Prologue

Harry could feel a cold numbness slowly begin to encompass his body as the taxi turned from Magnolia Crescent into Privet Drive. That was how he coped. He'd grown to be quite capable of hiding his feelings; presenting a mask, an unreadable façade to the outside world. Or anyone who didn't know him at least.

The Shock. The Pain. Harry was, if not growing used to it, becoming… accustomed. He laughed to himself. He was growing to expect it. Maybe someone out there was trying to tell him something. Maybe he was supposed to do this alone, to be alone, maybe …

"Ronald Weasley!"

Harry jerked upright at the sound of Hermione Granger's voice. Harry had known Hermione for a long time; six years in fact and they had been best friends for almost as long; ever since she had helped him and his other best friend (the aforementioned) Ronald Weasley to defeat a cave troll in their first year at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. She was an intensely clever witch with a seemingly never ending capacity for storing knowledge and information. At this point she was trying to get some information out of the third member of their trio.

"And what, precisely, are you planning on doing with those?"

Harry could see the back of Ron's ears and neck begin to redden as he bent down mumbling incoherently ('none of your business…. put Harry through hell… deserves it') to pick up several brightly coloured sweets from where they had fallen out of his pocket. Ronald Weasley, known as Ron, was one of seven children. The sixth child and last boy. With five older brothers he had never really had anything new, or all of his own. This pained Harry greatly. The Weasleys had taken Harry in; become something of a surrogate family. Harry would have gladly given them half of his rather considerable wealth, his inheritance.

Harry Potter, you see, is an orphan. His parents, brutally murdered, gave their lives to protect him, Harry, their only child. And that was the reason the taxi he and his two closest friends were squeezed into was rounding that fateful corner into Privet Drive. When Harry's mother gave her life to save him she left him with a sort of lasting protection; it was very old magic, a magic so old and so forgotten that his parents murderer, when he tried to kill Harry, was instead, vanquished. Banished from the corporeal world; doomed to eke out a meaningless existence. Too weak, too powerless to return. This old magic, this power, was in Harry's blood, passed on from his mother and as long as Harry had regular contact with another person of the same blood he would remain protected.

And so Harry, the one year old Harry James Potter was left with nothing. No physical harm done except from a red lightening-bolt shaped scar on his forehead. The world had celebrated while Harry Potter's parents were lying dead. For Harry was a hero, 'The-Boy-Who-Lived'. The same night that he caused the (albeit temporary) destruction of history's most dark, evil wizard he was left on the doorstep of his Aunt's house. His mother's muggle (non-magic) sister. At Number 4 Privet Drive. Ron and Hermione's petty squabbling now became completely pushed to the back of his mind as he zoned out, retreating once again into himself.

For Harry Potter was not the only one to have survived that night. One other. Wandering the world, a mere shadow of his former self; content to possess both animals and humans alike in a vain attempt to contact his followers, his worshippers. For thirteen years this shade hovered on the very edge of existence. Until that fateful night two years ago. He had returned. The very being who had tried to murder a baby, the being who was hated and feared to the extent that people dared not even say his name. 'You-Know-Who' some people called him, 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named'... but Harry knew better. His name was Lord Voldemort. His name was Tom Riddle. And Harry was going to kill him.