New Beginnings

A/N Thanks everyone for reading! This is my very first FanFic and I hope you like it!

This is also my first time using this site so I am sorry if some things aren't right, I am not completely sure how everything works yet...

And definitely don't forget to review because it would be so helpful to me! I need to know if you guys like the idea, and do you think I should take it further?

I do have some ideas... but I will make a promise to you, the person helping Harry will not be Snape! I want my story to be original, and I hope that you like it.

Onward with the story!

The Great Hall shimmered. It danced with glorious light. At every table students laughed and talked and argued, and the air was cluttered with a blur of noise. The ceiling was dotted with small puffy clouds, and beams of light striped across a baby blue sky.

Suddenly the noise faltered as everyone turned to look towards the huge doors that led into the hall. They were opening, and as they did the strip of light that escaped through grew wider and wider, until finally the doors were wide enough that the light shone onto the huge form of a man. He had wild hair framing a buoyant face, and he seemed to be laughing about something. Behind him was a small group of disheveled First Years, soggy from the boat ride across the lake.

Everyone turned, eager to get a glimpse.

Is he here? They wondered. Is he really here? Does he have the scar?

And then they saw him. He was talking to a red-headed boy, another one of the Weasley clan, probably. In front of them was a small girl with very bushy hair. He was short, and incredibly skinny. But no one noticed how skinny he was, all eyes were drawn to the scar on his forehead.

Harry seemed to melt underneath all of the prying eyes. "Ron," he whispered. The red-head didn't notice. "Ron!" he elbowed Ron in the side.

"Hey!" Ron exclaimed. "What was that for, Harry?" he rubbed his sore side. The girl in front of them raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Harry decided not to mention that he was feeling uncomfortable. "It's just... who's that?" he pointed to a man with a long gray beard who was standing next to an ancient looking hat and looking down at all of the students. His eyes, if Harry wasn't mistaken, seemed to twinkle.

Ron looked. "Oh, I'm pretty sure that's the headmaster, Dumbledore. Right, George?" he poked one of his two equally red-headed older brothers.

The twins were puzzling over something that they had brought. It looked like a muggle fire-cracker. The boy that Ron had poked looked up. "Oy, Ron, I'm Fred!" he shook his head, looking exasperated. Harry couldn't blame Ron for not knowing. The two boys looked identical, down to the last red hair.

Just then, Dumbledore spoke. "And now, for the Sorting!"

Harry, in a haze of relief, sat down at the Gryffindor table. He had not be sorted into Slytherin! Ron looked equally pleased next to him. That same girl with the bushy hair was also in Gryffindor, as was Neville, whom Harry remembered from the train.

Dumbledore was speaking, and then he sat down with the other teachers. The air was heavy with conversations, but Ron was staring eagerly at his empty golden plate. Harry stared at it. He could see his reflection, and his scar. He traced it with his finger. Why so much fuss over some old scar? Why did everyone he passed want to see it?

Just then, the plate exploded with food. Harry nearly jumped in his seat.

His mouth watered.

Porkchops, potatoes, salad, ham, chicken... Everything was heaped high and generously on his plate, and it was steaming gently, ready to be eaten. Harry stuck out a finger and touched it, gingerly, just to make sure that it was real.

Ron was already digging in.

But Harry hesitated.

Harry blinked in the scorching fumes rising from the stove-top. The pan of bacon sizzled and fried, smelling delicious. The pancakes were a perfect golden-brown and the eggs light and fluffy. He ran his fingers through his wild hair. What had he forgotten? He was sure that there was something, something that Uncle Vernon had wanted.

He shrugged and flipped another pancake. He must be imagining things. It was hard to tell one day from another, one meal from another, one moment from another. Everything was the same, and nothing worthwhile would every happen to him, which was probably because he was a worthless freak, as Aunt Petunia never failed to remind him.

The sound of an elephant tromping across the savanna came to his ears. Dudley was coming down the stairs. Aunt Petunia ran to him and rumpled his blonde hair. "Good morning, my precious Duddykins!" she cooed. Harry tried hard not to laugh, but a small snort came out. "What are you laughing about, freak?" she snarled. Harry immediately turned back to the pancakes.

Then Uncle Vernon came stomping down the stairs. Harry tensed automatically. The action was ingrained in him, the instinct to be ready.

