Author's Introduction
This story was inspired by songhamdragon's Harry Potter: Apprentice story. Some things worked well, others did not, but he definitely has my attention. If he should update it, I will certainly read it.
Six-year old Harry Potter couldn't believe it. He always knew that his cousin Dudley was a bully, but he had expected the teachers at least to notice and object to the big lump's behavior. The first few weeks I can understand. But Dudley's been a bully all year. It's as if they don't give a crap about preventing these idiots from turning to crime!
As you can see, Harry Potter was no ordinary boy. He was more intelligent than a great number of people his age. He knew it, but he didn't want anyone else to know it. Four years previous, he had been left on the doorstep of his absolutely horrid aunt and uncle, Vernon and Petunia Dursley. Vernon was a big (his waistline was bigger than his height) bully, and probably always had been, to Harry's young mind. He was also the strongest of the three Dursleys, and therefore the one to dish out all of Harry's 'punishments.' Petunia was quite the opposite, at least as far as appearances went. Behind the closed doors and windows of Number 4, Privet Drive, Little Winging, Surrey, she was the least violent and abusive. He could tell that she was not a nicer person than his Uncle Vernon, but she also seemed afraid of him. Dudley, even at almost seven years of age, was well on the way to becoming his father in miniature.
Harry was also different in one more way. He had discovered this almost by accident, when his aunt and uncle had left him locked in his cupboard under the stairs while they went somewhere with Dudley. He had gotten thirsty, and wanted a drink of water, but knew that the only way to get one was to get out of his 'bedroom.' As these thoughts swirled in his mind, he felt a rush of, something, from the pit of his stomach. It surged upward, traveled down his arm, and then… 'click!' The door to his cupboard swung quietly open.
Having discovered this power, Harry had decided to do some experimentation. He found that he could move objects without touching them. He had power over light, producing it when needed, bending it at his whim. He could manipulate fire, and was immune to its burning. Now, one year later, he had mastered these powers. He had decided to call this ability Magic, as he couldn't understand it beyond the fact that he had it. He thought that he was going to have to continue working hard at studying magic in secret, until he could use it to escape his current 'home'. Home, yeah right! Prison, more like.
But on this twentieth of May, 1987, Harry Potter wasn't thinking about magic. He was at school, as usual, and running from his cousin, Dudley. That was also normal for the young wizard. And Harry had taken refuge in his favorite place: the library. Dudley never ventured in there, so Harry was safe. Since the school day was over, Harry was planning on staying here as long as he could. He wandered over to the fantasy literature, as he had countless times before, and opened a copy of some book about Merlin. Except the pages were somehow blank. Harry put his hand on what was supposed to have been the first page of the first chapter, and felt the most peculiar sensation, as if he was getting less solid, and shifting to somewhere else.
He looked up, and saw that he was on a path. It twisted off in both directions, one going up, the other going down. Harry's first thought was to go back up, but something stopped him. He couldn't quite place it, but there was something down the other way, and it was calling him. At least, that seemed the best way to put it. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could feel it more distinctly, and it felt like, like my own magic, only different.
So Harry, believing that this place could only be better than the hellhole he had been sentenced to, started down the path toward the feeling of power.
He walked for about an hour, and was staring to get hungry, when the path opened up onto a valley. He just stared in awe at the almost supernatural beauty of the place for a moment, unable to do more than take it all in. The path he was on came out between two mountain ranges, both of which got smaller with distance from his vantage point, almost looking like legs. The valley between them was green and gold, bathed in sunlight til it glowed. Beyond that, Harry could see rolling, green hills and farms, and still further away, rising above all else, a shining tower. The Tower was hard to make out at this distance, but the young wizard could feel something similar to his magic in it. If you had asked him why he thought the Tower was magic, he would not have been able to tell you, for he had no way of knowing himself.
A clatter behind him broke Harry's attention away from the scene in front of him. Coming down the path toward him trundled a wagon cart with what looked like a single man riding it. He quickly vacated the spot he'd just been standing in, not wanting to risk getting pushed out of the way by something bigger and heavier than his Uncle Vernon.
To his surprise, the man driving the cart pulled his horse to a stop almost right next to Harry. The man spoke to him, but the language was quite strange, and he couldn't understand. Somewhat confused, the stranger rubbed his chin, and then his eyes flashed gold. This time, Harry could understand him. "Hello, Little One. You look hungry." The stranger was a man, but attired in an archaic grey robe, with attached hood. He had a staff leaning against the backrest of the driver's bench within easy reach, and a sword at his side. If he had a wide-brimmed pointed hat and a long beard, I'd almost mistake him for Gandalf Greyhame, Harry mused.
The stranger seemed to ignore his silence, and continued kindly. "It wouldn't do for a young boy, or girl for that matter, to be caught alone on these paths. It's not entirely safe." Harry said nothing. "How about we make a deal? I tell you my name, and you tell me yours? Does that sound like a fair trade?" Harry nodded. "Excellent! My name is Merlin Ambrosius, young one.
Harry started. He had previously thought Merlin was a fictional character, much like the Grey Pilgrim he strangely resembled. "I'm Harry Potter," he finally said.
Merlin's reply was bright and cheery. "A great pleasure to make your acquaintance, Master Potter. Come! I'm going down into the town, and we can get something to eat."