Written for a challenge, the Task 1 Defence Against the Dark Arts challenge for the Hogwarts Challenge group, to be precise.
Disclaimer: I didn't do it. It was... him! Yes, her! No, it! Them!
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Mrs and Mr Dursley of Number 4, Privet Drive, were happy to say they were perfectly normal, thank you very much.
It was as such, that when they saw their darling son, Dudley, bullying their precious nephew, Harry, they took special steps to ensure something of the sort never happened again.
It was from then on, did Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, forget the meaning and justification behind "Stranger Danger".
On an unrelated note, a purple horse was sighted near the Dursley house a few days after the two boys living there started becoming nicer to everyone.
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Harry tentanatively stepped into the store which had clothes-like objects being hung in the display.
He looked down at the piece of parchment in his hand, before looking back at the interior of the shop, not entirely sure whether he was at the right place.
A middle-aged woman with a few measuring tapes coiling around her arms, neck and other various places stepped up to Harry, and seemed to take in his size and shape.
"Going to Hogwarts, boy?" she said with a luke-warm voice.
Harry nodded with a small smile.
"Splendid. Just go over there, to those wooden stools," she gestured towards a collection of wooden stools at the back of the shop. One of them was occupied by a boy with blonde hair.
"...and we'll get you suited right up."
With that, the seamstress walked towards the back of the shop, which had a row of tables with bits of cloth laid out on them.
Harry walked up to the stools, and stood on the one next to the boy.
"Hi!" said Harry, thrusting his hand out at the boy, "I'm Harry Potter! What's your name? Do you want to be friends?"
The boy seemed taken aback, and confusedly shook his hand.
"Hi... ermmmmm... I'm Draco Malfoy."
Harry beamed. "Do you want to be friends?"
Draco's look of confusion deepened, before being replaced with a mask of irritation.
"Friends? Why would I be friends with the likes of you?"
Harry cocked his head to one side. "Likes of me?"
Draco sneered. "Yes, liars like you!"
The look of confusion appeared on Harry's face.
"Since when did I lie?"
"You said you were Harry Potter."
"And I am."
Draco's sneerered. "If you're Harry Potter..."
He reached out, and brushed Harry's fringe up, revealing his forehead.
"Then where's your..."
Draco stared, mouth agape, at the rather prominent lightning-bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead.
Draco spluttered. "Errrrrrmmmmmmmmmmmm..."
Harry frowned. "I don't appreciate being called a liar."
At this, Draco seemed to collect himself. "Err, yes, right, sorry about that."
"It's fine." With that, Harry's smile returned. "So, do you want to friends?"
"...sure. I guess."
"Yay, new friend!"
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Harry ran through the barrier separating the two sides of the same reality coin, emerging in the more conservative side with his trunk scrapping the floor behind him.
He was shortly followed by his aunt, cousin, and uncle, the last of which helpfully picked up the trunk for him.
"Thanks, Uncle Vernon!"
His uncle chuckled in response.
His aunt looked about the place, before settling her eyes on the busy scarlet steam engine on the train tracks.
"My, my, I haven't seen this place in ages. It hasn't changed at all."
"Mooooommmmmmm..." whined Dudley, "Whyyyyy can't I go with Harryyyy?"
Petunia sighed. "We've been through this, Dudley. It's just how it is sometimes. Think of it this way, Harry goes to Hogwarts, yes, but he doesn't get to go to Smeltings, like you get to do."
"But I want to go with Harryyyy..." Dudley continued whining.
His mother sighed once more. "You can still see Harry during the holidays, dear."
"But that's so far away..."
Vernon laughed, and ruffled his son's hair.
"Can't bear to leave your best friend, eh?"
Dudley pouted.
"Cheer up, Dudley," chirped in Harry. "I'll send you letters. It'll be like I never left."
Dudley's pout lessened slightly. "You promise?"
"I promise."
The Hogwarts Express let out a series of sharp whistle.
"Looks like its time to go, boy."
"Alright then." Harry walked towards the train, with his surrogate father accompanying him.
Upon reaching the door, his uncle lifted the trunk from the crook of his elbow, and slided it next to Harry, who was standing at the edge of the doorway.
