A/N: This is a new plot idea. I am using mostly American terms as I don't really know some of the British terms like "pence" instead of penny? Not really sure there. This features MILD Ron Weasley bashing, Slightly Manipulative!Good!Dumbledore, Overbearing!Good!Molly Weasley, Ravenclaw!Hermione, Slytherin-like, but in Gryffindor!Fred Weasley, Slytherin-like, but in Gryffindor!George Weasley, Slytherin!Ginny Weasley, Arrogant!Good!Draco Malfoy, NO SUPER!Slytherin!Dark!Good!Ice-Elemental!Independent!Harry, Good!Repentant!Not-as-harsh!Snape (as noticed by the name), and NO PAIRINGS AS OF NOW!

Yes, Harry will be powerful, but only to an extent of his age and will have to work for his powers. His only advantage will be wandless magic, which still will drain him considerably in the beginning, until he trains it, sort of like a muscle. In 1st year, Harry can produce a snowball, for example, that will be the extent of his powers INTENTIONALLY, that isn't to say he won't be more powerful during accidental magic, such as in this chapter. Rated T for Slight Harsh Language and Mild Descriptions of Abuse!

P.S. Harry will only have be the HEIR of Potter, Peverell, and Black until 14 when he can take up the Potter and Peverell Lordship, however, he will still remain the scion because the current lord, Sirius Black, still lives, or does he? Hehe… wait and find out.

It was a cold day outside, sunny, but cold. The kids outside were playing in the snow, creating snowmen, and making snow angels. Snowballs were flying across the yard. All children were having fun this Christmas of 1987, save for one Harry James Potter. Said Harry Potter was stuck in his room, which in reality was the cupboard under the stairs, though this was a well-guarded secret, one that would ruin the Dursleys should anyone discover it.

And there we arrive at the root of the problem – the Dursleys. One should mention that a certain Petunia Dursley neè Evans was Harry's Aunt, though she loathed him more than anything she could ever remember. Harry's Uncle, Vernon Dursley was a manager at a local drills firm called Grunnings and loathed anything abnormal, which in his eyes was represented by none other than our very own Harry James Potter. And of course who could forget their precious Duddikins. Or as we know him, Dudley Dursley, Harry's cousin, who strove to make Harry's life hell, in school, at home, or around the neighborhood. Together all three of them drove Harry to the point of depression, if a 7 year old could be depressed.

Petunia would gossip to the other women of Privet Drive, Surrey, which is where they currently resided, that Harry was a troublemaker just like his whore of a mother and drunk of a father. Needless to say, who would want such a troublemaker playing with their normal child?

Dudley would make fun of Harry in school, and constantly beat him up and any other child who dared to talk to Harry. Once again, needless to say, Harry didn't have many friends for long. Dudley would also commit small crimes around the neighborhood, which were immediately pinned on that troublemaker Potter, whereas it couldn't ever be my precious Duddikins, Petunia would crow to anyone who would inquire with them. An example of said small crime would be trampling over Mrs. Number 9's roses in here front garden. But it couldn't have been Harry who was in school at the time unlike Dudley who had faked sick and his parents had lapped it up quite eagerly, Petunia urging the doctor for a home visit. Yet once again, logic escapes these simpletons.

But, now let us proceed to the beginning of our story, with young Harry Potter in his cupboard. Harry Potter, no matter what might one think, was a strange child. Strange things happened around him. One example was when Petunia shaved off Harry's hair with military-like precision, and the next day it was back. It was almost like magic. Another example was when a teacher had ridiculed Harry for his choice of clothing in coming to school, as if he had a choice in clothing. God forbid the Dursleys would have to spend a penny on Harry. And what of little Harry Potter. While the Dursleys were enjoying a beautiful night at the local country club, poor little Harry Potter was locked in his cupboard under the stairs.

"I hate them… Why can't they just die? I hate them… Die… Die… Die," was a mantra Harry repeated over and over to himself in his cupboard. It was his one spark, his one happy thought that kept him sane, and barely that, if at all, throughout his years of torment at the Dursleys. Whether he wanted to acknowledge it or not, Harry understood he was abused. When Harry tried to tell his teacher, there was a conference with the Principal, and with Vernon's influence, and the Principal's greed, everything was hushed up, his teacher fired, and a nice fat check waiting for the Principal the very next day. So, Harry continued to suffer, and with each passing day, a darkness grew within him, it wasn't evil, simply the byproduct of the cancer known as abuse.

Now, back to the present, as Harry's tormented brain revolted against his Stockholm-like Syndromed conditioning, which was to be quiet, don't ask questions, and for the most part be meek and moldable, the darkness which had grown inside of Harry had now festered in his brain, feeding him thoughts of what to do to deal with the Dursleys. Harry tried to calm himself and his thoughts, and as he did, a peace came over him, chilling him, but soothing him at the same time. In… Out… In… Out, Harry repeated to himself as he breathed deeply in and out, trying desperately to calm the raging fire in him craving revenge. Slowly but surely, the fire in his body gave way to an ice-cold chill, and instinctively, Harry's magic had made its choice. Level-headed over passion, logic over emotions, ice over fire, and yet to be known, Slytherin over Gryffindor. And almost like magic, the temperature in the house started dipping, the internal heating mechanism somehow faulting, and the temperature in the house reached temperatures colder than the ones outside. Soon the pipes began to freeze, and subsequently burst, flooding the house with ice-cold water, the fridge and freezer began frosting, the lights dimmed by ice gathering on the light bulbs. Of course, one must consider the Potter Luck, because as this was happening, the Dursley family, for once in a strangely good mood made its way down Privet Drive, and turned into the driveway, blissfully unaware of the unnatural events occurring inside the house.

