Taken as a challenge from DZ2's The Silver Trio. You can find the rules and guide there.

I own nothing, not the world, not the characters, hell not even the concept really.

Always nonprofit...duh

There was something very wrong with number four Privet Drive. No one would know it from the outside, it was a perfect copy of all the other houses with emerald green grass an assortment of perfectly placed bricks and a brown roof with not one shingle out of place. Indeed if one judged a house on nothing but appearance then it was perfect with a capital P. But that was just it, nothing in this world was perfect, and anyone that claimed as much was either a liar or a fool. At least that's what one little boy in the cup board under the stairs believed.

The man of the house, a huge tub of fat and organs who was not long for this world according to both his diet and his doctor, was the typical office nine to fiver who smiled to your face but spread rumors behind your back. He had thinning brown straight hair kept in a neat little cut with beady brown eyes the only made his face seem all the more massive. His cloths always had to be let out and if they were being honest it was a miracle the seams could hold at all, but even with his massive obesity Vernon Dursley managed to get move on his own will to live a normal life with his wife Petunia.

Everything about Petunia was the complete opposite of her husband. Where he was overweight and sloppy, she was thin almost scarily so and well put together. She carried herself with a practiced grace that many adored and even more tried to copy, head held high with her nose in the air as if she couldn't be caught looking at the ground. Considering her slim frame in contrast with her husbands it was clear to all that they had not been romantically involved in quite some time, probably not since her pregnancy with Dudley. It was a shame, she had the looks of a woman who used to be very pretty and happy, a part she played well to the neighbors and guests. But inside she was dead, a hollow woman who did what she believed a good house wife did best, take care of her family and support her husband's decision without question. Indeed, that was one reason she kept the cupboard locked and her son stuffed with sweets, and why there was a constant bottle of wine in their basket whenever they visited the local market. Petunia was now enjoying a glass at 11am while her son sat before the telly stuffing his face with cookies and pies.

And all the while, in a cupboard under the stairs, Harry Potter watched his whale of a cousin with open jealousy and anger. 'Look at him, almost as big as his blubber faced father and still he eats like a starved man. How strong his stomach must be, to hold all that food without exploding.' A sinister smile crept onto the eleven year olds face as he imagined such a thing happening. One too many custards before his cousin exploded into a mess of blood and fillings all over their white carpet, 'The stains would never come out.'

It was tragic how Harry had turned out. Once upon a time ago Harry had held love for his family, didn't want to see them hurt or in pain. He'd grown up living under the stairs, it seemed normal for a six year old to set the table and clean the house, to mop floors and dust everyday all day. The hitting was a constant too, but it wasn't until he realized that only he was being hit that it occurred to him that his family were not treating him right. And that's when the darkness started to spread. Harry used to squash it down, told himself that they weren't all bad, that eventually they'd love him, that they'd say it was all a horrible test that they had to do in order to make him one of their own. But with each year, with each beating, with each week locked in the closet with no food or water, that optimism faded, and resentment took its place.

Now this Eleven year old boy was mostly skin and bones with messy dirty black hair and piercing green eyes. His skin was covered in scars, most on his back and under his shirt as not to arouse suspicion onto his...Guardians who worked him tirelessly every day and rewarded him with scraps of food and the sole of their shoes if he took too long on a task. His cousin was the worst though, going out of his way with his stupid friends to make his already miserable existence worse with cruel games and savage beatings. The neighbors wrote it off as boys being boys, rough housing was after all a part of growing up, but in the parks away from preying eyes it went further than just rough shoves and bruised eyes. Lucky for Harry nothing ever stayed broken for long, and now he knew why.

"You're a wizard, Harry."

Hagrid was is name, a man twice the size of his uncle and probably weighed more to boot. He had a long shaggy beard and an umbrella that could do magic, and not the kind Dudley had over on his 8th birthday. This man wielded a power that was strong and mystical, and though he didn't use much of it Harry knew that inside him was that same power. Only he didn't know how to bring it out...yet. Sure there were times when things exploded when he got angry or stressed, or the time his hair grew back from a nasty hair cut that had left him bald thanks to that fat oaf. But until the snake escaped and thanked him for its new found freedom, the boy under the stairs wasn't sure it was his doing. 'But tomorrow he'll come for me, he swore it. Tomorrow he'll show me the world I belong in and when i return, they won't be able to stop me. Not anymore.' Outside Dudley was laughing at something on the telly, his mouth agape spitting crumbs onto the floor, crumbs that he'd have to clean up later no doubt. 'Laugh while you can fatty, I'll see you weeping before long.'

Hermione...

