DISCLAIMER: Nope, not mine

SUMMARY: Harry loses his memory after a nasty happening at the Dursley's. What will he happen if he grows up at an orphanage, with no knowledge of his real name, or fame? He doesn't look like he used to. He goes by the name Alexander Black...

WARNINGS: child abuse, DH spoilers, violence, mild swearing. I come from a very traditional family, so it will most likely contain corporal punishment in future chapters, but only occasionally, and not very graphic.

AN: This is the new version of Chapter 1. Tell me if you like it. I changed the POV, and added a bit at the beginning and the end, it's slightly longer. Sorry for taking so long.

Chapter 1: A Blue Wig

My name is Alex. Alexander Black, though technically, I am now Alexander Potter. And I was born as Harry Potter (not to mention the many false names I've acquired over the years). So, to keep it simple, you can just call me Alex.

My parents, James and Lily Potter, married when they were eighteen (1978) and had me when they were twenty (1980). It was very late at night when a neighbor friend of my parents arrived to help my mother give birth to me. I was a bit premature, the healers said it would be at least a few more days, but they were wrong. Years later, old Bathilda would tell me how I came as the sun was setting that 31st of July. Some hours later and my birthday would have been August the first. So many things would have been different, if only I had waited a little longer... Not that I could help it, but still.

You see, a prophecy was made when I was just conceived. Some bullshit about some kid destined to defeat the Dark Lord (and by 'Dark Lord' I mean, naturally, old Voldy). Every suffering in my life has been directly or indirectly caused by that goddammed poem, so excuse me for sounding so bitter.

We were hiding at the time, and a very limited number of people had access to us; only one person could reveal the location, though. And happen it did. October 31st, 1981: Voldemort killed my parents. But he couldn't kill me. He was hit by his own curse after it bounced off my forehead, leaving him weak and with no corporal form. Hagrid rescued me from the burning house and brought me to Dumbledore before my godfather arrived. The Headmaster left me at my aunt's doorstep, where my mother's blood could protect me from the Dark Lord and his followers. He never stopped to think, that maybe I would need protection from my relatives. It was ludicrous, of course. Why would Petunia mistreat me, the last link to her dead sister? Surely, she wasn't so bitter. Surely, she wasn't that jealous.

While the magical comunity rejoiced, I was left on my own.

Vernon Dursley was a big man. With no neck, and ham-like arms. His fingers were thick as sausages, and his small, beady eyes were black and greedy. His wife was an exact opposite. Her neck was long enough to compensate for Vernon's lack thereof; and she was thin enough that you could hide three of her behind her husband's humongous body. Blue eyes, blond hair... She might have been considered pretty some time, but her fine features were ruined by the nasty expression she always wore. And her voice - so shrill, she could almost break glass with it. Maybe I'm exaggerating a bit, but what can I say? I'm a little biased.

Their son (Dudley), was a couple of months older than me. He had his mother's hair and eyes, with his father's complexion and dashing looks. That was sarcasm, in case you didn't get it.

At the beginning, they accepted me as part of the family. I was so little, and probably, didn't remember anything about magic. They wanted to raise me as a normal, respectable citizen who would hold a normal, respectable job and have a normal, respectable family. A boring existence, but much better than what it became after my magic started showing. Before my second birthday, they moved me down to the cupboard under the stairs. It scared me at first, but soon I realised that the shadows and spiders would not hurt me. If anything, I felt safer in there; where Uncle Vernon couldn't reach me, where Dudley would not dare to enter. The spiders were my only companions and I talked to them every night, after going through yet another bad day. They didn't let me go to kindy, but I started school after my fifth birthday. Dudley scared off anyone who even attempted to talk to me, and uncle would punish me if my grades were better than his son's. I didn't have much time to hold back at class, though. Two months after term started, Murphy's law reared its ugly head.

Most teachers at that school disliked me. Have you ever heard a kid complaining that the teachers are against him, after getting a bad grade? Well, I'm a living example that it does happen, sometimes. I was that weird scrawny kid that nobody wanted to play with. My hair was like a bird's nest, but dirtier. My clothes were so big that they made me look even skinnier. And my eyes are "weird"; apparently, it gives people the creeps when I look at them. At least that's what all the residents at Privet Drive said.

So, you understand, I had to somehow get back at them. It hurt me, so I had to hurt them back. After my third week at school, I realised things would not change by themselves. The pranks began. They were horribly simple, and childish - but, hey, I was only five. A few of them were quite creative, if I do say so myself. I learned to control my magic a bit, and used it against those who treated me badly. I didn't know it was magic at the time, of course. But I digress.

Nobody had any proof that it was me, but all my teachers and class-mates suspected. It was like a very well-known secret. It did not help my friend-less situation, either. One day, however, they decided they had had enough. This is where my story begins.

