On a cold night in November, a toddler with wild black hair and a lightning bolt shaped scar stares up at the night sky. The wind whips around him as he hurtles through the air on an enchanted motorcycle, a sling holds him securely to the front of a massive man with an equally massive beard.
Hes deduced already that he's no longer an adult man. His tiny body and lack of any kind of mobility in his situation gives credit to this impossible thought. Also the fact that he woke up in a crib earlier. He's not even in his world currently if he's seeing things correctly. He knows this because magic isn't real. It's the stuff of fairy tales and movies.
When he awoke earlier, he was startled by the fact that a man resembling Gary Oldman, and who called him Harry, was in fact capable of magic. Sirius Black entered the room, his face distraught looking, and his eyes tinged with a wild desperation. His wand lit up the room with a soft white glow as he paced forward and then let out a relieved sigh upon seeing the tiny boy. He then picked the boy up, cradling him gently to his chest.
"Come on pup." he avoided looking around the room as much as possible and carried him down the stairs and out of what used to be a front door, but was now little more than a hole in the front of the foyer. They passed two bodies on the way. One a woman with red hair and startling green eyes that stared blankly out at nothing, the other a man with messy black hair and spectacles. The Potters. The very fictional, and very dead Potters.
He was Harry bloody Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One. What a mess.
Distantly he remembers being held by the red haired woman, her singing a song which eludes him now, and seeing the man with black hair cooing nonsensically at him, moving his face away with a laugh when he had grabbed for the glasses on his face.
He remembers sitting on the living room floor and tugging on the ear of a large black dog. Of being consoled by an ethereal white stag jumping out of the tip of a wand and dancing around his nursery. A stern "Hadrian James Potter, you drop that right now." Hadrian, that's different.
But he was truly an infant then. Now, not so much. Something woke him up. A memory comes to him now, a very recent memory. His mother has placed him in his crib after rushing up to the room with him. Her face is worried, her hands fluttering around trying to figure out what to do. She caresses his cheek then moves some furniture in front of the nursery door. Silly woman, where is your wand? he wonders as the memory unfolds. That done she backs up to the crib and latches onto the rail behind her, the knuckles on her hands white.
A moment later the door and the dresser are blown apart, but she stands still, shielding him from any debris. A dark cloaked figure steps into the room with a predators grace. His robes part to reveal bare feet tipped with actual claws as he moves. The hood of his robes shield what must be a ghastly face.
"Move aside, girl." His words are spoken with a sibilant hiss, and a chill runs down the childs spine as a dark and heavy aura blankets the room.
"No, please! Not Harry!" The woman pleads for his life but he already knows how this ends.
"Move girl, you don't need to die here." the cloaked man orders for the final time, but she won't and they both know it.
"Please! No, please!" His wand raises, hand bone white and grasping it with a careless nonchalance that belies what it will do.
"Avada Kedavra." He intones and with a flick of his wrist and a scream from the woman that cuts short, his mother falls to the floor, dead.
Green eyes the color of the very curse that was just cast stare up at the man as he walks closer. The wizards head tilts slightly, and without further ado, he casts again.
"Avada Kedavra!" The emerald green curse flies towards the boy and hits. Then nothing. He wakes up to what must be Sirius Black picking him up. He's handed over to the half giant soon after, and now here he is, flying across london on an enchanted motorcycle that somehow carries the behemoth of a man with ease.
He's somewhat saddened at the deaths of Lily and James Potter. Lily more so, having actually witnessed her murder and the desperate cries to spare his life, but he's not distraught. They weren't really his parents, if anything he's sad about the fate he knows awaits him at her insufferable sisters house.
The Dursleys. He sneers in an entirely too cute way to actually be threatening. If they think they can treat him like a house elf they are mistaken.
He didn't have magic in his last life, so the presence of it now is a constant and inexorable feeling. He will learn to use it and they will suffer every ounce of misery they inflict on him. He will not be a door mat for them to trample on and abuse as they please.
A jolt and the motorcycle lands, coasting forward before coming to a stop. The large man swings his leg over the bike and walks across a well kept lawn towards two figures. Albus Dumbledore takes him from the half giant, silvery blue eyes twinkling as they are wont to do.
"Any trouble Hagrid?" the wizened old man asks, his grandfather persona in full effect.
