Disclaimer: I, unfortunately, do not own Harry Potter, or any other characters contained within his highly interesting adventures. I wish I did, but then, so do a million other people… -sigh-

Saraisha

Prologue

The cold room was barren of anything save the tall stone pedestal in the very center. Draco took one look at it and shied away. He wanted to get out as fast as possible. Looking around for the door, he was sorely disappointed; it had vanished like a wispy cloud on a windy day. He slowly turned on his heel to face the pedestal. It loomed in front of him, daring him to venture closer. He did. Taking long, deliberate steps, he made his way to the center of the chamber. Once there, Draco stood looking into the basin sitting on top. A glowing liquid shimmered faintly, reflecting his pale face. Draco dipped in one long finger and woke up.

Twenty-seven miles south of Draco's sweat-soaked bedroom, Harry Potter sat at a parchment-littered desk with his head in his hands. The moon was waning through the small window overlooking a quiet, lantern-lined streetHis Potions text lay open in front of him, and a half-written essay sat mockingly beside it. Harry sneered and threw his quill down. He stood and stretched before sidling over to sit down on his bed. The clock read 11:47. It would be his birthday in thirteen minutes.

The room felt cold, strange for July. Harry rubbed his arms and picked up a book, flipping through it absently. It was about mythical lore. Hermione had given it to him last Christmas, and he had not yet found the time to sift through its contents. Harry looked again at the clock. Six minutes. The chill picked up a little, and he searched the room for a jumper. There was one lying over the back of his trunk, and Harry shrugged it on. He sat back down on the bed.

At 11:58, Harry started to shiver uncontrollably. He looked around the room accusingly, searching for the cause of his discomfort. He picked up the blanket from his bed, and wrapped himself in its warmth. The last thing he remembered before slipping into unconsciousness was seeing the clock strike midnight.

Severus Snape sat at his desk; quill in hand, the ink drying on the tip. The letter he was drafting sat forgotten as thoughts coursed through his head and furrowed his brow. After a few minutes, he resurfaced and inked his pen. The letter on his desk was tossed into the rubbish bin, and the new one began with a sentence that would change the life of a seventeen-year-old boy forever:

Dear Mr. Potter,

I am afraid that I have some very shocking news for you. It concerns the nature of your birth and parentage…

Cold. Cold, like winter. Sharp like a thousand icicles and bitter as the wind. A frosty air shimmered in the bedroom as Petunia Dursley looked upon her nephew with growing dread. Even shutting the door, turning up the heaters and wrapping up in several sweaters could not keep it from seeping into her bones and making her very essence hurt. It was unnatural. The cold would last for seven hours and then be replaced by a heat so fierce that breath came in short, quick gasps and burned the lungs. It squeezed her body and wrapped around her mind so that coherent thought was impossible. It was unnatural.

Petunia closed the door as silently as she could, and made her way back downstairs. In her hand, she clutched a letter, creased almost beyond the point of recognition. It didn't matter; she had all but memorized its contents.

"Dear Mr. Potter" it began,

"I am afraid that I have some very shocking news for you. It concerns the nature of your birth and parentage which I found myself both witness to and very well informed of. Your knowledge of the circumstances of your birth, are, I imagine, less than satisfactory and I find myself at liberty to inform you as I see fit.

Your mother, though she appeared to be of muggle parentage, was not what she seemed. She was a witch, born from a long line of pureblooded wizards thought to have become extinct in the 1700's. She was what is known as the rarest creature in all of Wizarding or Muggle culture: a Dæmon, and one of the last of her kind. She was an elemental, and could manipulate even the smallest flame or the slightest breeze to do her will. It is my belief that she passed the gene on to you. Dæmons are considered to be next to royalty in the Wizarding world, and have all but faded into a myth. I doubt even Ms Granger would find a book on them in the Library.

Included in this letter is a book you may find useful. It is under a highly intensified shrinking charm, and the activating phrase is "leis an lurgainn". I am available should you have any questions, Please owl me. I hope this letter has not found you too late.

With regards, Severus Snape"

Petunia had questions. Who was this Severus Snape, and why did he witness Harry's birth. What was a Dæmon. Why was Lily such an oddity and why did Petunia not know of it? She eyed the ebony owl with mistrust and fear. It ruffled its feathers and stared at her indignantly. It was high time she started a letter. Maybe this Severus could explain everything for her. Just maybe.

AN/ I love reviews… -nudge, nudge, wink, wink- Feel free to criticize, but only if it helps the story. If you just plain don't like it, don't read it. Simple as that.