Disclaimer: All copyrighted products are the property of their respective owners.

'….' Thinking.
"…." Speaking.

Chapter:

He could feel pain. It caressed him like a hungry lover, consumed him like a raging tide and burned him like the flames of the sun. It filled him, melded him, and remade him. The world did not exist beyond the pain and by extension; neither did he. Yet, for all that, the boy showed few external signs that would betray the turmoil he felt within. Perhaps, more than one person would later remark sadly, a testament to the sheer commonality of it all. That's not to say the boy had been made strong through his struggles; he was just too broken and hurt too many times to go through the futile exercise of struggle. This was a mere glimpse into the life of one Harry Potter.

The boy couldn't see, not without his glasses. It was dark inside his cupboard; his home. He breathed slowly, a wheezing sound struggling past his lips as he tried once more to fall into the void known as sleep. Yet again, his efforts were brushed aside as a sharp pain raced across his chest. His ribs were poking his skin in an entirely unnatural way, their touch like the coldest knives. Resigned, he willed himself until he was sitting on his excuse for a bed, his face drawn up into a grimace.

Not for the first time, did he curse himself and the world. He cursed himself because he was simply too weak, the world because he needed to be strong to survive. Harry merely closed his eyes, letting the emptiness of his mind consume him. His mind was the only gift nature had sought fit to give him, a sanctuary he could always turn to. The boy felt another stab, this time from his bruised hands. A sanctuary not entirely unassailable, he realized sadly, in words a mere ten year old could understand.

He felt a cool wash over him and sighed in relief. Harry Potter knew the pain of today would soon be forgotten, barring a few scars of course. Harry couldn't understand how or why but he could feel himself fixing; ribs sliding into place and wounds searing shut leaving somewhat unblemished skin. An odd sensation, yet one he was intimately familiar with. It always washed over him after his excuse for a family left him bruised and battered.

Harry merely let the waves wash over him, knowing full well this would only make his Uncle furious enough to try harder next time. Uncle Vernon thinking him a freak was why he was left like this to begin with after all. 'I am not a freak', he reaffirmed in his prepubescent mind. Freaks were bad things, while this strange comfort was the only good thing in his life. Still, he had to admit, as the last of his wounds sealed away; it was weird.

Feeling the pain ebb away, he unconsciously let out a pleased moan. This was what he lived for; the times when there wasn't pain, when there weren't endless chores he had to do or even when light itself was absent. It was just Harry, his steady breathing and the comforting dark. Alas, he knew, it wasn't to be for long. If his sense of time was anything to go by, it was almost morning. He needed to get breakfast ready; he'd had enough beatings for one week. Sigh, he picked up his glasses from a nearby stand.

It is with this resolve that Harry Potter now found himself in the kitchen, absently making a breakfast he would ultimately get little part of. His thoughts drifted while his hands retained their hard honed precision, precision easily gained when the only alternative is horrifying. Harry could feel himself drifting an endless sea. Every day was the same, every moment a repeat of the last. The raven haired boy could feel himself being wasted. Feel as if there was something much greater he should be doing though his young self could not even comprehend what. The truth was, he was dying. Dying a death breeding from stagnation, of a life without excitement or change. Although he was too young to understand, he knew somethings. He needed to change something and he needed to change it soon.

So lost was the young Potter within his musings that he hardly noticed the thump on his shoulder. "Boy," his Aunt Petunia sneered, "You had better make sure breakfast is ready soon. We have a busy day today."

Harry's eyebrow quirked of its own accord. 'As if Vernon The Whale could even move freely,' he thought amused. Face blank, he mumbled that it would be done soon. Petunia, apparently satisfied, made her way over to the table Harry had set not long before. She was soon joined by Dudley, his rather bloated cousin. 'Too many eggs in him.' Dudley was wide, a miniature of his father in some ways. He was bigger than Harry, or two Harry's, now that he thought about it. Even if he was a mess of bones that was quite a feat.