"None at all Headmaster, 'arry 'ere 'asn't made a peep the whole ride." Hagrid seemed inordinately pleased with himself, puffing up like somehow his bewildered silence was the product of his ability to ferry young children to safety.
"Very good then." They started towards the front door of Number 4 Privet Drive. The war had ended and now it was time to make sure their savior grew up to be a malleable little puppet martyr. Not likely.
"Are you sure about this Albus. I've watched them all day, they're the worst sort of muggles imaginable." spoke the voice of reason that would be McGonagall, sounding genuinely concerned. Her large pointed hat took up most of his vision as she leaned closer.
"The blood wards will keep him safe from those who may wish him harm." She still looked skeptical. Smart woman.
" He should be with family Minerva. They are the only family he has left after all."
Not entirely true the man turned child thought to himself. If he remembers his Harry Potter lore correctly, a potter married into the Black family, making Narcissa and Draco his cousins. Andromeda and Nymphadora as well. He won't bother contemplating the rest of that family for obvious reasons. Being Voldemorts right hand woman doesn't really seem conductive to childcare. A snort escaped him at the thought, but quickly morphed into a scowl when Dumbledore smiled down at him.
"I just hope you know what your doing Albus." Her concern is still obvious, and it would be touching if he didn't know that not a damn thing would be done about his situation, even after Hogwarts.
The porch is hard and cold beneath him. That's brilliant, leave a 1 year old on a porch in the dark in November. He glared at the headmaster as the old man gazed down at him with a genial smile. Old coot.
How is this possibly a good idea?
The note tucked in the blanket crinkled as he moved, trying to free himself from his forced confinement. A knock on the door later and they began to move away. Off to celebrate and do other wizardy things he supposed.
"Goodbye Harry Potter. Until we meet again." A loud staccato of pops rang out and the trio were gone. Heavy footfalls echoed through the house, and a sigh escaped his lips. Here we go...
A month passed living under the Dursleys loving care. They feed him the minimum requirement, and clothe him in dearest Dudleys hand me downs. He keeps quiet, in his cupboard under the stairs, and tries to draw on his magic. He can feel it, coursing through his veins. He knows it's there, but it proves elusive so far. It's warmth on the coldest of nights, with only a thin threadbare sheet to cover up with.
He grasps at it and almost thinks he has it, when frustratingly, it slips through his fingers yet again. What is he doing wrong? He can feel it there, why can't he touch it? A glower contorts his expression as he stares down at his small hand.
Banging on the cupboard door interrupts his brooding, and soon after it swings open. A thin, scowling face that resembles a horse enters his prison and soon shoves some stale butterless toast into his outstreched hand. A small cup with water follows, and then the door slams shut once more. The sound of a lock sliding shut can be heard through the thin door.
It seems the Dursleys can't be bothered to let him out of the cupboard until he's old enough to do chores. He gets a brief stint to the restroom thirty minutes after breakfast, and once more after his meager meal of a peanut butter sandwich for lunch and then again after whatever scraps are leftover from dinner; which isn't much, not with Vernon living here.
The Dursleys call him freak, an expected but no less loathed development. He's taken to calling them Walrus and Horseface in his head. He won't refer to himself as Harry. The starry eyed Gryffindor of J.K. Rowlings story no longer exists. He will never be that Harry Potter. From the memories of his early life, he knows his full name is Hadrian. It will do.
While eating his toast he wonders about his Dursley problem. Underfeeding him and confining him to the cupboard is the worst they have done, but he expects that will change when he gets a little older. Thank the gods he's already able to use the toilet or he'd probably be sitting in his own excrement for countless hours of the day.
He hasn't been able to bathe since he arrived, no surprise there. They probably expect they would have to bathe him. So until he can convince the idiots he can do it himself, he'll have to content himself with taking whore baths or stewing in his own filth. He's starting to stink again.
Finished with his toast and water, he knocks on the cupboard door. As it swings open, Horseface waits stiffly for him to exit the cupboard in as dignified a fashion as he can manage. His chin tilts up and with barely a glance at his would-be aunt he heads to the bathroom at the end of the hall. He stops suddenly and turns around. Perhaps it's too early to be speaking in full sentences, but they already think him a freak, and frankly he just doesn't give a damn about pretenses.
" I would like to bathe now." He cringes inwardly at the sound of his childish voice, but is sure to not phrase it as a question. His face is blank and his eyes cold. The look is more than a little unsettling on a 1 year old.
