New Story yay. So. This is a x-over between the HP world, and the loverly, loverly band, Tokio Hotel. It's set in the Potterverse, but I guess it's somewhat sorta AU. So yeah. Timelines are VERY screwed. I'm not following the Potterverse one, but rather, my own timeline. So yeah. R&R peoples

Thanks to Wrath of the Digital Hazard for beta-ing mine ficcie! Thou art Awesometh! X3

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or anything related to the world that has been created by the loverly JKR. I wish I did, but I don't, so there. No sue! XP

Prologue:

Harry was nursing the wounds that the morning's events had caused him. He whimpered. They hurt so much! Why would they do that to him? Wasn't he part of the family? He never complained in doing his chores, and he never asked questions anymore, so why was he still being treated like this? The little boy fought back the tears that threatened to fall from his emerald orbs as he tried not to move his body, lest a wound started to bleed again. He had managed to bandage most of his wounds, albeit clumsily, as he had only an inkling of an idea on how to bandage a wound from what he had read in passing some books in the library. He didn't have the necessary tools either. Aunt Petunia just threw in a bottle of rubbing alcohol and a roll of bandages and told him to clean himself up.

He was so tired; tired of the constant beatings, of being treated like dirt, and of being called a freak. So what if he could do magic? It was great, really. All of the books he read that talked about magic told of how amazing it is, and to be quite honest, he thought it was quite amazing, too. Of course, this fact had to be hidden from the Dursleys, as the one time he tried to show Dudley something, he was ratted out, and if it weren't for the fact that he pretended he was unaware of turning Aunt Petunia's roses blue, well, let's just say he was glad he only got a black eye and a sore chest.

Harry was smart. He wasn't exactly aware that he was smart and that it wasn't normal to see little four-year-olds going off to the library to read thick tomes of classical literature, instead of going off to the picture books section that was available for other children his age. He always thought that Dudley was a bit slow and assumed all the other children read books, too. So it didn't come as a surprise for the librarian to mistaken him for a genius and for him to be completely surprised about it. After all, geniuses were supposed to be extraordinary people whose minds had a greater capacity than that of a normal person; so of course, little Harry was surprised to be called such a wonderful term. The librarian was adamant and Harry unconsciously decided to use this to his advantage, thus getting him free reign in the library without having to be questioned about it. The librarian, lovely woman that she was, couldn't be prouder of the boy. She helped him with whatever questions he had, and went so far as to research for other things herself to inform the lovely lad with the gorgeous emerald eyes.

In the first few months that Harry started going to the library, or rather, sneaking out to go to the library, he would hide himself in a little corner with all the old science and history books and read there; it wasn't until the second page that he had difficulty reading that he went to the librarian to finally ask her what it meant. He was three years old.

The days blended into weeks, then into months, and Harry soon finished off a whole shelf of thick academic tomes. The librarian couldn't be any prouder, as if he were her own son. And to him, she was. She noticed his baggy appearance, the way he looked so unkempt, and the occasional bruise that marred his otherwise lovely skin. She had decided not too long after meeting him that she was to take care of him as much as was in her power without actually interfering with his life. She saw how he reacted to her questionings of his home life and froze up and withdrew into his shell. She didn't want that. He was too precious of a child to become so introverted, and so, she tried her best to teach him, to nurture him, and to love him, every Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday that she saw him, going so far as to teach him her native tongue, German, which he took to as a fish to water. He delighted in learning and the thrill of a different language got him giddy with excitement. His enthusiasm was contagious to say the least, and the kind librarian therefore taught him all she knew, and learned with him all she didn't.

Harry smiled at the thought of the librarian, Mrs. Fitz. She was so kind to him! He learned so much from her, and if he had a choice, he would run away to her. He knew she would welcome him with open arms and that he would be loved there, but then, he also knew that she had a mother to take care of, and a paraplegic brother, and that he would become a burden either way. The thought saddened him; he didn't want to leave dear Mrs. Fitz alone! But he had no choice. He could feel it, his magic, and it was not pleased with the way he was being treated by his so-called family. He knew he could endanger them if his magic was to suddenly lash out, and as such, he had to get away, for his sake as well as theirs.

No one knew of his magic, no one but Mrs. Fitz. She thought he was crazy at first, but after changing the colour of her pet cat, Ewan, and making the whole half of the library float in thin air, she began to believe the quirky boy. She tried to help him control his magic, to avoid sudden outbursts, and to find as many books as she could on the subject to teach him. It had helped him a lot. He could control his magic now and had a fairly good grasp of his powers, something that would be considered an amazing feat for a child of eleven, and much more so for a four-year-old toddler like him.

It was hard to believe that he was four years old at times. The things he knew and t had experienced made it difficult to think that he was only four years old, but, if one were to merely glance at him, then there would be no doubt that he was a young child, younger still, due to his frail appearance: unruly black hair that held no respect for combs whatsoever, a pale complexion on an overly thin frame, and big green eyes that sparkled with curiosity and knowledge. He was four years old.