Chapter 1: The Set Up

"Boy, get in here. NOW!"

The sound of his uncle's shout shook the house. Seven year-old Harry Potter stood quickly, knowing the shout could be meant for none other than himself. With shaking fingers, he opened the door to his cupboard and carefully, so as not to make a sound, he shut it behind him and made his way down the corridor to the kitchen.

Harry did a quick look around the room as he entered. This kitchen, like all other rooms at No. 4 Privet Drive, was pristine. Not a single utensil out of place, not even the barest layer of dirt on any decoration or ornament. This was thanks to Harry, though no one would believe it if told nor did anyone actually thank him either.

His whale of a cousin, more often referred to as Dudley, stood proudly by the TV. A wide, and highly unattractive in Harry's opinion, smirk upon his face. A smirk clearly meant for Harry who, from previous experience of receiving said smirk, was able to shrug it off without second thought. Harry's aunt, Petunia, was standing beside the oversized beach ball, her horse like facial features scrunched up and one spindly hand resting on her son's shoulder. In front of them stood Vernon, Harry's uncle. His beady pig-like eyes bored into Harry with a sinister intensity that made the small boy shiver. He cracked his beefy hands as he took the steps to close the gap between them, now towering over the raven-haired child.

Harry was afraid of no one and nothing, but Vernon Dursley. Any other young boy would claim to hide such a terror, claim to be a big boy, but not Harry. Harry was clever, he was able to use his fear and hide himself behind it. He let himself shiver in fear when Vernon tried to intimidate him, messed up on his chores occasionally and gave them his best panicked doe-eyed look when Petunia yelled and punished him for it, he let Dudley push him around and treat him like a walking punch bag. Harry allowed them to think they had the upper hand over him, keep them in the dark about how smart and strong he truly was.

"Do you realise how lucky you are that we let you stay under our roof?" Vernon snarled menacingly though not hiding the smile on his piggy face. "We feed you, we clothe you, and we give you a place to sleep. Don't we?"

Harry stayed silent. "Don't we?" his uncle repeated, his tone rose.

Harry mentally face palmed, wrong move. "Yes, sir," he said meekly, not looking up.

"Why then," Vernon continued, "would you steal Dudley's school paper and swap it for yours?"

Harry looked up in shock. That was not what he'd been expecting. "What?" he squeaked.

"Come on boy, do you really think we're stupid?" Vernon drawled, smirking down at Harry. "The school called to tell us you got full marks on a test. You. Stupid little Potter who can barely see straight and is too stupid to know his own name? We knew there was something up, so Pet and I asked Dudley."

Harry cast his eyes quickly to his cousin who was standing in his mother's embrace with a triumphant look on his face.

"My little boy told me all about you, how you threatened him into giving you his test paper and said you'd hurt him if he didn't," Petunia shrieked, clutching the little whale tighter. "My poor little Dudders," she whispered, petting his head.

Can they really be that stupid? Harry asked himself. Dudley is the size of an average pig while I look like a pole. How would I ever be able to threaten him? They can't actually believe that, can they? One look at his aunt, then another at his uncle, and his answer was clear. Those two would believe anything their little angel sprouted, no matter how ridiculously dim-witted it may be. Damn, I knew I should've flunked that test. Harry mentally reprimanded himself.

"I will have none of your hoodlum attitude, boy," Vernon was saying. "If you're going to stay with us you will obey our rules and you will behave."

Fist to palm, fist to palm. Harry watched his uncle movements as he came closer still. Not again. Harry braced himself; he knew what was coming next.

"I think we need to teach you a lesson, boy," he growled. "And this time you better learn."

Then came the first hit.

HP-HP-HP-HP-HP

Harry awoke the next morning to the slam of the front door. It was a Saturday morning. The Dursley's were paying a weekend visit to Vernon's grotesque sister, Marge. Harry was always grateful to be left alone.

On trying to sit up, his ribs protested. Harry pulled off his bloodied shirt and ran a hand over his chest. He was so skinny he could see every single rib clearly. None were obviously broken, which was a good thing, but his whole front was covered with cuts and black bruises. His back was probably worse considering he's been treated to Vernon's belt as well as kicking. Opening his mouth he felt the cracked blood break, reopening his bottom lip. As the trickle of blood began to fall down his chin, Harry rose slowly and reached for his cupboard door. It was locked, obviously.

