Scientia est Potentia OR The Beginning, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer:

I do not own Harry Potter. I own my plots, which anyone is free to take, for the record, so long as you warn me. Should I take yours, I'm sorry; I didn't know.

Summary:

Harry hissed something in a language Dudley had never heard before and Dudley heard a loud crash behind him. Far too quickly, the clouds overhead condensed and turned a dark, menacing purple. The winds picked up, and Dudley heard a scream.

Harry Potter's life could have turned out so much different. Should only a few people play their cards differently Harry would have had a very different life. Had he acted differently in a few key moments, he might not be champion of the light, but heir to the dark. And had he stood up for himself instead of play the punching bag? You might just have the story you're about to read…

Word Count:

7,248

Comments: Hi everyone! I've decided to start my first story, which is now a Harry Potter one! I've already finished this chapter, so I've got nothing much to say. Enjoy please!

Warnings/Explanations:

Slash- Sorry guys, not going to happen with this one.

Lime- Probably not, but it might be implied.

Lemon- Haha, very funny. I can't write what I've never done. Oh don't give me that look, I'm fourteen; I have every right to be a virgin. Though I do know exactly what goes on, so I'm not very innocent. I've also seen a woman give birth in the seventh grade, and I stick to my phone's signature: What doesn't kill me only makes be stronger.

Language- English. But there will be some swearing. I cursed like a sailor when I was twelve/ thirteen (a little less now). It was probably because of the fact that we had 'freedom' and we felt like it. It's natural, and the cursing dies down. But we used EVERYTHING, so if you can't stomach children cursing, sorry blur out the words subconsciously.

Mentorship- Ha! You got me. Yes, but not by –Angels sing- Snape.

Pairings- Hm…it's possible. Though only minor ones for now. And no old people love! Sorry, I just don't want to imagine Dumbledore and Minerva sweating on the- I'm sure you understand.

Character deaths- Of course! But not Snape this time –bares teeth menacingly- Also: See Mary Sue/Gary Stu

Spoilers- Most definitely. Though I'm surprised that you'd all be offended- most people have to be total Harry Potter nerds or totally awesome people with nothing better to do to be on here. And I'd be really surprised if someone hasn't read all of the books or seen the movies. But just in case: THERE WILL BE MANY SPOILERS.

M-preg- Haha stop it its getting old. Yeah, Ron and Hermione are going to have sex, and Ron's going to get pregnant. Please, no slash= no M-preg

Angst- Who doesn't love reading about other people's problems? There is a certain degree of angst in every story. Mine is no exception.

Superpowers- Well, I can fly, walk through walls, I have super strength, I'm a ninja, I'm a Jedi, I'm- oh, the characters. It progresses. Harry's not going to wake up and be able to kill off the ultimate evil.

Dark/Evil Characters- Saw right through me. Harry's not going to be a goodie two shoes, though he's not going to go around killing for no reason. There might be a reason, though.

Minor OOC- How can I make the amazing Snape and his assistant, teh (misspelled on purpose) hotness Draco evil? Easily, but I can bend them to my will as well. People will be both nicer and meaner than usual.

Mary Sue/Gary Stu- See Character deaths.

Bashing- In heads. But yes, some people do not deserve to live in the Harry Potter series. They will be bashed to death. Ha, it's a pun.

Time travel- Nope. Every Fanfiction isn't really believable, but some things are just going too far. If you can make it believable, congratulations, you're awesome. I'm going to stick with my mediocre talents in the present.

Characters coming back from the dead- Thought about it, but anyone dead in the first book stays dead. I won't be able to pull it off believably.

James: Harry! I'm not dead!

Harry: WHAT? HOW?

James: Voldemort didn't kill me because I'm a pure blood but I couldn't stick around because I was scared of a secret society so I abandoned you but I watched you everyday to make sure you were okay.

Harry: Okay, I accept what you said without any doubts.

James turns on Harry later

James: I'm really the leader of the secret society that I lied to you about hiding from and I want to use your powers to rule to world.

Harry: Damn you!

I HATE YOU FIFTH VLADMIR TOD BOOK! (Read it and then you'll understand. If you have read it, do you agree? In my opinion, it sucked.)

Anyway… Anyone who died from books two to seven is alive. (Siriusly.)

