Cliché

SUMMARY: This entire story is one big cliché, starting with a SI and only getting crazier from there.

Chapter 1

I didn't mind living in the cupboard under the stairs. It was dark and comfortable, and it wasn't as if I had a great many belongings. The lock was a problem, but inside I kept a spare lightbulb, library books and two bottles (one filled with water and one empty, the blessings of being male) in case I was locked in for too long. However, even though I liked it, I needed the second bedroom on principle. Staying under the stairs sent the message that I was an outcast to the family, their red headed stepchild, the house elf in the attic. The second bedroom would set me in a position of power, one I desperately needed if I was going to continue living in this two-story.

So the day before I started school, after I finished with the preparation and consumption of breakfast and before I started on the flower garden, I went upstairs to the second bedroom. Even at this age Dudley was storing his unwanted toys in the second bedroom and it was cluttered with things that were broken or simply unwanted (i.e. books and anything else to do with thinking). I started with the closet. It was larger than I expected, which was good. I emptied it, then started at the bottom with the broken TV and other large items. The smaller things I put in boxes and stacked them on top of each other, until nearly three quarters of the closet was filled. Once the room was cleared I cleaned, clearing away years of dust. Then I emptied the dresser, putting Dudley's old (enormous) clothes onto the closet shelf. All the books and anything else of interest I found went onto the bookshelf. Once the room was inhabitable I went downstairs to my cupboard and took out all my items (of which I could fit in my arms in one trip) and carried them upstairs. Clothes went into the drawer, library books on the shelf. I stood back, admiring my work. It looked like a normal person's room, if a bit bare. Very bare, actually, but no matter. I shut the door behind me as I went out to do the lawn work.

That night after dishes I headed up the stairs to my room.

"Where do you think you're going, boy?"

I stopped in the stairs and turned around to see my Uncle and Aunt in the living room, looking up at me.

I blinked, then opened my eyes wide. "Oh, I'm sorry! How rude of me. Goodnight, Uncle. Goodnight, Aunt," I said with a smile.

Aunt Petunia stuttered. "No, he means what are you doing going up there? Get to your cupboard!"

"Oh, that," I said, having rehearsed this moment in my head for the past few days. "Well, I heard Mrs. Abrams from number six say that she never saw me in the second bedroom. And that it was strange – abnormal – since, after all, where else could I be sleeping in this three bedroom? I told her that she was imagining it and convinced her that it would be a very bad idea to continue investigating this problem. I mean, I enjoy the cupboard, but to stop her from calling child services and them coming here and starting a ruckus–" there was a gasp from Aunt Petunia "—I had to do something, didn't I? I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I didn't want to worry you. Honestly, I didn't think it would be a big deal."

"It's not- not a big deal," Aunt Petunia said.

"Now see here!" Vernon boomed. I clenched the bannister nervously, wishing I was taller so I didn't look like such a child peering over the top, and itching to just go the rest of the way upstairs. "I will not have that- that freak living in my house like a member of the family!"

"Vernon, please," Aunt Petunia said, nervously glancing out the living room window. I looked too and, with a twitch of my hand, the curtain across the way fluttered as if someone was shutting it quickly after spying. "They're watching us, dear. We need to keep up appearances. Besides, the bedroom won't be any different from the cupboard – we'll install a lock tomorrow, a nice, big padlock. You'll see, it'll be even better since we won't have to walk downstairs to let him out to make breakfast."

He muttered something about the good-for-nothing freaks leaving this freaky boy with the nice, normal family, before consenting. It wasn't like my parents chose to die, or anything.

I didn't appreciate being liked to a dog being let out to pee, but this was a long-term scheme. I didn't need a decent life to happen at once, just as long as it was habitual by my eleventh birthday, when I'd get my letter and leave for months.

I waited until I had continued the rest of the way up the stairs, entered my room and shut the door before I smirked. I'd already changed the timeline irrevocably by being in this bedroom (of course I really changed it when I appeared in this world three and a half years ago.)

Before going to bed I changed into Dudley's hand-me-down's and laid out some of his nicer things to wear to school tomorrow. Only once I had laid down for the night did I remember that the light was still on, and that I couldn't simply reach up and pull the string to turn it off.

I concentrated really hard, and twitched my fingers.

Nothing happened.

"Damn it," I muttered, getting off the bed. Once I was right next to the light switch (I wouldn't give in) I concentrated and slammed my hand down forcefully in front of the switch.

The light turned off.

Dudley and I went to a Progressive Primary School. This means, among other things, that the school children hate the nutritious lunches more than in normal schools. They serve collard greens instead of chips, veal instead of chicken. These dietary restrictions creates an opportunity for those with a feel for entrepreneurship.

