Disclaimer: I don't own anything of J.K. Rowling's ideas and wonderful talent. Everything is hers.

A/N: First off, I would like to apologize. You would know why if you are reading this story. I'm horrible at updating. And you might have an even better reason to get mad, because now I am rewriting this whole story. But c'mon, it's only four chapters! Well, I would just adivise that you re-read this, because it does change a bit. If you like my older version better, I'm sorry, but I'm sticking to this. I mean, seriously, why would anybody stick a poor little boy behind a bush?! I wrote the old version of this first chapter two-three years ago. So hopefully it's tons better now! Thank you!

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Twenty Eight Spins

Chapter 1 - 28 Spins

A tiny boy of five crouched on the floor of the eeire cupboard under the stairs. It was a lousy cupboard...too small, even for his size. And the fact that it was cramped with old brooms, boxes, and other storage didn't help. Apparently, this was his new bedroom. What a pathetic bedroom...no bed, filthy, and, not to mention, filled dead things. With cobwebs present in ever corner, overturned cockroaches scattered across the floor, and a trickle of crust remnants of bug shells, you would've thought this room was reserved for...well, nothing, really. Every single feature of this room sent shivers down the boy's spine, whose life wasn't so different from this ugly cupboard.

Harry James Potter was one unlucky child. Living with old scum all the time everyday would not have a very good affect on someone who was trying to grow up healthy and happy.

The Dursley's had neglected him. Not bothering to feed him correctly, treat him fairly, or show any sign that they cared he exsisted for all the years they had him. They didn't seem to think he deserved any of those things, maybe not even the chance to have a proper family.

Harry wasn't abused. In fact, he was never touched at all, in fear that his queer side might get to them. He was like a deadly specimen of some creature yet to be identified, whose skin might kill any person who came in contact with it. The only way the Dursley's showed their anger towards Harry, without laying a hand on him, was to yell at him, shorten his meals, or give him extra, harder chores. And now they had come up with the idea of throwing him in the cupboard under the stairs. Very creative.

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Harry trembled from the cold air in this concealed cupboard, his teeth chattering with disgust in the filth all around him. He would've been interested in the cockroaches if they had not been dead. He could almost feel the essence of death, which reminded him of his parents. It hurt him to think that he could never see them, and if he ever could, they would be skeletons.

His body was sore, bruised, and aching all over. A low growling noise rumbled in his stomach. His throat was dry. And it wasn't wrong to say that it had all been the Dursleys' fault. Everything was the Dursley's fault, but he couldn't complain, could he? They were the ones who took him in, fed him (at least a little), gave him shelter (a little too much), and took care of him (although not properly)...

Two of the Dursley's, however, did not take part in the event that lead to the growling in Harry's stomach. Dudley was the victum this time. And if Harry hadn't been too occupied to figure out how it happened, he might have said that Dudley deserved it.

It had started two days ago, around dinner time, which Harry should've been "making sure not to burn". Dudley had other plans, and thought he'd play Harry Hunting. Harry ran to save his perfectly un-bruised skin, but Dudley's game didn't and never ended too smoothly. With Harry cornered at the top of the stairs, Dudley held up his fist, ready to win his game. He gave Harry a look of victory before striking him once in the stomach, leaving him bent over and clutching a newly forming bruise.

Dudley gave an evil cackle, imitating the bad guys he always saw on T.V., laughing at Harry's weakness, teasing Harry and his ugly glasses, and definitely not forgetting to point out the fact that Harry was an orphan.

"I'm lucky, because I have alive parents who actually love me!" Dudley said in a bragging voice.

Harry, fighting with all his heart, forced himself to think that this was not true. His own parents had loved him, too. But some small part of him listened to Dudley.

Another part of Harry had gotten furious, but what had happened next had gotten the Dursley's even more furious. Dudley was suddenly pushed by an invisible hand that sent him rolling down the stairs, interupting his laughter and replacing it with a cry of surprise.

Harry watched in horror. He disliked his cousin, but never wished him to be hurt. He hadn't even touched Dudley--he would never think of it, just like the Dursley's would to Harry. Maybe he tripped, Harry though frantically. But what was there to trip on?

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley, Vernon and Petuina, came running to see what had happened, wondering what the commotion was all about. To Harry's rotten luck, they came just in time to see Dudley hit the bottom of the stairs, shocked, terrified, and most likely hurt.

