Hello everybody!

This is a new story about Harry as an obscurial. I know someone ( many people) probably already did it, but I wanted to give it a shot. I don't think I will go for an evil/dark Harry, but mostly for something about how feeling and situations make you do things you wouldn't otherwise. So no evil laugh and happy killing here. I'll update it quite often as soon as I found a beta.

Of course, the story will touch some hard topics: child neglect/ abuse, manipulation, physical and psychological trauma, abusive relationships and probably other things of that kind, so if you cannot guts theses, this fanfic isn't for you.

Also, there is slash more or less implied I'm not sure yet, but I think I will go for some twisted HPLV. Maybe.

The first chapter is quite short as it is mostly some sort of introduction, but don't worry it will be much longer after!

Also, if someone want to beta it, I would be glad, please contact me!

I hope you will enjoy it! I very much appreciate reviews.

~LadyBraken

Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Including the computer I'm writing on. Sad life, really.

BLACK WAVES

I- A STORY NO ONE WANT TO KNOW

Let me tell you a story.

It is a story about what happen when a child is let alone to suffer. It's a story of how nobody could have see the end coming, a tragic story, really, of expectations, anger, love, madness, pain... A story that changed the world, maybe not for the best. A story of a boy I knew, a long time ago. A boy that was supposed to be the light of our world, but that was consumed by an internal darkness.

But nobody saw it.

All of you,who hear that story, I ask you to forgive us. We didn't know, Merlin, how could we?

This is a story that nobody want to hear again.

This is the story of Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was a good boy. A very resilient one. He was abandoned in front of the doorstep of his uncle and aunt by some very strange looking poeple. But I ask you all, what could they have done? It was chaos, outside. The boy's parents were dead, the poor child had saw their murder. Killed by the most dangerous and feared man walking the earth- Lord Voldemort. He was the child of the prophecy, designed to kill the Dark Lord since his birth. Oh, I had myself the privilege to hold him in my arms as he was only a infant. He was radiating with life... Our savior. He was our savior. So, after having killed the couple, Lord Voldemort had attacked the boy... a very bad choice, in my humble opinion. The spell rebounded, and the Lord was gone.

And it was chaos. In only a few hours, trahisons were discovered, loves ones were lost, hearts were broken. Dozens of people were arrested, some had gone mad. The Lord's most faithful had gone rampage, the Potter's friends had gone rampage. There was so much death already... The ministry was corrupted, the aurors were all mighty. Trials were forgotten. Make it stop. Everybody just wanted to make it stop. The world was set on fire for a night, a last pyre for the Dark Lord, and when the little Harry Potter was let on that terrible doorstep, his little fists clenching the letter explaining the situation for his muggle family, everybody thought it was for the best.

How wrong we were...

Harry was a very talented magical child. He had accidental magic, turning his father's hair green or summoning his fake broomstick. Every time, his parents celebrated it.

But he wasn't with his parents anymore.

Three years after the attack, the young Harry Potter was sitting in a small bed, in the cupboard under the stairs, completely oblivious of how wrong the situation was.

But well, three year old kids are often oblivious of a lot of things.

The door was open, and the TV was running in the living room, and a child was crying upstairs. A woman passed quickly in front of his cupboard. Aut 'Tunia, as he called her. A thin woman, bony, always nervous even in her affections. She rushed upstairs and went back with an enormous child in her arms. The poor thing was crying like all the legions of hell were after him, his chubby face red and swallow.

Harry, being the curious little thing that he was, decided to follow her into the living room. Baby Dudley was now jumping on his father's knees, his little arms in the air, babbling and laughing under the warm gaze of his mother.

And little Harry, being the great kid he was, felt no jealousy. He just stood and watch, hoping he could have a jump too.

He didn't notices Petunia's hard look until it was too late.

"Return into your cupboard, boy!"

Of course, Harry didn't expected such treatment. Petunia had ignored him before, but never talked to him like that. Of course, he didn't understand.

