me, I'll-"

But he never finished, because as soon as Terry looked away, Professor Snape apparated back to the Hogwarts grounds, leaving young, one legged Terry alone in a bar. It wasn't the first time it had happened.

He remembered the first time it had occurred. Terry had been seven, and he was being used as bait to pick up spare change by Diddle.

"Help the homeless!" he had cried to passersbys, shaking a tin can, and when that didn't work, he had screamed, "Twenty pounds for my son!"

Eventually, tired of trying to sell or use Terry to make money, he left him in a nearby pub, hoping that nature would take its course.

Terry gazed up at the building Snape had left him in, eyes raking over its shabby appearance. But Terry was used to shabby things so it didn't really matter.

"Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron," cackled an old witch, thrusting a bottle of booze in Terry's direction. Terry took the bottle and tried knocking himself unconscious with it. Just then the door swung open violently, and a staggering silhouette of a man hobbled in through the glaring light. It was a tall blonde haired man with only one leg, and a set of shiny, golden crutches. Terry would have fallen in love instantly if he hadn't known any better. But for the first time in his life he actually knew better, so he instantly felt fatherly love for the one legged man instead.

"You must be Terry!" the man exclaimed, shaking Terry's hand. "I can tell, because of your stump," he said with a wink.

"Wow!" said Terry, eagerly shaking the man's hand. "You're the first person who's ever been nice to me."

"I had a feeling. You have that beaten, downtrodden, one legged look about you. By the way, I am Professor Ray Kettleburn. I teach Care of Magical Creatures in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Dumbledore sent me to find you when he remembered what Snape was really like. Today we'll go to Diagon Alley to purchase your school supplies. Do you have your list?"

Terry nodded and reached his boyish hand into his unfashionable corduroy pant's pocket. He pulled out a soggy, burnt, bitten, and defecated upon piece of paper.

"Why Terry, what happened to your supply list?" asked Professor Kettleburn. Terry leaned against the bar.

"Well, you see… Professor Snape-" Terry began.

"Say no more, Terry, my lad. That man has been burning, wetting, biting, and defecating upon everything within a five mile radius of his presence since before I can remember. Which is this morning. I had a bagel for breakfast. He bit that too. Didn't wet it though, although I did see him with that bucket. I live in a bucket… but more about that later."

Terry nodded knowingly, not really knowing.  "Where are we going first Professor?" he asked.

Professor Kettleburn smiled upon the lad and proclaimed. "We shall hobble over to Gringotts, but anybody who's anyone knows what that is."

And Terry, not wanting to be "no one", just nodded and made up his mind to follow Professor Kettleburn wherever he may lead him.

And so they left.

When they arrived at Gringotts, Professor Kettleburn kept a firm grasp on little Terry as they approached the line to the head goblin. Suddenly they were pushed rudely aside by a drunken giant in a molding mole coat, rats and mice fleeing for their petty insecure lives from the pockets of said coat. This giant, who Terry immediately recognized, was followed by a scared, scrawny looking boy that Terry also recognized as his next door neighbor.

"Hey, Harry!" Terry said excitedly, as his body was crushed by Hagrid's thick, smelly leg.

"I think I stepped on somethin'… I felt somethin' weird in ma knee area," Hagrid said, drawing an imaginary circle in front of Harry, who in turn checked Hagrid's knee just in case.

"I don't see any two legged people down here," Harry said, smiling, rubbing his prominent scar as per usual.

"Good, now let's get yer gold and the Sorcerer's Stone, I mean the Philosopher's Stone, I mean J. K. Rowling's pay check, I mean Lord Voldemort's ultimate goal… the Grocer's Bone. Yah, that'll do ya good." Harry only scratched his scar as they made their way out of the room.
 
Terry, who had heard the whole secret that Hagrid was attempting to harbor, rolled to his good side and Professor Kettleburn pulled him to his…foot.

"That was the man that soiled my sleeping rag," Terry said. "What did he mean by the Sorcerer's Stone and Lord Voldemort?"

"Well Terry, sounds like two legged people business to me." Terry only nodded, but deep inside him something lingered. Whatever it was, it obviously wasn't that important, what with being inside of Terry and all.

So they traveled down to the vaults where Terry kept all of his Canadian money. Terry had never been on such a trip before in his life. It was fast paced, scary, and quite an adventure. Terry wasn't sure if he liked it, or wanted to vomit after having experienced it.

The goblin sneered at his passengers. He hated wizards who didn't know what they were getting into at Gringotts, and he especially hated crippled wizards who didn't know what they were getting into at Gringotts. He had never hated anyone as much as he hated Terry at that moment.

He led the crippled duo into Terry's vault where Professor Kettleburn made an unsettling discovery.

"What the hell is this?" asked Professor Kettleburn picking up a flimsy Canadian coin.