Not long later, Uncle Vernon stumbled downstairs. He looked angry, well, angrier than usual anyway. He pulled out his seat without a word and began stuffing his face like a man possessed. All the while, Harry stood by quietly. He would get his food after the others had finished eating; assuming there was anything left then which he most certainly began to doubt.

Apparently having finally found the time to breathe in between inhaling food, he spoke. "Freak, your Aunt and I will be gone for most of the day. You'll do all your chores and make sure to keep everything neat and tidy. Won't you?" He glared. Beside him, Dudley looked like he was watching his favorite TV show while his Aunt was pretending he didn't exist.

"Yes, Uncle." Harry mumbled while repressing a shiver.

There wasn't much conversation to be had after that. After they had consumed most of his morning effort, the Dursley's had simply left without much else, leaving Harry alone. He helped himself to what little was left of breakfast, the bites cold and yet, welcomed all the same. He knew what he had to do then, and it seemed fate did to.

He couldn't keep himself cooped up in this hellhole. Harry had to go out, to breathe air clean of such filth. Oh, he wished he could make such an arrangement permanent but even at ten, Harry Potter was no idiot. He wouldn't make it very far on his own. He needed them, and they knew it. Still, that didn't mean he couldn't at least try and have a good time. Harry managed a weak smile that turned into a grimace as he stepped outside.

XXXX

It felt amazing to be outside. He'd been cramped up in that thrice damned cupboard for so long that just about anything else would feel great in comparison. Harry could taste the air, feel the sun on his face and treat himself to a host of colors he hadn't seen in quite a while. He hadn't had much opportunity to step outside after having been withdrawn from his last school. The young Potter resolved to enjoy every second of this he could.

The sky was overcast, painting the world in a brilliant hue of gray. All around him, he could see homes, people, a stray cat or dog. He could see the full kaleidoscope of life and he was enjoying every second of it. The boy himself was drawing his fair share of stairs as well. He looked underfed, a suspicion his oversized clothes didn't do much to dissuade. Ironically, and not unexpectedly, no one did approach him.

His idle wandering had taken him on an elaborate trip around his neighborhood. Harry Potter had even visited the local park that was small yet inviting all the same. He had a fun time on the swings, the adrenaline from one particularly careless thrust pulsing through his body. One person can only entertain themselves for so long and Harry found himself moving on, looking and hoping for some other indulgence. It is that hoping that had him standing in front of this particular building.

It wasn't much to speak about. Indeed, the building itself wasn't very remarkable at all. It was bigger than most of the houses he had seen and yet he couldn't ever remember having seen it before. He shrugged, it must be new. He hadn't seen the outside in a while after all. The shining metal plate on the wall outside was imprinted with the words Public Library. With hardly a second thought, Harry Potter chose to step inside.

If possible, the inside was even stranger, He could see rows upon rows of books all stacked neatly into columns. There were more books than Harry had ever seen! All around him, people moved silently with one book or another. Some were busy reading on a set of neatly arranged tables and chairs off to the corner. No one was talking and it was perfect.

Enthusiastically, Harry Potter ventured inside, his appearance garnering little attention from the engrossed people within. Many of the books seemed either horrifyingly large or horrifyingly boring. What would he do by after reading about all the things he could make with eggs? Most of the others were clearly far too difficult to be understood by someone as literate as him. He moved around, looking through this book and that, trying to find something he could and would want to read. His feet made a slight shuffling sound as his frustration only made him browse faster.

Finally, he found such a worthy book in one particular section of the library. Harry could see that many of the other books here were similarly readable for someone as young as him. The child filed that away later as he eagerly took his conquest with him to sit at a nearby table. Pulling out a seat beside a girl who seemed to have fallen asleep on whatever she was reading, Harry looked at the cover.

The Tales Of Merlin. The front cover showed a proud looking man clad in strange colored robes looking out into the sunset. Idly flipping through all of the pages, Harry could tell it was full of pictures. Harry liked books with pictures. He started reading and with each turn of the page, lost himself deeper to the tale of one Myrddin Emrys. The irony of this particular moment would only dawn on him years later.

