Harry Potter had a sad beginning to life. He lived with the Dursley's, which consisted of a family of totally normal, no-nonsense, common people, his uncle, aunt, and cousin, and they were proud of it. But, one thing threatened their 'perfect' life. Harry Potter. The strange and odd boy, who they knew was special in a way they found horrible.

So they hid the secret from him. Of how his parents died. Of how he could do the amazing things he could do. If anyone ever found out…well, they would just die from shame, misery, and embarrassment. So they tried everything to squeeze every bit of abnormality out of Harry.

And currently, the Harry Potter in question, thought himself to be living in a cupboard. Oh how wrong he was…

So, with a heavy heart, he woke up from his dream. It had been an unusual dream. Because it had been blank. No dream whatsoever. Usually his nights were filled with only horrid nightmares. Even if he thought he was only ten years old. Just turned ten, in fact, about a month ago, he thought.

But as light shone through his eyelids, he groaned. But wait…there were no windows in his cupboard, he thought. And…and the mattress is so much fluffier and more comfortable and softer and larger. His cupboard bed was an old, ratty, tiny mattress that his clothes always caught onto.

And he could hear talking. But it didn't sound like his Uncle Vernon yelling for him to get his revolting butt up, or his Aunt Petunia screeching for him to make breakfast right that instant, or even his cousin Dudley pounding on the stairs and causing white dust to sprinkle on little Harry's body.

Actually, the air was quite clear and freshly scented, like freshly-picked strawberries, oranges, and mint, where he was now, absent of the dust clogging his nose, and of spiders crawling across his face.

And his wound…it hadn't been that bad. Just a large bruise on his side where the inside of the cupboard's wall had hit him when his Uncle Vernon had thrown him in. But it didn't hurt. All he felt was the memory of it hurting him. Not the actual physical pain. But his head pounded with a horrible headache, and his stomach turned, and every part of him felt a little sore.

So he flicked his eyes open. And all eyes around him flicked to him.

Harry made note of his surroundings. He seemed to be in a clean, crisp, plain white room. A lady in a blue uniform holding a clipboard was next to his bed, and crowding around him was an odd bunch. By the bed's end were a couple people. A weary man with red, balding, wispy hair and a little bit of a paunch. Next to him was a plump women whose forehead was creased with worried wrinkles. Curly red hair fell down her back and her fists clenched and unclenched while tears bristled in her eyes.

Next to them is a very tall lanky man, who looked about 20, with bright red hair and teary blue eyes and a million freckles. Holding his hand was a shorter woman, with bushy brown hair, soft brown eyes, and a wavering lip. And beside him was…a woman. A very pretty woman, at that. She was sitting on a new looking wooden chair and she had flaming long red hair and bright brown eyes, free tears flowing down her pale skin. And…she clutched his hand. She was squeezing it rather hardly in fact.

And Harry's hand…was bigger. Bigger than it was last night. Way bigger than any ten year olds hand should be. More tan, also. Long, not small and chubby (his hands were chubby when he was ten, despite the fact that he was malnourished and the Dursley's started the habit of not giving him food for a couple days here and there).

"Ah, Harry, you're awake. Now, do you remember what happened, dear?" asked the women that looked like a nurse as Harry started to notice his body. He couldn't see his face, but his body was long, he could tell. His legs stretched out, covering the whole bed, and looked pretty muscular, not his knobbly kneed skinny twig legs.

He wore a soft cotton dressing gown, that made him blush at the thought of wearing it, as he must look so ridiculous, because it's a dress. And he's a man. Those two things didn't really go together. Then he looked up at the women.

Was she a nurse? The place looked like a hospital of sorts. But what would he be doing in a hospital? Unless someone had found out about his abuse...but how would someone find out? No one cared for him. And why is he so much bigger? And who are all these people?

His thoughts clouded his brain, and he managed to splutter out, "Where am I? Who are you? Why-"

"Ah, Harry, you're in St. Mungos. A hospital? Does it ring a bell? And I'm Nurse Tinker," the women says, her bright blue eyes tinkling, like her name, and a smile pasted on her lips as her perfectly shaped curved yellow-ish blonde hair bounced.

"Now, Harry, I must stress my question. What is the last thing you remember?"

"Sleeping," it came out a little sharp, and Harry immediately felt bad as it must have sounded rude, "Well, I mean, last night…I was in my...my bedroom. My..." he pauses at that. If the hospital people didn't know that he lived in a cobweb filled dirty old cupboard all his life and exactly how bad the Dursleys treated him, if they found out...well, let's say Uncle Vernon wouldn't make it especially pretty for him. It would be downright hellish and gruesome.

"You're what, Harry? You're dorm? The Gryffindor tower? You're house? You're bedroom from your childhood? Mr. Weasley's bedroom?"

Mr Weasley? Who's that?

"Uh...my childhood? It... it is my childhood? My cupboard. I was in my cupboard. After...after my uncle threw me in.." he whispered, and was met by horrified looks and the women next to him's knuckles turning white as she held his hand harder than before, and he had to pull his hand out of her grasp so it wouldn't break.

Why were these people so horrified? Yes...he lived in a cupboard. It was pretty bad, but nothing that would kill him. Well, his Uncle throwing him was pretty horrible, but still...

"Harry? You don't remember...past your cupboard? How old are you?" asks the nurse, scribbling on her clipboard.