"Open," he told the lock on the other side, his hand hovering where he knew it to be.

Harry had always known he was special. He could make things happen just because he wanted them to, without doing anything. Like the time Petunia had tried putting on an old disgusting orange jumper of Dudley's on him but it just kept shrinking every time she tried until eventually it was no bigger that doll sized. Or when their primary school teacher, Mr Hershel, had made a joke at Harry's expense and suddenly his hair turned blue. Harry had investigated the extent of these 'powers' on the broken toys he'd found under his cot. Upon realising he could definitely make the headless toy soldier fly, he began testing on bigger things. Like his cleaning up chores. Eventually he'd reached a point where he felt he'd mastered his powers. He found that if he focused on what he wanted hard enough, it would happen.

Unlocking his cupboard was simple for the seven year-old by now. He often used the skill to sneak out at night for food or medical supplied, both were often needed as he never was fed by the Dursley's, unless they needed him to do some big chore like mowing the lawn, and he was often beaten up and just thrown into his cupboard.

The lock was quick to click open and Harry tumbled out of his cupboard, moaning lightly as he felt a couple of cuts reopen. Hobbling into the kitchen, he pulled a chair over to the cabinet, which held the salves and plasters. Harry was careful to only use as little as possible, which ended up being more than he would've liked, it wouldn't do for the Dursleys to realise he'd not only gotten out of his cupboard but was also trying to heal the wounds they'd inflicted upon him.

"Do you realise how lucky you are that we let you stay under our roof?" Harry muttered sarcastically, remembering Vernon's words from the night before, as he opened the fridge and reached for the butter and cheese. "We feed you, we clothe you, and we give you a place to sleep. Don't we?" he went on as he buttered the piece of bread he'd found. "Idiots, you're all idiots."

He gobbled up his little breakfast knowing he couldn't afford to take any more without it being noticed. Opening the drawer where the washing up liquid was kept, so as to begin hiding the evidence of his eating, he discovered an old white envelope that definitely hadn't been there before. It was an old white envelope that looked very full. But full of what? Harry found himself wondering. He'd never been one who was able to curb his curiosity so, naturally, he reached for the envelope to look at what it contained.

"Wow," Harry's jaw dropped, despite the pain. Within the envelope was a bunch twenty pound notes, a huge bunch of twenty pound notes. Harry guessed he was holding at least one thousand pounds in twenties. "Wow," he said again. Harry took a moment to imagine the possibilities with such an amount of money.

I could buy enough food to last me a whole year. He imagined, mouth watering at the very prospect. I could buy a warm blanket for my cupboard. I could buy myself a pair of shoes that fit, second hand obviously so the dumb Dursleys don't notice. I could… I could… Then the idea hit him. The one thing he'd longed for, something he'd dreamed of he'd dreamed of for as long as he could remember. I could leave. A huge smile spread on his face and made no effort to hold it back as he pulled the money out of the envelope and ran his hands over it. I could find an old rucksack in Dudley's room, stuff it with food from the fridge, grab my notebook, take the money and leave. Leave and never come back.

Harry took a step to leave the kitchen and begin heading up to Dudley's second bedroom for some old bag he wouldn't miss, but paused. Could he really do this? For a moment, he pondered the chances of the Dursleys finding him and the trouble he'd be in, real trouble. Obviously they wouldn't care that he'd left, but taking the money and their food, that meant trouble. Harry was hesitating.

No Harry. Don't think of that. He told himself sharply, shaking his head. This is the chance you've been waiting for it. You're too clever not to take it. You're also too clever to get caught by them.

It was decided. Harry was finally going to leave. He spent his time preparing, making sure he had salves to continue treating his cuts, emptying the fridge into his bag with a smirk plastered on his face thinking of what the Dursleys would say when they got back the next day. He almost grabbed some clothes but quickly just dumped them back in his cupboard remembering he could buy his own clothes now, and in a size that would fit too!

