Harry opened up his bindle and produced the single photograph of his parents.

"These are… were my parents," he said quietly. "They were killed in a car crash when I was a very small boy. Before I turned two."

Mister Grimseth took a look at the photo and nodded. "I can tell you take after your father, you're his spitting image. I'm really sorry to hear about their passing, I'm sure they were good folks."

"I wish I got to know them," Harry said wistfully. "All I've known were eight and a half years of torture. My aunt and uncle shoved me in that blasted cupboard under the stairs every single night, and my git of a cousin and his friends teased and mocked me every day. I've had enough… I need to go somewhere where I'm wanted, and not just a bother…"

Mister Grimseth smiled at Harry. "You're welcome to follow us for the time being, until we figure out where you need to be."

"Thank you, sir," Harry replied. "Is your wife here too?"

"She's at her sister's house today," Mister Grimseth replied. "I didn't want to bore the boys so I thought maybe doing some sightseeing would do them some good."

"How long are you staying in London?" Harry asked.

"We're here for another week, then it's back home to the farm," Mister Grimseth replied.

"How long is your wife going to be at your sister's house?" Harry asked.

Mister Grimseth chuckled. "All day, most likely. Maybe until dinner time."

"Do you have your own transportation? A rental car, perhaps?" Harry asked.

Mister Grimseth arched an eyebrow. "I don't, but I suppose I could rent one. Why do you ask?"

Harry looked at Mister Grimseth pleadingly. "I feel… safe with you, and Kellen and Wyatt. I'm not sure how to explain it, but if you could go with me to Little Whinging in Surrey, and demand to take custody away from my aunt and uncle, I would love to be your foster child, of sorts…"

Mister Grimseth took a knee, to look Harry in the eye. "With all due respect, Harry, I've only met you twenty minutes ago. I'm not necessarily opposed to the idea because you look like you've just come back from a battlefield. Your clothes smell terrible, they don't look like they even come close to fitting you, and you probably haven't had a decent meal in a month. I can tell you're in a bit of a pickle, and need all the help you can get. I'll do what I can, I promise."

Mister Grimseth's face softened into a smile. "We can revisit this in a few days, how about that? I need to discuss this with my wife, and I need to positively sure that this will work out. But for now, you're our guest, and I'll make sure you have proper clothes and food. We'll take care of all that today."

Harry beamed. "That's the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me, Mister Grimseth. Thank you."

Mister Grimseth gave Harry a bit of a cockeyed grin. "You don't have to be so formal. You can just call me Mark, if you'd like."

Harry chuckled. "Very well… Mark."

Kellen swore he saw the hint of Harry's lightning-bolt shaped scar beneath his bangs. "Hey, Harry… is that a scar on your forehead? Do you mind if I take a look?"

Harry shook his head and grinned. "I don't mind at all." He pushed aside his bangs to show Kellen.

"Wicked!" Kellen said. "Do you mind… if I touch it? I'm sorry if that's a weird question, but I'm a very tactile person."

"Tactile?" Harry asked.

Mark chuckled. "Kellen's my kid genius. He has a vocabulary that puts many adults to shame. Although his condition has stunted his social capabilities, he more than makes up for it with his intelligence and a heightened sense of touch. The term 'tactile' refers to his sense of touch, it's how he discovers and explores things sometimes."

Kellen gently placed his index and middle fingers on Harry's forehead and ran them across the zeta-shaped scar. "I'm not… hurting you, am I?"

Harry shook his head. "Not at all, Kellen." He then smiled. "Do you like to read, by the way?"

Kellen's face lit up like a hundred watt bulb. "Do I? Harry, it's all I ever do, outside of farm work, of course. You should see my collection! I love adventure films, but science fiction is my favorite genre. I like to say that my volumes truly span from A to Z – Asimov to Zoline!"

Harry smirked. "For an American, you sound a little British… did you know?"

Kellen chuckled. "A lot of people think I'm Canadian because of my Upper Midwestern dialect, but I do use some British terminology, yes. I have a British-born mum - she's ethnically Scottish, but she grew up in Greater London – and whenever I visit Great Britain, I guess the British-ness comes out a bit more. I can't really help that, but I guess it makes me unique."

