Who Am I to Say?
Basis: What if Harry grew up with Tom Riddle's soul (Horcrux) dominant?
Chapter 1: A New Beginning
[Edited as of July 2011]
Growing up with the Dursley's was something that Harry despised completely and utterly. It wasn't as if he had much of a choice though unfortunately, but he'd made things turn out well enough for himself - he wasn't just about to go without a bed or anything of that nonsense. If he'd stuck to his thoughts of just keeping low and obeying his relatives, Harry would have most likely wound up sleeping under the stairs rather than in his own room. Even though he had to do a number of chores he didn't think altogether necessary for him to do, he put up with it for the sake of not getting hit with a belt.
School was boring for Harry - too easy. Sometimes it seemed as though he remembered bits and pieces of what he was learning in school, distantly, but it was there. A sort of déjà vu, if you would. Harry read books from the school's library much more than many of his classmates, who found him strange. Often picking fun at the way his hair stuck up in every direction or the fact that he was so scrawny. During recesses and breaks, no one could part the be-speckled boy from the book he was currently immersed in, which was most often non-fiction, much to his teachers' chagrin.
But summers were the worst for the boy, as he didn't have access to the public library as he did to the school library, since he'd often have to be accompanied by an adult or some such nonsense, and it wasn't often that Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia were willing to follow him into a quite place without a telly or a computer to entertain Dudley. For a while, things began to be pretty routine, until Harry had an unprecedented accident when he was attempting to escape from his cousin and friends, who were chasing after him.
He'd run as fast as he could, but he knew that it was unlikely that he would manage to dodge their grasp, finally coming to a staggering halt, collapsing, as his legs couldn't carry him any further. Just as one of the boys was about to hit him, Harry defended himself, covering his head with his thin arms, gritting his teeth, waiting for the blow to come. After a while, when the blow didn't land itself on him, Harry looked around himself, dazedly.
"Oh, God..." he'd whispered, his eyes going wide when he realised where he was. Harry had somehow gotten himself up onto the roof of the school building! There was no reasonable explanation for it, although he was severely punished for making such a fuss by his uncle once he got home that evening.
The counselors were beginning to get worried about the young boy, who'd become even more secluded after he'd turned nine, more and more out of touch from the rest of his class, more engrossed in his books and homework than engaging in social activities. The Dursley's didn't like that this nephew of theirs was acting so strangely, despite all that they'd done for him, and they told Harry just that. They thought that Harry should appreciate their kindness more and start acting like a normal kid, like their little "Dudders." Harry nodded and smiled at them, saying he'd do his best in the future, then went back up into his room and finished his homework for the night.
At last came Harry Potter's eleventh birthday. This day was special, since it was the day that he received his letter to Hogwarts, including a list of things he needed to get from a place called "Diagon Alley" and saying he was a wizard. Harry scoffed at this, originally. Sure, there were a number of strange things that happened around him, but a wizard? That was quite a load of fictional nonsense! Surely, he thought, this was a prank that someone from school was pulling on him. In a way, though, it felt somehow... right, in a way. At least he considered himself lucky that his relatives weren't home at the time, since they'd managed to think of some way to blame the whole thing on him, the "freak" that he was.
Eventually, a man calling himself Severus Snape (dressed in all black, billowing robes behind him) presented himself at the Dursley's front door, stating that Harry Potter was to come with him to get his school supplies.
"Boy!" Vernon yelled up the stairs, not happy one bit. The man had said something about a letter, although he'd never seen a thing addressed to the boy that was his nephew.
Harry came down, having marked his book and set it on his night stand, coming down the stairs a bit lazily. If it was just something stupid that his uncle wanted him to do like take out the garbage to the street or something, he wasn't going to be all too pleased, but what could he do, really? It was quite the surprise when he reached his uncle that there was another (very strange appearing) man standing next to his uncle.
"You must be the famous Harry Potter then?" the tall, dark man asked, raising an eyebrow at the boy.
"I am Harry; I don't know quite what you're talking about with the famous part, though," Harry replied, pushing his round glasses up the bridge of his thin nose.
"Headmaster Dumbledore has sent me to assist you in getting your school things - I take it you've gotten your letter?" It wasn't so much of a question, with the way that the stranger said it, scowling slightly at him, his black eyes piercing Harry rather uncomfortably.
"I have," the boy agreed, "I left it upstairs, though - I'll go and get it."
The man named Severus Snape turned back to his uncle, saying, "We'll be leaving as soon as he gets his letter - I will return him by the end of the week. I'm sorry for any inconvenience this may provide you with."
"There was no letter that-"
"I'm ready," Harry stated, arriving back down the stairs in record time, his heart pounding. It was real and he couldn't believe it...
"Don't bother with being punctual with the boy - keep him as long as you need to," Vernon grumbled in reply. "And boy, don't you dare go through the mail again without permission! You understand?"
"Yes, sir," Harry managed to reply, hatred for the stupid man raging inside him.
Upon reaching the hotel that he and this strange Snape person were going to be staying in for the week, Harry couldn't help but wondering what it was about everything that felt so bloody familiar. Going into Diagon Alley, he couldn't help but turn towards the end that proclaimed headed towards to another ally.
"Knockturn Alley," Harry whispered, reading the sign, the name striking something deep within him.
