Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, I'm just playing in someone else's sandbox.

Chapter 1: Discovery

July 31st, 1991

It was not a good day to be Harry Potter; although, no day was ever quite good to be him. It was his 11th birthday and he was already awake before his "family" to ensure breakfast was ready and he was not punished.

Number 4 Privet Drive was very quiet this morning except for the sounds of birds waking up in the neighbourhood. I hope they quiet down, else I will get blamed for that too! The despondent youngster couldn't help but flinch at the sounds of heavy footfalls coming from upstairs.

"BOY! Breakfast better be ready or you will be sorry! I have no time for lollygagging, I have a very important meeting to attend this morning!" More like he has more people to lie to to make himself seem more important.

"Yes Uncle Vernon." Harry set the plates out on the table, trying his best not to drop anything. Heaping piles of eggs and rashers of bacon onto their plates, he couldn't help but hear his stomach growl in anger at being denied the same treatment.

"SHUT THAT STOMACH OF YOURS UP BOY! FREAKS DO NOT DESERVE TO EAT FOOD BOUGHT BY HARD-WORKING BRITS!" Harry's whale of an uncle was screaming at him with a full mouth, causing most of his food to land in his lap and the ground.

"HAH! There you go boy! If you're hungry, eat off the ground like the dog you are! Maybe Marge will take you in and train you! HAH HAH! You'll be just like your bitch of a mother!" Vernon's face was growing redder as he laughed, not noticing the rising anger coming off the raven-haired boy in waves.

It was then a small quiet voice finally spoke out, "Don't ever talk about my mother. "

The red-faced Vernon grew ever redder as he stood from the table. "I thought you learned your lesson the last time BOY! It seems I need to beat respect into you once again!"

Harry tried to run, he really did; but, there's only so far a 11 year old boy can get. He had been beaten by his Uncle before, but he had a feeling this was going to be far, far worse.

He wasn't wrong.

Several hours later, it was a nearly unrecognizable Harry Potter waking to a bare flicker of consciousness. He could barely breath, just moving hurt and there was a rapidly spreading pool of blood saturating every inch of a little cupboard under the stairs.

Please, save me. Those were the last thoughts the young boy had before nearly passing out. At the same time a brilliant blue glow surrounded the cupboard under the stairs. In those few fleeting moments, in a castle hundreds of miles away, several instruments attuned to a young man exploded in rather spectacular fashion.

A letter fluttered to the front step, addressed to the young man in question. However, the letter would go unanswered.

Harry Potter had disappeared.