"I swear I don't know what happened!!" 5-year-old me complained frantically "It couldn't be my fault! I was too far away from him to do it!"

And it was true. My teacher had been insulting my hand-me-down clothes and just about every aspect of my persona for several minutes when it happened. Suddenly, his wig turned blue, electric-blue. So, as usual it was my fault. Everything was my fault. Even if there was evidence of my innocence, I was always at fault.

I had only just started school this year and was already facing expulsion. It annoyed me quite a bit that after so many perfect pranks, I had to get caught and expelled for the one I didn't actually do. How unfair. Not that life had ever been fair to me, mind you. I was unloved, neglected, and quite often abused. After all, I was just a freak, a waste of space, undeserving of anything. Young me was well aware of this fact.

So here I was, trying my best to prove how strange this whole thing was. I knew it was no use, but I still had to try...

And delay the punishment as much as I possibly could. Because I was a smart kid. I knew what was coming and I sure as hell didn't want that to happen. But nothing I said would change that. And I knew it.

Uncle Vernon's face was quickly changing from red to purple. He was getting to the part where he would start yelling and using my poor battered body as a punching bag.

But before Vernon could start his rant, Aunt Petunia whispered something in his ear. At first he looked confused, but slowly a cruel (and oddly distorted) grin appeared on his face.

I gulped, dreading whatever was to come. If it made my uncle smile like that, it couldn't be good for my health. Aunt Petunia left the room, and Vernon started approaching me menacingly. I forced himself not to flinch when the enormous man took a handful of hair and yanked me around. Crying would only make it worse.

The beating continued just as I thought it would. It was harsher than normal, but otherwise the same. Only difference was that this time, he beat me anywhere he could, not taking care of whether the bruises where visible or not. It was lasting longer too... But I tried to be brave, for my parents. Despite anything my aunt said, I knew there was a time when I had been loved. Whenever I slept after a beating, I would see their faces in my sleep. I didn't remember it very well, but I knew it was their voices in the back of my mind, telling me to be strong; it would be over soon.

When Uncle Vernon finally stopped, I was seeing black spots, everything was a blur. I didn't know where my glasses were, nor did I care at that moment. My nose was broken, as well as a few ribs. Carefully, I stood up.

Sprained wrist, dislocated shoulder, three cracked ribs, broken nose, swollen black eye, bruises... more bruises... I didn't realize just how injured I currently was, but you can bet I could definitely feel it. Never had I been in so much pain before. Dursley never hurt me so much, he didn't want someone to realize where the bruises came from, of course.

It was moments like this when I wondered what was so wrong with me. What had I done to deserve such a punishment? Uncle Vernon would never do something like this to Dudley. Why was I treated so differently? Things had always been like this. As far as I could remember, my cousin was given anything and everything he wanted, never scolded for doing something bad, no matter how big. I, however, had never received a single gift, not even a kind word; I was beaten for the tiniest mistakes, even for Dudley's mistakes and other things completely out of my control; I was also treated like a slave. It was just plainly cruel to have a 5-year-old washing the dishes when there was a perfectly functional dishwasher. As sad as it may sound, I had learned to accept all this.

But now was not the moment for self-pity. I could hear my aunt calling. When had she come back? Well, it didn't really matter. I better hurried before it was too late.

"Boy, come here," she said. I recognized the blurry figure of Aunt Petunia and walked towards it.

And then she started talking. I had long ago learned how to tune my relatives out when needed, without them noticing the lack of attention. It was a way to keep myself from being broken. Not in the literal sense, much deeper. This way I could detect any information needed, and remain unaffected to their insults.

I gave a start when the words: "My sister" where spat out. Aunt Petunia never talked about my mother, her sister. Only thing I knew about her was that she died because of me. This made no sense, whatsoever. After all, hadn't they died in a car accident? How could it possibly be my fault? Maybe I would finally find out.

And I did. She seemed to be completely honest - and bitter - about it. She didn't leave anything out; and despite the many insults and clear disapproval, I found himself fascinated by it.

I was a wizard! And a good one at that. After all, I was fated to greatness, to be a hero. All of it made sense. My scar, the green light, all those weird things happening around me...

My excitement quickly faded away when Aunt Petunia said: "You're no longer welcomed here. Go clean yourself, you have 10 minutes, and get out. I don't care where you end up, just don't come back".

I gaped at her. 'Get out'? Where would I go? Where could I go? I really doubted they would give me any money. And, hadn't she said something about bad guys wanting me dead? With this thoughts running trough my head, I went to my cupboard. I picked some clothes and entered the bathroom.