Different houses- Yup.

Manipulations- Yup.

Plot twists- I'll try.

Cliffhangers- Every chapter.

Bad puns- Until the day I die.

Telling you these things every chapter- Yeah, not going to happen. Read this, and move on. I'll give you any updates should things change.

"Talking"

'Thinking'

"Parseltongue"

Spells

Chapter One:

Of Magic and Murder

Harry Potter was seven when he figured out that you could never trust anyone. He was sitting outside on the playground at school, wearing his baggy hand me downs and taped glasses, alone on the swing. He usually was.

Harry had never been great with other children his age, even if he understood much more than them. He was at the top of his classes, even if no one knew nor cared about it. Ever since he started school, every report card he had received had been burned before the contents had been read by his relatives. Maybe it was for the best; he might have been punished if they had seen that he was doing that much better than Dudley.

Harry was idly kicking the dirt around as he gently swung back and forth, his feet never leaving the ground. He ignored the excited shouts and laughter coming from the other children, and in turn, they usually ignored his quite demeanor. Usually.

Today was an exception. Perhaps it was because of his failed math test, or maybe it was because his teacher had chewed him out in front of the whole class, but in the end, Dudley was in a foul mood. And the best stress reliever the boy knew of was hassling his younger cousin, Harry.

Well, Harry had every right to be suspicious when his personal torturer, Dudley Dursley, came up to him and offered to push him on the swing. Harry reluctantly agreed, after the other student's peer pressure had become too much, wondering why all of the other children had stopped what they were doing and had gathered around the two cousins anyways.

Then the first shove came. Harry winced in pain; it was more like Dudley had punched him then he had pushed, and Harry had moved only a little. The second 'push' got him a bit farther, but it hurt just as much. The third one was a shove, but with Dudley's foot instead of his hands. That had pushed him hard enough to get his feet off of the ground. Afterwards, Harry was getting progressively higher, and his back was hurting more and more with every swing.

He was flying; going higher than ever, so high that Dudley could only just 'push' him on his back, he was so high up…going down, wind rushing through his hair…

Pain. Harry gasped as fire shot towards his scalp, and he fell off of the swing. Harry landed on his already abused back, and cried out as the stinging grew worse and worse. It took Harry a moment, but he finally realized that someone had grabbed his hair to pull him off of the swing, and was now punching his back.

'Stop! STOP, PLEASE! IT HURTS!' Harry thought as his arms and legs suffered the same abuse.

The other kids were laughing, not caring about how their freak of a classmate was being beaten up before their very eyes.

The pain was getting worse, and now Harry's chest was hurting as well, especially his right side…

Then it all stopped, and Harry could hear ringing in the background. The class bell had rung, and all of the laughter and taunts were growing more and more distant...

Harry groaned and tried to get up, he really did, but he couldn't bring himself to move anywhere, and ended up staying where he was for the rest of the school day. He wasn't missed at all.

Harry Potter was eight years old when he spoke to a snake for the first time. The young wizard had been weeding the garden in the front of number four, Privet Drive when a king cobra had decided to make its way across the lawn and cross paths with Harry before going on its way.

Snakes are intelligent creatures, most of the time. They don't attack things that are bigger than them. They defend themselves quite well. They get out of danger's way before danger knows that they're there. Despite the fact that they have no limbs, snakes are some of the most feared animals in the world. They have a reputation of being evil, devious creatures that only work for themselves.

Hundreds upon thousands of books depict snakes as evil, the most well known case being in the book of Genesis in the Bible. The snake tempted Eve to eat the forbidden fruit, and she and Adam were cast out of the Garden of Eden forever because of it. Ever since then, snakes have been considered cold, cunning, wicked creatures.

But of course, snakes couldn't technically be wicked. Snakes are just animals, trying to survive in this unforgiving world of ours. They eat when they can. They kill to survive. They claim places of their own to live, and have allies and enemies. They're kind of like humans, in this perspective, just simpler.

Most people don't see snakes as creatures just trying to survive. Whenever people run into snakes, they scream and run on principle. The one who stays is usually in such a position that snakes believe that they are under attack, even if they aren't. And every time a snake strikes, whether in defense of attack, another little stain is added to the snakes' already pitch black reputation.