"Take care of yourself, boy. Your aunt and I won't be there to do that for you."
"I will."
"See you during your Christmas break, then. Study hard, and learn as much as possible, okay?"
Harry nodded, barely failing to hide a sniffle.
His uncle reached out, and embraced him.
The two spent a few seconds in each others arms, before the train whistled once more.
Harry reluctantly let go, and started to move further into the locomotive, dragging his chest with him as he did so.
Vernon tried to assist him as much as possible, pushing the wooden storage box as far in as his arms would allow him, before moving back towards the rest of his family, who were, coincidentally, walking towards him.
"Hey, kid. Need help?"
Harry turned, and was met with the sight of the train assistant staring at him, and making a subtle gesture towards his luggage.
"Yes, thank you."
Perhaps the train assistant director did see the small tears forming in Harry's eyes, but if he did, he didn't show any signs of having noticed, instead electing to tap the trunk gently with a drawn wand.
The trunk started to lightly float off the ground, stopping at a height for Harry to comfortably hold.
Harry nodded his thanks as the train conductor walked off, and turned his eyes back towards the sight of his family staring at him from the platform.
They waved. He waved back. The train started moving. And so he started moving too, pulling the now-much-lighter trunk with him.
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Harry walked to the door of the cabin closest to him, somewhere at the centre of the train, and opened it.
Peeking his head in, he saw a lone figure sitting quietly, only moving to flip to the next segment of the book that was resting on her lap.
"Hello."
A bushy brown haired head turned up and towards Harry in surprise.
"...hello?" she replied hesitantly.
"Mind if I sit in here?" Harry asked.
"Sure."
Harry stepped into the compartment, taking care to store his feather-light storage box in the trunk storage along the way before taking care of his lower body by sitting down and giving it a chance to rest.
"Hi, I'm Hermione Granger. Do you want to be friends?"
Harry looked at the girl's outstretched hand in mild surprise, before stretching out his own hand to accept the offering.
"Yes."
"Wonderful," Hermione said briskly. "Now, as friends, tell me, what's gotten you so down?"
The look of mild surprise stayed in place. "What?"
She continued. "You came into here looking like someone just killed your puppy. What's gotten you so upset?"
"...well. I guess I'm just sad to be leaving my family."
"Ah." His new friend nodded in understanding. "You won't miss them."
"Excuse me?"
"With the amount of friends you'll be making at Hogwarts, you'll barely miss your family. You seem like a pleasant boy. Pleasant people usually make more friends," she said matter-of-factly.
Harry blinked. "Oh. You really think so?"
"I know so."
Harry elected to trust his new compadre.
"Okay then."
The two sat in silence for about five seconds, before Hermione started talking. "You haven't told me your name, you know."
"Ah, right," he muttered as he felt his cheeks burn up with shame. "I'm Harry Potter."
Hermione blinked. "Are you really?"
Harry blinked back. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"Because you're the subject of multiple books, and a celebrity to boot."
Harry blinked. "What?"
Hermione took a second to register this. "You mean you don't know?"
She stood up, and reached into the trunk compartment, before sitting back down with a book.
"Here." She handed it to Harry, who took it.
The book was entitled, "The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts".
"Turn to page 460, if you want to read about yourself."
Harry flipped, and saw, at the top of the page, a header, proclaiming, "Recent Dark Lords: Voldemort (known more commonly as You-Know-Who, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or The Dark Lord), and how he was vanquished by a one year old".
He then proceeded to page through the rest of the chapter.
Harry looked up at Hermione questioningly. "You-Know-Who? Why is he named You-Know-Who?"
"Well," said Hermione. "It's mostly because people don't like saying Voldemort."
"Why?"
Hermione shrugged. "The books don't mention."
Just then, the door slid open, revealing Draco, with two other more bulky looking children, each standing at one of his sides.
"Somebody told me Harry Potter was on the train."
He turned to look at Harry.
"So, you're really him, then?"
Harry nodded.
Draco continued. "You know, a person of your status shouldn't be seen interacting with people like her." He gestured towards Hermione.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" retorted Hermione defensively.