It was only after several hours did Harry find himself finally closing the book with a tired sigh. He'd gone through it all, it wasn't a big book but Harry was still proud of himself anyway. The Potter had had a lot of fun. Merlin was fascinating and the tales of his adventures struck a chord with something inside Harry. If he'd have been older, he would have recognized it as the need for escape.

Harry looked at the clock and saw that five hours had already gone by. 'I should head back', he thought dejectedly. He didn't want to go back, Harry had actually enjoyed today a lot. He consoled himself with the fact that he now had something to do when the Dursleys were away and resolved to visit the library as often as possible. Leaving the book on the table, Harry made to leave.

Outside, the world had changed hue. The sun was now far lower in the sky, its light more orange than yellow. Reflecting off of dark homes and yet darker trees, it made for a pretty sight in the young child's eyes. He couldn't help but admire all the sights and sounds. Couldn't help but drown in the blanket of warmth that covered his skin. Couldn't take for granted all the things he so rarely got to feel.

That therapeutic moment was cut short by the realization that he was in a bit of a rush. With a sigh and a shake of his shoulders, he was off. With any luck he'd be able to make it just before his relatives got back home. 'That's not good enough,' Harry mused. 'Petunia will be mad I haven't scrubbed the house clean yet. Vernon will be upset I still exist.'

Honestly, how was he supposed to know a book would suck up his time like a black hole? It wasn't unpleasant by any stretch of the imagination but the timing could have been a lot better by far. Still, it was a good day. One of the best days he'd ever had even. And for all that, Harry was happy.

The streets weren't very crowded, as expected from a suburban area at this time of day. There were still some kids at the park and they seemed to be having fun. Harry paid them little attention and was walking past when he heard a voice call out.

"Freak!" His blood ran cold. There were only so many people who would call him that. He paused mid stride one second only to bolt the next. His body moved of its own accord while his mind raced. His relatives couldn't possibly have come home already. Sure he hadn't wasted that much time. The only few people left were people Harry had no interest in meeting.

He hadn't exactly been paying attention to where he was running. He was too caught up in his own panicked musings. Behind him, he could hear the same shouts over and over again. Maybe it was just him but they seemed to be drawing closer and closer every second. Panting from exhaustion, Harry turned a corner only to find himself at a dead end.

"Fuck." He cursed, copying one of Uncle Vernon's favorite phrases. Behind him, he heard the distinct sound of rushed footsteps coming to a stop.

He turned around, finding a boy dressed in a fitting blue teal blue shirt and black pants. The boy was panting and it took a while for Harry to recognize him. Piers Polkiss, Dudley's best friend and a member of his so called 'gang' was, from what he could remember, one of the stupidest and most cowardly of the lot.

"Finally, caught up to you now did I Potter?" Piers sneered and gave him a look that was supposed to be frightening, but only ended up looking pathetic. "It's been a while since we've gone Harry hunting; Dudley should have locked you in the basement and kept you there." The boy sneered.

'That's a lot of pride over being able to ambush one person with five people.' Harry smartly chose not to voice his thoughts. Harry tuned him out in favor of finding some way to escape his current predicament. The alley he'd found himself in was too small and Piers was probably too fast for him to just run fast. While it's true that he'd only got picked on when there were five of them, he didn't find his odds much better one on one.

The only thing he could think of was to try and stall him and look for a way out while the other boy was distracted.

"Don't you have any kindergarteners to torment?" Harry punctuated with his best sneer. It had the desired effect as the other boy looked positively murderous. Close. "You weren't scary with the rest of your thugs, right now you just look like a prat."

"Why you!?" The other boy charged, his feet banging against the flood. He was about as scary as an angry ten year old could be, which was a lot for a ten year old Harry Potter. Piers closed in fast, arm lifting up into a semblance of a fist. Harry had predicted as much, managing to duck underneath with all the grace a child could muster.