Luckily for the cobra, young Harry didn't mind snakes. He rarely heard people complaining about snakes, seeing how he lived in a suburban area, and Harry didn't get enough fiction books to get the prejudice that so many other people get at a young age. Harry had never been bitten by a snake, so he didn't worry about them. They were just big worms, in his opinion.

Of course, the eight year old didn't know that king cobras weren't native to the continent, let alone the area he lived in. He didn't even know that king cobras were poisonous. When the snake came close to him, Harry simply put his hand down to greet the snake and said,

"Hello."

Harry hadn't known that he had spoken Parseltongue; he just acknowledged its presence in the form of a greeting.

Well, the king cobra knew a thing or two about humans. The humans that he had lived with were cruel people who enjoyed starving him for weeks at a time before feeding him the smallest mice on the planet. The snake had thought that they had starved these mice to death before feeding them to him, but he couldn't be sure.

He had learned long ago not to trust humans, but never, in all of the years (six) and the fourteen separate owners he had had could speak It. From what his third owners had said, there were only two others that could speak it, and both were dead. Despite itself, the cobra had to know,

"Who are you?"

Harry blinked in surprise (he didn't know snakes could speak) but replied,

"I'm Harry Potter. But you can call me Harry."

Harry Potter. The snake had heard that name before… That's right, his forth owners had been telling their children stories about the famous Harry Potter near his cage during the evening. He recalled quite a few stories as well. Harry Potter defeating the Dark Lord had been what had freed him from his first masters, and for that, the cobra would be forever grateful. His first masters had been the worst. But the other thirteen hadn't been too much better.

"Harry Potter? That'sssss an interesssssting name…" the cobra said, glancing up at Harry. The boy was blushing dark red, much to the cobra's curiosity. Why would the famous Boy-Who-Lived blush over the smallest compliment he could have given? Most people would have been mildly insulted. But Harry Potter was blushing!

"Thank you. My Aunt thinksssss Harry isssss a nasssssty common name. She usssssually just callsssss me boy. My uncle too. But I like my name. At leassssst it isssssn't Dudley, or Vernon, or sssssome other name like that. I like my name how it is."

The cobra nodded slowly, agreeing with the boy. He never actually had a real name; each master had called him something different, and each time he'd rejected it. He'd been called Snake, The Snake, Snakey, That Creepy Snake, Damn Snake, and at his worst master's house, Sophia.

"-re you?"

The snake looked up in surprise, and hissed out, "Excussssse me?"

"Who are you?" Harry repeated his question, grinning down at the cobra.

"I have no true name, Ssssspeaker," the cobra admitted, looking away from Harry. The eight year old frowned.

"That'sssss terrible! Can I name you?" Harry asked, smiling hopefully at the cobra. He always named the little animals that he saw whenever he was gardening, but they had never responded to them like the cobra had.

"I would be honored if you would, Ssssspeaker, though pleassssse, do not call me a sssssimple sssssnake. My previousssss massssstersssss are nothing like you. Pleassssse keep it like that," the cobra replied, nodding at Harry to name him.

The eight year old sat back a bit and thought long and hard about what he was going to call the cobra. He chewed on his lower lip, trying as hard as he could to think of an interesting name.

"What about…Fang? Or Rellik? No, not those. People would think you're dangerous automatically. They're so…expected. You could have a human name, like Josh, or Chris…but then, you'll be thought of as harmless. No one will respect you with a simple name. I can't name you as a different animal. You're a snake, not a tiger or lion…" Harry mumbled to himself, lost in thought. The cobra hissed in amusement, waiting to see what Harry would name him.

"If it helpsssss Ssssspeaker, I am the King of Cobra," the cobra said, trying to ignore his aching stomach.

Harry nodded and brought a hand up to his chin, lying down on his stomach. Five minutes later, after much incoherent mumbling from Harry, the eight year old's eyes lit up. "I got it! You can be called Ssssspite!"

The cobra tilted his head in confusion. "Ssssspite, Massssster Ssssspeaker? Why that for my name?"

Harry smiled happily. "It'sssss perfect! Ssssspite isssss dangerousssss sssssounding, like you're mad! Be careful, here comesssss Ssssspite! But it'sssss alssssso calm sssssounding! It'sssss not too dangerousssss, but people will be on edge! I like it."