Horseface blanches and stares at him wide eyed in shock. She probably assumed he couldn't speak, and with good reason, since that was the first thing he's said since arriving in this hellhole. She looks at him, flinching slightly at his emotionless eyes. She's going to need convincing it seems. How troublesome.
" I can bathe on my own." She sniffs in a snooty fashion, finally recovering from her shock.
"Well, you do smell quite foul. I suppose you may." with that she turns and retrieves a small ratty towel, probably used for drying dishes. Of course, can't let the freak use a decent towel, he might contaminate it. He barely contains his sneer as he takes the proffered towel and marches into the bathroom. She follows and informs him he may use Dudleys soaps and shampoos until his own can be purchased.
" You have 10 minutes." A curt nod and he turns his back on her, effectively dismissing the vile woman. Another sniff is heard and then the sound of the door closing behind her as she exits.
The pounding on the door is a familiar sound by now, letting him know that his time is up. It's just as well, he finished five minutes ago and was now just enjoying the hot water.
His days continue like this for a long time. Practicing magic is still an exercise in futility, and his frustration with his predicament is quickly reaching a boiling point.
It wasn't until his fourth birthday, or round about that time anyways, that his magic made an appearance. He was washing the dishes leftover from the Dursleys dinner, their precious Dudders wailing about something or other in the background. At five years old he was already a spoiled brat. The screaming stopped abruptly when a plate slipped through Hadrians sudsy fingers and bounced off the counter, shattering loudly on the floor.
"Watch what your doing boy!" Walrus roared and reared back, boxing his ear with a meaty hand. The hit sent him sprawling to the floor, knocking the step-stool he'd been standing on askew when his feet kicked out.
The tight leash on his control snapped and his eyes zeroed in on Vernon. The temperature in the room dropped suddenly as his magic seeped out and fell over the room like a cloud of malicious intent. Their breath became visible in the air and Dudleys wailing started up again, this time genuine.
Vernons face, once purple with rage, paled rapidly, his beady eyes stayed fixed on the boy in disbelief at first, then rage filled his puce colored face. Flinty green eyes stared up at him with a malice that shouldn't be possible on a four year old boy, and for the first time he understood what his wife had been telling him since the freak was dropped on their doorstep. He wasn't natural.
"W-what are you doing freak?! Stop that this intant!" His meat claw reached for Hadrian, to shake the freakishness out of him if he had to.
"Don't touch me." As soon as the words left his mouth in a whisper, Vernons hand jerked away from him so harshly a crunching sound rang out, followed by a scream of pain as the whale of a man stumbled back, clutching his wrist.
Dudley and Petunia watched in horror, as Vernon continued to howl in agony. His thrashing about got more pronounced and the screams became interspersed with curses. Dudley ran from the room suddenly, and Horseface herded Walrus out of the kitchen away from the threat of her nephew, blubbering all the while.
Hadrian sat up slowly, glancing around the kitchen in wonder. His ear was still ringing, but slowly his hearing came back. The dishes and furniture were rattling, he hadn't noticed before. As his mind calmed, the rattling slowed, then stopped completely. The temerature normalized, and the euphoric feeling of being in control faded as well. It was, invigorating, that feeling. Like nothing could touch him. He wanted it back.
A grin spread across his face, full of pride and cruel humor. He had done magic. In a moment of emotional and physical distress, true. But in his mind, that in no way detracted from his accomplishment.
And he had put the walrus in his place. He huffed a laugh as he remembered the feeling of his magic wrapping around the fat oafs wrist and squeezing with bone crushing force. He didn't just break his bones. He shattered them.
The memory of his face when he realized what was happening would be a cherished one. He could see it in his eyes, the knowledge that what was happening couldn't be stopped. That the tables had turned and he was no longer in control. It was...delicious.
Now that he knew what using his magic felt like, perhaps he could recreate his previous success. His hand stretched out before him, and he willed his magic to act. The apple that had rolled off the counter during his panic induced earthquake vibrated slightly, but refused to budge.
A scowl morphed his face as he looked down at his hand in dismay. A minor set back, he decides. These things take time after all. He fumbled for the apple, his small hands not able to grab it properly, and barely caught it before it hit the floor. With a triumphant grin he bit into the fruit, the juice dripping down his chin. Victory is sweet, he thought as he finished eating his first piece of fruit in this life.