The last thing to add was his notebook. It was an old black book he'd found in the attic one day when he'd been hiding from Dudley. Inside had been one photo. A red haired woman with bright green eyes standing beside a tall man with unruly black hair and intriguing hazel eyes hidden behind round glasses. Harry easily matched his eyes to those of the woman and his hair and facial features to the man. They were his parents. Harry treasured the photo and used the notebook as means to talk to them. He would write to them whenever there was something on his mind that he wished to share with someone. Of course, he never did get a reply but that didn't matter to Harry. He felt connected to them through the notebook and that was all that mattered.

With all these things packed, he was ready to leave. And so it was on September 4th 1987 that Harry Potter left No. 4 Privet Drive.

"One foot in front of the other," Harry reminded his giddy self as he took off, sprinting as far as his small legs would take him from No. 4 Privet Drive. He carried a bag of food weighing at least thrice his own weight and the money stored safely in a hidden pocket in the back of it.

So excited at the prospect of freedom, the small boy forgot to watch where he was running, not noticing the broken paving stone. His foot caught, causing him to go flying and land sprawled on the pavement with one arm dangling into the street. Pulling back slowly, Harry rubbed his head and quickly checked his knees for scrapes. There was a bit of blood but nothing he couldn't deal with. Harry had lived with Dudley most of his life so this was nothing to him.

Sitting up, Harry's ears peaked at faint whooshing sound coming from behind him. Turning around, his bright green eyes saw nothing but the empty street. He picked himself up off the pavement, dusting off his hands on his oversized trousers, intending the continue his epic journey, but stopped again as the whooshing noise continued, getting louder and louder.

Turning around once again, Harry's eyes went wide at the side of a blue bus speeding down Privet Drive. He blinked once, slowly, and when he reopened them the big blue bus was next to him stopping with a huge protesting squeal.

The bus looked like any other London bus, except it was blue obviously, but at the same time, there was something very odd about it. Standing on tiptoes to look through the windows Harry was shocked to see beds on the bottom floor and… Is that a chandelier? Harry asked himself.

"Hello, thank you for calling the Night Bus, my name is Jiminy and I will be your conductor today," a man at the end of the bus was reading off a card. When he finally looked up from his flashcard, he saw no one, as Harry was obviously a bit shorter than what he'd been expecting. Harry, despite himself, giggled. Firstly, the man was wearing a dress, and secondly, his confused expression was hilariously. "Oi, what are you laughing at, kid?" the man asked, leaning down.

"Nothing," Harry said quickly trying to restrain himself. When the man, Jiminy, Harry vaguely remembered him saying, cocked his head and raised an eyebrow, Harry couldn't help himself. "You're wearing a dress mister," he mumbled still trying to stop his giggling.

"A dress," he looked down at his attire, "these are robes young man. Why would I wear a dress?" He was definitely confused. Now he wasn't the only the only one. Why is he wearing robes? Harry wondered. "You did hail the Night Bus didn't you, kid?"

"How would I have done that?"

"Sticking your wand arm into the street," the man was starting to look a bit worried now, Harry couldn't fathom why though. Then something clicked.

"Wand arm?"

Now the man definitely looked worried. "Kid, you are a wizard aren't you?"

Harry let the man's question sink in. His first instinct was to say, Wizard? Magic doesn't exist mister… but then he thought about his special 'powers' and then Vernon's rant a couple weeks earlier when Harry had mentioned maybe it was 'magic' that he'd suddenly appeared on the school roof while running away from Dudley and his gang of thugs, Vernon was insistent on the idea that 'THERE IS NO SUCH THING AS MAGIC'. I wonder… Harry thought.

"Yes I am mister," he replied, surprised at the confidence in his tone. "Just felt like winding you up," he gave a cheeky wink and then crossed his fingers hoping his little act would pass.

The man looked apprehensive for a moment but the look quickly passed as he let out a relieved chuckle. "You young 'uns these days!" he exclaimed running a hand through his hair. "Thought I'd gone and messed up by telling a muggle, I did. Stupid I am, muggles can't even see the bus, they can't," he shook his head. Harry noted the term muggle and stored it for later, he could only assume it meant someone who didn't have powers and magic. "So you want a lift or not kid?"