Vernon's great, bulging belly came into view ahead of him, swinging and swaying with every great, heaving step. He roared, "Duddy!" and the two embraced. It looked more like two meatballs slamming into each other, Harry thought. He barely held in his laughter.

"Hurry up, boy!" Vernon shouted. Harry started, and turned back to the bacon. They were blackened and burnt. He couldn't believe it. "Where's the toast?" Vernon asked suspiciously, glaring at the toaster.

That was it! That was what he had forgotten! Harry ran to stick some toast in the toaster, trying not to look at the blackened, shriveled pieces of bacon. He heaped generous helping of eggs, pancakes and toast on every plate and set them on the table. Then he poured the burnt bacon into the garbage.

Vernon stopped where he stood. Harry could tell that he was thinking, but it was too much trouble for him to think and walk at the same time. He swallowed nervously, trying to look as innocent as possible.

Then his thinking was over. He looked extremely proud of himself, which meant he must have come up with a conclusion. "Boy!" he roared. The sound was nearly deafening.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" Harry forced himself to say.

"Where is the bacon?" he shrieked. "Dudders wanted bacon, boy!" Harry felt his ears twinge with pain. Why did Vernon have to be so loud? He could hardly think. He couldn't even think of a good excuse.

"I... it, the bacon burnt..." he stuttered out the truth, and silently cursed himself.

Petunia growled, and Dudley started sobbing. Huge, heaving, fake sobs. "I-I wanted bacon!" he choked out.

Uncle Vernon grabbed him roughly by the shoulder, and Harry froze in place. "Listen, boy, I won't have any of your foolishness." He dragged him to the hated cupboard and thrust him in. "And there will be no food for you, boy! Freaks like you don't deserve food!"

And the door slammed into darkness.

Harry stared at the food longingly. It looked so delicious, like it could actually fill the gnawing hole in his belly that had been there for as long as he could remember, so long that he barely noticed it anymore. But if he tried to take it, would it be wrong? Was he even allowed too? It he took a bite, would he feel Vernon's heavy hand pulling him into the cupboard?

No, that was silly. Vernon wasn't here. Harry wasn't dreaming. He silently pinched himself, keeping back the little cry of pain that threatened to bubble up. No, he wasn't dreaming. But how could this plate, piled high with food, be for him? Wasn't he a worthless freak? Did worthless freaks not deserve food?

"Ron?" He attempted to get his friend's attention away from eating. "Ron?" Ron looked up, startled.

"What is 't, 'Arry?" he said with his mouth stuffed with food.

"Are you – are you sure that we're allowed to eat all of this?" Harry asked carefully. The bushy-haired girl looked up, and Harry could tell that she was listening.

"Yeah, of 'ourse," Ron said, as if it were obvious. "Why wouldn't we be?"

Harry felt his face go hot. "Oh, um, no reason... just, wondering." the excuse was monstrously feeble, but Ron took it. Probably because he felt inclined to believe Harry, just because he was the-boy-who-lived.

Harry still could barely believe that. He of all people, the-boy-who-lived? Him? It didn't make sense in so many ways. And even more crazy than that was the idea that he was a wizard. A wizard! Wizards were only real in books, in fiction. Magic was supposed to be something awful, something embarrassing, as the Dursleys had so often reminded him. They had kept it hidden for so long from their neighbors, from everyone, and now here Harry was, in a room filled with magic.

And food.

And with that thought, he remembered that he hadn't really eaten for that whole summer. Not a good meal, anyway. Sure, he had had a few sweets on the train, but he was still famished. The monster that raged constantly in his belly, the monster that was hunger, roared anew. He was so used to pushing his hunger down that he was slightly surprised at how hungry he was.

At the Dursleys he rarely was fed, if ever. Sometimes Aunt Petunia would give him a few minutes to wolf down a dry peanut butter sandwich, and reminded him that he had better eat fast unless Vernon found out.

It would be a good idea to eat everything before someone took it away.

So, with new enthusiasm, he stuffed everything he could into his mouth, eating and eating, lest the food disappear as quickly as it had come.

The bushy-haired girl noticed and looked disgusted, but next to him Ron was eating quickly too. Harry was encouraged by this, and soon everything was gone. The porkchops, the buttery potatoes, the leafy salad, the ham, the delicious chicken... it was all gone, and Harry was full for the first time since he could remember.