Don't own Harry Potter, don't own the concept. I do own the storyline. Hopefully, it'll be different than what you people have read before.
Character death, obviously, and mentions of abuse, physical and mental. No pairings, it's Gen. Harry-centric, Smart!Harry.
Rubeus Hagrid, pink umbrella in hand, walked up the dreadfully boring street called Privet Drive. He stopped on Number 4. The house was rather strange. Unlike all the other houses on the street, it seemed to give off a dark and gloomy aura. The flowers were drooping and the yard was full of weeds. He reached with his umbrella and knocked on the door, sounding for all purposes like a giant cannon. An overly-thin, blonde, wild-eyed woman opened the door cautiously, as if afraid something would attack her if she was too loud. She saw the giant man and allowed her jaw to unhinge.
"I'm here for 'Arry Potter," Hagrid announced proudly. "To bring him his Hogwarts letter, yeh know."
The woman blinked. "Yes, yes, take him away!" She led him inside, practically pulling the man.
The interior of the house was even more of a mess than the outside. On the walls were frames of ripped family photos showing a large, bushy-mustachioed man, a smaller copy of the man sans mustache, and the woman looking immaculate. The walls themselves were scrawled over in what looked like a child's pictures… in blood. The mirror by the entrance was cracked, and dust coated every inch of furniture. Books were upturned, and the carpet had dark stains all over.
"What hap-" Hagrid began. The woman shushed him, a finger over her mouth to emphasize the point. Hagrid shut his mouth, obviously confused by it all.
"Over here," she whispered, opening up a cupboard that was underneath the stairs.
Inside the cupboard was an old bed-like thing that was too ruined to actually call it a bed. A crayon colored sign brightly proclaimed, "Harry's Room!" with a detailed garden drawn in. Scattered toys- all broken- were on the floor. There was a teddy bear with its eyes ripped out, building blocks with chipped edges, and a life-size doll of a boy with red stains that seemed to be rotting. Wait a moment… That wasn't a doll.
It was a body. More specifically, it was the body of Harry James Potter, formerly known as the Boy-Who-Lived. He obviously wasn't anymore.
Hagrid spun on his foot to face the woman and exploded. "WHAT'S THE MEANING OF THIS, DURSLEY?" he demanded.
The woman, now identified as Petunia Dursley, quivered but remained standing where she was. "I-it was Vernon!" she exclaimed. "I tried to stop him, I really did, but the boy was just too freakish!"
Any further words were blocked by a giggle.
"So it was sweet Uncle Vernon who locked me in here every night? That starved me, and slapped me whenever I made any mistakes?"
Petunia paled.
"Oh wait, that was you, wasn't it? Vernon may have been the one to kill me, but you're culpable as well!" the voice crowed.
Hagrid turned around once more to see a silvery apparition of the same boy holding hands with his own corpse. "Hmm… You shouldn't lie, Aunty. You're setting a really bad example."
The ghost was surprisingly tiny, but as scary as the Bloody Baron back at Hogwarts. He looked around seven years old, with glasses held together only by tape and messy hair. Most prominent of his features was not the scar on the boy's forehead, but the scars that raced up his arms like a bizarre tattoo. His shirt that was several sizes too big had knife tears in it, and silvery liquid oozed from the wounds.
"Nice to meet you. I'm Harry Potter. I'd shake hands, but obviously, I can't."
Hagrid, despite his large size and strong demeanor, fainted dead on the floor. Petunia just ran upstairs, panicking. "Vernon! Vernon!" she called for her husband.
Harry hummed tunelessly. How interesting. Who was this man anyways?
...And that's the first chapter. Should I continue?