Disclaimer: Not mine. I am broke. No lawsuits please! Enough said.
Summary: I detest writing summaries for a story I have yet to write. It is rather challenging. So I am not going to. Basically though, this will be about Harry. He has had a hard life, and despite everything that comes his way, he continues to hope that there is something better out there. But how long can he keep hoping? Will starting Hogwarts finally give him a reason to live? This is an AU, somewhat dark, but not in the traditional way, story about the life of one Harry J. Potter.
But Still, I Hope
Oo0oO
By Bookwyrm86
Prologue:
Harry Potter sat beneath the cupboard under the stairs contemplating his life, such as it was. Today was his eleventh birthday, not that it mattered. No one ever took note of his birthday. It wasn't important. Even Harry himself no longer bothered to note the date, beyond simply reminding himself what to answer when someone asked his age.
Harry's life had been rather challenging. At least that was how Harry described it. Most other people would describe it as a nightmare. Harry had been left on the porch of his only living relatives, the Dursley's, by who Harry now knew to be Albus Dumbledore. Harry thought himself lucky that he'd been able to find out that name. In fact, he'd been lucky to find out his own name, as the Dursley's never called him by it. He was simply 'Boy' or 'Whelp' or any other generic, derogatory term they could come up with.
When he'd found out his method of arrival at the Dursley's, the boy had to wonder what had possessed the man to leave him outside all by himself, with nothing but a note tucked inside his blanket. Despite the various opportunities for misfortune, the Dursley's had found him the next morning, and chosen to allow him to reside in their perfect home.
This wasn't to say that Harry was accepted by his family, for he was most definitely not. But the Dursley's feared that if they got rid of the boy, they would be found out, and the people who'd left him there would come and punish them.
By the time that Harry was two, the Dursley's realized that no one was going to check on the boy. That ended all hopes of fair treatment for the boy. Harry was encouraged to stay out of the house as much as possible. When he was at home, Harry was treated rather cruelly. He was told to do all of the chores, and any perceived inadequacy was punished. Cruelly.
Harry knew that his body was littered with scars from the 'teaching methods' of his Uncle Vernon. He'd broken more bones than he could count anymore. Most of the bones had never been properly set, unless they were too noticeable. But the time Harry was eight, he was having a hard time moving.
Harry was also kept in a cupboard. He shared his cupboard with cleaning supplies, a rather dingy cot, that now had a good deal of dried blood on it, and several spiders. Harry didn't mind the spiders too much. They didn't bother him much, and at least he had something to watch while being locked up.
At the age of eight, Harry had taken to exploring on his own. He'd managed to find himself in London, where he would spend weeks at a time. The streets was far better than the Dursley's.
By the age of nine, Harry had met a man in London by the name of Nicolai Schwartz. This subsequently led to his rather startling discovery of magic. Nicolai was a man in his late forties, who had a rather thick German accent when he got too excited. This was quite often, Harry thought.
He also happened to be one of Germany's top Potion Master's, which Harry equated to Chemistry. He'd left his home country, due to a rather irritating Minister of Magic. When Harry had run into his small shop attempting to get out of the snow, if only for a moment, Nicolai had taken the young man in, offering him a place to stay if he would do simple jobs around the store.
Harry had been extremely skeptical about the offer. After all, his limited experience with people told him that he should trust no one. But Harry was freezing, and rather hungry as well, so he hesitantly agreed, hoping that it wouldn't be the worst mistake of his life.
He'd given Nicolai the name James, with nothing else attached. He knew that Nicolai had many questions about him, but he hadn't asked, feeling that Harry, or rather James, would talk when he felt like.
Harry was gratefully for this. He already knew that his behavior was not typical of a child his age. He contemplated a rather large spider that was creeping across the door of the cupboard as he sat there. Harry had been locked up for about two weeks now, due to the arrival of a rather bizarre letter.
Fortunately, Harry knew what it was already, so Vernon and Petunia saw no reason to keep it from him. They absolutely refused, however, to have anything to do with a school of magic. This led to Harry's current problem. He had to figure out how to get out of the house, and back to Nicolai. He was sure the old man would direct him to the place he needed to go to get his school things. First, he had to get there.
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Harry knew this was his last chance to get away from the Dursley's. He would also be able to find about himself, he hoped. He knew that there was something strange, but could not exactly identify what. It was just a very strong feeling. He also wanted to find out about why exactly he'd been left with the Dursley's. He hoped that he could find a way to be allowed to live somewhere else.
The Dursley's insisted that he come back every few weeks, or else they would contact the people who'd put him here. They told him that Albus Dumbledore, had promised to chain him there with magic if he didn't cooperate.
Sighing, Harry rolled over onto his side, wincing as he put too much pressure on his sore ribs. If the Dursley's didn't let him out the next day, he would find a way to sneak out. Eleven year old Harry Potter closed his eyes and restlessly fell asleep, images of all the things he'd learned from Nicolai dancing in his head. Finally, he'd be able to put his knowledge to use.