Harry Potter was a perfectly normal boy.

Sure, his family called him a freak, but he didn't think they were that intelligent anyways, so that didn't count.

Aside from that, he was perfectly normal in every shape and form. He was absolutely sure that he was just running very fast that time he found himself on the school roof while playing tag (those other boys said they were trying to punch him, but they were moving too slow for that to have the truth), and as for the time he grew all his hair back in one night, he was also absolutely sure that he just did some sleepwalking and used some strong hair tonic on himself.

What if he liked money a little bit more than necessary, and was the one person anyone went to with money management troubles even if he was 8?

What if he felt like he's been sewing for the better part of his life and that it's an absolutely essential part of existence?

He's still shy, he's still modest, and he's still polite towards new people. He acts like a law abiding citizen and will contently live knowing he has no friends because Dudley scares all of them off. He's sad, but he hopes for the best, and that maybe one day, Dudley will find what he loves to do, even though it's likely going to be related to crime.

He's Harry, after all, and he's dedicated his life to being the most normal and helpful person he's ever known.

To his chagrin, the manager of life seems to have something against him, but he's always been able to deal with the situations life throws at him just fine!

That is, until he one day digs up a disembodied head while doing yard work.

Who seems to know him.

He's not in denial.

He's just kind of mad.

First story on the site. If people like it enough, I may continue.