DISCLAIMER: Uh. Sorry, nope. Don't own it. ;D If you've played Aveyond, you'll see a lot of similarities. ^_^ I don't own Aveyond either, though it did give me a smashing idea for this story!

Pairing: HPxTMR

Prologue: Nine Years Ago

Down four houses in Privet Village, you'll see the most grotesque and horrifyingly normal family in existence: the Dursleys. They were the epitome of terrible people that somehow fit into the square of normality that witches nowadays fell into: extreme hideousness.

Petunia Dursley had a long neck and a squat nose and her husband, Vernon Dursley, was tomato-faced and had a moustache that quivered every time he spoke. Even their son, Dudley, was distressingly hideous with his overweight body and piggy, watery blue eyes.

Now, it's not to say that they were that horrible outside (which they were) or that they were that horrible inside (which they really are), it was just the fact that they were ugly inside AND outside that caused them to be looked up to by their fellow witchly neighbours.

Which brings an important thing to be noted:

Witches in that village valued ugliness. Whichever ugly they could get—warts on their faces and bodies, long noses, yellow and black decaying teeth—that was completely attractive to them. Anything smooth, clear, 'beautiful', or pure—they absolutely loathed.

One boy in their village wholly fit into that latter category and his name was Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was taken in by the Dursleys, nine years prior, as an act of 'vengeance' (which wasn't really). They had told their neighbours that they had taken Harry in as revenge for what Petunia's younger sister had done to her years before. The neighbours had only nodded, seemingly impressed with this extremely terrible act. In reality, the Dursleys had found him on their doorstep and had no choice but to take him in. The real reason they took him in was the letter they found with Harry. It informed them that if they refused to take him in, they would be cursed with beauty and riches beyond their wildest dreams. Least to say, that scared the Dursley family shitless and caused them to take poor Harry in.

Speaking of Harry, his first few years were relatively uneventful (eating mashed up bananas and carrots, throwing spaghetti at his cousin every Thursday—you know, the childhood usual). It wasn't until a month ago that Petunia decided he was too 'kind' and did something that they both would never forget.

As Harry scrambled out of his Uncle Vernon's carriage and watched them literally abandon him by his lonesome, Harry could still remember that day quite clearly…

"BOY!"

Heavy footsteps clomped onto the door of the small basement that served as his room.

With a start, Harry woke up and blearily looked up into a peering eye. He recognised it as his Aunt Petunia's. Working his dry mouth and throat, Harry answered, "Yes, Auntie?"

There was a loud, exaggerated sigh.

"Don't 'Auntie' me, boy! Stop being so polite and get your slow body up here to make us some breakfast!" Petunia then stomped away, grumbling loudly about how difficult he was by being too nice all the time.

Harry, as a child, knew that if he didn't follow what the adults said, he would be cursed or worse yet beaten; so with haste, he made his bed and climbed out of the basement. He almost tripped on the creaking floorboard that disliked him very much (everything seemed to dislike him really) and robotically went through his daily routine.

Scramble three large eggs, fry the sausages and bacon while scrambling eggs, make some tea and bake the bread and keep it warm. He had done this since he was five and learned to use the stool (in order to reach the top of the stove, you see).

When everything was good and done, he set the table and placed the food there while taking the smallest piece of bread and one sausage. Harry was never allowed to eat at the table.

He then rang the cowbell that was placed next to the doorway. It was used as a signal whenever meals were done being cooked. If Harry had to be honest, they had a good working ethics here. If he didn't get in the Dursley's way, they didn't bother him all too much—which was fine and dandy for him!

Dudley, as usual, was the first to saunter (wobble) in. Harry was worried about how much his cousin ate, but he could never say a thing lest he be hit for being 'too concerned for other people's welfare'. Apparently, being worried was just too nice and unacceptable, so he kept most of his comments to himself.

"This food sucks," the fat boy commented as he took a large chunk of the scrambled eggs into his mouth. That was, again, a normal comment which basically translated into: 'I like your food, thank you very much for cooking it.' Or that's what Harry would like to think.

Five minutes later, his aunt and uncle finally came into the dining room and sank into their respective places, each taking three strips of bacon and placing them onto their plates. It wasn't until midway into their meal that Petunia said, "I believe we should send Harry to that Gentle school, Hogwarts Academy, somewhere down in Scotland."

The room became eerily silent, with Harry, Dudley and Vernon only staring open-mouthed and slack jawed at Petunia. Then steam literally pumped out of Vernon's rapidly reddening ears, making a whistling noise akin to a train whistle.

"WHAT?!" The man exploded, the hairs on his moustache terrifying almost everyone around him. Dudley cowered behind his empty plate and Harry gulped and quivered from where he stood.

But Petunia wasn't cowed. She gave her husband a flat look and primly put her fork down. "Darling most rotten," Petunia said in a sweet-syrupy tone. "Look at Harry. Tell me if you think he belongs here. If any part of him belongs here."

Vernon did just that, beady black eyes glowering at Harry.

The hair on the back of Harry's neck stood on end during the scrutiny. He wondered what his Uncle saw. His messy black hair? The dirt on his face that he forgot to wash off because he was in a hurry to make breakfast? He didn't stop wondering until Vernon looked away, snorting.

"You're right, Pet," the man admitted, heaving a large sigh. "Maybe we should send this good-for-nothing to that Gentle school. Only place where people like him belong."

"Gentle school?" asked Dudley, peeking out from the plate he used to hide behind.

"Yes, Duddykins," said Petunia, sending Dudley a yellow-toothed smile. "That's where unwanted boys and girls from this village are sent to and never seen again."