Mark laughed heartily. "Kellen is the most unique kid I know. He's incredibly smart, he's humble, he works hard, and he's got a heart of gold. I wish he had more friends, but he can't help the fact that he's very introverted and doesn't really understand things that you and I take for granted, like eye contact or personal space. He could be anything he wants – an engineer, a software developer, a mathematics professor… he's my little Einstein." He grinned as he tousled Kellen's shaggy, sandy hair.

"Dad, you always brag on Kellen," Wyatt said with a slight whine in his voice. "Just because he's a straight-A brainiac doesn't mean that I'm not gifted either."

"Oh Wyatt, you're my little Wayne Gretzky," Mark replied. "You have different talents than Kellen. Doesn't mean that you're not smart, but you're definitely a wizard at ice hockey. Very good, in fact. Good enough to earn a Division One scholarship to the University of Minnesota, or North Dakota."

Wyatt beamed. "I play right wing on the junior hockey team," he said proudly. "I led my team in goals scored last season."

Harry smiled. "You sound like a great player, Wyatt." He turned to Kellen. "Do you play anything?"

Kellen shrugged. "Chess," he said softly. "And wrestling if you mean a physical sport, but I'm not very good at ice hockey or basketball or the 'cool kids' sports. I'm too much of a nerd to be a real athlete."

"I can't say I've ever played chess," Harry said rather sadly. "I'd be delighted if you taught me sometime."

Kellen smiled at Harry. "I would love nothing more." His eyes narrowed slightly. "I have a rather… personal question for you, Harry, if you don't mind."

Harry shrugged. "What's up, Kellen?"

Kellen's eyebrows furrowed a little bit, the top of his nose scrunching up as well. "I sense something about you… I can't put my finger on it, but you have some sort of… well, power. I touched that scar of yours and I felt something that I've never felt before, like… you can do things that other people can't. Do you feel that way about yourself too? Does that make sense?"

Harry gave Kellen a look, one that can be best described as "how did you know?" He lowered his voice, to one barely above that of a whisper. "Yeah, I think you can say that. When I get frightened or upset, strange things sometimes happen… I can't really explain it, but yes… I think I know what you mean."

Kellen gave Harry a reassuring smile. "Harry, I do know what you mean. The same thing happened to me once. I once woke up at one o'clock in the morning last fall. I didn't hear, or see, or smell anything, but I sensed something was off. Almost like a sixth sense, of sorts. I woke my dad up and told him that something was going to happen to the barn, and when we went outside, it was fine at that moment, but just a minute or so later it started to catch fire. I'm glad I had that premonition because the damage would have been a lot worse."

Mark placed his hand on Kellen's shoulder. "This young man saved our farm… he has some truly amazing gifts, and I don't know where he got them from."

Harry's jaw dropped. "You mean to tell me, that you don't think Kellen is a freak? I get called that a lot, especially by my awful cousin Dudley."

Mark shook his head. "Of course not. I'm proud of Kellen and his gifts. If you get premonitions like he does, and your relatives don't appreciate that, then that's their problem." His face turned serious.

"Look at me, Harry," Mark said softly. "Gifts or not, you are not a freak. The more I learn about you, the more I feel obligated to protect you. Kellen says that there's something special about you, and that's good enough for me because he has a moral compass like no other. I'll make sure that you never go back to stay with them again. No child deserves that."

Mark smiled. "How old are you, by the way?"

"I just turned ten, not even two weeks ago," Harry replied.

Mark nodded. "Well, happy belated birthday, Harry. Kellen turned ten in February, and Wyatt is going to be eight in October."

Mark then turned to his sons. "How about we treat the birthday boy to some pizza for lunch? And maybe we can get him a proper present at the department store, and perhaps a couple changes of clothes?"

Harry's cheeks turned red. "You really don't have to do that, sir…"

Mark smiled. "It's nothing, Harry. You're our guest, and we'll treat you right. I get the feeling that you don't get treated to pizza or sweets or toys or anything like that very much, so I want you to know what it's like for once. And I won't take 'no' for an answer."

Harry smirked. "Well, if you insist. I haven't had a proper birthday party before… and I haven't had a proper friend before… thank you all for being my friends. It really means a lot to me."