Harry liked to think he was happy, once. He would lay there, curled up on his cot in the cupboard under the stairs, and imagine happier times. Even with his short stature, he was still too big for the cobweb-ridden space. Not that Harry minded the spiders, they just made him jump when they crawled across his face at night. The cupboard was not in any of his 'good memories'.

Yes, he had to imagine happier times, because he had no happy memories. He had little things, like the rare time Dudley would leave him alone, or when Uncle Vernon bought him a hotdog once. Well, he bought Dudley three hotdogs and gave Harry the third when Dudley couldn't manage to eat it. Those were decent memories, times where he squeaked by fate for just a moment. But Harry simply had no good memories. So he made them up.

He would imagine his mother and father taking him on picnics, to the movies, or even mundane things like cleaning up after dinner together. The last one was the easiest to visualize, since he had never been on a picnic or been to the theatre before. He had cleaned up after dinner, every day since he could reach the taps. In his 'memory', though, he would dry the dishes while his mother washed them. Then his father would help put them away, but only the things that needed to go on the upper shelves. Harry would enjoy it, because they were doing it together. It was fun, and it didn't hurt and tire him out like washing them in real life did.

Harry was turning eleven this year. His birthday was just around the corner, and that meant absolutely nothing. There would be no change to his schedule, no break from his chores, and definitely no presents. Growing up, he learned very quickly that he was different from Dudley. Uncle Vernon was there to remind him always of how lucky he was that they took him in. Aunt Petunia would be the one to remind him that he should appreciate that they fed and sheltered him. Dudley reminded him that Harry was a freak, an orphan, and a punching bag. It was pretty much all the same lesson, just with different methods.

Luckily, Harry was fast, and smart. He could read the Dersley's moods much easier as he grew older. He tread carefully when Petunia was in a right mood in the kitchen, tip toeing around as he helped clean up. He found new ways to avoid Dudley, climbing into tress or hiding in the neighbor's bushes until Dudley got bored and went inside again. Unfortunately, he wasn't able to avoid Uncle Vernon's fists quite as easily.

He would always remember the first time Uncle Vernon hit him. It had come as such a surprise, Harry had it burned into his memory. He was seven at the time, and he'd been doing the laundry. One of the first few times he had tried to do it, in fact. So, of course, he made a mistake. It wasn't really his fault, considering no one told him not to put reds and purples in with the whites.

Harry noticed as he was pulling out Vernon's work shirts, that everything that wasn't red, was a nice cheerful pink. So, unsure of what to do, he brought the shirt to Uncle Vernon.

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, BOY?!"

Harry flinched back automatically, the shirt torn from his grasp to be closely inspected by a red faced Vernon.

"I... I did everything the same as last time," Harry tried to explain in a quiet voice.

"Well you did it wrong!" Vernon snapped. "Show me the rest, you bloody idiot!"

Harry rushed down the hall to the laundry machine and stood there nervously as the man started digging through the clothes. As each pink work shirt was dragged out and added to the pile, Uncle Vernon's face grew more and more red.

After a while, he went perfectly still. Harry saw this as a chance to apologize, and shuffled closer to do so. Just as the words were forming in his mouth, his uncle's arm lashed out at him, sending him flying into the window of the back door. The glass cracked, and Harry slid to the floor in a daze. Blood came out in a flood from his nose, and it scared him. He had never seen so much blood before, except when he caught a glimpse of a movie on the television.

He let out a startled whimper and looked up at his uncle. The man was glaring at a spot over his head, his fists clenching and unclenching as if itching to hit Harry again. Instead, he screamed at Harry for breaking things in his house, and sent him to his cupboard with no supper.

Even now, four years later, Vernon would find any excuse to hurt him. Harry has lost count of the times he spent in his cupboard, steaming the blood from a split lip or a busted nose with the sleeve of his shirt. His Uncle let up slightly when school started, but it wasn't as though he was ever asked to explain why Harry came in with blood stained clothes and a bruise here and there. Teachers seemed to pass it off as 'boys being boys'. Harry lost his respect for school and teachers very quickly after the incident with him jumping on the roof.

