Disclaimer: Unfortunately for me, I do not own Harry Potter or any part of it, I am merely using the characters as a means of entertainment, nothing more. If I could, I would buy a share in Harry Potter, but alas, I cannot. Therefore, please do not sue.

Summary: AU. Harry is abandoned on the doorstep of Number Four, Privet Drive, Surrey - by none other than Albus Dumbledore. He is hated by his relatives, and abused constantly. However, he is not alone, something that he discovers on his eleventh birthday.

Warning: Includes graphic child abuse.

A/N: This is my first fanfic, so please excuse me if the quality is a little poor. Also, be warned that I use the British spellings of words, so for all you American-English speakers out there, I am not a bad speller, merely British. Some of you will notice that the first section of the chapter is almost entirely taken from the first book. I would also like to clarify that this is not a slash fic!

Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and strode to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets and walked away. The twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

Dumbledore turned and wandered back down the street. On the corner, he stopped, and took out his silver Put-Outer. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their respective street lamps, filling Privet Drive once again with a bright orange glow. He could just see the bundle of blankets on the step of number four.

'Good luck, Harry.' he murmured. He swivelled on his heel and with a swish of his cloak, he was gone. A breeze ruffled the neat hedged of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not knowing he was famous. He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting in secret all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: 'To Harry Potter - the boy who lived!'

'BOY! GET IN HERE THIS INSTANT!'

Harry groaned, sitting up sleepily and banging his head on the cupboard door.

'HURRY UP!'

Opening the door gingerly, Harry detected the source of his uncle's voice - the kitchen.

'There you are, boy! It's Dudley's eleventh birthday today, and you know what that means, don't you boy?' Vernon said threateningly. 'Don't you!'

'Yes, Uncle Vernon.' Harry muttered meekly.

'What does that mean, freak? What do you do when it's Dudley's birthday?'

Harry mumbled incoherently.

'Speak up, freak! Now, what do you do when it's Dudley's birthday?' Vernon repeated angrily.

'C-c-cook double the usual amount, Uncle Vernon.'

'Good. And don't you forget it!'

'No, Uncle Vernon.' a dejected Harry said.

'Well what are you waiting for? Cook!'

'Yes, Uncle Vernon.'

The man sighed. He had watched the house all day, and had seen nothing but shouting and chores. He walked off gently, his frown deepening. He'd have to move fast.

'Go on freak! What'cha gonna do about it? That's right - nothing!' Dudley gloated, pounding his foot even harder into Harry's midsection, causing him to cry out.

Dudley and his friend, Piers Polkiss, were engaging in one of their favourite pastimes: Harry-hunting.

He had been sitting outside wearing only a pair of his cousin's old trousers, watching the cars go past, when he was smacked on the back of the head by Dudley's skinny, rat-faced sidekick, then dragged inside via the backdoor.

They proceeded to punch and hit him, bruises swelling on his bloodied face.

Piers pulled him to his feet, and held his arms behind his back, allowing Dudley to strike him again and again, eliciting a shriek of pain to escape from between Harry's lips.

Uncle Vernon burst in to the room, his face red and blotchy.

'Boy! Stop screaming, or I'll give you something to really scream about!' he snarled as Harry stood up uneasily, hitting out with a vicious uppercut and breaking his nose instantly.

Unable to stop himself, Harry yelped noisily.

Uncle Vernon whipped off his belt and said 'Go outside, Dudders.' while handing his son's friend a ten pound note.

Once he was alone, he closed the door, and grabbed a chair, smashing it on Harry's head. Then, he grabbed the buckle end of his belt and lashed Harry's bare back, causing large red welts to appear and cut into his skin.

Harry screamed.

'Shut up, freak! I said shut up!'

Vernon turned him over, and swung the belt buckle at Harry's chest, hitting him with a resounding crack, the sound of a rib breaking.

He screamed again, clutching his torso in agony.

'I'll make you wish you'd never been born, boy! Get on your knees!' Vernon said angrily, forcing Harry to the ground.

The man heard the screams, and rushed towards the scene. He leapt over the fence like a free-runner, drawing a length of wood from his pocket as he ran frantically for the backdoor.

With a shout, he shouldered his way straight into the room, and flew at Vernon in a fit of rage, lights being emitted from the wood. He grabbed the whale-sized man between the legs and twisted, bringing a pained shriek from the mound of blubber. Still holding Vernon's crotch, he vaulted into the air and over Vernon's shoulder, twisting his wrist and landing behind him, kneeing him in the back of the leg. Vernon shrieked, blood seeping from his crushed groin and patella. Then, the man kicked him in the back of the head, knocking him unconscious.

He stared at the injured boy huddled in the corner, whose eyes showed nothing but fear. The man's eyes slipped towards the child's uncovered upper body. There were bloody openings in the boy's skin and huge bruises marking his muscles.

He bustled over to him and asked him tentatively 'Are you alright, kid?'

The boy looked up, startling emerald eyes piercing the man with their obvious distrust.

'It's alright. I won't hurt you. I never will, and neither will he. You don't have to worry any more. You're safe with me.'