"I don't recognise you. That means you're not British pureblood, and are common. A scion of a Noble Clan, like Clan Potter, shouldn't be seen interacting with the common riffraff of society."
"Excuse me?"
"Draco..." Harry broke in the conversation with a disapproving line. "You can't just insult people like that."
"And why not?"
"It's not nice, that's why."
"And why should I be nice to the likes of her?" Draco sneered.
Harry thought about this for a few seconds. "Why shouldn't you?"
"Because she's a worthless good-for-nothing, just like the rest of her kind."
Harry cut off Hermione's rising ire with a phrase he remembered from his aunt.
"You shouldn't judge a book by its cover, and, likewise, you shouldn't throw out a sack of potatoes just because one went bad."
Draco blinked.
"Wha..."
Harry covertly pointed at the now furious looking Hermione.
"I gave you a chance, friend. You blew it. It was nice knowing you."
Draco scoffed. "As if she could..."
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"So, what happened?"
"Not much. Got on the boat. Gawked at the castle. Shook hands with the giant squid. Made friends with a bunch of ghosts."
"Ah. Well, I've come to my decision. It was a no-brainer, really."
"HUFFLE..." The hat stopped.
"wait, no."
"No?"
"The Slytherins could do with some cheering up."
"SLYTHERIN!"
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"Hey, princess. Did you miss me?"
The horse neighed.
"Yeah, I missed you too. School has been so busy lately though."
Harry looked up at the starry night sky, his mind wondering about the vastness of the stars and how lonely they must be.
"So, how have you been lately?"
He turned his attention back to his friend, and the two chatted the night away.
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Harry stared at the other face of the professor as a mix of emotions roiled within him.
Every sense of his was warning him to stay away, to run as fast as his legs would carry him, but...
"Hi, I'm Harry Potter."
The face glared at him.
"As I am well aware."
"You must be Lord Voldemort," Harry continued, "Would you like to be friends?"
The face continued it's glare, which slowly turned into a look.
During that period, Draco and Hermione groaned and stirred from the corner they had been thrown into by Professor Quirrel, the movement causing a small bottle to slip out of Hermione's green robes and shatter itself across the hard stone floor.
Harry's heart sank. There went their escape plan. On the bright side, the fire would probably also keep Quirrel in the room, preventing him(them?) from escaping until Professor Dumbledore came to arrest him(probably them).
Of course, the fact that Voldemort would probably kill the three of them remained unchanged.
During that period of thinking, two things had happened.
One: Harry had subconciously raised his hand for a friendship handshake.
Two: Voldemort had started chuckling.
The Dark Lord's chuckle was strangely resembled Harry's own, albeit interlaced with a timbre of snakelike origins. After a few bouts of laughter, Voldemort smiled.
"Of course," the snakelike serial killer said silkily.
The amalgamate of spectre and thrall extended it's hand, and grasped Harry's.
Immediately, searing pain ran through Harry's arm, numbing the upper right side of his body, and causing him to flinch back.
Staring at his hand, he could see smoke curling from recently created burn marks, reminiscent of an ironing wound, but with more pus and dead, peeling flesh.
He looked up to see the Noseless Terror starting at him in loathing and hatred. He also noticed the slight smoke rising from his enemies' hand.
"You..." it whispered. "You tricked me!"
"What?"
"Nobody tricks Lord Voldemort and lives!"
The monster branished it's wand using it's burnt hand, showing no outward sign of pain.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A Bolt of sickly green spurted from the tip of the wooden rod, making a beeline for Harry.
...or it would have, had the horn that had suddenly appeared from the palm of the professor's wand hand not knocked the murderer's wand to the side, talking off his aim.
"What?" hissed Voldemort, staring at the pearly white nub of ivory that protruded from the centre of his vessel's right appendage.
It was the last thing he said in that particular body.
"Twighlight! You came!" Harry exclaimed half-deliriously at the purple unicorn that had emerged from his professor's now-cooling arm.
The last thing Harry saw before he blacked out was the sight of his friend harrumphing victoriously as she flicked her head, causing bits of brain matter, caved-in brain, viscera, blood, and much, much more to coat the room in an uneven sheet of Quirrel.
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Ask no questions, and I shall tell no lies.
~Thick Soup