My parents were powerful wizards. When it was found out that they had been discovered, none of the wizards wanted to be a part of it. And since Voldemort had been looking for me, I was hidden. I lived in a small magic village, near London. Before my parents died, they cast a strong spell to protect and hide the village. They did this because my grandparents live in this village; I live with them now. My grandmother helps me with spells and lets me practice them a lot. I think I'm getting a little better. I can almost cast Wingardium Leviosa without turning the house into something the muggles call "Barry BEE Benson." It's a little weird. He says "Ya like jazz?" A lot. Anyways, when the Wizard's Council disregarded me, it wasn't long before everyone completely forgot about the whole incident. Wow. Incident. I catch myself calling it, what happened, an incident more and more lately. I know that I was still a small child when it happened, but I still remember them. And I remember Dumbledore racing me off in the night to the village before Voldemort could find me. Sometimes, in the dead of night, I can hear a noise or something in the shadows and I get worried that it's Voldemort. Dumbledore still comes to visit me sometimes. He's fun to be around. He taught me not to call Voldemort any of those silly names for him. I remember him telling me,"Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself."