My first investment was a box of Curly Wurly. A box of 48 sold for 25€. At 1€ each (steep back then, but I held all the supply so I created the price) they sold out within two days and I made a profit of 23€. Enough to buy a couple outfits from the Charity shop that actually fit me.

The next box sold out in three days, however I had to use one as a bribe. My cousin had been giving me looks, so I went up to him, handed him a bar and said with a smile "Family eats for free." Soon, the boxes stabilized at about a week to sell, and subtracting the two preemptive bars for Dudley so he doesn't beat me up (and the one I treat to myself), I began making a steady profit of 20€/week. It isn't a lot for an adult, but for a kid who lives with relatives who treat him like dirt? It can buy me clothes, good food, a library card and, my personal favorite, a means of transportation. It also solidifies my position in the school as 'that kid who sells candy.' If you have a purpose that people recognize, they'll be more likely to intervene if you're being bullied (i.e. from my crazy cousin) and less likely to do the bulling (i.e. everyone else in the school).

So – my relatives let me sleep in a room, I'm not getting pushed around from my cousin nearly as much, I have a steady source of income, what next? I can do a little bit of telekinesis, but no matter how hard I concentrate I can't make water appear or change a matchstick into a needle, and I have no idea where Diagon Alley is so I can't get any actual magic books. Also, talking to snakes isn't as fun as it sounds – if they respond, it's usually either about the sun or prey, and that's a big if because usually they'll just hiss "intruder" and slither away.

It looks like for now, until I can find some way into the magic world (because hell if I know where the leaky cauldron is) I'll be playing the waiting game for the next five years.

Joy.

Tap tap tap. Aunt Petunia had her legs crossed, but the one on the floor kept bouncing up and down, her heeled shoe making a noise on the hard floor with each bounce. Tap tap tap tap tap.

The teacher sat across from us behind the big wooden desk, shuffling papers and pamphlets. Tap tap tap. Then it suddenly stopped.

"Could you hurry this up? I need to take my son to his wrestling practice."

He smiled at me. "Oh, Harry, I didn't know you did wrestling."

I shook my head. "Not me, Dudley."

After a moment, "I suppose that's right. Just one moment, Mrs. Dursley," Mr. Banes said. He was a balding older man who wore small, round reading glasses. I wish I could say whether or not he was a good teacher, but he taught maths and as a college graduate who took through Calculus II (and had a job doing basic statistical analysis before inhabiting this body) I didn't particularly care about algebra. Same for most of the other classes, able to pass them without studying or paying attention. The only exception was history, which was all local history and besides the fact that I didn't already know anything about the area, I don't care about boring local muggle history at all. But back to Banes – although I already know everything we learned in maths, I do enjoy it, and going to class to read a book (which he ignores me doing because I ace every test) is better than staying at home over the summer and working, so I've been taking the next course up every year in summer school. This next year would have been my last year of maths before having to go to college level, but since I'm almost eleven and not going to be continuing on with any muggle school, I don't particularly care.

Mr. Banes looked at the papers he had collected. They were my report cards from the previous years. I mentally cringed, thinking about my grades in history. "Young Harry here is an exceptional young man, Mrs. Dursley."

Petunia's face twisted, but she didn't comment. She clenched a glass of water the teacher had given her earlier in her right hand, and impatiently took a sip.

"He picks up new things like a sponge, and has aced nearly every class he's taken while here. Someone with a mind like his doesn't come around often."

Actually, they're all over the universities. I just had a twenty-two year head start from every other normal kid in the world. Now Hermione, she's what you would call a genius, or maybe just a genius of hard work? Note to self – befriend Hermione, see if she picks up things quickly or just works her ass off to be perfect.

The way that Mr. Banes looked at my Aunt, it was as if he expected her to say something. Maybe praise me, or praise the way she raise me. But my relatives don't act like that. I'm pretty proud to say that I've taught them to ignore instead of berate. If they pretend I don't exist, then strange things won't happen. For example: fewer windows cracking for no reason. There's only so many times they can replace the panes before the neighbors start asking questions.

It was silent for nearly a minute before Aunt Petunia finally said "Is this all? I have to pick up my son."

Mr. Banes tilted his head and gave a wide, fake smile. "I thought you said you had to take him to practice?"

"She has to pick him up from home and take him," I said before Aunt Petunia could flounder some more. "Thank-you for the praise, although I don't really see myself as exceptional or whatever." Special, now there was a word I could relate to. Unique. Gifted. But not exceptional. Not yet, anyways. "So is there anything else?"

