Prologue

Dumbledore means different.

Well not actually, the correct definition of Dumbledore is bumblebee.

But I'd always considered bumblebee's weird little things, they always appeared abnormal. Even the name sounded odd on the tongue, uncannily so like Dumbledore.

So I suppose different works well enough. Taking into consideration the Dumbledore family tree, different was perfect.

I was a Dumbledore, and I was definitely different. Not goat loving-different, nor was I divine, with an answer to everything, not even crazy.

Okay that's a lie, I was a bit off my rocker, but I wasn't mentally unstable. I was just that increasingly smart, almost stupidly brave, silent, fuming Gryffindor who had absolutely no friends.

And I was fine with this, completely fine.

This continued until my 7th year, when my slightly peaceful life was totally corrupted by one train ride. I spent six years alone; one hour with the Marauders changed this all in an instance.

If only I hadn't purposely pissed off that book smart werewolf.