Of course no one believed that he flew up there. Nor did anyone care why he was up there in the first place. Running away from Dudley and his cronies was apparently as far fetched as flying. It was one of the few things Harry actually learned in school. Trust no one, hide behind a lie or half truth, and don't get caught.

Harry sighed when Aunt Petunia rapped her knuckles on the cupboard door and demanded he get up to fix breakfast. Today was his eleventh birthday, and a Tuesday. That meant beans on toast, sunny-side up eggs, and fried tomatoes. For everyone else, anyway. Harry would usually get a slice of toast, eaten quickly as he prepared food for the others. He did manage to sneak a scrap here and there, but he had to be careful under the hawk-like eyes of Aunt Petunia. He got in trouble before when he snagged a piece of bacon once. Apparently, she had counted the slices beforehand.

Yawning and stretching as far as he could manage in the small space, Harry slipped out of his baggy pajamas into baggier clothes and shuffled his way to the bathroom to wash up. He started breakfast, easily switching between one pan and the other, setting the table, pouring coffee for Vernon, tea for Petunia, and juice for Dudley. Dudley had tried to demand pop a few times before Petunia put a stop to it, claiming it would rot his teeth. That didn't stop her from buying him massive bags of candy every time they went out.

"Are you finished yet?" Petunia hissed over his shoulder, eyeing the tomatoes as they sizzled in the pan.

"Just these and then I'm done."

"Good, eat your breakfast quickly and get outside. There's weeding to be done, and the car needs a good wash."

Harry nodded and turned off the heat, holding back a grumble at his future prospects. Weeding always hurt his knees. His nights were long and painful after a day in the garden. At least cleaning the car would a mild break.

He snagged one slice of tomato and ate it so quickly he burnt his tongue. The family filed into the kitchen, all equally overweight with the exception of Aunt Petunia. Harry secretory wondered if Uncle Vernon and Dudley were, in fact, aliens from another planet who needed twice the amount of food to survive. That would explain so much.

"If you're finished skulking around the kitchen, get outside with you!"

Harry ducked his head and shuffled out the kitchen door. At least the weather had decided to bless his birthday with sun instead of rain. Sometimes fate could be kind.

Several hours later and a nice sunburn on the back of his neck, Harry entered the back hall and shook his head. He felt dizzy and a little nauseous, and assumed it was from hunger. Just as he was headed down the hall, Petunia spotted his muddy shoes and had a right fit about it. So, instead of food or rest, Harry was back on his sore knees scrubbing the floor.

"Happy bloody birthday to me," Harry muttered to himself, sloshing soapy water across the floor.

There had been a lot of drama this past week with birds. It had started out as rare and fascinating thing, and turned into a full blown comedy act. The Dursleys had been thoroughly disturbed, and whatever disturbed the Dursleys, made Harry very happy. Sadly, the owl madness had trickled to a stop just yesterday, drawing a shout of triumph from Uncle Vernon. Harry nearly congratulated him for doing absolutely nothing.

There was a knock on the front door. It was a quick succession of taps that sounded impatient and determined. Harry sat back on his heels and peered down the hallway to see if his aunt was going to answer it. There was another batch of knocking and no answer. So Harry stood, his knees protesting vocally, and walked towards the door. On his way, he spotted Aunt Petunia watching television in the living room, volume too high to hear anything else.

Rolling his eyes, Harry opened the door.

"I'm sorry, but we don't want any," he said before the door had finished opening.

"I'm afraid I am not giving anything away," a cold voice snapped.

Another voice joined in impatiently, "Now Severus, there's no reason to treat the boy like that."

Harry gaped at the man and woman standing on the front step. Both were dressed in nearly all black, wearing a discombobulation of clothing items that didn't quite go together. Harry wondered vaguely where the woman had even managed to find such a hat in England, let alone this era.

"Can I help you?" He asked, glancing between the two.

