Harry blinked as if the thought hadn't occurred to him, then quickly tore open the letter. An old fashioned piece of parchment fell out. Harry picked it up and read aloud.

"Dear Mr. Potter,"

"This letter has been waiting to finally be in your hands. You are special Harry, you are a wizard," Cristina snorted.

"About fourteen years ago you were born, and a few months before that your biological brother. Destiny had plans for the two of you, for a little over a year later, your home was attacked. A powerful, dark wizard, Lord Voldermort, broke into your home, knocked out your parents, and cast the killing curse on your brother. Despite there being no known block of this curse, it rebounded off of him, leaving a distinguished magical mark upon his forehead, and shot back to the Dark Lord, ridding him of his body. The escaping magic tore the room apart, which resulted in a piece of wood hitting your head, leaving an oddly shaped scar."

Harry stopped and traced the lightening shaped scar on his forehead that was partly hidden by his fringe.

"Your parents needed to focus as much attention as they could on your brother, who is now a hero in our world. You were sent to live with your aunt and uncle. You were to be brought back into our world once you reached eleven, the age requirement of the wizarding school, Hogwarts, which you will soon attend. However, our plans were dashed when you were abandoned at an orphanage and it was reported that you ran away. We've just recently found you. Enclosed with this letter is your acceptance letter to Hogwarts. As you opened this wards were triggered, tomorrow we will send a professor to help you prepare."

"Sincerely, Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts, Order of Merlin, yadda, yadda, yadda..." Harry handed the letter to his sister, who was staring at him blankly.

He coughed nervously, "That was...rather blunt."

"Yeah."

Harry fiddled with the edge of his black and gold jersey, "Look, this guy is obviously crazy, but I think he knew who I was. It's confusing the hell out of me." He sighed. "Is there any way to get a look at those adoption papers?"

Cristina thought for a moment, twisting the ends of her black hair. She suddenly stood and walked into the entrance hallway. She came back with her keys.

"I remember the orphanage we found you in. Saint Mary's, in Surrey." She tossed him the keys which he easily snatched out of the air. "I'll even let you drive."

According to his mother, Dudley Dursely was a growing boy. Perhaps a bit big boned, but the baby fat that covered his body would soon drift off with her Diddykum's manhood. However, if you were to ask anyone else about the teen you would get slightly different remarks:

"He bleeds bacon grease."

"His belly button must have an echo."

And, of course, the ever popular: "Ew! You mean that tub of lard?"

Dudley paid these 'little freaks' no mind, however, and went about his life as he wanted. Despite his large weight, Dudley was a championship boxer. He practiced daily on the kids in his neighborhood and on weekends would occasionally even have his mum drive him to the gym. Her and his dad's pride was continuously swelling and in a fit of inspiration they decided that a formal picture of their son was needed as he reached his maturity.

Which is why we find Dudley Dursely walking down the street, to where he would meet the photographer and his parents at the small studio in the local grocer. His thin, blond hair was flat against his head, his feet were stuffed into brown loafers, and his chunky body was encased in a brand new plaid, yellow and red suit.

He stopped at the curb, across from the store and followed behind the crossing crowd. Halfway across the road his foot fell on something soft and a plastic crinkle reached his ear.

'Could it be?'

His six chins jiggled as he looked down. He slowly lifted his foot to reveal a plastic wrapper surrounding the remains of golden brown bread and a white cream.

"A Twinkie!"

He reached down, oblivious to the fast approaching silver Lexus. It wasn't until it was too late that he realized that he could have simply bought a whole case of Twinkies in the grocery store.

Harry gripped the wheel as he side bumped into the large object occupying the street.

'Who leaves furniture in the middle of the road like that?'

Cristina looked up from her bare feet, which were resting on the dashboard as she painted her toenails. "Did you just hit something?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you just hit something?"

"When?"

"Just now," she huffed.

"Right now?"

"Harry!"

He sighed, "I'm sure I didn't scratch the car."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

She gave him a suspicious glare, "It better not have." The young women resumed painting. "What was it, anyway?"

Harry looked into the rear view mirror where the object could still be seen. "It looks like a living chair." He made out the red and yellow fabric. "It's pretty tacky, though. I did someone favor."

"Good job," Cristina mumbled absently.

The siblings fell silent as they continued down the road. Harry glanced at the map laid out between them and tensed up as he realized they were nearly there. He still wasn't sure why they were going.

Despite what most people would think, he never really thought about his birth parents. He was adopted when he was almost two years old so he didn't have any memories of his first family. And, except for a few moments when he was younger and had gotten in trouble and was wishing to run away to live with them, he never wanted to make any.

Harry glanced at Cristina who had finished with her toe nails and was reading a magazine.