Harry took a quick look around Privet Drive. "Oh I definitely want a lift!"

Jiminy stepped aside, allowing Harry onto the bus. Harry looked around in awe at the bus. It was huge inside! There were beds on the first floor and upstairs appeared to be a terrace and there really was a chandelier in the middle!

"Wow," Harry muttered, taking a seat on the nearest bed.

"Take it away Ern!" Jiminy called, seemingly to the driver.

"Yeah, take it away Ernie!" was an echo in an accent Harry would associate with Jamaica but that was only from the occasions he'd managed to hide by the living room door while the Dursleys were watching TV.

Suddenly, the bus gave a start and hurled itself down the street at a speed that Harry hadn't thought possible. He clung to the bedpost for dear life.

"So where you headed kid?" Jiminy asked him over the newspaper he was now reading. Harry's eyes were fixed on the images. The images were moving. Jiminy stood against the opposite side of the bus, somehow completely unaffected by the jumping and hurdling of the bus.

"Um," Harry racked his brain for an answer. "Shopping," he said finally, cringing at how lame he sounded.

"So Diagon Alley?" Jiminy supplied, giving him a queer look.

"Yeah!" Harry jumped at the name. "Diagonally!"

This awarded him another odd look from Jiminy. "What did you say your name was, kid?"

"James," Harry said quickly, unsure why he didn't give his first name but figured he might as well cover all his tracks if he truly wanted to get away from the Dursleys. "James Evans." His middle name and his mother's maiden name; perfect!

"Well, James Evans, where are your parents?"

Now he was stuck. "Erm…" he began. "They're waiting for me at the inn," he really hoped there was an inn at the Diagonally place.

"How come they're at the Leaky Cauldron if you was out on your own in muggle Surrey?"

"They like giving me freedom," Harry shrugged, hoping he looked as casual as he was hoping for.

"Lucky you kid!" Harry sighed with relief. "Wish my parents had been like that when I was your age," Jiminy was saying. "Those were different times thought obviously."

Harry suddenly flew into the window, smushing his face significantly, as the bus jolted to a halt.

"And here's the Leaky!" Jiminy announced. "You take care now Evans."

"That was… Fast?" Harry said getting up. "Wait, don't I need to pay you?"

"Course it was fast! Pre-Hogwarts kids like you are free, haven't you ever travelled by Night Bus before?"

Harry shook his head quickly and wasted no time jumping up and off the bus. "Thanks mister Jiminy," he called. "Thanks Ernie!"

"Take it away Ern!"

"Yeah take it away Ernie!"

With a pop, a squeak and a squeal, the Night Bus was gone.

Harry turned around and walked into the Leaky Cauldron, wondering what he'd find inside. Even his wildest fantasies didn't prepare him for what he saw. In one corner was two chairs jumping around and wrestling each other. A broom was sweeping by itself in the corridor on the right. On the table in front of him a spoon was spinning in a cup of some hot drink with no apparent force acting on it. A woman sat in a booth talking to a cat as if it were a real person. Plates loading themselves into plastic boxes which hovered in various areas of the room. Candles were floating around in the air lighting up the place. A ghost, a real ghost, sat cackling in the rafters.

"Just like magic," Harry murmured, entranced by the curious actions of the objects of the room. "No, actual magic," he corrected himself. Walking slowly and dodging around the random floating objects, Harry made his way over to the bar tender. "Um excuse me?" he called, standing on his toes to be able to see over the counter. "I'd like a room please."

The man behind the counter looked about mid forties or so and had been busy directing a box of dishes to a room behind him when he'd heard Harry's small voice. He turned around and bent down so he was about Harry's height and smiled. "Is that so young man?" he asked. He chuckled lightly. "Where are your parents?"

"Not here," Harry answered shortly. That question was beginning to get on his nerves.

"So you're here all alone and would like a room and you have the money to pay for it?" the man asked, looking Harry straight in the eyes, a questioning air about him.