"Ah," the woman spoke, "you must be young Harry Potter, then?"

The dark haired man sneered. "Oh he is defiantly Potter's son. Look at his hair."

"Severus!"

"You knew my father?" Harry asked, torn between talking to them, and shutting the door in their faces.

"Know him? I wish I hadn't ever—"

"That will be quite enough, professor Snape," the woman interrupted him smoothly, and turned back to address Harry, "we have tried to contact you this past week. It seems none of our correspondence has reached you."

Harry raised and eyebrow and tried to think back at the past week. He had been forbidden to pick up the mail the entire time the owl fiasco was happening. Maybe there had been something for him in mess.

"I'm not allowed to get mail," he replied at last, and frowned. "Were you the ones sending the owls?"

"Why, yes. That was us. Do you know why we were attempting to contact you?"

"Umm... No?"

The woman's stiff smile slipped away, and she shared a worried look with the man beside her.

"We would like you to come with us, so we may explain it," she began wearily, "There isn't much time before the semester begins for you to get all of your school supplies."

"You're from a school? Oh, that's right, you called him a professor." Harry blinked at the man who continued to scowl at him as though Harry was the bug beneath his boot.

"That is correct," the woman agreed, another weak smile slipping Into place. "We both teach at Hogwarts. My name is Professor Mcgonagall and I teach transfiguration."

"Hog...warts?" Harry asked incredulously, "is that really a school? Are you pulling my leg?"

Snape stared at him evenly and took out a stick. Harry eyed the stick nervously, his arms instinctively twitching to protect himself from being hit. When the man lifted the stick, he gave into the urges and ducked down with his arms over his head.

There was a strangled gasp from one of the two above him and then a long silence. He decide it was safe enough to peek out at them, and he did. The man was holding the stick loosely at his side and was looking down at Harry with a strangely revolted expression. Professor Mcgonagall had gone pale, one hand covering her mouth in surprise. They stayed like that even as Harry unfurled him self and stood up straight again, swaying slightly as the dizziness from before returned.

"What the bloody hell was that?!" Snape hissed, sounding less threatening now then he did the entire conversation thus far. He sounded pained and surprised.

Harry shuffled his feet and looked anywhere but at him. "I thought... well, you had a stick... I mean, it's not a very big stick o'course but it still might had hurt if you..." He trailed off helplessly, his cheeks reddening.

"You thought I was going to hit you with my wand?"

The woman next to him shifted uncomfortably and watched Harry with concerned eyes.

"That's what it seem— hang on, wand?" Harry's head jerked up, his eyes widening. "That's a wand?"

"Of course it is, we aren't all stick carrying muggles, as seems to be the latest fashion," the man said, his sneer returning. There was still a hint of something in his eyes that lead Harry to believe that the nastiness was a front.

"I don't know what a muggle is, but carrying a wand is just as weird as carrying a stick."

"Oh Merlin," Snape breathed, looking at Mcgonagall next to him with an exasperated face. "He doesn't know."

"Thank you, I believe I noticed," the woman replied curtly. "Perhaps you should show him what you were going to a moment ago?"

Harry glanced back at the hall once, and heard the television still blaring. They were safe, for now. He turned back around and watched the dark-haired man warily.

Snape flicked his wand and muttered something under his breath. A duck appeared in front of them and floated around Harry in little circles before disappearing with pop. Harry gaped at the spot where it vanished.

"That, what? You... a duck?!"

He looked up to see the man smiling ever so faintly. "Yes, Potter. We are wizards who can conjure things such a ducks."

Mcgonagall sniffed from beside him and muttered, "why a duck of all things?"

Snape shot her a look and opened his mouth to say something before he was interrupted.

"HARRY!" Came a screeching voice from the hallway.

Harry flinched, his eyes going wide with fear. Snape stared at him, recognizing the expression before the boy's Aunt Petunia yanked the door open wider and pushed the boy inside.

"We don't want whatever you're selling and we are very happy with what be believe in!" Petunia rattled off the usual speech.

