A.N.: Even though I'm sure that none of the other authors of all the books here in Flourish and Blotts, Diagon Alley, London that are about Harry Potter actually made a proper disclaimer, I feel that it is my duty to clearly state here that none of this actually happened. Please, children, I know you all want to talk to Harry and be his best friend, but don't bother Harry too much when he finally comes to Hogwarts and the Wizarding World. He is a kid just like you and you wouldn't like it if everyone suddenly jumped you, would you? Right. Just so that we understand ourselves. Please keep this book save and don't leave it in the Muggle world.

… oh and btw, if you are Muggle, I must tell you that Joanne K. Rowling owns the very very very fictional prediction of our saviours future life and that I hope that she and Harry's caretakers have an agreement. (If Harry were to exist, that is.) Magic doesn't exist, not at all, and could you please leave this book just somewhere near Charing Cross road in London? Thank you very much.

A.N.2: Written for 'The Adventures of the Boy-Who-Lived' challenge by GoldenSteel.



How The Whole Thing Started


It was a sunny Saturday afternoon in the middle of September, and Harry James Potter sighed despairingly.

The Boy-Who-Lived was bored.

He was playing with his new wand – his power had grown again the week before, and he was now on his thirteenth wand. His bodyguard had once jokingly said (when he was still on his ninth wand,) that Harry could one day make a campfire with all the wands that he used – if they didn't make a campfire all by themselves every time they exploded because of overload of Harry's awesome amount of pure magical power. Harry always tried to salvage some of the ashes of his wands, and the garden was thus well fertilized.

Still, on this sunny Saturday afternoon, Harry had already saved their neighbour's cat by flying up to the highest tree in their backyard and getting the cat down – he could also just have floated Kitty down gently, but where is the fun in that? It certainly goes without saying that he had managed to do this all without the help of a broom.

He had already caught one pickpocket who wanted to steal Ms. Jamie's purse in the market – one must be really stupid to attempt theft right in front of him! Harry was awesome! And the Boy-Who-Lived to boot – at least that's what his bodyguard always said.

Harry had already done his homework for the weekend, which took him only twenty minutes, even though he was already in eighth grade, because he was very very smart.

(He still remembered Mrs Rose's face as she said incredulously: "He is eight years old?! EIGHT! This is the eighth grade – not the place for eight-year-olds.", and his bodyguard's calm answer "Of course Teacher Rose, we had a birthday party last week. Next year you will surely be invited, together with his classmates, in case Harry, against all expectations, doesn't jump yet another grade". And that had been it.)

In the general exams that were always administered at the beginning of eighth and tenth grade, he had managed to get the highest scores in his region, and Mrs Rose, who had been so sceptic, was now already singing high praises of him to her colleagues.

There was nothing to DO!

The Boy-Who-Lived sighed again.


At the moment, he was sitting in the hammock on the grand veranda and nibbling on a sweet pear. The early warm autumn wind was helping him by swinging him softly back and forward.

The other children were all inside doing homework, or out with their parents, his bodyguards had the afternoon free, and his caretaker was sleeping. "Siesta, mi amor", she had said. "Stay out of the house for the next two hours, please."

Harry wrinkled his brow. He followed the cyclist that was just passing by the house with his eyes and promptly jumped up. Technically, he was not allowed to leave the property alone, but Harry thought the adults were just inviting trouble by leaving him all to himself with absolutely nothing to do.

'It is their own fault!', he thought, nodded once and took off sprinting towards the gate, dropping his wand in the process.

'Who sleeps in the middle of the day anyways?'


Review please! More is sure to come J

This is gonna be a fluffy, funny, adventurous story, with a humorous and always a bit exaggerating undertone. Harry's the Hero, capital H.