"I'm older than I look," was the only response Harry could come up with. A small shrug came with it, as did a small smile.

The man laughed, straightening and standing up. "I'm sure you are!" he said. "Will this be a set stay and paying up straight or a pay-as-you-go visit?"

Harry let out a sigh of relief that this man was actually taking him seriously. "Pay-as-you-go," he answered after a short consideration figuring he didn't know anywhere else to stay at that point.

"That'll be fifteen galleons per night then," the man explained. "Food is separate however but most meals here aren't more than five. First payment now or in the morning sometime?"

Harry stopped. Had the man said fifteen galleons? Harry had never heard of galleons, maybe wizards had their own currency. "Sometime tomorrow if that's alright, sir," he said figuring it would give him time to figure out what exactly galleons were and where he could exchange some of his pounds for some.

"Alrighty then!" the man smiled at him. "Now then, none of that sir business. The name's Tom," he held out his hand. "And you are?"

"James Evans," Harry took Tom's hand with an equal smile but was slightly confused when his kind features turned hard and curious.

"James Evans you say?" Tom leaned forwards, like he was examining Harry. His eyes darted suddenly to his forehead and he gasped, "Oh Merlin!" he glanced around him. "Harry Potter?" he whispered.

Harry felt himself go numb. This man, Tom, knew his name. "How do you know my name?" he asked, narrowing his eyes to glare solidly at the bartender.

"How do I…?" Tom began, stuttering slightly. "I… You… Tell me you know!" he managed finally.

"Know what?" Harry asked.

"About… That night," Tom was fidgeting now looking rather nervous. Harry's blank expression was obviously enough of an answer for the man. "Come with me, come with me," he beckoned, going around the counter and beginning to hustle Harry through a side door. "Maria I'm stepping out for a bit, the counter's yours!" he called before closing the door behind them.

The room was obviously a storage room. It smelled like damp paper and old tea bags. It was dark and full of towering boxes with small puddles here and there. Tom pulled out a stick, which Harry figured to be his wand, and whispered, "Lumos," Harry was transfixed for a moment on the little ball of light that emanated from the end of the wand. He quickly shook his head to snap out of it, knowing there were more important things to focus on.

"What is going on here?" he demanded. "The Dursleys can't have already figured out I'm gone. Don't send me back there! Please you can't," he begged beginning to shake with worry.

Tom's old eyes went wide as he watched the trembling little boy. "Hush child," he whispered, going down onto his knees and putting his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I took you in here for your protection."

Harry looked up, his question clear in his eyes.

Tom sighed, wondering what had happened to this boy. This was not the Harry Potter anyone expected but he had no doubt that it was the true one. "Shall I tell you a story?" he asked carefully, gently guiding Harry down to sit on the damp floor. "A long time ago there lived a powerful dark wizard whose goal was to be all powerful, feared by all and leader of the world. This man was known as You-Know-Who, so feared was he that most feared even to speak his name. One day a prophecy was made about this dark wizard stating that a boy was to be born who would be his downfall. So naturally, the dark wizard set out to destroy the little boy before he was old enough the fight him. On that Halloween night, the dark wizard entered the boy's home and he cast the killing curse. But, and no one knows why this may be, the boy did not die. Instead the dark wizard was the one to fall."

Tom finished his story and there was silence. Harry was looking at his hands. "That's an interesting story," he said finally. "I've never heard it before. Did you think of it yourself?"

Tom shook his head slightly and sighed. "No I didn't," he said. "It didn't need to because it's real." He looked at Harry quickly. He had raised his head and was looking straight into his eyes. "Harry, the reason I dragged you in here is because… That little boy is you."

Harry's jaw dropped. "What?" he exclaimed. "But it can't be! I'm not some super special child, I'm… Harry. I'm just Harry!"

"Well 'just Harry'," Tom repeated chuckling lightly. "It just so happens you are very special and very famous too at that."

"I'm…" Harry was having a hard time comprehending it all.

"Sorry for springing it all on you but it seemed you needed to know," Tom said apologetically.

"Erm…" Harry began, unsure what to say. "That's alright, thanks mister Tom. But… Are you sure its me?"