The look Harry got was one of pure disgust and blame. And not too long after cooing and helping their precous son, Vernon grabbed Harry immediately and began to yell at him.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING, PUSHING DUDLEY DOWN THE STAIRS?!" Vernon had bellowed. His voice was louder than he knew it was.

"I-I didn't..."

Petunia had been sobbing, but managed, "You hurt our little Dudleykins! You should be ashamed! It was no good of us to keep you!"

Harry's eyes moved down to the floor. He already knew that he was unwanted, but did they really have to tell him?

"EXPLAIN YOURSELF, NOW!" Vernon continued.

"He...he must've...s-slipped--"

The next thing Harry knew, his cheek recieved a hard blow that made him fall to the ground, and he could only express his pain with a low cry which he tried to stifle. His eyes watered, but he wouldn't let overflow of tears release themselves. Instead he put a hand to his cheek, unfamiliar with the burning sensation. Sure, he had been hit by Dudley before, but never as hard as this.

And he dared look up. There, staring right at him, was Petunia, a hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were wide and possessed something unknown to Harry. Did she know something he didn't? Did she know it wasn't his fault that Dudley fell? Was that why she was so angry, and maybe even scared?

Her eyes revealed just about that much, and didn't let Harry look further. But he did collect one thing. Petuina had just hit him.

"To the cupboard with you, boy!" Vernon ordered furiously, noticing the strange moment between Petunia and Harry.

Harry, tears now threatening to leak, looked at Vernon. Cupboard? What cupboard?

Harry slowly stood up, lowering his hand from his cheek unwillingly. He looked confused.

"Under the stairs, boy! The cupboard under the stairs!" Vernon said impatiently.

Harry jumped and did as he was told, quickly, to not anger his Aunt and Uncle any further.

But as he approached the cupboard, he took the doorknob hesitantly. He felt odd...for once in his life he cared that the Dursley's were angry at him. And he was ashamed...like the Dursley's said he should be.

But he didn't do anything.

"In, boy!" Vernon growled, coming near the cupboard himself and throwing it open, only to shove Harry in. "No meals!"

With that he shut the door tight.

---

And now here he was...starving, aching, hurting, and shivering just as much as before.

He'd already been here for two days, and he wondered when somebody would bring him food. His mouth was dry...the least they could do was give him a glass of water.

Harry swore that if he was in this temperature any longer he'd get sick. He was already getting a cold.

He had a clear picture of how he was looking right now. He'd be pale. His green eyes would stick out more than ever in the darkness. His black hair would be messier than usual. His nose would be a little pink from sniffling so much. He would have little dark circles under his eyes from no sleep. And he couldn't forget that scar, which would be deeper, clearer, and redder than usual. And it haunted him with the ghosts of his parents. He had supposedly recieved this mark on the day his parents died in that cursed car crash.

It made him wonder...

What would it be to have parents that loved him? They would probably spoil him...and give him presents...and throw humongous Birthday parties for him. They would feed him and give him water...they would never send him to a cupboard under the stairs. They wouldn't be afraid to hug him or kiss him...and they would most definitely never hit him.

But he never thought that Petunia would either, and he wondered why she had. He had seen fear in her face...fear of...him?

Harry curled up against the wall and hugged his legs, trying to get warm. He thought longer and deeper, but the deeper his thoughts, the sadder he became, up to the point where tears came to his eyes.

Why was he shivering so frantically? Not of the cold but...was he scared of the Dursley's? Harry didn't want to admit that...

Something told him that this had nothing to do with the Dursley's...he felt like something wasn't quite--

Hisssssssssisssisssiss...

Harry became very still...even his shivering stopped. He scanned the small room, his eyes accustomed to the darkness already. He saw nothing.

Hisssssssssisssisssiss...

Harry gasped and backed up against the wall as a small, lime green snake slithered from a corner, creeping onto a storage box, leaving its mark in the layers of dust. It's small lime green head was lifted up high, staring at Harry with its beady black eyes.

Harry's eyes were wide and afraid. The snake was rather small, but could still be dangerous.

"Ssso, the famousss Harry Potter," the snake said.

Harry stared. How did it know his name? Never mind that, how did it talk?

"I have been watching you," the snake said. It's voice was breathy and wheezy, but somehow luring and strong. "It ssseemsss it isss time for me to sshow you thisss."

Harry opened his mouth to say something, but stopped. What would the Dursleys say if they heard him talking to a snake?