The cobra, or Spite now, nodded again, mulling over the eight year old's logic. It wasn't perfect, but it was better than nothing.

"I sssssuppossssse it will be sssssufficient for now." Spite finally muttered. Harry broke into another wide grin.

Harry Potter was nine when he found out about magic. He was sitting in his cupboard with Spite, his best and only friend, talking about the world, when it came up. Harry had actually had his hair cut off that night, and was dreading school tomorrow. Spite was trying to comfort him the best a snake could.

"It'sssss alright, Massssster. There isssss no need to cry. It will grow back," the snake hissed out, wrapping comfortably around Harry's waist.

"But when, Ssssspite? When? It'll take monthsssss! I'll get teasssssed worssssse than ever!" Harry hissed back, wiping away the tears that were running down his cheeks.

"Massssster Harry, I told you it would grow back. Why do you doubt me?" Spite hissed, wrapping himself around Harry's shoulders. Harry sniffed and hissed out,

"It'sssss not growing back, Ssssspite! I'll be going to ssssschool like thisssss tomorrow! I can't just wish thisssss better! That'sssss not how thingsssss work!"

Spite cocked his head in confusion. "But Massssster, are you not a wizard? Are the stories falssssse? Becaussssse I asssssure you, magic is real, and I have ssssseen it from many of my previousssss ownersssss."

Harry's breath caught suddenly, and his eyes widened. "Are you okay, Ssssspite? There isssss no sssssuch thing asssss magic. Otherwissssse I wouldn't be here. My parentsssss wouldn't be dead."

"My Massssster, you truly do not know? How could thisssss be? You are the great Harry Potter. You mussssst know something!" Spite said, generally confused. He had assumed Harry knew about what had happened to him.

"I know many thingsssss, Ssssspite! I can read and write and do math and I get top marksssss on my report cardsssss! Don't you dare tell me that-"

"No Massssster, I am sssssorry to offend you. I jussssst asssssumed that you knew who you were-"

"Ssssso who am I then, Ssssspite? Who isssss Harry Potter?" Harry asked loudly, though it only came out as a near silent hiss.

"You are called a wizard, Massssster. I have ssssseen others do magic. You should be able to asssss well." Spite replied, nuzzling his snout on Harry's cheek.

"I can do magic? How?" Harry asked, barely daring to breathe. It couldn't be true! If he could do magic, why was he always hungry and tired and poor and dirty? He should be able to magic himself anything! He should be able to make it so that the Dursleys could never hurt him or that he didn't have to work for his food. He should be able to pay them back for what they did to him!

Of course, you must remember that although intelligent, Harry is still nine years old, and has a warped sense of fairness and other feelings, due to whom he was raised by. Revenge is common among children, and even adults have the need to get even thrust upon them when something bad purposely happens to them because of someone else's deeds.

"I am not sssssure exactly how, Massssster, but I know that in order to do magic, you mussssst want to do it." Spite said, trying to remember the lessons he had seen a previous owner or two had taught their own children.

Harry resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Well, everyone wantsssss to do magic, Ssssspite!"

Spite shook his head. "You mussssst be able to do it, and then you mussssst want to do it, Massssster! You, like othersssss, can do it, but you mussssst want to do it for it to work!"

Harry sighed to himself and hissed out, "Fine then, Ssssspite. I wish, with all of my heart, that my hair grows back. It won't, of course, but I really want it to. Now pleassssse tell me what you know about me."

Spite nodded, smirking to himself. His master's hair was already growing back; the spilt ends were healing themselves. "A year and three monthsssss after your birth, on a night known as All Hollows Eve, your parentsssss were killed by a dark wizard whossssse name wasssss ssssso feared that no one ssssspoke it aloud. He wasssss a Ssssspeaker, like yourssssself, named Lord Voldemort. He wasssss a great wizard, though he usssssed the darkessssst of ssssspells on hisssss enemies. He usssssed the killing curse on your parents. No one has every sssssurvived being hit with that curssssse, ever. It isssss imposssssible. But you sssssurvived, Massssster…"

The next day, when Harry woke up, he immediately headed to the bathroom to see how he would manage to hide his hair problem. To his happiness and his aunt's dismay, it was like she hadn't shaved him almost bald yesterday. Not a hair on his head was missing.