Harry shivered at the unbidden images popping into his mind, of children being burned during recess and their intestines being sprayed everywhere before lunch. It wasn't a pretty sight, at least in his overactive imagination.

Green eyes widening even more, Harry pleadingly stared at his aunt. "Err, Aunt Petunia, don't I get a say in this? Please tell me I get a say in this?"

Petunia only gave him a deadpanned look. "No, you don't, you bumbling nincompoop. You'll be sent there at eleven anyway, with or without our consent. I'll just send you earlier. I don't think there'd be too much of a problem."

And Petunia was right. There weren't any problems getting his transferee papers from the local witchcraft school. The only real problem was waiting for the bus that came by the village every five months.

So this was why Harry currently waiting in front of the beaten down bus terminal two miles away from Privet Village. It was the day that the Knight bus came to take him away from his horrid relatives and his equally horrid village. However, Harry knew that even if it took him away to that 'Gentle' school, no one would care there if he was beaten, bullied, or worse yet: dead.

Harry sighed and shifted on his feet.

He was doomed.

As soon as this thought occurred in his head, a large, triple decked bus appeared from the throng of trees, rolling onto the dirt-beaten pathway. Harry watched as it leisurely came to a stop in front of him, the double glass doors magically opening up.

"Hullo there!" a man with large ears (the girls in his village would find him very attractive) bellowed. "M'name is Stan Shunpike and I'm proud to be your conductor today! Don't worry about paying a single knut, this bus is paid by the Board of Governors and the Committee of Public Transport!"

The driver grunted towards Harry, which Harry felt was very condescending. Maybe the old man meant that Stan was the only conductor and that he should be worried about his welfare?

"Well? Come on in!"

Regardless of his train of thought, Harry was ushered into the bus by Stan, who gave him a wide grin and a wink. The jolly conductor seated Harry at a front seat and told him with a whisper, "Ern doesn't like to talk much, but that's okay. I do enough talking for the both of us." He then left Harry to begin an excitatory one-sided conversation with aforementioned bus driver.

Thankfully alone and without Stan (who Harry felt was a chatterbox), Harry curiously took the time to look around. He noticed that there were no other people on the bus except him. He assumed that it was probably quite an unproductive day for Stan and Ern, hence the warm greeting from them both.

Suddenly, Ern stepped on the gas pedal and began driving.

With an almighty jerk and a loud squawk of surprise from Harry (he had hit the back of his head on the top of his seat), the bus started to drive off path, through trees and bushes and—did they just fly over a river? Harry wasn't too sure, but he felt his stomach turning around in his belly. It didn't feel quite normal, thank you very much.

Stan appeared unflustered and even went about walking around the aisles when he noticed Ern not listening to him.

Stan eventually sat next to a green-looking Harry, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping whatever small breakfast he had.

"Oy, you there," he said to Harry.

Harry had his eyes closed so he wouldn't see the bus spinning. He slowly turned to where Stan was and politely said, "Yes sir?"

"What's your name, ey? I haven't caught it yet," replied Stan, reaching over to pat Harry's back. It only caused Harry to gag and place a hand over his mouth.

"It's Harry, sir. Harry Potter," he said through gritted teeth. Opening his eyes, he saw Stan's inquisitive gaze.

"Why is a nine year old like you on the Knight bus, if you don't mind me saying?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, really. My Aunt and Uncle decided that I should go to that Gentle school in Scotland early. I'm only nine but my relatives told me that the school only accepts eleven year olds."

Stan hummed and nodded. "Aye, that's true. I went to that school meself, ten years back. Was a good school, it was."

Harry had a hard time believing that Stan had ever been to school, much less graduated from one, but Harry wisely kept his mouth shut. He listened as Stan continued to prattle on:

"They do only accept eleven year olds, but methinks you'll be accepted. You'll probably be a special case of some sort. Who knows, maybe some nice old couple will adopt you?"

"Adopt me?" Harry asked, eyebrows lifting. He had a difficult time believing anyone would adopt him, or actually want him.

"Yeah, din'cha know? Hogwarts is a special place for special witches and wizards. Only the elite go there," said Stan, puffing his chest out proudly.

"Then why do they call it the Gentle school?" asked Harry, deadpanned. "My relatives spoke of it as if it was a horrible place."

Stan scratched his goatee. "Perhaps it's 'cos you came from Privet village, the only traditional witch village left. Everyone's become more modern, but those stiff-uppity elders of yours want nothing to do with modernization. Not that I blame them. At least they keep the Old Ways around."

Harry quickly grew bored of Stan, and kept his mouth closed for the rest of the trip, sometimes listening to Stan and other times completely ignoring the conductor. It wasn't as if Stan noticed.

They eventually reached a stop in front of gigantic iron gates that had vines growing all over it. Harry peered out of the window and noticed that it was evening.

"Well," Stan said, lifting his hat off his head. "It was nice meetin' ya, Harry. But this is your stop. Tell Dumbledore I said hi."

"Dumble-wah?" asked Harry, as Stan not-so-gently shoved him off the bus. Ern raised his hand up, giving a small wave of goodbye to Harry.

"Dumbledore," the conductor corrected him with a saucy wink. "Now, just walk up this path and you'll find your school. Take care, Harry!" With that, the bus winked out of space. Or Ern drove it off-path. Harry didn't know.

So steeling himself for his inevitable homelessness (meaning he'd be turned away for being too young), Harry pushed passed the iron gates and made his way up the cobblestone pathway.

Right towards his doom.

A/N: I should seriously consider writing more. But I won't. Because there'll be a time skip after this. :D I wrote this story in time for Halloween XD Hope you guys like the Halloween theme! If anyone would like to beta/be a friend and kick me in the ass to update often, i wouldn't mind! xD i'm super friendly! -waves-