"We are here to bring Mr. Potter to school, as we tried to say in our letters," Mcgonagall said, her voice becoming sharp. "We had hoped one of them had reached him so he would be prepared."

Aunt Petunia looked her over once before she froze, her eyes growing wide. "N-no... not you lot," she breathed, "get out of here, we don't want your kind around the house!"

Snape gave her a very unimpressed look before his eyes fell on Harry, pressed against the hallway wall looking terrified. The boy glanced at him nervously, his eyes slightly glazed over. Enough was enough.

"Mrs. Dursley, we will be taking him to the school, where he will learn to be one of 'our kind'," Snape said with a nasty smirk, "he will return here for the summer and winter holidays until he has completed his education."

Snape turned to the boy and addressed him, "Go pack your things now."

Mcgonagall gave him a look that promised words later, and turned to speak to Harry as well. "Do you need any assistance in packing?"

Harry shook his head and glanced back at his aunt who was making wordless sputtering noises in protest. He seemed to decide it was safe, and darted down the hallway to the side of the staircase. Snape peered around the skinny woman, wondering where the boy was going. When he disappeared under the stairs, something clicked.

"Is that where he... sleeps?" He asked, painfully aware of the way his voice shook a little.

The woman sniffed and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. "Of course. There is plenty of room under there."

Mcgonagall let out a small choking sound and stared down the hallway, waiting for the boy to reappear.

"Move," Snape growled at Petunia.

"You are not coming into my house!" The woman nearly shrieked.

"Move or I shall move you myself."

The woman shuddered, her eyes growing narrow. She shifted to one side and squawked when Snape brushed past her roughly. He reached the cupboard in less than a moment and peeked into the small room.

Harry had jumped at the sound from behind him and whipped himself around.

"I'm sorry!" Were the first words out if his mouth before arms went up, yet again, to protect himself.

The sight make Snape sick to his stomach. "There is no need to apologize to me, Potter."

Harry let his arms drop and nodded nervously, turning back to his packing in small, jerky movements. Snape's eyes moved around the room, deliberately slow, taking in everything he saw and storing it away for later. It was far too small, much to dirty, and not fit for an animal to live in. He swallowed the nausea and stopped back, taking a deep breath. He was going to have to speak to Dumbledore about this.

"Umm," Harry mumbled, "I'm all set, sir."

"You have everything?"

Harry smiled sheepishly and held up a backpack. "Not much to pack, I'm 'fraid."

"I see," Snape agreed and stepped back to let the boy out of the cupboard. He watched the boy give the room a final look over before a small look of triumph flashed over his face. Snape smiled despite himself, please to see something hopeful in the boy. He may have hated Harry's father, but he was finding it difficult to take it out on him. Perhaps it was the fact that the boy had his mother's eyes. Or that his situation reminded Snape all too much of his own past. He shuddered a little and shook away the memories itching to come to life once again.

"Come along, you have a lot to learn," he said at last, ushering the boy past a still sputtering Aunt Petunia.

Everything went by in a mad blur of sights and sounds. Harry found he disliked aperating almost as much as weeding, if not more. He had the unfortunate combination of sun sickness and his first try at magical traveling that caused him to vomit when they reappeared elsewhere. He had been embarrassed for the rest of the day, regardless of their assurances that it was common.

He wasn't completely focused on the event, seeing as he spent the next few hours being introduced to wizarding world. They had brought him to a street Harry had never seen before, leading the way through what seemed to be an ordinary wall. It took a lot of effort to bring himself to walk through it. But once he did, he found that the wall was the least amazing thing he would lay eyes on that day.

The bank was fascinating to Harry. He had never been in a normal bank before, and this one certainly would have taken the cake in comparison. Harry didn't enjoy the cart ride as much as he would have without the sun sickness. He did manage to not vomit, this time. They showed him to a volt full of strange coins and told him it was all his. After several minutes of arguing that it was impossible, his parents never left him anything, and that he didn't even know what it all was, he finally took the sack of coins Snape shoved in his hands. On the way up, Harry had hoped to see a dragon, but was pleased all the same to spot a giant entering a volt on his own. He nearly asked professor Snape if he was a customer or if he guarded the volts, but he noticed the professor's tight lipped expression and decided against it.