"Can I jump, 'Tunia?" He asked innocently.

"No, you cannot, jump!" She said harshly.

"But..."

"Go. To. Your. Room."

Uncle Vernon had stop playing with his son, and was now looking at Harry with all the disgust in the world.

It was the first time that Harry's heart broke. Tears blurred his vision and he clenched his fists. Why, he thought, Why are they angry?

"I didn't do bad things!" he exclaimed.

And with theses words, his cousin's heart turned red. Quite a normal burst out of magic, I can tell you, and quite fun too. Harry though the same, and chuckled, completely oblivious of the horror on his aunt's face, and the abysmal rage bursting through every muscle of his enormous uncle. Said man rose from his sit, disregarding his son on the floor, and silently went to his nephew. The silent approach was enough to stop any laugh- any joy- coming from Harry, and it was a fearful little boy that Vernon faced.

The man caught the little boy buy his shoulders, effectively lifting him.

"Listen to me, Boy!" he said, every consonant slamming its way out of his mouth. "I will NOT tolerate your freakiness in MY HOME. We FEAD you, we gave you CLOTHES! How dare you troubling our day, how dare you show your freakish face in front of us! LOOK AT WHAT YOU DID TO MY SON! Undo it! UNDO IT NOW FREAK!"

The more he spoke, the more the shook the boy. Of course, Harry didn't know about magic. He didn't understood. He had done something wrong, but what? And confusions lead to sadness, which lead to self denigration.

And that, my friends, is a dangerous mix. Especially in a young, influential mind.

As obviously, the boy wasn't going to do anything but to cry between his hands, Vernon tossed him into his bed and slammed the door.

The kid cried and called for comfort that he knew he wouldn't have. He was let alone, in the dark, in the cold.

They didn't allowed him to eat for the rest of the day.

Of course, Harry knew he could do things. And, if his family didn't want to believe him, maybe someone else would.

That's why when one of Dudley's friends came to their house, during a nice Sunday afternoon, Harry tried to talk to him.

The boy was a bit older than him, around six. Blond hair, dark eyes, a bit exuberant, always running somewhere, breaking some toy, screaming something. The perfect friend for Dudley.

But not for Harry.

The boy hadn't be introduced to the word "bully". But he would know the idea after that.

He had been forced to stay in his cupboard for a few hours. He was alone, playing with a small wooden knight he had found in a trash can. He was bored. Such a young kid in a close space, immobile, it can only lead to disobedience. Especially when said kid could hear the laugh of his cousin and cousin's friend in the bedroom, above him.

They seemed to have such a good time!

So Harry slowly opened the door of his cupboard, picking his head out to check if any adult was here to punish him. Luckily, Petunia and Vernon were in the living room, drinking tea with the mother of the other kid, talking about important things such as gossip, weather, golf, work, gossip, food, news, and the way Miss Hudson took care of her lawn.

Giving enough time for Harry to sneak out of his cupboard and run into the stairs to his cousin's bedroom.

He had never ask why his cousin had a bedroom.

Dudley and the other boy was jumping on a small plastic car with the obvious purpose of destroying it. Harry remained at the door for a moment, hesitating to enter. He had never been to this room, and had learned in the worst way of ever approaching toys.

But even at this age, Harry Potter was very brave, so much so that it came close to irresponsibility.

So he entered his cousin's room, determined to play with him and try to convince the other boy that he could do some great things.

"What are you doing here, you?"

That was a you that sounded a lot like Freak.

"Who's that?" asked the other boy.

" 'Sort of my cousin. He's no fun and weird. I don't like him. Go away!" He made great movements of his big red hand, as if he were trying to make a bird fly.

"I want to play with you! I can do a lot of things! magic, even!" Desperately exclaimed the boy, clenching his little fists.

He didn't understand why they were mean to him. Why everybody was- he was nice and fun! Dudley was a liar, he only had to show it to that other boy.