"Well," he said, realizing my Aunt was a lost cause he spoke directly to me, "I was hoping that your family would look over some of these pamphlets. They're for schools in the area which cater to younger students that have advanced as far as they can go in the public school system. There are also many grants available to those who qualify, so the price would be manageable."

"Thanks," I said, "but I'm already going to a new school. In fact, I'm expecting to receive my acceptance letter very soon."

Aunt Petunia suddenly became very pale.

"Is that right? Well, we will be sad to see such a bright young mind leave us. Is it near here? Guildford, perhaps?"

I shook my head. "It's actually in Scotland, a boarding school. My parents went there-"

Petunia dropped her water. It was a plastic glass, but water sprayed across the floor. "My sister wouldn't…" she whispered, trailing off.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Banes," I said, and reached out to make Petunia, who was still sitting catatonically on her chair, stand. She flinched at my touch and stood on her own. "Do you need help cleaning up?"

"No no, that's quite all right. Well, I do hope you enjoy yourself at your new school. You'd better follow your Aunt, now."

Aunt Petunia had already left the office. "Thanks," I said with a small smile, before hurrying off. As I turned away from the teacher the fake smile left my face. It had to be done – they had to know that I wasn't going to just lay down and let Hogwarts pass me by, but maybe mentioning it in front of a muggle (and a government official at that) was a bit much.

On July 22nd I got the mail without being prompted by Dudley's Smelting stick. I gave the postcard from Marge and bills to Vernon, and kept the parchment envelope for myself.

"I got my Hogwarts letter," I said as I sat down at the table. I had already opened the envelope before getting to the table, so I simply unfolded the acceptance letter. "They require a response by owl. Aunt Petunia," she looked up, startled, and I met her eyes. "Where can I find Diagon Alley?"

Her eyes widened, then she suddenly seemed to deflate, sighing.

When nobody answered, the light above the kitchen table flickered. Dudley and Vernon looked up worriedly.

"Wha?" Dudley said, frightened, then looked at an emotionless Petunia, then to me. "What'd you do to her?!"

Meanwhile, Vernon was sitting at the end of the table, his face turning purple. "You will not be-"

"Vernon," Petunia interrupted, looking at her hands clenching her napkin in her lap. She has never interrupted Vernon when he's speaking, until now. "She'll be coming soon anyways if we don't let him go."

She? Not Dumbledore?

He grunted. "Fine. But we're not spending a dime on any of this freak nonsense. He'll pay his own way, or he won't go."

That's fine. I've still got loads in my Gringott's account.

Aunt Petunia cleared her throat. "It's on the corner of Charing Cross Road and Great Newport Street."

I stood up, folding the letter and tucking it into my pocket. "Thanks," I said, walked upstairs and grabbed my emergency backpack. Then I walked downstairs to the door, grabbing my coat. I paused before leaving. "I won't be coming back for a while. So I'll see you guys next summer!"

I expected Vernon to say something like don't you leave this house, but apparently I'd trained him well enough that only silence followed me on my way out.

I couldn't wait until I got my wand. After transferring busses three times and getting asked by two women if I was lost, I finally made it to the Leaky Cauldron. After smoothing down my hair so people didn't see my scar and go crazy, I entered the pub and convinced one of the barbacks to let me into the Alley.

Diagon Alley wasn't as grand as I was expecting. Honestly, it was a bit of a letdown. It looked the same as any other shopping center, except instead of a road separating the two sides, it was a small cobblestone path, which made the entire place seem even more crowded than it already was. I cringed, thinking of a) fighting through families going school shopping and b) fighting a battle in the cramped area. Each option seemed equally unappealing.

Although I really wanted a wand, my first stop had to be Gringotts. I wasn't sure if I could even get money without the key, so I might have to owl Dumbledore first. Or maybe they could take some of my blood and make another key or something – anyway, first stop, Gringotts!

I entered the bank and waited in line. It was 15:00 on a Monday in mid-July, so it was a short wait. When I was called over, I tried to make it short and polite. No 'may your gold flow with the blood of your enemies' or anything like that. "I'm here to access my vault."

The goblin reached out (his?) a wrinkled hand. "Key."

"I actually don't have it. I believe Albus Dumbledore is currently in possession of it, but I need access to my family vault for school supplies."

The goblin retracted its hand, a snarl on its face. So much for customer service. "Name?"

"Um, Harry Potter."

He wrote something down on a scroll, then looked up again. "The Potter's vault key is currently being held by the head of the family."

I blinked. "But, I'm the head of the family."

"Mr. James Potter is the head of the Potter family, and you are not on his list of approved visitors. Therefore, you are not allowed access to the vault. Is there anything else Gringotts can help you with today?"