After that, it was shopping. Something he had never done in the real world, never mind shopping for wizard items. Snape had left them for a bit to go 'cure himself of Gringotts'. So Mcgonagalll lead him around the shops, telling him what he would need. She seemed pleased with everything until they reached the pet shop.

"Are you sure you don't want a cat?" She asked, her voice clearly disappointed.

"I'm sure," Harry said with an apologetic smile. "If I'm going to write to anyone, I'll need an Owl."

She nodded in agreement and looked, almost forlornly, at the cats he was leaving behind. Snape joined them again in time for him to get his wand. It had been rather awkward when the man announced how alike Harry's wand was to some lord. He shrugged it off, but the two professors exchanged heavy looks and were quite for a long while afterward.

"Now, Mr. Potter," Mcgonagall said, her voice slipping into teacher mode again. "We will bring you to the platform slightly early, seeing as we must return to the school before the students reach it."

Harry nodded and let them lead the way to the muggle train station. He had to admit he was a little less than impressed that they would be taking an average train to a wizarding school, but thought better than to comment on it. Clearly, they knew best.

He should have known, after the wall incident, that it was going to be so much more. After his grab entrance through platform's secret gate, Harry was met with a beautiful sight. He was never one for trains, but if he were, the Hogwarts Express would be at the top of his list. Not that he had a lot of time to enjoy it, as birding calls were already starting up from the head of the train. Mcgonagall floated his trunk onto the train and settled it on a wrack above his head. Snape gave him a look that could have been reassuring, or maybe just another sneer. Harry waved at them both as the train began to leave. He blinked, and then they were gone.

Harry's compartment didn't stay empty for long. Although, for some reason no one bothered to stay very long. Most of the students were already out searching for people they knew, finding compartments of their own. Harry didn't mind all that much, it saved him the awkward introductions. He had already gotten a few strange looks and whispers when he boarded. There was a red head family that had been rather obvious about it, and Harry had been more careful to avoid them since. So he settled into he compartment, ignoring the last of the students peering in on the search for friends. After a while, people seemed to have settled into their compartments permanently as the train drove on.

Harry had nearly dozed off when the compartment door slid upon with a snap and a drawling voice filled the room.

"So this is where he's got to."

Harry looked up in surprise, unsure as to who the speaking was referring to. The boy was about the same hight as him, with pale skin and shockingly blond hair. Harry had the strangest urge to run his hand through it to be sure it was real.

"I'm sorry?" Harry said, looking around the compartment for the other person the boy must be looking for.

"You are Harry Potter, are you not?" Drawled the blond yet again.

"I am, why?"

The blond boy's expression went from bored to excitement in seconds.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, holding a hand out to him.

Harry blinked in confusion, and shook the hand offered to him. "Harry Potter, as you seem to know."

Malfoy scoffed and sat down across from him, giving him a good look over. "Who doesn't know of you? You do know you're famous, don't you?"

Harry blushed and ducked his head. The two professors had spoken to him about his miraculous survival of a killing curse and what it had meant to the wizarding community. Snape had seemed rather irked about the whole thing until Harry expressed his own distaste for the fame. He was a baby, it wasn't as though he fought bravely. He probably burped up milk and went on doing whatever babies do. The professor had smiled for nearly a minute at that.

"I 'spose I do." Harry looked up and added, "But it's all rubbish anyway."

"Rubbish?" Malfoy asked incredulously, "what, like a pack of lies?"

Harry shook his head and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "No, it's not a lie. It's just that... I mean..." He frowned and met the blond's gray eyes. "I didn't actually do anything. I don't see why people care."

Malfoy shrugged and leaned back into his seat. The other two boys that had been behind him had remained lurking in the hall until that point. They took Malfoy's lounging as a sign to join them, one sitting beside the blond and the other next to Harry. He wasn't all that pleased to have the hulking mass near him, he remind him of Dudley.