Harry ran back to his cupboard just as he and Dudley were about to leave to school to wish Spite a good day.

"I told you ssssso," Spite hissed gently to Harry.

"Yeah Ssssspite," Harry replied, before getting ready to leave for school, "You did."

"Do you believe me now, Massssster?" the snake asked, genuinely curious.

Harry thought it over for a few minutes, and opened his mouth to speak.

"Yesssss, I do now. Oh, Ssssspite?" Harry asked, smiling down at the snake lying on his small bed.

"Yesssss, Massssster?" Spite asked, closing his eyes.

"You sssssaid that magic was only how bad I wanted sssssomething, right?" Harry asked.

"Yesssss, it isssss, in esssssence. You'll be taught much more about it when you go to ssssschool." Spite said, opening one eye to glance up at Harry.

"Ssssschool? What ssssschool?" Harry asked.

"Oh, the ssssschool your name'sssss been down for sssssince your birth, Massssster. Hogwartsssss Ssssschool of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

Harry couldn't wipe the grin off his face for the rest of the day, even when his aunt yelled at him for his hair growing back on its own. Harry was already counting the days until he could leave.

It was Harry's tenth birthday when he figured out how bitter loss was, and how delicious revenge was. He and Spite were in the front yard, Harry gardening and Spite hunting for rats. Harry was hard at work weeding the flowerbed, and between the weeds, the heat, talking to Spite, and his own thoughts, he didn't notice anyone was around until he felt someone pushing his head into the dirt. Harry gasped and tried not to choke on the dirt in his mouth, wondering who was trying to hurt him.

Why wasn't he surprised to see it was Dudley and his friends?

"Hey guys, look at the little freak's face! He looks like he's choking!" One of Dudley's younger gang members, Richard Erikson, screamed, his entire face turning red from laughing so hard at Harry's situation.

"Hey, Dudley, maybe if you killed him, your mom would let you go to the party!" Piers exclaimed to Dudley, who thought about it. His mother did hate Harry, and he wasn't allowed to go to Piers' birthday party if he was behaving poorly… It actually seemed like a good idea.

"Good idea, Piers," Dudley said, grinning at his friend. "So how are we gonna do it?"

Piers was startled that Dudley had actually taken his joke literally, and kept quiet. His mother didn't want him to get in to real trouble, and she had made that painfully clear. So he decided that he wouldn't be a part of this.

"Actually, Dudley, I gotta go. My mom wanted me home a while ago," Piers said. Dudley shrugged and called goodbye to Piers, whom got out of there as fast as he could.

Dudley's attention turned back to Harry, who was slowly suffocating in the dirt.

"Well Potter, Piers is gone. So what are we gonna do with yo-" Dudley started, but was cut off when he heard Brian Johnson and William Bryson scream in fear.

"Snake!" Brian yelled. "A huge, poisonous snake right there!" The two shot back about fifteen feet from fear. The snake they had found was of course Spite, and he wasn't happy at all. Not only had hey disturbed his nap, they were hurting his master.

Spite was a very large snake, when it all came right down to it. Perhaps because of his over exposure to magic, but he was fifteen feet exactly, and he could lift five feet of himself into the air to intimidate threats such as Dudley's gang with little to no effort.

"Releassssse him," Spite hissed, jerking towards Dudley suddenly. Like the coward he was, Dudley jumped back and released Harry, his full attention on the snake looking right at him. Harry turned and glared at Dudley, whose mouth was opening and shutting very quickly, as if his mind was trying to decide whether or not to scream bloody murder.

Harry smirked and hissed quietly to Spite, who couldn't help but be amused.

"Perfect, Ssssspite! He'sssss going to wet himssssself!" Harry said quietly, his eyes dancing in amusement.

There was no chance that Harry would have been able to stop what was about to happen. A rock sailed through the air (quite a big one, too- about four pounds) and directly at Spite. Harry tried to warn his friend, but he wasn't fast enough. Spite didn't know what hit him.