"If I wasn't already before I met you, seeing that scar of yours proved it for me," Tom smiled.

"My scar?" Harry asked. "But that's nothing special. Just something I got in the car crash when I was little. My parents died in that car crash," he muttered.

"Harry, your parents didn't die in no car crash and, as sure as Merlin's beard was white, that scar you got yourself is a curse scar. You didn't get that from no car crash, son," Tom said, questions bubbling in his mind. "Who told you all that nonsense?"

"My aunt and uncle," Harry mumbled.

"They those Dursleys you were talking about earlier?" Harry nodded. "Muggles?" Harry nodded again. "I see. And why've you left them?" Harry didn't reply. "Harry?"

Tom reached over to pat Harry on the back. Harry let out a strangled hiss of pain as he jumped back out of reach of the man.

"Harry please come here," Harry shook his head mutely, standing stoic in the corner. "Harry let me look at your back," another shake of the boy's head. "I just want to help you."

"Why?" Harry exclaimed suddenly, anger clear in his tone. "Why do you want to help me? No one ever wants to help me."

"Because I'm seeing a small boy who has had to grow up too quickly and is in need of care, that's why," Tom said. "Please let me help you."

Harry made no effort to move but there came no headshake. Tom stood slowly and walked over to him. He reached down for the boy's shirt and pulled it over his head.

"Oh goodness," he whispered.

He saw the cross hatched gashes along Harry's back from the belt. He saw the huge wounds from the kicking. The bruises covering almost every inch of skin made the little boy look almost like a piece of arm.

"Oh goodness," he said again. Taking a deep breath, he knelt down to Harry's height once again. Gently turning the boy's head to face him. Harry's face was flushed with embarrassment as he tried to cover his torso with his arm. "You are never going back there," Tom said, looking straight into Harry's emerald eyes. "Not as long as I have anything to do with it."

A single tear fell from Harry's right eye. The first tear he'd shed in four years. He leapt at Tom, ignoring the painful protesting of his body. "Thank you," he sobbed into the man's shoulder, clinging to his tightly. "Thank you."

HP-HP-HP-HP-HP

With the help of Tom, Harry was able to almost start a new life. The first part was a check up by a Healer, which Harry learned was a magical doctor. Healer Abbott was apparently an old friend of Tom's and she came to the pub that night and fixed his cuts and gave him salves for the bruises. Harry stared in awe as cuts and wounds pulled together and sealed themselves leaving nothing but thin scars that looked like they would fade within the week. She even managed to fix his eyesight so he could actually see properly. He was thrilled to say the least. Harry also got the suspicion that Healer Abbott had perhaps known his parents. "Many of us miss Lily and James all the time," she'd said. "We can be glad now to know that at least you're safe and sound." She also assured him she would tell no one of the visit or his whereabouts but only wished to pass on the message that he was alive and well to a few people who cared. Harry wondered why it seemed to be a question at all that he was alive. If people knew his parents and really cared, wouldn't they have known he was with the Dursleys? That question was stored away for later as he had no way to get the answer at the time.

Secondly, he was introduced to glamours. They spent hours trying to find a good look for Harry so he could go about life without worrying about the chance of being recognised. Tom had warned him that even now, five years after the dark wizard's demise, there were still avid Death Eaters who had avoided Azkaban but would jump at the chance to avenge their lord. So in place of his natural raven-haired, emerald-eyed child he was, people saw a sandy-blond haired boy with sea coloured eyes. They even managed to glamour his skin from the English pale to a vague tan. Harry loved his new look. He spent ages looking at mirrors just admiring the incredible magic.

After glamours, came his name. Tom had explained that going by James Evans was far too obvious. It'd been how the man had realised it was him in the first place as many people knew and loved James Potter and Lily Evans, Harry's parents. Instead he now went by Alex Withers and was known as Tom's nephew by all the regulars at the Leaky Cauldron. Tom had redone the old attic, making it a den of sorts for Harry. Adding tons of one-way windows, Harry could see muggle London on one side and Diagon Alley on the other.