"Why ssso afraid little one? I mean no harm," the snake said, although its yellow eyes seemed to say something else.

Harry said nothing. The snake brought its head closer to Harry's. Harry backed up as much as he could.

"You are only five...I sssee. Not ssso old for a human, are you? I have come to...grant your deepessst wish. You have gone through ssso much, I can ssse it in your eyesss. You haven't eaten...and thisss cupboard mussst be your knew room. Ever wonder why you're being blamed for doing thingsss that are unexplained? Like pusshing a cousin down the ssstairsss? Tut, tut. Wonder why you're not loved? I know what I can do to help your poor, poor sssoul. I am going to reunite you with your parentsss, yesss, and you will thank me, won't you?" the snake hissed...it knew everything!

His parents were dead...how would the snake reunite him with them? Unless the snake wanted to...

"After you...kill me?" Harry asked, his voice quivering.

"Kill you!? I would never...what makesss you think thisss? Your parentsss are dead, but I will not kill you asss well! It isss not my job! You must be a very intelligent young lad to asssume sssomething with sssuch quick (dare I call it) logic!" the snake said, hissing louder than before, sounding a little irritated. "All I want you to do isss open thisss box!"

The snake looked down at the box it was on.

Harry looked at the box. Open it...should he? How much harm would it be if he did? But Harry knew better than to think something so simple and small wouldn't turn out to be a catastrophe. After all, small things seemed to become big problems in Harry's presence.

But Harry wasn't thinking about that...he was thinking about what would happen if he didn't listen to the snake...it would probably bite him. So Harry allowed himself to scoot forward right next to the box.

"Excellent..." the snake whispered, sliding off of the box to the ground.

Harry could make out two letters: "H.P.". Those were his initials, but he didn't bring it up. He couldn't imagine what could be so important that involved him. Especially when it came from the Dursleys' house.

He began to open the box, but the task proved to be quite difficult. He had to unwrap the duct tape, that had been messily slapped on there some time ago, but he soon had the flaps wide open.

Harry stared. "...What is all of this?" he asked.

"Look for yourssself," the snake replied.

Harry slowly let his hand travel to the insides of the box. He took out an old newspaper. He looked at it once and threw it on his lap, knowing that whatever it was it must be boring.

He grabbed something else from the box. This time he took out a small wooden box, dusty and very old. Harry traced a random line in the dust on the lid, before blowing it all off. On the lid, a deer of some sort entwined by a lily was engraved...in Harry's opinion, the combination was weird. He didn't think much of it, but instead resumed lifting the lid. Inside was a single necklace. It was an emerald on a golden chain, simple yet gorgeous. He flipped it over, not really thinking he'd find anything. But he found more initials: "L.E.". And he wanted it...He could not stop looking at it.

"You sshould keep it..." the snake said, interrupting Harry's thoughts (more like reading them).

Harry was startled somewhat, forgetting that the snake was there.

And he listened to it. He placed the necklace in his pocket.

After setting the wooden box down, he reached into the box, ready to find more.

He pulled out another necklace all made of gold with an hourglass hanging on it. It was even more fascinating than the one before...he had never seen anything like it.

Harry, admiring the mini hourglass, put the necklace around his neck. It looked brand new, like it had just been polished several times, and sold to somebody who only wore their jewlery once. It had not one speck of dust, pristine and all. He began to spin the hourglass, finding it rather amusing as he had nothing else to do.

He did not notice the way the snake stared at the hourglass, keeping something on his mind.

'...twenty...twenty-two...twenty-five...'

"Stop!" the snake ordered so suddenly that he didn't even have time to drag out his 's'.

Harry stopped immediately, letting go of the hourglass. The snake had spooked him.

"Well, my work isss done here. I musst sssay, Potter, you did mossst of it, feeling my vibes...smart boy indeed. May we meet again..."

Harry wondered what the snake was talking about, not asking, but watching as it slithered away...at least he tried to. He looked around, realizing that his surroundings were fading.

He could hear the snake laughing evilly. "Sssee you later..."

"NO!" Harry jumped forward.

His head collided with a hard brick wall, his glasses falling right off.

Harry moaned in pain, bringing a hand to his head.

He felt around the room with one hand...it was brick...but since when in two days was the cupboard under the stair made of brick?

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A/N: Please review, and if you didn't read my beginning author's note: I'm rewriting! I just want to make sure that's clear, otherwise there will be much confusion.