The rock sailed over his body and hit him dead on the skull. The snake tried to wriggle free, but the rock had given the poor cobra a concussion. Slowly, his struggling grew less and less. But he wasn't dead yet. Harry tried desperately to run forwards to help the cobra, but two boys whose name's Harry didn't know or care about held him back.

"Whoa, awesome throw, Bryson!" Dudley called, smirking evilly at the snake. "Hit the freaky thing right on its head!"

"Let it go, Dudley!" Harry shrieked, fighting desperately against the boys. Their grips held firm.

"Does anyone have a pocket knife?" Dudley asked. Harry prayed with all his might that the boys had come empty handed.

After a minute or so of various pocket searching, the results came back negative. Harry couldn't hide the glee on his face, but unfortunately, neither could Dudley.

"That's okay then. I'll just step on the stupid brute," he said, grinning at Harry. "I bet it'll be thankful to get away from you, huh freak?"

Harry couldn't struggle any harder; he was getting tired. He did so anyway. One of his hands broke away from one of the boys' and he yanked with all of his might. He succeeded, but the force he had used knocked him down. Just as he was scrambling back up, he heard a pained hiss and a sickening crunch.

Dudley had always been a big boy. It wasn't very hard for him to kill Spite. But he had never expected Harry to do anything about it. Harry was puny. But Dudley couldn't help but want to back away from Harry a bit. The look that Harry was giving him…it was very unnerving.

Pure fury. Unadulterated anger. Grief. So many other emotions, from sadness to bloodlust, and many more so were clearly etched on Harry's face.

Harry hissed something in a language Dudley had never heard before, and Dudley heard a loud crash behind him. Far too quickly, the clouds overhead condensed and turned a dark, menacing purple. The winds picked up, and Dudley heard a scream. He quickly realized that it was his own.

Harry, meanwhile, was advancing toward him, screaming in another language again. Tears were pouring from his eyes, and Dudley noticed, to his growing fear, that Harry's K-nines were pointed, like fangs. Finally, Dudley noticed that Harry was still advancing, and that he was backing up like a coward!

Dudley then remembered that he was dealing with Potter. The crybaby weakling. He stopped backing up, determined to hold his ground no matter what the consequences. Until Harry's eyes changed from green to yellow. That's when he turned tail and ran.

But Harry was faster. With grace that he would never remember having, he pounced on Dudley and bit into his right arm. Dudley screamed in agony as Harry tore through his flesh and bit down harder, unknowingly injecting some of his magic into Dudley's arm.

The magic was worse than poison, since it belonged to Harry. Dudley was a muggle, and not adapted to handle any sort of magic in any way. The magic, which was usually helpful, turned vile, and began to eat away at his arm. Only when Harry ran out was when he let go, which was long after Dudley fainted.

The young wizard stumbled back and held his head. He glanced around and noticed that every member of Dudley's gang had fainted to moment the clouds had turned purple. Harry glared at the unconscious bodies until he couldn't help but look at his dead friend.

Spite looked much like any dead animal did on the side of the road; namely dead. His skull was crushed, and a bit of blood was coming out of his mouth. Harry was very tempted to bury him, but he knew specifically what Spite had wanted should this ever happen. He simply wanted to be burned, so no animal could come and find his body, so he may always rest in peace.

Harry was more than happy to oblige his dead friend. It was the least he could do, after all.

Dudley was out of the intensive care unit three weeks later, scheduled for therapy three times a week for the next several months. Surprisingly, Harry hadn't been punished for harming Dudley, though that hadn't stopped Vernon from trying the moment Harry ran into the house and broke the news to them. But it was simple enough to fake a story.

Harry had told them that he and Dudley had been talking with his friends while he worked when a huge snake (Spite, sadly enough) came out of no where and latched itself onto Dudley's arm. Harry had taken the snake off of Dudley as quickly as possible and killed it by stepping on its skull. The Dursley's had been skeptical, but the body of Spite was more than enough proof, even for them. Vernon had even, though reluctantly, thanked Harry for saving Dudley's life.

Harry had been very upset over what had happened, which had helped his case when he told them that Dudley was about to die. Of course, it was for Spite, his only friend, that he was upset, not Dudley the oaf, who could burn for all he could care.