"Magic uh? Are you like nuts? Like old'Mary, she said that she was a mermaid! Completely nut!"

"'M'not!"

"Yes you are! Dad said there's no magic! You're a liar and a weirdo!" exclaimed Dudley.

"You're the liar!"

The other boy seemed to think that he had enough and pushed Harry out of the room. The poor lad ended his arse on the floor, the door slamming on his nose and Petunia's angry footsteps in the stairs.

He didn't eat for two days after that. Who knew such a thin lady could throw such a tantrum? Well, of course Lily Potter could have, but she wasn't her to tell the tale, nor to protect her only son.

He didn't tried to talk to that other boy anymore.

A few month later- the boy had just turned four- Petunia thought it was about time for him to learn how to cook alone. If he wasn't good for anything, at least, that boy could be useful. Even if it had cost her to let him touch the family's food, it was better than doing it herself.

Of course, little Harry was far too small to grab the pan, and after a few unsupervised and messy attempts, boiling water fell on the boy.

Well, it attempted to anyway.

You see, magic is an energy which is rule by one purpose: to keep you alive. And as little Harry was very close not to be alive anymore, his magic acted, and sent the water to fall elsewhere, in a place were conveniently no little boy was around.

Unfortunately, little Harry's cousin was nearby.

"Papa! Papa! Harry did a freak-thing again!"

Shouting that, he ran to his enormous father, arms in the air. As Vernon got angrily closer to the boy, redder than a phoenix's feather (and much uglier too), magic reacted again. Of course, magic can only react depending on the character of the child, and Harry was such a sweet little thing that the worst he could thing to defend himself against the threat coming for him was to make him trip.

Therefore, Vernon did tripped.

Therefore, Vernon was pissed.

And that was bad.

And the realization of how bad it was crushed the little boy as he sa his uncle slowly get pack on his feet, a very, very dangerous expression on his reddish face.

The first hit got the head. The second, the belly, cutting off his breath. Then, a large sweaty hand took him by the collar and tuck him into his cupboard.

And little Harry started crying, whimpering, begging, telling his uncle how sorry he was.

Of course, harry's magic reacted, in a defensive way.

Vernon's hair turned green.

Because in his anger, little Harry couldn't even think about something more dangerous than tripping and colorful hair. It was quite fun and effective the first time, after all.

"Petunia, I swear I will put a locket on that damn door!"

Petunia nodded, nursing her boy, which was quite oblivious about everything, mostly because he couldn't see his father's hair. Otherwise, he would have found it quite fun too.

But Harry, how poor little Harry, had cowered in his bed, his knees against his chest and his head between them, sobbing. And the more he cried, the more things were shaking around him. And the more things shook, the more he knew he was going to get punish. His emotions created the energy, and the energy gave him stronger emotions.

He had no control.

He was a freak. It was his fault, his, he deserved what Vernon would do to him but oh god he couldn't stop he couldn't he could-

"Boy stop that NOW!" Roared Vernon, drumming at the door.

"I can't! I don't know what's happening!"

"BOY I WEAR THAT IF YOU DON'T STOP IT NOW YOU WON'T BE ABLE TO WALK TOMORROW!"

But Harry couldn't hear his scream through his own fear. It was making his heart drum and hurt, and his lungs wouldn't just take air, and panic was taking avery inch of his little and malnourished body. The more he tried to control himself, the more he knew he couldn't do it, the more he panicked. His toys fell from their shelves, falling on his head.

"Make it stop... MAKE IT STOP!" He screamed as the door exploded behind him.

His uncle and aunt swore. He had never heard such words before. One of his arms was broken later that day. The next day, someone came to repair the door, and add a lock.

But it didn't matter. What mattered, was that something very dark, a seed, a clock-bomb start flourishing into the child's chest. A lock had been put inside.

And that, my friends, is the beginning of the tragic and unfortunate story of Harry James Potter.

That's it! I hope you enjoyed an that there isn't too many mistakes! To forget to review :)