This story is set before Hogwarts when Harry is at the age of five. This will be a Snape Father/montor fict. Harry will show that he is or will be a very pwerful wizard .
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The Boy-Who-Lived
Shivering, shaking and wrapping his arms tightly around himself as the young boy curled himself into a tighter ball. Small and soft whimpers escaped his lips as he struggled to stop the tears dripping down his face. He knew he should not cry, his uncle had shown him the punishment for crying and he felt it often when he was younger but still the tears dripped one after another down his pale face. Caringly rubbing his stomach as it churned and twisted in pain the boy let out another whimper, praying that his uncle would not hear him. When was the last time he actually had something to eat? Or been allowed a drop of water? The days had begun blurred in one long nightmare.
The young boy, who thought his name was Harry but could have just as easily have been freaked , boy or abomination, rubbed at his teary emerald green eyes as he once again tried to stop the useless tears from drowning his cheek. He scolded himself. What would the tears achieve expect another beating? His uncle did not stop the beating because of tears, his teachers and neighbours did nothing about his tears and his tears could not save him so why does he even bother crying? Even with this logical Harry could not stop; it was his fault really, that is what is uncle always tells him as he struck him again and again with the belt or anything else he can grasp with his beefy fingers. The belt was his favourite; Harry would get daily beatings with that thing.
But his last "freakiness" had resulted in his harshest and painful beating yet. His wrist ached and he could barely move it, his left leg resulted to support him and every inch of his body was covered in bruises, cuts and welts. Every move was agony and for once Harry was grateful that his cousin was fat pig so his second hand clothes did not rub against his battered skin. He did not mean to make the flowers bloom and he was not even sure how he did it. They were sitting in the garden- well his auntie and cousin were sitting and enjoying the sunshine, he was tending to those weeds again- when he cut a bud of the nearby flower. Gently picking it up with his finger he felt an unexpected sense of lost, the flower will never show it true beauty. What happen next Harry could never explain, not then or now. The flower slowly opened in Harry's hands, revealing the pale cool blue petals. It was so pretty that it enchanted Harry; he did not want it to die or close so he was even more surprised when the flower began growing a root, wrapping itself around Harry's finger and planting itself in the ground.
For a moment it the garden Harry forgot all the problems, all the pains and sorrow that he had in his young life as he watched in wonder and amazement at the growing flower. That was until his aunt's screaming brought him back to reality. Pain had followed after that, pain for his aunt hitting, his cousin stamping on his ankle so he 'doesn't hurt his mummy' and the worse pain from his uncle's beating. Silent tears came thicker and faster down the young boy's cheeks at the memory of this assault. He knew it was pointless in Harry's 5 years of life he had learnt two things about adults in his life; they do not care if you are hurt or cry and they never stay around for every long. His parents left him and so would any other adult that he meets.
With his shivers and shaking growing uncontrollable the cupboard door was wrench opened and Harry was greeted with the fat, purple and ugly face of his uncle who was smiling at him like a cat would smile at his prey. Not for the first time in his life Harry wished for someone to take him away but for the first time his magic answered him.
At the same time Harry's first scream escaped his lips Severus Snape woke up with a jolt, sweating and shaking from a nightmare about a green eye little boy.