But as Dudley was recovering in the hospital, Harry finally figured out something else. Perhaps it was the loss of his friend, who had told him that he wasn't a freak and that it was worth moving forward, and that no one would be able to hold him down no matter what, but Harry decided that from that moment on, he would never make a bond like that again.

No one would ever cause him pain like Spite was. He simply wouldn't let it happen. It felt as though a knife had been stabbed through his heart. As Harry had burned Spite's body in the backyard, it felt as though the knife was being pushed in deeper and deeper.

Never again. This pain would never happen to him again.

The day that Dudley came back home was the day that Harry decided that he would no longer attempt to keep the peace at the Dursleys. He knew his Hogwarts letter was coming, and every day he was determined to be the one to get the mail. The Dursley's had no problems letting him get it, not suspecting that there was an alternative motive for his 'simple act of kindness'.

Harry could care less about what they felt these days. Should they not like what he did, too bad for the Dursleys. As long as he got the mail every day, every thing else would be pretty much okay.

The rest of the day, Harry was at the library, reading. He told his relatives that he had a bunch of extra credit to work on, since he was 'failing all of his classes' and he needed all the help he could get. The Dursleys had reluctantly let him go, and Harry spent all his time learning about the world he lived in. He read about the History of Europe, and the many things that had happened in it, from the Greeks and Romans to the American Revolution (which Harry found very fascinating- imagine people who were brave enough to stand up for themselves for the right reasons!) to the World Wars to how George Lucas created Star Wars and everything in between. But Harry's attention always drifted back to American history.

Oh, he didn't really care about present day happenings, but he found it amazing that the government was so well thought out, and that it was unbelievable that humans had known that what they wrote in the Declaration of Independence and The Bill of Rights and all of that other good stuff that they didn't have it exactly right, and they would need to work on it through out the years. They had known that things wouldn't always be like they were at the time- and they were exactly right.

The Emancipation Proclamation was another amazing document. It freed every slave in the South when the North had won, ending the Civil War. Abraham Lincoln was also shot to death in the Ford Theater, sending out the message that one can never please all. Harry couldn't help but be angry at Booth; he lost, fair and square! There was no need to shoot an innocent man! It wasn't right.

Harry knew that there were always three sides to every story, but why would you do something so inhumane? It wasn't because you still had hope, because there was none if you already lost. Maybe for revenge? But Harry wasn't sure.

At five O'clock Harry would reluctantly close the books he was reading and place them back where he found them and make his way back to the Dursley's house, where he would cook dinner and leave them alone. All in all, despite the fact that Harry refused to bend to what they wanted him to do, they got along respectably.

There were exceptions, such as the times that Vernon Dursley wanted Harry to do his chores and whatnot, but all Harry did was say 'no' and exit the house. When Petunia Dursley demanded that Harry take up a plate of sandwiches to Dudley, Harry casually took one and left the rest where they were.

Harry knew that the Dursleys were interpreting his standing up for himself as rebellion, and he was fully expecting a fight. As long as he kept getting the mail though, he would be fine with whatever they could dish out to him.

Or so he hoped.

Three weeks later, Harry still wasn't having much luck. Not only was the letter most definitely late, but his Aunt and Uncle seemed to be about to attack Harry. They were getting sick of treating him like a human being, and obviously wanted his personal servant to them status back.

There were quite a few reasons that they were on edge. For one, Vernon had just been de-promoted and was making a bit less than normal. There was more stress in his wallet, and he wasn't able to hire the normal grass cutters he had been for the past few weeks. Petunia also had to get a job as a substitute teacher, and wasn't around to clean all day.

Harry had just been putting breakfast on the table (he still did this; he couldn't stand Petunia's eggs) when Uncle Vernon handed him a list of chores to be completed. Harry took one look at the list and promptly crumpled it up. With Vernon's eyes on him, he walked over to the garbage can and threw away the list. He then placed the bacon he had been cooking on the table, took a seat, and began eating.

"You have three seconds to grab that list back and get to work, boy," Vernon's low growl might have been intimidating on its own, but his purplish face sort of ruined the whole effect. Harry calmly met his eyes. There was a tense silence.

"Get out of the room, Petunia, and take Dudley with you," Vernon said heatedly.

Petunia's brows furrowed together in concern. "But Vernon," she started, glancing at her husband.