The next matter of business had been the goblins. Of course they would not be fooled by Harry's new identity and he still wanted access to the Potter vault, which he's found out was quite a load, so he'd explained his situation to them and was forever grateful that they'd been willing to help. From Tom's preparation for the meeting and the reading he'd done, he knew that they were a tough race to deal with but Harry could tell they were powerful allies. Their arrangement was that Harry was able to withdraw straight from the Potter Vault if he announced himself as Harry Potter and gave the Potter key, though he doubted that this would happen any time in the near future, or he could take from the 'Withers Vault' if announced as Alexander Withers and giving the 'Withers key'. However the vaults and keys were the same. If Harry ran his hand over the key speaking the words "change to that of the other" it would become the Withers key or vice versa. Harry thought of the Withers Vault as some sort of portal to the Potter Vault. They contained the same items exactly and one could take something from either. Harry found the idea almost impossible to comprehend so he stuck to just thinking of the Withers Vault as his and the Potter Vault as another that would go untouched, though technically all he touched in the Withers Vault was touched in the Potters Vault but it gave him a headache thinking of it like that.

The final part of Harry's transformation to Alex, was clothing. Obviously he couldn't go around forever in Dudley's old hand-me-downs, though Tom had shrunk them to fit and also given him one of his minimised cloaks so he could pass as a wizarding child. He got casual muggle-like clothing for everyday and semi-formal for special occasions at the pub. He didn't bother with formal because he didn't see when he would ever need it. Along with this, he bought ten cloaks in a whole range of colours from red to blue to green to black. Harry loved his new freedom and ability to make decisions but he was too humble to push it and buy everything. He got what he needed and the little bit more at Tom's urging knowing the man only wanted to help make his life better from here on out.

HG-HG-HG-HG-HG

"Don't worry dear I'm sure the other children will be nicer tomorrow."

Hermione Granger growled in frustration, wanting to pull her own hair out. He wanted to scream and shout at her parents. She wanted to remind them that they'd said the same thing every day for the past three years since she'd begun school but the other stupid kids never got nicer.

Hermione was a clever child. She knew she had to be some sort of prodigy. Only just turned eight she'd read the top literacy like Jane Eyre, the Great Gatsby and Sherlock Holmes while most of her classmates still preferred picture books. She read non-fiction too, books on science and history. She believed she had more information in her head than both of her parents put together because she never forgot anything she read.

Her parents. This was where her issues lay. They didn't understand. When she told them she'd finished The Hounds of Baskerville they chuckled, ruffled her hair and said, "Well done sweetie you're a clever one!" When her mother had found her reading an old history textbooks she'd found in bed one night, she'd taken the book and said, "Surely you want a book you can understand, darling?" and had given her a children's story book instead. And, when Hermione had begun coming home from school with scrapes on her knees saying other children had begun pushing her around because they thought she was too clever they'd said, "That's our Hermione, always coming up with such clever stories!" they didn't believe her.

Well now Hermione had had enough. Her mother had picked her up that day and Hermione had a gash on her left cheek. "Oh my little dear, what happened?" she'd asked. "Robert hit me with a stick," Hermione had said. "Now, now, Hermione don't go making up stories about others," her mother had replied, giving her a hard look. "You ran through the bushes at the back of the playground again didn't you?" Even when Robert Ashcroft had run past them and shoved Hermione on their way out, her mother had just smiled and said, "See, Robert wouldn't hurt you, he just wants to play with you."

Hermione stomped around in her bedroom, throwing books and toys she didn't play with everywhere. She wanted to get away from here. She wanted to find somewhere where people would understand her. She knew for sure that her home was not a place like that. I bet they won't even miss me, she thought. Either way, I don't care. I'm getting out of here.

DM-DM-DM-DM-DM

I hate my life. I hate my life. I hate my life. Draco Malfoy thought to himself as he stabbed the food on his plate with a warrior like passion.

He was at the dinner table with his mother and father being completely and utterly ignored. He had been home alone all day while his father had gone to attend a meeting and his mother had gone for tea with some of her 'friends'. Draco couldn't even call them her friends. He knew his mother only spoke to them because either their families were important allies or they had daughters suitable to become the next Mrs Malfoy. He shivered slightly. The idea was horrific. Here he was, not even seven and a half, and his mother was out browsing for wives for him. The idiocy of their world never ceased to astound him.

