Prologue: Snippets of Childhood
Harry James Potter awoke on the 2nd of November, 1981 to an unfamiliar voice cooing at him. Although it should have terrified him to suddenly be in the arms of a stranger, and in an unfamiliar place, but there was a certain comfort to this woman that made him feel at home.
"Come on, Harry. You don't want to stay here."
His tiny hands reached towards the soft voice, eyes straining to see the blonde curls falling over the pointed face of his holder. A slight smile graced his features as she straightened up and turned on the spot.
A swirling of colours later, he was inside a place, but this wasn't his home either. But it didn't matter; his parents would come for him soon. They always did.
It was a six year old Harry Potter who was told his parents were dead and they couldn't come back. To say he was disappointed would be an understatement. His bedroom door remained locked at all times, opening only when he was hungry or needed the toilet. Whenever he saw his guardian during these times he would either glare or completely divert his eyes. She would be the constant reminder that he was an orphan. That he wouldn't ever know his parents.
It took a year for him to grow out of his sulk. He came down on his seventh birthday and threw himself in to his guardian's arms.
"I'm sorry," he murmured, eyes welling up with tears. "I d-don't hate you m-mum," he said, looking at her with trepidation.
"Don't call me that," she said, holding the boy close. "I'm not your real mum."
"What should I call you, then?" he asked. It only just occurred to him that he didn't know her name, and he cocked his head in curiosity at her.
"Call me Rita."
In two years a lot had changed in the Skeeter residence. It all started with a simple question.
"Rita. Where does our money come from?"
"I'm an investigative journalist," she said with a smile, which widened at the look on Harry's face. "It means I look around for news, doing whatever is necessary to get my article written."
"Wow," Harry said, awe filling his voice. He knew Rita was incredible, but to do something like that, something so brave filled him with pride. "How do you do it? Can you teach me?"
During the summer before his eleventh birthday, Harry's letter from Hogwarts arrived. He was over the moon to finally be leaving for school, and his training had, as Rita put it, prepared him to Slytherin quite nicely. Harry wasn't so certain, but from what he now knew about espionage and deception, it did seem to hold water. But whatever the case, the Harry Potter that ended up would leave more than a few people shocked...