He had always been happy with his family. From what he could remember, their mum was a wonderful women who died painlessly in a wayward liposuction procedure when he was seven.

Although his father was always on 'business' trips with his secretaries he wasn't a bad guy. Not the best father figure, of course, but a pretty cool guy.

Cristina had always been a good sister, laidback and nice.

He turned the corner, the car moving smoothly underneath him. And, although it wasn't the most important thing, there was the money. If Harry desired it he could easily live off of his father's money like Cristina did for a good chunk of his life. They'd always been comfortable. Jeffery Brown the third owned a successful insurance agency in the Kensington area. Harry's father was serious about his work, even taking his vacation time to sail to Spain with his secretary ('Kristy,' Harry thought this one's name was) to work on a 'very important' deal, which left Harry spending the rest of his summer with his sis-

"YO, I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want! So tell me what you want, want you really really want. I'll tell ya-"

"Cristina!" Harry reached over a smacked the radio, causing the tape to stop. Cristina's mouth shut and she looked at Harry curiously.

"What?"

"Do you mind?"

"Mind what?"

'I was having a self discovering inner monologue'

He sighed, "I'm trying to drive, here."

"Well it's my car, I can listen to what I want."

"But I'm driving it. Radio is driver's choice."

"No, it's owner's choice."

"You don't even own this car. Dad does."

"But he gave it to me," she grinned and pointed to herself.

"Fine," Harry groaned.

"Would it make you feel better if I let you sing with me?"

"..."

"..."

"...I'll pass," he mumbled.

She patted his arm. "Alright then." She played the tape again.

"Yo, I'll tell you what I want what I really really want!"

"So tell me what you want, what you really really want."

"I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want!"

"So tell me what you want, what you really really want."

"I wanna-huh-I wanna-huh-I-"

The red bricks of the Saint Mary's Orphanage loomed ahead.

"Really really really wanna zigazig ahhh!"

Harry stuffed his hands into his pockets as he nervously shuffled from foot to foot. Getting into the orphanage had been eerily easy. The gates were unlocked, no one was in the front yard, and the large, old front doors were ajar. He and his sister had walked in without any interference and now they were standing in a hall, watching the chaos.

Harry ducked as a plate soared toward his head, obviously being used like a frisbee. Just as it shattered on the door behind him both he and Cristina jumped to side, avoiding a mattress that had slid down the stairs carrying three young boys, who jumped off as they stopped sliding and began to push it back up. Harry eyes went from them to a little girl who was standing on the banister.

"Whoa!" he pointed to the girl's hands, which had an end of the bedsheets behind her in each. "That does not work," he warned walking forward until he was below her, skirting around the running kids. "Just walk away."

The girl shrugged and hopped back to the landing, throwing the bed sheet over the rails in the process. Harry sighed in relief as he turned back around, only to be tripped by two girls around eight fighting over a jump rope. He fell on the side of his face, hitting the his right eye. He groaned and turned over onto his back, just to have his vision obscured by whiteness.

'Did I just die?'

"Harry, are you alright?"

Harry shook his head causing the sheet to fall off of half of his face. Cristina was leaned over him, staring curiously.

"I'm just peachy."

She reached down and grasped his hand, preparing to pull him up when a biker gang of toddlers on tricycles went speeding around the corner behind her.

"Look out!"

Harry's warning came too late, however, and the handle of one of the bikes hit the back of her knee causing it to fall forward and into Harry's stomach.

"Oof!"

Both laid there on the ground, slightly scared of getting back up. Half of Harry's vision was still white...and was that...yellow?

"Ugh!" His torso shot up, throwing the sheet from him to Cristina. Her arm waved about in surprise, managing to hit Harry in the same eye he fell on.

"Ow!"

"Sorry!"

"May I help you?"

Both looked up to see the hall devoid of children and a nun standing above them.

"Oh, thank God," Cristina groaned.

Harry shot her a look and got up, pushing her knee off of his stomach.

"Whose in charge here?"

"Why, Mr. Jensen is, of course. Are you looking to adopt?"

His eyes widened, "I'm fourteen."

"What about your lady over there?" she asked pointing to the slowly rising Cristina.

"That's my sister! She's twenty," he stammered. "That's my sister..."

She shrugged, "Well, only God can judge your relationship, I suppose."

"But-"

"Come along, Mr. Jensen's office is this way."

The siblings followed cautiously, but none of the children seemed to be around, though they could here the occasional shout or laugh from elsewhere in the building. They soon stopped at a door in the back.

"He's right inside. I hope you find someone to your liking."

"We're not a-" Harry sighed as the eccentric women turned the corner. He turned to door and wrapped his hand around the rusted door knob. He looked at his sister.

"Are you sure I should..."

"Go on, Harry. I'll be right behind you."

He nodded and walked in.