Malfoy seemed perfectly content to conduct the conversation himself with Harry joining in every so often to ask questions. At some point, a girl stopped by the compartment and asked if any of them had seen a toad. Malfoy had sent her off with a snarky comment, and Harry gave her an apologetic look.

"What was that about?" He asked after she left.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "How should I know what the mudblood wants."

Harry stared at him in confusion, unsure what the term meant. "Mudblood?"

"Oh, you know, a 'wizard' born from muggles," Malfoy said with a dramatic sigh. "I'm surprised they even let them in to Hogwarts. It's bad enough they let half bloods in."

Harry frowned a bit, realizing that if mudblood was from muggles, then half blood must have meant one parent was a muggle while the other was a wizard.

"I'm a half blood," Harry said in a quiet voice, suddenly afraid of disappointing the boy.

The blond blinked and looked oddly awkward for a moment. "Well, you're allowed of course. You are clearly a powerful wizard."

Harry let out a sigh and leaned back into his seat at last. "I don't think so. I only learned about being a wizard today."

"That's okay!" Malfoy piped up, "you're doing just fine. Trust me, when you're friends with me, you won't fall behind."

Harry's mouth fell open for a moment before he closed it and swallowed nervously. "Friends?"

A small flash if something crossed Mafloy's expression before the blank look of boredom returned.
"Of course we are, unless you don't want to be?"

"No, no I do!" Harry amended quickly, sitting up again to meet his eyes with sincerity. "I just... I've never had a friend before."

It was Malfoy's turn for his jaw to drop. "Never?! I'm your first friend?"

Harry nodded, ducking his head down in shame. There was an awkward silence before Harry peaked from behind his hair and saw that Malfoy's pale complexion had gone a nice pink. Deciding against commenting on it, Harry gave the boy a moment to gather himself.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "Well, it's an honor to be your first friend. I suppose Crabbe and Goyle can be your second and third friends if you want them."

Harry nodded to the other two boy who had largely been ignoring him for most of the ride. They nodded back and grunted in agreement.

"This calls for a celebration!" The blond shouted, jumping up and running into the hall. Harry blinked at the open door for several minutes before he heard a voice call out for Crabbe. The boy left and returned a minute later, hands full of colored packets and a four bottles of some sort of drink. Crabbe offered one from the crook is his arm to Harry, who took it and thanked him. Malfoy returned a moment later, also burdened with food and candy.

"Everyone dig in, this is our calibration feast," he said, his eyes sparkling. He was taking it much more seriously than Harry would have expected.

"Thank you," Harry said quietly and took the first package he blond offered him. It turned out to be a frog made of chocolate that tried to get away from him as soon as he opened it. After accidentally crushing it on the seat in a lame attempt to catch it, Harry opened another more carefully and but into it.

After that, he tried one of everything. He enjoyed the drink quite a bit, finding out by way of Malfoy that it was pumpkin juice. The celebration really began to kick off when they opened a bag of jelly beans and offered Harry first choice.

He popped it into his mouth and promptly spit it out. "Blaugh! What the hell was that?!"

Malfoy rolled with laugher, and nearly ended up on the floor.

"Burtie Bott's a right bastard," Malfoy managed between giggles. "What flavor was it?"

Harry ran his tongue over his lips and frowned thoughtfully. "It sort of tasted like black pepper."

Crabbe made a noise of discontent and said, "I 'aven't got one of those in a long time."

Malfoy grinned and ate one himself. He smiled and swallowed it happily.
"Caramel," he said with a smug look.

"That's not fair, give me another one," Harry said, leaning over and digging a hand into the bag.

It soon became a contest to find and eat the best tasting beans before anyone else could. Most of them turned out to be rather gross, but it was fun all the same.

It had been a long day, and Harry was sure it was going to be even more exhausting when they reached the school. But right then and there, Harry was happy. He smiled widely, and for the first time in his life, he had a good memory to look back on.