1
Harry James Potter, Auror, dealt will all sorts of Dark objects. Things had calmed down some in the office in recent months, which meant he could spend more time with his family.
He finished with the piece of parchment in front of him, then looked up. In front of him was an out-of-breath young wizard, holding a bag. Harry rubbed his scar as the youngster spoke.
"Mr. Potter, somebody in our office figured you'd be able to deal with this. It could be cursed, but it might just be broken. No one's dared touch it."

((Come on, people, comment! Just say something!))
2
The young wizard turned the bag upside-down. A strange-looking hourglass tumbled out. It was very similar to a Time-Turner, but not quite. He stared over his round glasses at it, remembering a bit of advice he had given himself years ago.
Harry pulled out his wand, an very carefully prodded the…thing. It began whirring madly. The youth backed out of Harry's office, clearly terrified. Harry prodded the object again. Big mistake.

Before he could register what was happening, his office vanished in a flash of light. He could feel himself changing, his memories slipping away. He tried holding onto his wand, but his hand, curiously weak, closed on nothing.

((POV change here, from third to first))
3
I sat up in bed, eager for the story. It was a gift from my kindergarten teaacher, Ms. Teesdale. Mom sat on the end of my bed, holding the book in her hand. My sister, Emily, bounced around next to me. Mom opened the book and started reading.
"Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived."
Instantly, my mind created images to fit the words. I could almost see owls swooping past an office in broad daylight, a cat reading a map, and the elderly man in the green cloak.

4
Years passed. Most of my room was still the same. I still sat on the floor between two windows to read. I'd learned early on that those windows provided the perfect amount of reading light.
I setteled on to the not-so-comfortable floor. I slid my favorite book from its place on the white bookshelf and leaned against my favorite pillow.
Sunlight filtered through thed leaves of the massive tree out front, casting shadows on my so-light-they-look-white purple walls. The thin carpet between my butt and the floor was dark purple. Oddly enough, I didn't mind that my butt would start to hurt after an hour or so on the floor. I was quite used to uncomfortable positions, for some strange reason.
And so, with hours of summer sunlight at my disposal, I lost myself in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone for the millionth time.
Then, oddly enough, as I was reading how Harry could remember nothing of the night his parents died except a flash of green light, I saw the green light in my mind.

5
"Weird," I muttered, marking my place and closing the book. There had to be some other explanation for this. But then again, if I could visualize all of it so pefectly, I had to be magical. Which meant, in a few years time, I'd be getting a letter from Hogwarts.

Every summer, I scanned the skies, on the lookout for an owl bearing a message. Nothing. In the midst of my Potter "obsession," my seventh birthday arrived. I was adamant about the party. It HAD to be Harry Potter-themed. As luck would have it, I had to have a dinosaur pinata, since the Harry Potter ones were gone.

My obsession grew. The summer before my letter was supposed to come, I saw Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone in the theater. Something about the movie felt odd. I filed it away, to peruse later. Much later.