"My parents were Canadian," Terry said, beaming.

"That's nothing to be proud of Terry," Professor Kettleburn frowned at his young charge.  "I don't want to hear garbage like that coming out of your mouth ever again."

"Yes, Sir," Terry said, abashed.

"Besides, these coins really are useless," Professor Kettleburn explained. "I don't know what the exchange rate is. I don't think there is one. Tell you what, I'll just give you some of my money."

They traveled to Professor Kettleburn's vault, and within the well sealed wall were mountains upon mountains of gold. It was enough gold to turn Harry Potter greedy.

"Where did you get all this money?" asked Terry, in wonder and amazement.

"You see," Professor Kettleburn began to explain. "There was a time long ago when I had both legs. Even I have forgotten the story of how I lost my leg or to whom, but the end of the story is that I sued whoever it was, and they had a lot of money."

"My dream is to be just like you," Terry said in awe.

"I'm sorry, Terry. That infamous, evil polar bear has no money. So scratch the suing bit. He only has fish, fish, fish, fish, and fish. Oh yes, he also has fish. Did I mention fish? He has a lot of fish. Fish and hatred. They go hand in hand, or, paw in paw. Terry, I could really go for some fish sticks, with a side order of hate. There's nothing like hot, bubbling hatred in the morning, but of course you already know that, Terry. Didn't that polar bear get your leg in the morning? And eat your parents? That was one angry polar bear, Terry. A lot of hate. And fish."

The shock of losing his appendage was still with Professor Kettleburn, and to this day he will spontaneously carry on long, rambling mantras with himself.

"Who is this polar bear I keep hearing about?" Terry asked in confusion.

"Terry, the time for questions has passed," Professor Kettleburn said.  "Now, to answer your question.  The polar bear you keep hearing about is Lord Pullapart, and he ate your parents and your right leg."

"You mean my parents didn't wander into traffic?" Terry asked, tears leaking out of his blue eyes.

"They did a lot of that, too, so it was only a matter of time," Professor Kettleburn said.  "Damn lie-ins and their crazy protesting ways."

Terry blinked in wonder. Professor Kettleburn seemed to know more about Terry than Terry did. Then again, a lot of people seemed to, or not to. Either way, Terry knew nothing.

As they were about to leave, Terry noticed a brown paper bag in the corner. "What's in there, Professor Kettleburn?" he said, pointing to the bag.

"I don't know. Booze maybe," said Professor Kettleburn. "Oh wait! That's my secret."

"Secret? What secret?" asked Terry.

"Terry, you idiot. If I told you, it wouldn't be my secret boulder, now would it? Oh damn," Professor Kettleburn mumbled.

"Boulder?" Terry asked.

For it was true. Professor Kettleburn was just as bad at keeping secrets as Hagrid was, only with less stench and surly dialect.

"Terry, if I told you about the magical Masochist's Boulder and how Lord Pullapart is seeking it more than a trout in a barrel, then it would cease to be a secret, wouldn't it?"

"But you just-" Terry tried to spit out.

And so they walked back out into Diagon Alley.

"It's due time we get you some robes," Professor Kettleburn said, kicking the paper sack around like a tin can. "It's like spin the bottle but without any kissing," he said, motioning to the sack as it rolled in the gutter. "Because God knows what would happen if any sexuality happened to weave its way into this book."

"God?" Terry asked innocently.

Professor Kettleburn frowned.  "That either."

It was while Terry was at Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions that he got the first break of his young life. Well, the second, if you count that whole leg "breaking off" incident.

Anyway, the big deal in this paragraph is that Terry made a friend. A friend his own age and that wasn't imagined or crippled, unless you count that permanent sneer. Well, maybe "friend" is too strong a word, but, well, you'll see.

"Hi there!" Terry exclaimed as he entered the robe shop. The shop was empty except for a small boy his own age standing on a wooden stool, arms crossed and looking disgruntled, or constipated. He had obviously lunched at the Leaky Cauldron. They don't call it "leaky" for nothing.

The mysterious, constipated, boy looked up as Terry addressed him, face contorting into a look of bemusement at the boy's state of attire.

"I can tell by just looking at your Canadian backwater haircut that I am better than you, and will always, in fact, be better than you," the flaxen haired child responded. "Also, I am probably always going to be better looking than you, easily. I bet you five galleons that I will always be more two legged than you as well. My name is Draco Malfoy, and let me guess, you're one legged."

"You could tell all that by looking at my hair?" Terry asked, hopping up onto his own dressing stool.

"I've stopped caring," Draco replied, gazing at himself longingly in the mirror. Just then Madam Malkin popped into the room with yards of fabric draped over her shoulder.