While I put on some of Dudley's old clothes, a crazy idea occurred to me. Maybe I could change my name, and no one would know it was me. Yeah. It sounded good to me. But, what could I name myself? It came to me really quick. Alexander. Like Alexander the Great! One of the few teachers who were neutral to me, instead of hating me - not the one with a blue wig, obviously - had told the class about that man. It just fitted.

Now I needed a last name. That would be more difficult. Maybe I could stay with 'Evans'? Nah. I needed a new one. The name 'Moony' came to my mind, but I quickly discarded that option. Where did it come from, anyway? Plenty of unusual words kept coming, but it was useless. Kids already laughed at me for my ungroomed appearance and broken glasses. It would surely be worse if I was called 'Alexander Prongs'! Or Gryffindor. That one sounded good, but not quite...

I suddenly smiled. Black. It was perfect! Black like my hair, and those funny shaped spots that wouldn't go away.

"Alexander Black," I whispered, liking the sound of it. No one would know it was me -

My smile fell as soon as that thought made it through my head. That stupid scar! Argh, how could I forget it? Anyone would recognize me just by looking at my forehead, if what Aunt Petunia said was true. I wished I looked different, without the strange scar, and with no need for glasses. I wouldn't look like myself, and no one would hurt me...

I blinked in shock when I saw my shoes. Like, really saw them, not just a distorted blur. I could actually see them. But I didn't have much time to marvel at the unexpected miracle. The door banged open right then and Uncle Vernon came in.

Vernon Dursley was happy. He was finally getting rid of the freak. He smirked when he remembered the monthly payments he was getting to 'spend' on the boy. Ha! Yeah, right. That money was better off in his pocket. And now he would get it all for himself.

Those ten minutes were quickly passing and the freak hadn't come out. Maybe he needed a little remainder? He banged open the bathroom door and entered.

His eyes bulged out when he noticed the boy's face. It was totally different! Still bruised, and his nose still broken, but he no longer looked like he was supposed to. Vernon looked for his scar, but it wasn't there.

He could feel his fury at boiling point. That damned child was doing it again! Contaminating his house and neighborhood. And soon, he would contaminate the streets!

No... He couldn't allow that to happen. It was his duty as a citizen to eliminate this dangerous piece of dirt, this crime against nature.

He gave the freak a last loathing look. He had never noticed just how green those eyes were. They were big and bright, sparkling on a way only emeralds should. This angered Vernon even more. The boy was looking warily at him, so disrespectfully. How dare he glare at him?? As if they were equals!

That was it! With a resounding 'thud!' he knocked him out. He would make sure he never lived to insult anyone again. He took off his belt to strap the boy's wrists and ankles. He ripped the freak's shirt and used it to gag him and as a blindfold.

Vernon lifted him up with his left arm while opening the door with the right. A self-satisfied smirk was slowly appearing under his enormous moustache.

Rebecca Rodriguez was driving back to the orphanage where she worked. She didn't really like kids and she was hoping her husband, Eduardo, wouldn't want any. But she needed the money. It was a nasty surprise when Eduardo confessed losing his job... right after the wedding.

She was rudely pulled out of her bitter thoughts when the car bumped into something. Oh, shit! Just the perfect way of ending the bloody day. With a sigh, she opened the door. It was a really dark street and a really dark night, only the moon gave any light. What a horrible Halloween. She didn't particularly like the day's festivities, but this only made it worse.

She groaned out loud when she realized that, not only had she bumped into someone... the car had actually passed over that someone. Rebecca looked at him. He was just a kid.

Before she could start swearing under her breath, she noticed the improvised handcuffs and blindfold. So she did what any normal person would: she gaped. Until reality struck.

She was reluctant of touching him. But he needed medical attention, so she put him on the backseat carefully and continued on her way to the orphanage.

Meanwhile, in Privet Drive, men wearing dark robes and white masks were slowly making their way towards number four...

Next day was chaos in the wizarding world, and with good reason. The Boy-Who-Lived was dead. He and his relatives were killed, and the entire block was burnt to ashes with Fiendfyre. The dark mark appeared on the sky right as midnight came.

Nothing remained standing.

And, as if it wasn't enough, it were ministry workers and a werewolf, responsible for it. Malfoy, Nott, Avery and Greyback were all Death Eaters. Malfoy and Nott, Fudge's advisers, respected members of the community; were caught, interrogated and deemed guilty. They received the dementor's kiss, but Avery and Greyback managed to escape.

Harry Potter was given a proper funeral, even though they never found his body. Nobody knew what really happened, they didn't know about me. That was the night that changed my life, maybe even more so than when my parents died. That night, Harry Potter and Alexander Black became two different people. It marked my destiny and changed the future that would've come true if I had remained at the Dursleys.

That night, a window of possibilities opened; and it was now too late to close it.