It didn't matter as a second later; he was past his captor and eagerly running in the opposite direction. Piers' indignant shouts trailed behind him as Harry was nearing the exit. He was just about to reach it too when his feet caught on something he was in too big a hurry to see.

"Fuck." Harry cursed as he sprawled to the ground. He was about to get up but he felt a blinding pain from his skull and slumped to the ground.

"You thought you could make a fool out of me freak?" Piers shook his fist as if in pain. "I'm going to teach you a real lesson this time."

Harry felt himself being dragged up shoulder first. He raised his head and saw the other boy's sadistic grin. Harry felt himself descending sharply, his face smacking against the pavement, his glasses shattering to pieces. He was in pain, pain that raced across his face and consumed it like a hungry mask. A dull thud and a sharper pain soon followed. Followed by another, and yet another. The young Potter was deaf to his own screams.

Inside his mind, he couldn't believe it was happening again. After all these months, Harry had finally been happy. He'd been the happiest he had ever been. It was all ruined, stolen away by the world's indifference. Hate and rage consumed him inside the shell of his physical pain.

His face was a mess of developing bruises and blood. His glasses had long since shattered, coating the pavement with shards of the sharp material. Harry felt a growing sense of numbness take over, pushing away pain with the embrace of a lover.

Piers' had a leering grin plastered across his face. He had wanted to do this for the longest time. The little pompous bastard just irritated him so much. Who cared if he was just a kid? Underneath him, Harry had stopped moving. He let him fall to the floor and having made sure the boy was only unconscious, he made to stand.

He had to go home soon; his mother would be worried about him. With any luck he'd make it back before his dad-

He felt a sense of lightness, a certain type of weightlessness. That was soon replaced by pain as he was slammed into an adjacent wall with a cracking sound that might have been bones. The thug slumped to the floor in pain while his mind was in complete shock. He looked at Potter and found a sight fit for any nightmare.

Harry was still crumpled on the floor but he faced him now. His face a mess of blood, his eyes stared deep into his. It felt like he was being seen through. The very essence of his soul being held for judgement by a power he couldn't fathom. He stared into those eyes, and caught a hint of red that may or may not have been blood. Those eyes still stared back.

Piers found himself hung over a volcano, his body being gradually dropped. Sweat ran in rivers down his cheeks and the fire drank it all hungrily. He was scared, too scared to think. So scared he could only think of surviving. His world was dark except the terror down below. The air itself was burnt and suffocating. He could feel heat unlike anything he'd ever felt before. It touched and caressed him and every tender ministration burned and stung. The boy might have been melting.

His feet broke the surface of that lava, seemingly dissolving instantly. The support fell, and he felt himself plunging.

In an alley, a boy screamed.

XXXX

His eyes opened to a world sharper than anything he had ever seen before. He was surrounded by the familiar browns of his cupboard but god those browns looked clearer than anything he had ever seen before. Harry's body was a mess of bandages and covers and with some effort, he managed to sit up.

A sudden realization later and he groped his face. He wasn't wearing his glasses. Cold crept in his chest as he looked at the mirror on the wall. The mirror his Uncle had put there so the freak could tidy up whenever they had guests over.

His face was covered almost completely in bandages making a start contrast with his messy raven hair. Harry couldn't take his eyes away from his own reflection. He felt a pulsing, a memory, an instinct he couldn't explain radiate around his eyes.

He watched, fascinated and terrified, as his sharp green eyes morphed right in front of him. Green eyes faded to something else, something crimson. His mouth gaped as he found himself staring into something distinctly alien.

His eyes were the color of blood and framed a dark ring. One tomoe spun ominously in each eye. Those eyes stared back with an inhuman intensity. An intensity that screamed of power.

'Fuck.'

XXXX

Authors Note: So, that's the first chapter of what I hope will be a half decent, if not good, fic. Let me know if the new punctuation marks for speech and thought are better or if I should revert everything again.

If you have a moment, leave a review with any thoughts you might have. Reviews keep writers warm in the winter. Gotta burn something right?