"Hello there, young Mr. Malfoy," she said with a smile, eyes slowly making their cross eyed way to Terry's one legged form. "I'll just measure…" she began, kneeling down by Terry's absent leg, mouth flailing open, long sweaty tongue rolling out not unlike a red carpet displayed before royalty, or a really well priced freak show. "Christ on a crutch, you have one leg!"

"Shhhh," whispered a conformist religious group, cloaked in the light of God. "There will be no mention of Christ in this story…"

"Or crutches for that matter," added in Terry proudly. Draco accidentally threw a rock at him.

Just then the door swung open and the soft light shifted onto the raven haired boy walking into the shop. A choir of angels sang songs of joy, which immediately ceased as Hagrid threw a large portion of his ice-cream cone skyward, cursing.

Harry smiled as he walked up to the stool Terry was standing on. It reminded Terry of the first time Nonny had taken him to the playground, so she could get some alone time, when a pig tailed little girl had been waving in his general vicinity. He had excitedly waved back, when he realized that she actually waving at a very attractive rock. At least Terry tried to think of it as attractive.

"Hey Harry, remember me? I'm Ter-" Terry tried in vain to finish a sentence.

"Hello," interrupted Draco snidely, "Hogwarts, too?" Harry hopped up onto the stool, unknowingly thrusting Terry to the floor.

"Yes," said Harry. "Did you hear something? Something that sounded like a heavy object falling to the ground?"

"No, not really," said Draco, turning back again to look at himself in the mirror.

Terry brushed himself off, and collected the robes that Madam Malkin dropped in his general area. While he was struggling with the packages, and trying to regain his sense of balance, what with the one leg and all, Hagrid knocked on the window with his huge, greasy elbow, two giant ice-cream cones dripping in his hands.

"That means he can't come in," Harry explained, waving at Hagrid.

Then Professor Kettleburn showed up in the doorway, knocking on the frame with his thrice broken elbow, and pointing at his absent leg apologetically.

"That means he can't come in," Terry explained, but no one was listening, unless you count-

But no one does.

Terry hobbled to the doorway, and Professor Kettleburn used magic to shrink the packages, for convenience sake, though everyone on Diagon Alley knew that Terry would lose them faster that way, even Terry.

"Now it's on to Ollivander's," said Professor Kettleburn, watching Terry from the corner of his eye. "To get your wand."

"I get a wand now?" Terry asked excitedly, as only a one-legged boy could.

"Of course!" said Professor Kettleburn. "Every boy gets a wand, no matter how many legs they have."

"Wow!" Terry breathed, barely containing his excitement. To be included at last! It was a dream come true.

"I'll meet you back here," said Professor Kettleburn. "I have a little surprise for you, that may actually turn out to be a surprise, if I can keep a secret," he babbled inanely.

Terry had already gone inside.

The bell on the door jingled as Terry entered the dusty store.

"Hello?" called a dry voice from the inner reaches of the fire hazard of a shop.

"Hi! I'm here for my wand!" Terry called, with one too many exclamation points.

"A wand, eh?" said Mr. Ollivander, coming to the front of the store. "You know, they say that the wand chooses its owner."

"But…but…that would make me feel special!" said Terry, eyes bright.

"That's right," said Mr. Ollivander. "Which is why I don't think it's going to happen in your case."

"Oh," said Terry. "Why not?"

Mr. Ollivander just looked at him. "Wands can tell how many legs a wizard has, Terry. You can't fool magic. So, tell you what. Just close your eyes, and grab a wand. We'll both hope for the best."

"Okay!" Terry agreed readily.

And that's exactly what Terry did.

"You know," said Mr. Ollivander chuckling as he wrapped up Terry's wand in a box he found just laying around, "I don't think I've ever had someone come into the store that couldn't find a wand that would choose them. You're the first person to choose their own wand, Terry!"

Terry beamed.

"I'll never forget you, Terry. Never, in a million years," Mr. Ollivander told him, smiling at Terry's deformed body.

Terry cried.

"Good-bye now, Terry," Mr. Ollivander said, hobbling back into the store.

Terry left, clutching his glorious prize under his arm. Just as he was leaving the store, like the one-legged person he is, and with no balance whatsoever, he dropped the box and wand onto the ground. Then, being Terry Boot through and through, he tripped over his phantom leg, and fell onto his own box, snapping his brand new wand in half.

"I'll have to get another," Terry said out loud, laughing and getting up.

He walked back into the store, and Mr. Ollivander hobbled back up to the front desk.

"Can I help you, young lad?" he asked.

"Hi again!" Terry said. "I need a new wand!"

"Headed for Hogwarts, eh?" Mr. Ollivander asked.

"Yes!" said Terry, unperturbed. "I still am, Mr. Ollivander. I can't believe I'm already on my second wand."

"Where did you buy your other wand?" Mr. Ollivander asked, as he wrapped a random wand up in a box.

