𝐀 𝐑𝐢𝐝𝐝𝐥𝐞

Chapter 1: Wizarding World

The orphanage was a barren and desolate place. At least it was in my opinion. It was always eerily quiet and everything was gray. The only thing that gave me any comfort or peace was books.

The orphanage library wasn't large and I, in a matter of days, read every single book. I got bored easily and never had any friends so I had to raise money to by the novels.

"Excuse me," I would say to other neighbors. "My school is trying to raise money for a class field trip and we'd really appreciate a humble donation."

Of course I was lying. It was one thing I found I excelled at. It was a cliche, but brilliant method. The peoples eyes would soften, they'd check their wallets, and the next thing I knew; I had thirty pounds in my hand. 

Nobody else would notice. Nobody else cared. Unlike the other children, when I was young I didn't inquire about my parents. I didn't really care. These were the cards I was dealt. Now I had to play with it.

I was in my bedroom when someone knocked on my door. Irritated and confused, I opened the door to find a very old man. I thought I might have to use radiocarbon dating to find the age of his slightly dusted purple robes. He looked like a wizard from one of my books.

A sudden realization dawned on me. The old man must be a doctor. There was no other reason for someone to notice me, let alone see me. My face showed none of this.

I didn't think there was something wrong with myself. I knew there was something wrong. At infancy, one of my earliest yet most vivid memory, I managed to levitate a scalpel. The scalpel embedded itself in a doctor who shrieked in pain.

There were other times of course. Telekinesis wasn't my only ability. I had a rather peculiar way with animals. I could tell them what to do without saying anything or training them. I could hear thoughts of people from time to time. But most of all, I could communicate with snakes.

"Who are you?" I asked. My tone didn't give away anything but inside I was weary. The old man had a mischievous glint in his eyes behind his half-moon spectacles.

"Professor Albus Dumbledore," he responded in an almost amused tone. This confirmed my suspicious thoughts.

"Professor?" I said as my eyes narrowed. "You're a doctor. That explains it. You've come to see what's wrong with me." Dumbledore almost flinched. When I attempted to concentrate on his thoughts and hear them, I was immediately thrown out of the old man's head.

Dumbledore frowned. "I'm not a doctor, Y/N," he said, "I'm a professor at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

I had the audacity to snort at his ridiculous claims but inside I knew it was true. "You're different," Dumbledore said. "You can do things you cannot explain. Am I incorrect?"

My amused, non-believing demeanor changed as I eyed Dumbledore suspiciously. "You're correct," I said cautiously. My intuition told me that this guy was always correct. 

"Well," Dumbledore said, "I'm different as well." I scoffed.

"Prove it," I said.

The old man seemed to flinch again but nodded. He took a stick out of his robe and flicked it, causing the book I was holding to close and fly to him. My eyes widened for a split second before I returned my unimpressed gaze.

"You put a thin fishing line on the end of it," I hypothesized. "You put a hook on the fishing line and threw it to take my book away."

Dumbledore sighed and pointed the stick at one of the legs of my bed. Muttering something in a different language, the leg turned into a long boa constrictor.