Dudley, excited to torment Harry about what a great time the FAMILY had together, opened the door first, and was crushed by a torrent of ice-cold water, chilling Dudley down to the bone, inducing shivers almost immediately. Vernon, as he was prone to hot-headedness, automatically drew the conclusion, which for once was true, it was that blasted Potter's fault. So, he strode into the house, braving the freezing temperature and ice-cold water, with little light, and bellowed, "Freak! What in blazes have you done now?"

There was no reply, so Vernon grabbed the poker from the fireplace and proceeded to the cupboard under the stairs. He ripped the door off of its hinges in his anger and then looked inside, where all his anger and bravado waned as he feasted his eyes upon the shining emerald eyes of Harry and the ice surrounding his body. Vernon gasped in horror. It was his worst nightmare come true. The freak was doing magic. And once again, anger seized control of his logical part of his brain, however small it may have been and swung the poker towards Harry's head, intent on impaling Harry's brain, evidently pushed beyond the brink of insanity. Suddenly, Harry grabbed the poker, stopping it inches from his face, and spoke in a harsh, chilling voice, "Leave, peasant!"

Vernon paled, which consisted drastically with the reddish-purplish color that always seemed to mar his face. Harry continued speaking.

"Do I have to repeat myself? Your kind have no standing upon me! I am your God! Bow before your master!"

And suddenly, Vernon's back bent unnaturally until he was 90⁰ to the ground. And suddenly, within Vernon's pathetically sized brain, a thought resonated, it basically screamed that Harry was master, him servant. And though Vernon attempted to fight it, the thought overpowered him, making any and all other resistance futile.

"Yes, Master Harry," Vernon muttered.

Petunia who rushed into the house at first sound of Vernon's screams gasped and held her hand to her mouth, as she witnessed the scene in front of her. She flashed-back to her days as a child.

"Higher, Tuney, higher!" Lily shouted gleefully.

Petunia pushed Lily higher and higher on the swings until at its peak Lily jumped off and slowly floated towards the ground.

"How do you do that," Petunia exclaimed. "It's not fair," she grumbled, "Why does Lily get all the weird things?"

Little did either of them know, a pale, sallow boy was lurking behind the big tree in the park, overhearing their entire conversation and watching the scene unfold in front of him. The boy couldn't help himself, he was too excited.

"I know why," the sallow boy said, trying hard to restrain his eagerness.

"Ah!" Petunia screamed as she jumped, clearly startled by the boy's sudden appearance. "Have you been watching us," she accused.

The sallow looking boy blushed, obviously not intending to be caught eavesdropping on their conversation, but he couldn't help it.

"I know why you can do things like that," the boy muttered.

"Really," Lily asked skeptically. "I don't believe you."

"No, I mean, I can do them too, it's because you're a witch!" the boy exclaimed.

"Well, that's not very nice, calling someone a witch," Lily said, frowning.

"I didn't mean it like that, I mean, I'm a wizard," the boy said excitedly, finally hoping to have a friend who was similar to him.

"Yeah, and I'm the Witch of the North," Petunia said sarcastically. "Let's go home Lily, away from him," Petunia added, pointedly looking at the ragged state of clothes the boy was wearing.

The boy flushed a deep red, obviously embarrassed, and scathingly replied, "No one asked for your opinion, filthy muggle!"

Both girls were confused, but Lily knew enough by the tone of the boy's voice that it was an insult, one she didn't understand, but an insult nonetheless.

"Let's go, Tuney," Lily said distastefully, "I don't want to be around him any longer either."

And with that both girls turned and left for home, leaving the sallow boy standing there, tears forming at his eyes, not comprehending why no one wanted to be his friend.

Petunia returned to reality quite harshly.

"Get out," she whispered, still reeling from her flashback.

"I don't know why we ever took a freak like you in," Petunia exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch, volume, and quivering as well. "You're just like her," Petunia whispered to herself. And she turned away from the boy, sobs escaping her, unable to bear her sister's eyes looking at her so coldly, accusingly, so unlike Lily.

"I don't know what you did to my precious Vernon, but I won't stand for it anymore," she cried, "All I want is you out of this house, you are no longer welcome here."

"Gladly," Harry whispered harshly, his voice carrying over the gushing pipes and the wails outside of Dudley. And with that, Harry's magic responded to him again, and he disappeared with a resounding CRACK. And just like that, by mutual agreement, the blood wards, set up to protect Harry and his family, crumbled.

A siren went off in Albus Dumbledore's office, but with no one around to hear it, save for Fawkes, who crooned melancholically, because it was Christmas, and there was a huge feast at Hogwarts, Harry's disappearance went unnoticed until it was too late, and the blood wards couldn't be salvaged, and Harry was gone.