"From you, Mr. Ollivander. Not more than thirty seconds ago! Thirty-one…thirty-two…"

"That's funny…I don't remember you, and I remember everyone who's ever come into my store," Mr. Ollivander pondered.

"You must remember my phantom leg!" Terry exclaimed, trying to hold out the phantom leg, which, as usual, didn't work out for Terry.

"Sorry, I still can't place you," said Mr. Ollivander.

"I'm Terry Boot!" Terry shouted at him.

"Listen here, Jerry, I-" Mr. Ollivander never finished what he was going to say, as he suffered a massive coronary heart attack at that very moment. Terry, not wanting to be found at the scene of the crime, snuck out with his wand in hand.

Luckily, Mr. Ollivander was only joking, as he did that with every customer that made him feel uncomfortable, and with a name like Terry Boot and a phantom leg, you couldn't feel more uncomfortable, even if you were one-legged yourself.

Just then Professor Kettleburn appeared at Terry's side, clutching a small cage in his pan-like hands.

"So, how did it go, Terry?" asked Professor Kettleburn, twirling the fine hairs of his blond goatee.

"Well, actually, we should probably go back or call the fire brigade because-" Terry tried to inform Professor Kettleburn.

"Never mind that, my boy, you and your childhood fantasies," Professor Kettleburn said fondly. "I have a present for you!"

Terry's eyes misted over, and he actually began to sob.

"No one ever gave me a present before!" Terry said, clutching at his sides.

"Don't overexcite yourself, it most likely won't happen again. At any rate," Professor Kettleburn said, thrusting the cage at Terry, nearly knocking him into Knockturn Alley.

"What is it?" Terry asked, shaking the cage, only to be rewarded by a long sharp meow.

Professor Kettleburn chuckled, and said, "Why don't you open it? Curiosity did kill the cat." He laughed at his own cleverness.

"Are you saying I am going to die?" Terry asked worriedly, eyes opened wide.

"No, I just meant…wait… I guess I did say that. Let's see what happens. Open the cage!" Professor Kettleburn urged Terry.

Terry shrunk back, holding the cage away from him and unlatching it carefully. Large glowing eyes shone from within, and out flew a small black cat, immediately digging its claws into Terry's worn and tattered jumper.

"Hey look, he likes you," Professor Kettleburn said, as the cat urinated on all of Terry's packages.

"This is nice and all," Terry began, trying to tear the cat's claws from the flesh of his jugular, "but I am allergic to…ah…ah…choo!" Terry sneezed all over the cat, which set off a chain of events too detailed to explain with mere words. Or maybe we're just lazy. Professor Kettleburn, immediately sensing the problem, cast a complicated spell which allowed Terry to breathe properly in the cat's presence. However, it didn't stop that crazy aforementioned chain of events that happened, that we won't be talking about.

Anyway, Terry ended up with his stump stuck in the muffler of a magical car and Hagrid's ice-cream cones down his pants. The cat, which Terry was apt to name "Gouger" was running frantically around inside Hagrid's mole coat, trying in vain to capture one of the many mice that lived within.

With another sneeze in the direction of Harry Potter, this one caused by smog from the muffler, Terry fell into the gutter. It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last that he sat in the stink of the Wizarding society.

Harry wiped off his glasses and stepped over Terry, not even realizing he was there. Hagrid, on the other hand, was in a heated argument with Professor Kettleburn over the cat attack. Suddenly, as the cat jumped out of his coat, Hagrid forgot that the situation had even happened, and walked all over Professor Kettleburn, who fell into the gutter with Terry.

"This is a familiar stench," Professor Kettleburn said, bemused, and shaking his stump.

"Yes, yes it is," Terry replied, feeling dirtier than usual.

When they had finally rubbed the excrement from their persons, they headed for Kings Cross Station.

"In all seriousness, Terry, I kind of forgot about you. I was supposed to get you about two days ago, but then I got distracted by this mound of dirt outside my cabin. No, no, Terry, don't look like that. It's a Class A type of mound. Really good dirt! Really good form!" Professor Kettleburn droned on.

"I live in dirt," Terry told Professor Kettleburn.

"Of course you do, Terry!" he replied, clapping him on the back. "It does you good! Makes you a real man, and all that."

Terry didn't really understand Professor Kettleburn's reasoning all the time, but he did know that he liked the way Professor Kettleburn lead him helter skelter all through the Wizarding world.

When they arrived back at Terry's grandparent's house, Professor Kettleburn handed Terry a ticket, and told him that he'd see him later at Hogwarts. Terry looked down at his ticket with curiosity.

"But Professor Kettleburn," he began. "This is a ticket for admission to 'Wonderful Witches Gentlemen's Club' in Hogsmeade! What's a gentlemen's club?"

But Professor Kettleburn had already gone.