Snape immediately scowled down at him, putting his hand on Harry's shoulder none too gently. "We haven't got all day," he sneered, stalking off down the other way Harry was facing.
"Sorry," he muttered, his small legs moving fast to keep up with the much taller man. "You never told me who you are, sir."
"I will be your Potions professor," he told the boy, not bothering to look at him as he did. "We'll be getting money from your vault first, so you're able to pay for all of your school supplies."
"The Dursley's told me that my parents died in a car accident, sir," Harry began, pondering on the statement for a second, assessing it now, in a new light. "But I have a feeling that my relative lied to me about a number of things - how did they die?"
Severus stopped rather abruptly, turning around to face the eleven year old, eyeing him skeptically. "Those Muggle relatives of yours never said a word about your parents being magical?" he interrogated.
"No," Harry retorted honestly, crossing his arms, shocked that the professor was so stunned by this information.
"They died at the hands of the Dark Lord," he hissed, his eyes flashing with some concealed emotion, pointing to Harry's scar. "It's because of this you're considered so famous: the Boy-Who-Lived. You're the one responsible for the fall of the Dark Lord, Mr. Potter."
"I had no idea," he replied, somewhat breathlessly. There was something about this man that he remembered, maybe not consciously, but somewhere deep within him. It was beginning to bug him, and Harry needed to know why everything recently was making him feel such a way. "Who was this 'Dark Lord'?"
"You will have to speak to the Headmaster about this topic, Mr. Potter; we have more important things to do before the day runs out of light."
It came the time for getting on the train to leave for school; the Dursley's were all too excited to be rid of their nephew for a while, telling him not to write or to come home for the Winter hols. Harry couldn't believe that they'd even bother to remind him - they must have had something rather important going on to feel the need to tell Harry what he already knew all too well. And it wasn't as if he wanted to be around his relatives any more than he needed to, anyway.
Dragging his trunk along (owl cage on top with his beautiful tawny bird, Athena, inside, rather spooked by the presence of so many people) the platforms, Harry began to wonder if he wasn't just missing the specific platform for Hogwarts or it was hidden, as Diagon Alley was (as the guards and attendants nearby had merely looked at him strangely when he'd asked where he might find platform 9 3/4). Spotting a group of redheads who looked very obviously like wizards, Harry approached them, about to ask them politely if they could help him locate the platform, when the cheerful middle-aged woman (Harry assessed was likely to be the mother) pulled him close.
"Oh, you must be looking for platform 9 3/4ths, are you my dear boy?" she asked, smiling widely, although it wasn't exactly what Harry had been expected.
He nodded, not willing to say much of anything, out of his element enough already.
"Don't worry; it's Ron's first time, too!"
After a hectic introduction to all of the Weasley boys and the young girl clinging to her mother's robes (Ginny, he noted), Harry went his separate way, a sigh of relief escaping his lips when he finally untangled himself from the lot of them.
"Golly, you must be Harry Potter!" a voice squeaked from behind him once he got on the train. "I've heard all about you - how you killed You-Know-Who and all... Wow," the girl said in awe, a faint blush coming to her cheeks.
"Err," Harry got out, rather hesitantly. "I am, but really, what's so great about defeating someone when you don't remember anything about it?" he asked in return, backing away slowly, ready to run away at any given notice. "I'm sorry; I have to go put down my stuff."
"Oh, I -"
Harry didn't hear the rest of what the brunette was spluttering about him, scowling as he made his way down the train, looking for an empty compartment. He wanted nothing more than to sit down, put up his trunk and get out that book he was reading...
Of course, it was his luck that the door to his compartment slid open, a tall boy about his age coming in, slamming it shut behind him, not realising that there was someone else in there until he nearly ran into him.
"Merlin," the blonde boy cursed, "I didn't see you - you're too quiet!"
"It's all right," Harry retorted, letting out an agitated sigh. "As long as you're not going to be a prat, you're welcome to sit in here."
"Well, that's just swell," the other boy grinned, putting out his hand. "I'm Draco Malfoy."
"Harry Potter," he returned, cringing when he shook Malfoy's hand, wondering how his new acquaintance would react to his name. "It's a pleasure."
"The Harry Potter?" Draco repeated, surprise written in his eyes, "the pleasure is mine, I assure you. I have a feeling that this will turn out well."
"Sorry if I burst your bubble, but I don't remember a thing," he repeated, seemingly for the millionth time since Professor Snape had taken him to Diagon Alley. "I was just a year old, after all."
"I didn't say there was anything wrong about that - just as you said, I can't remember anything from when I was one, either," Draco supplied, shrugging it off. "Have you thought of what House you're going to be in?"
"Professor Snape said I might do well in Ravenclaw," Harry replied, interested in the boy sitting across from him, intrigued that he didn't gape or stare at his scar like everyone else seemed to do, shutting his book a bit reluctantly. He knew that he wouldn't get much of anything read between then and arriving at Hogwarts, now.
"My father says that I'll be in Slytherin - after all, I'm a Malfoy," Draco said, tremendous pride filling his voice. "You might do well in Slytherin, too. After all, you seem the type."
"We'll see," Harry responded, watching the scenery become all green, the sun sinking below the horizon slowly.