Imagine being an adult trapped in a child's body forced to deal with the immature antics of children day in and day out. Imagine that because of your age and the pitch of your voice that no one took you seriously, that no one gave you any real consideration because in their mind you were only a child and nothing more. Then, remember that children are unspeakably cruel especially to those that are different in any way but most of all in a smart way. Most people would imagine that as being hell. Hermione lived that life every day.

The buck toothed, bushy haired girl had not been trying to show off, she was just so excited about learning new things that she took to them with a fever not seen even in most geniuses. Truth be told she wasn't particularly gifted with natural smarts, but instead she read and re-read books until they were memorized in her mind just waiting to be called upon. 'The only true wisdom is knowing that you know nothing,' a quote by Socrates that hung in her local library that serving as the motivation for the young girl. In time she came to be a great mind, a knower of facts most glossed over, and in her pursuit of wisdom Hermione gained no small amount of it which only served to separate her from her peers. Who wanted to play in the mud when she could be reading up on multiplication tables? Sand Castle? Wouldn't you rather learn French? For her questions needed answers and books were there to provide them and like most inquisitive minds Hermione believed that there was no stupid question...well except for one.

Why? God how she hated that one word question, like a stain she could not remove, why hung there no the lips of simple minds and great just threatening to burst forth. Don't be mistaken, if you asked Hermione why the sky was blue she'd be more than happy to tell you. Ask her why birds migrated and she'd reward you with a smile and give you an explanation. But if you ask her simply why, well then she'd flare her nostrils and give you a glare that made most adults chuckle awkwardly under the intensity. WHY? Why was a waste of breath, a criminal misuse of a word that could better articulate ones thoughts, and most of annoying of all it was the first thing children turned too when they wanted to tease her. She could still hear their sharp laughter the first time she cried under there onslaught of meaningless questions.

To make matters worse her parents had no time to help her. Being dentists wasn't exactly rock stat status, but owning your own practice made for a hectic life. Not to mention that they weren't exactly the best of parents even when they were home. Sure the encouraged their little girl to be smart and self reliant, but that was only because the two of them didn't know how to raise a little girl. Beyond food, shelter, and clothing they were clueless. And since she was an only child it meant she was alone, to young to be an adult and to old in her mind to be prattling around with the children. But all that changed with a letter, one that arrived in the middle of June with a woman dressed in strange robes.

She never believed in magic, only fools or children gave it any thought and she was neither. But it was hard to argue science when the woman changed her living room couch into a full African Rhino that moved about on its own. It thrilled her, and Hermione insisted that she do more to prove that this wasn't some insane dream. Two more creatures from common house appliances later and the world Hermione knew changed for ever. 'I'll use magic.' Magic was the answer the question she never knew. It would be the equalizer, a tool to bend their will. If they didn't like her then so be it, she would FORCE them to respect her.

Ron...

They say the oldest child was the experiment, pushed the hardest and rewarded the least. The middle child was the forgotten one, parents knew how to deal with children for the most part but split their attention to the others. And finally, the youngest was spoiled, acting out and getting their way because by this point the parents had all but given up hope. But how did that work with seven children? If you asked six of them they'd say it was brilliant, they none of them had any problems with how they were raised. But they were not Ron Weasley.

The sixth son, the youngest boy but not the youngest child. He had a unique but unfortunate position in life that would forever leave him in shadow. Where he the youngest there was a chance he might escape that shadow, with the attention of his parents Ron might have formed a bond that would eventually leave him with something his brothers did not have. But it was not meant to be, hell he and Ginny were only eighteen months apart. He was no rouge Curse-Breaker exploring tombs and traveling abroad seeing all kinds of wonders. Nor was he a dragon tamer who left Hogwarts a legend as the best Seeker Gryffindor had since James potter led the time as a Chaser, funny how no one remembered the blokes name. Fred and George would never be forgotten, not because of their pranks, which help, but because they are twins and twin have a place all their own on the Weasley hall of fame. But that just left Ron alone. No special talents, no studious rule loving prick like Percy. Just a boy who like his brothers was forced into his mother's way of thinking, at least he would have been were it not for his new found spite. Ron could not rebel openly, he would be one man braving the wrath of his entire family and even he was not that head strong, but he could do so with his mind.

Sure, let them think he didn't mind their poverty, that he wasn't interested in making more galleons than they'd ever seen or using whatever means necessary to do so. Ron would treat this like wizard's chest, moving pieces in seemingly random directions unti all of them aligned for a swift and surprising victory. His family might be blood-traitors, poor, and pretty much the puppets of Albus Dumbeldore, but not he. No Ron would make them rich beyond their wildest dreams and wield power none of them could even fathome, cementing his name in the history books as THE Weasley instead of just A Weasley. And where better to start that Hogwarts?