James… Potter? As in, a dead guy is the keeper of the vault key? There has to be some mistake, because this didn't happen last time. Is it because Hagrid isn't here with the key? Something isn't right.

"If there is nothing else, I must ask you to move out of the way so I can help the next customer."

"I need to exchange muggle money for wizarding," I said quickly.

After nearly getting expelled for selling candy in school I moved on to other businesses – doing other people's homework, finding out other people's personal information (why yes Joey I can get you Elizabeth's phone number) among other things. All for a price, of course. However, I spent a majority of the money I made on clothes that fit, food that I liked, and books that I wanted that the library didn't have. I'd been saving up to buy a computer, but not seriously since I assumed I'd have the ginormous piles of money to fall back on. You know what they say about assuming.

I counted the paltry coins I now carried, stashing them into a pouch Gringotts graciously provided. 53 galleons. That had to purchase all my school supplies and, if I didn't want to go back home (which I really, really didn't) would have to get me through my time in the alley. It wasn't ideal, not something I planned for or even remotely thought could happen, but I'd make do. First stop – Ollivander's.

I had to wait a couple minutes for the people currently in the shop to leave (the door was actually locked while they were getting their wand) before I could enter.

"Mr. Potter, I've been expecting you."

"Hello, sir," I said, standing in front of the counter awkwardly. I jingled the coins in my pocket nervously. This wand would be the one I would have forever, after all.

"It seems only yesterday I had your parents here getting their first wand. Should I wait for them before I start looking for your match, or shall we start?"

Again, are my – Harry's – parents alive or something? I appeared in this body when Harry had already gone to live with the Dursley's so I don't actually remember their death, but if they were alive then wouldn't I live with them? "Just me today," I replied, not mentioning my confusion.

"Very well." He waved his hand and two tape measures began measuring every inch of me. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter." He went in the back and came back out with an armful of boxes to see me batting the tape measure away as it tried to measure me in an inappropriate place. "Oh, stop that at once! Honestly, what is with you today." He shook his head and opened a box. "Oak and Dragon Heartstring."

I took the wand he offered and waved it. Nothing happened.

"No matter, no matter, nobody gets their match on the first time after all! Let's try this one next – Yew and Unicorn hair."

We tried many, many wands, and one worked a little – twelve and a half inches, hazel, dragon heartstring, but it wasn't good enough for Ollivander. "I will not have you leaving this shop with a wand that only works okay. They'll start to question my abilities as a wandmaker."

I wasn't sure who they were, but I agreed that an extra half hour spent searching was better than leaving with a sub-par wand, especially when I didn't have unlimited funds to buy a better wand for when I needed it.

Finally, Ollivander brought a plain looking box out from the back. He opened the box and held it out.

I plucked the wand out from the box, noticing how Ollivander's own wand was in his hand, as if he thought the wand I held might backfire and he'd need to stop it from exploding the shop. The first thing I noticed was how hard the wand was. It had no give to it, and as I waved the tan wand it seemed to glow in my hand, and I felt a warm breeze go by.

Ollivander clapped once, and I missed where he stashed his wand because I was so focused on my own. "Excellent match! I was afraid I was never going to find a wizard for that particular wand. Ten and three quarter inches, unicorn hair and elder if you can imagine. I thought my dad was crazy for making such a combustible wand, but here we go, giving it to a Potter of all people. Use it wisely, boy."

And didn't that sound ominous. Despite the fact that the wand was so difficult to match, the price was still seven galleons. I handed over the money, keeping a mental tally (46 left). I eyed the wand holster and cleaning kit, but knew they were an additional expense that I couldn't afford at this time. Maybe next year.

I left the shop with my new wand in my pocket and bit my lip. I needed a means of income if I wanted to stay at the leaky cauldron (because going home meant no more magic, and I just couldn't do that, not right now). Making magical objects would be preferable, mirrors that can communicate between each other, or spelling a stone to glow in the dark, but I didn't even know if that stuff would be charms or runes, and there was no way I could learn that much so soon. I'm a shit pickpocket, so that's out. I could owl my parents, but… well, if they didn't die and still left me with the Dursley's, they really weren't the sort of people I wanted to get to know, even if they were filthy rich. And could give me money.

My stomach growled. Okay, I'll think of ways to make income while eating.

A/N: This story will have a lot of clichés, but not a Gary Sue or any overpowered bullshit. That said, my wand is honestly the one Pottermore gave me. This isn't beta'd, and is written to exercise my imagination. There isn't a set story line, so please feel free to make suggestions for where this story should go (no matter how absurd they might seem). The only thing that's set in stone is that there will NOT be a romantic focus. Interests, sure, but this will never become a sappy love story.

Last edit: 23:16 2/15/15