Draco absolutely hated his life. He detested it with a burning passion. The one thing he hated more, was his father. His father didn't care about him at all. That much had always been clear to Draco. He knew what he was to his father, a necessity; a pawn for his elite pureblood game. Lucius Malfoy wanted his son only as a sort of trophy. To be able to say "I have a pureblooded heir". Draco was preened to be just that. The perfect 'pureblooded heir'. Unless they were in public, Draco was treated as no more than an inconvenience. Of course he was never made to work or anything of the sort but he was hit on occasion. Asking questions was somewhat of a crime, though Draco couldn't understand why. He knew you couldn't play the game unless you have all the information. It was drilled into him, he'd been taught by Lucius Malfoy after all. Yet still, he found himself knowing nothing and no one.

That was another thing. Draco knew no one his own age. It was tradition that pureblooded children did not meet until they turned ten and only then they met others of their age group who would be their allies during their coming year at Hogwarts. Draco had grown up alone and uncared for and he wanted out.

Draco had decided he had a mind of his own, he wasn't going to play his father's stupid games. He was going to find a way out of there and make his own way. Just you watch me, he thought as he looked at his father across the dinner table. I'm getting out of here.

GW-GW-GW-GW-GW

Some little girls would say having older brothers was really fun. Six year-old Ginny Weasley was not one of those little girls. Ginny had six older brothers. Bill was the oldest at sixteen, then Charlie at fourteen, then Percy at ten, then the twins, Fred and George, at nine and finally Ron at seven.

Ron and Bill wouldn't let her play chess because she was 'too young to understand the rules', though Ron, who was only one year older, could play because he was good at it. Ginny thought she could be good too, if they let her try. Charlie wouldn't let her fly because she was 'too little' though Ginny knew he'd been flying since he was five. Percy wouldn't let her read big books because they held 'magic too complicated for a six year-old'. Her mum would say 'go outside and play' but what fun was playing alone? Ginny's dad would play with her sometimes when he was home if he wasn't working on some muggle project, which wasn't often at all. Fred and George were the only ones who ever involved her in anything. They would let her in on some of their pranking, which Ginny loved. It made her feel like she was getting some revenge for the way they others always treated her, but not completely. Even Fred and George were always too careful with her. They didn't let her brew any potions or be around while they tested new stuff she could only be around for the safe stuff.

The thing was, Ginny wanted to find her own thing but, in the shadow of six others, it was too hard, there was nothing left. Bill was good at speaking, Charlie was an incredible Seeker and good with animals, Percy was the clever studious one, the twins were the rebels and the pranksters while Ron was some sort of prodigal strategist. Ginny was just a silly little girl to them, 'a little girl who should go play with dolls and stuffed toys' as Charlie had told her the day before.

Ginny wanted a chance to show them she really was special, not just because she was the first female Weasley in however many years but, because she was Ginny. She was sick of the teasing and the others looking down on her and saying she couldn't do anything. She'd hit her breaking point earlier that day when Ron and Percy had picked her up and she'd thought they were going to play with her but instead they carried her to a mirror and put her down and Percy said, "Look at yourself Gin, you're just a little girl, you can't do anything now because you're small and don't understand things. Just wait till your older." Then Ron, the thick idiot he was, said, "Yeah and you're a girl so you have to wait longer to do stuff than boys." Ginny saw red then. They'd walked away and left her there. That's when she decided. If they thought she was such a little girl who knew nothing, then what was the point in her staying?

You'll see, I am so much more than just a little girl but I just can't prove it to you here. She thought bitterly with narrowed eyes. I'm getting out of here.

HP-HG-DM-GW

A/N: basically I lost inspiration for my other fics but felt the need to write something and this idea popped into my head and here it is. Let me know what you think in the reviews, your feedback always helps!

I'm going to have quite a few days coming up with nothing to do so I'm going to focus on this fic so hopefully there'll be another update soon :)

Thanks for reading, hope you liked it!

Next chapter: An Interesting Group