Harry woke up with at start, almost hitting his head on the bottom of the stairs. After reorientating himself, Harry sat with his back against the wall of his cupboard thinking about the dream he'd woken up from. Although you wouldnt be able to tell by looking at the boy, his mind was reeling from the information he had processed.

You see, Harry Potter was different from the majority of those around him for several different reasons. He could remember almost every conversation he has ever had, making talking to others tiring. If he actually tried, he could work out problems in his maths and science classes with ease while the rest of the students in his class struggled. He also had trouble expressing some emotions while others were practically nonexistent. He didn't feel guilt or remorse, he didn't feel empathy, and he didn't really care a lot about other people.

That's not to say that he was mean, or that he seemed different compared to others enough to raise any questions. He was a great actor, probably one of the best in the world. Not because he could act well on stage, but because he acted out the emotions he didn't or couldn't feel by observing others.

And that brings us back to the situation at hand: Harry Potter sitting in his cupboard under the stairs, contemplating the dream - no, memory - he just had. He saw people he didn't recognize but looked so much like him that he assumed they were his parents, as well as another man who looked as if he could have been handsome once, but something changed the structure of his face into a more serpentine form. After muffled words were exchanged a bright acid-green light shot from a stick the serpent man was holding and raced to what he presumed was his mother, then another towards him. He woke up after that, his scar on his head throbbing painfully.

Harry decided several things in that moment: the first being to never expect a true answer out of his aunt's or uncle's mouth, the second was to find out the truth about his parents. From the look of his dream, it seemed as if the weird energy used by his parents murderer was a type of magic or something.

It was then that Harry remembered the unexplainable things that had happened around him. His aunt and uncle seemed to think he had been the one to turn his teacher's hair blue and transport himself onto the gym roof at school - what if they were right? They had basically told him magic was real by punishing him when it happened.

Hearing footsteps coming down the hallway upstairs, Harry quickly and quietly laid back down and pretended to be asleep just in case Aunt Petunia decided to open his cupboard door to wake him up - if she saw him sitting up and awake she would either assume he had been up to something he shouldn't have been or decide that he should wake up earlier.

'Boy! Wake up!' she said as she rapped her knuckles on the door and unlocked it. 'It's time to make breakfast, and I won't have you ruining it on my Dudder's big day.'

'Coming, Aunt Petunia,' he said just loud enough for her to hear him as she walked into the kitchen. Sighing, Harry resigned himself to another day of abuse and neglect from the Dursleys.

A/N: I haven't given up on my other story! I just can't see where I wanted to go with it and it's hard to continue. I am working on it still.