Disclaimer: I don't own it.

Chapter 1

Harry Potter was eight years old when the badly wrapped package appeared on the doorstep with the morning mail. With messy black hair, somewhat resembling a bird's nest, and green eyes covered by a pair of broken black framed glasses, Harry looked the perfect picture of a ragamuffin. Unfortunately, he was anything but.

I wonder what it is? He wondered, turning the package over to look for a name. It had Number Four Privet Drive, but no other identifying marks. Oddly enough, it didn't even have a postal stamp. Harry bit his lip in indecision. The only person home besides him was Aunt Petunia and she was busy watching the soaps.

Giving a quick look around to make sure no one was watching, Mrs. Number Three really despised him, before ducking back inside with all the mail clutched in his hands. He made sure that the door gently closed behind him and tiptoed down the short hallway to the end table in the parlor to set down the pile.

I should put it with the rest. It's not mine. His small hand, almost covered by the sleeves of his too-large shirt, hesitated on the top of the pile. It doesn't say that it belongs to anyone else in the house either. Besides, Dudley has tons and tons of presents and I never have any.

His conscience though couldn't be so easily silenced. Harry had been raised by a very strict set of principles and no matter how skewed, there was a very definite sense of what was right and wrong. Reluctantly, he placed the package, square and only a bit bigger than a ring box, and took a few steps back. His bare feet scuffed the carpet as he stared at it longingly, wanting to know what was concealed in the wrapping.

Temptation won out, however, at the sound of his aunt's voice echoing through the house as her soap ended. Harry quickly snatched the package and hurried to hide it underneath his cot in the cupboard under the stairs. After all, he argued, it does call to me. It sings.

Harry didn't get a chance to check the package for several days. Busy as he was, he spent the entire time cleaning the house from top to bottom, repeatedly. Aunt Marge, as he found out the first day, was coming for a visit, and Aunt Petunia demanded absolute perfection. It wasn't until the night before the visit that Harry was finally able to check the contents of the mysterious package.

Showing the patience of a person much older than himself, Harry waited until everyone was asleep before bringing out his trusty flashlight and turning it on. Slowly, with everything safely hidden underneath the covers in case of discovery, Harry opened the package to reveal a small black box.

Curious, he looked at it for a long moment. With an odd feeling of importance, Harry lifted the lid to reveal a small red stone on a silver chain. He lifted it up and noticed that it was more than just a chain, it was a necklace. He looked for a note or something to show who it was from or who it was for, but all he could find was a small 'From Perenelle' etched into the side of the lining in the box.

Who is Perenelle? He wondered. I don't know anyone by that name. With a long moment of consideration Harry decided to wear it. Aunt Petunia wouldn't because it didn't look at all expensive. And it really was awfully odd looking. It was cracked and had several dark lines running through the center of it. For obvious reasons, Dudley and Uncle Vernon wouldn't wear it either.

No harm, no foul then. He slipped it on, expecting something to happen with the way that it practically called to him, but he was disappointed. What was I expecting? Magic?

Shrugging, Harry put away the wrapping, carefully folded, and the box underneath a loose floorboard. Within minutes, he was fast asleep, one hand protectively wrapped around the stone.

Aunt Marge was as large as Uncle Vernon and was just as mean. Unfortunately, for her that is, she was almost identical to her brother, even down to the moustache. Harry usually giggled at the thought of it late at night after everyone was asleep.

Harry had heard Aunt Petunia muttering under her breath about 'that loathsome woman' and her 'insufferable' personality. Even when Harry was nearby, she would start going on about Marge's affection for the dogs and her grievous lack of a personal life. Harry really didn't understand that one, but he was there to cook and clean for Aunt Petunia, not understand the weird thoughts that wandered throughout her mind.

That week was just as unpleasant for Harry as it had been for Aunt Petunia. While Ripper, Aunt Marge's bulldog, ate out of the good china and piddled on the carpet, linoleum, and then the grass, Harry put up with Marge herself. He didn't know why exactly she hated him, but he had a sneaking suspicion that his parents were part of the reason. Though he didn't really understand that part so well, what with them being dead and all.

No matter the reason, after so many visits, he had decided that it was safer to stay out of the way as best he could. However, that was slightly difficult at the moment. The entire family had gone out to eat the last night of the visit, and Harry and the dog had been let outside. Ripper, with blood on the mind, had gone immediately for Harry. He'd crawled up the tree and to the first branch that he could reach and had been hanging there ever since.

Gritting his teeth, Harry tried to get a firmer grip. He knew he hadn't been hanging there that long and he knew that he only had minutes left before a long drop and sharp teeth. Ripper was bouncing around the tree trunk, furiously barking in excitement.

I can't hold on! Harry thought desperately, fingertips gripping the branch. He tried to keep his grip, he really did, but with very little food and strict chore schedule, nothing prevented him from falling a minute later. As Harry tumbled to the ground, he grabbed the stone and was still clutching it when the ground approached and darkness arrived.

"I'm still not sure about this insane scheme of yours, Nicolas," Perenelle argued, hands on hips as she stood her ground in front of her long-time husband.

Nicolas looked up and gave her an absentminded smile before turning back to his experiment. "I have seen that handing it over to my old friend would only cause much unnecessary pain. This way leads to a much better future overall, my dear."

Perenelle huffed and resisted the urge to stamp her foot in frustration. She was far older than such juvenile behavior warranted, and as much as she wished to knock some sense into her husband there was nothing else that could really be done.

"Did we have to send it to a little boy, Nic? He has no clue what it could do!"

"And really that is for the best," Nicolas' voice was calm, with a very even tone that almost sounded like notes lingering in the air. "Who better to learn the power of the stone than one who has no wish to use it in the first place?"

Perenelle definitely did not agree with the logic of that statement, but would let it go as always. Nicolas had a disturbing ability to act and ask questions later, with all of his actions becoming useful at one point or another. Perenelle knew that if she orchestrated this kind of harebrained scheme it would backfire on her. Directly.

She sighed. "Whatever you say, dear."

End Chapter. Please review. These chapters will get longer as I go on, but I had a time limit for this one. Enjoy!