"I'm...recently ten?" he answered reluctantly, staring at her with wide eyes, and being met by wide eyes.

"Well…I shall discuss this with you. For now, will everyone clear out of the room?" the nurse addressed everyone else, and was met by bewildered stares.

"Leave? Bloody Leave!? I'm his BLOODY BEST MATE, I'm not leaving! He's bloody lost him bloody memory!" shouts the red-headed tall man, and Harry stares at the man. His…best mate? He has a friend? And...why was his friend, well, why was his friend so old?

"I'm sorry, but-"

"I ca.. can't leave him," whispers the women next to him, and then the bushy haired women nods her head in agreement, and the nurse pats the women's, who's next to him, back a little hurriedly.

"Well, I'm sorry, but it's in his best interest, and-"

But the nurse's explanation was cut short by a pounding on the door. The door shook, and flew open. Storming through the opening was a hulking mass. A huge man, leering, having to stoop over because being taller than the ceiling, the width of two large desks back to back, hands, feet, and shoes the size of small boulders, his face covered with grisly scraggly black whiskers, beard, and hair, and small beetle glinting eyes behind bushy dark eyebrows shining with panic.

"Harry!" the man booms, charging towards the startled Harry and engulfing him in a rough bear-hug.

"Ya alrigh', Harry? Wha' were ya thinkin', goin' agains' so many Death-Eaters like tha'?"

A confused Harry stared at the man, and the man looked back just as confused that Harry wasn't answering.

"Harry?" asked the big man, voice shaking with concern.

"Hagrid, you see-" started in the nurse, but then she stopped when two wheezing doctor-looking people rush through the door.

"We tried to stop him. He didn't sign the sign-in papers, just rushed up right away," said one of them, a short man with a curling black mustache and sandy blonde slicked back hair.

"Harry?" asked the man again, staring at Harry with concern.

"You see, Hagrid, Harry's a little shook up. He seems to think he was last in his cupboard, at the Dursley's," says the nurse, her voice marked with sadness.

As realization dawns on the huge man, his face cracks into a huge frown. "Wha'...wha' do ya mean?"

"I mean, Hagrid, he doesn't remember past his 10-year-old life," she answers solemnly. "I'm sure he will remember in time, if..".

"Wai' jus' a second, here! Ya mean to tell me he doesn' remember anythin' abou'... abou' anythin'!?" shouts the man, his voice ringing, a scowl on his face, and tears forming under his brows. This sentence, and situation, seems to ring a bell in Harry's head, but he's not sure, because he doesn't recognize this huge man in front of him, or anyone around him.

"Yes, Hagrid, that seems to be the case. Now, I think it would help if you all cleared ou-"

"Harry! Is this lady right?" the huge man, who everyone seems to call Hagrid, shouted, turning back to Harry.

"Um.. um.. uhh.." Harry mumbled, overwhelmed by it all. What are they talking about?

"Everyone, leave!" shrieked the nurse, and everyone turned toward her, surprised.

"Out, out, out, out!" she yelled, waving them out of the room, and pointing a short stick at them, waving it at them threateningly.

"Huh. Finally," she breathed, and then she faced Harry, "I'm sorry, dear," she said, a little flustered, her face tinged with pink.

"Now, dear, I think you deserve some information. It's currently 2001. You're 20 years old. The rest, well, I think we should see if you remember."

2001? 20 years old? Is it...possible? He couldn't be that old. How could it be that year?

But it seemed the wild man hadn't left yet. He came storming back in.

"Yer not even gonna tell 'im abou' 'im! He's famous, fer good reasons! It's happenin' all over again, this is like when I firs' got 'im!" the man exclaimed, throwing his head back and moaning, sounding like a wounded wild animal.

"Hagrid, see, it would be best for his health and for him remembering everything that-" begun the nurse patiently, speaking slowly as if she was talking to a very stupid person.

"Oh, screw it! Yer a wizard Harry, an' a mighty good one, yer defeated the worst dark wizard countless times, ya are in Gryffindor house ah yer magic school Hogwarts, tha' bes' magic school there is, mind you, yer best friends are Ron an' Hermione, an' let's see, wha' else, oh, I'm Hagrid, blimey 'arry, ya don' remember? An'-"

"That's enough!" screamed the nurse, shouting at Hagrid that he better get his bloody butt out of there before she hexed the living day-lights out of him, and with that he scurried out of the room, a little frightened looking.

Harry tried and tried to digest the information.

Oh. He must be in an insane asylum. A mental hospital. Because these people are downright crazy.

"Oh, so sorry, dear, for that, and my such rude language, I haven't spoken like that in a millennium. Now, well, that man needs to control his emotions, yes! Now, Harry, what he said may be a lot to take in. And, yes, it is all true. And, no, we are not an insane asylum where the inhabitants took over," she said, chuckling silently as his eyes widened, as she basically read his mind.

"Now, I shall ask you a few questions," the nurse said, sending him a bright, fake, smile. And he looked over at her, fright etched across his face, and not even being able to absorb the information, he feels a little dizzy, and clutches his throbbing head, and the world starts to spin in front of him.

Why couldn't one thing in his life be normal?

Reader's Note: Thanks dear reader for reading! Hope you enjoyed! This story is faithfully beta'd by a great fanfic writer herself, ChocolateIsKryptonite! "D