"OUT! I want to have a word with the freak," Vernon said, his eyes not leaving Harry's. Petunia grabbed the protesting Dudley and yanked him out of the room. Vernon stood immediately.

"Think that you're better than us, boy?" Vernon asked quietly. Harry stayed silent. "WELL, DO YOU?"

Still, Harry didn't say anything. Oh, he would have loved to, and was very tempted to do so. But he was also late for the mail; it would be arriving any second-

"I ASKED YOU A QUESTION, BOY!" Harry's head snapped up, and he managed to catch what his uncle was asking the next time. "Do you know how much we spend on you?"

Harry lifted up his arms and let the baggy clothes sag under their own weight. He then focused on the crack in his glasses that his eye had started to ignore in the last month.

"No," Harry answered honestly, though the answer probably wasn't much.

"MUCH MORE THAN YOU COULD VERY WELL AFFORD, YOU HEAR ME, FREAK?" Vernon shouted, his face going blue. Harry was very surprised. It usually was purple.

"Well, seeing how I don't get any money, I bet you're right," Harry seethed, but immediately knew this was the wrong thing to say. His uncle did turn purple this time.

"AND YOU DARE CRITICISE US?" Vernon shouted. "You're lucky that we're giving you clothes for school next year!"

"I doubt I'll need Dudley's old clothes for the school year!" Harry hissed sharply, glaring at his uncle.

"And why is that, boy? Why wouldn't you need what we give you, since your good for nothing parents didn't work and you're too lazy to work back the money that we spend on you? Why won't you need a uniform to go to Stonewall, freak?"

Even through the closed kitchen door, Harry could hear the familiar click of the mail slot and flop of letters landing on the doormat.

'No, please not today,' Harry thought. A moment later, Petunia Dursley screamed.

"That's why," Harry said, mentally cursing every god he could think of for delivering the letter today.

It had been three days since the letter had come. Harry still hadn't seen it. The Dursleys still didn't know that he already knew what the letter said. For his own sake, Harry had decided to keep it that way.

It was dead silent as Harry was making breakfast that morning. They were having eggs, like they did most mornings, but Harry was making them fried. As he took out the first egg, he noticed that it seemed to be a bit heavier than normal. Curious as to why that was, Harry cracked the egg.

The yolk fell onto the griddle, as well as a letter. His Hogwarts letter, Harry realized. Harry heard an outraged shriek, and turned around to see Petunia swooping down and grabbing both the nasty letter and the egg carton and pulling them away from his grasp. Petunia spent the next five minutes cracking all of the eggs and throwing away each letter inside of them.

Harry looked quietly from the mess of yolk and egg white on the griddle to the ripped up pieces of his Hogwarts letters and pulled out a box of cereal and the milk. When he opened up the carton, another letter was floating around inside of it.

Perhaps toast was the best choice in breakfast for a while, lest Petunia see the letters.

Harry's living space had been changed. It had happened a week later, after about fifty letters had appeared for Harry out in the streets. Harry was told to grab his belongings (which consisted of a few pairs of clothes, some books, his school book bag, some pencils, and a journal he had wished up for himself) and move up to the smallest bedroom in the house.

Harry had been glad that he no longer had to duck to enter his abode, but he would rather have one letter and be trapped in the cupboard for a week than in Dudley's toy room the way he currently was.

Surprisingly, the Dursleys had let him stay there, even with all of Dudley's crying and nonsense. Dudley ALWAYS got his way. This means that the letter was scaring his aunt and uncle much more than he originally thought.

Harry had spent long hours writing in the journal he had made appear, and he was very happy with it. He would often read through some of the entries, remembering the times where he and Spite had been relatively happy. He had started it about a month before Spite had been killed.

Whenever Harry grew bored of being locked up, he'd leave the house and go to the park. It was rundown and Dudley's gang usually liked to hang out around there, but it was better than nothing and Harry always managed to find a place to concentrate on controlling his magic. To his utter joy, he was so good that all of the small animals, such as the mice, would obey him. He could actually control their actions!

Well, to a point. He couldn't bring a creature to harm itself, and it only worked against creatures with not much will power, so using it on anything larger than thirty pounds was out of the question. Some cats also wouldn't bend to his will, but he wasn't surprised. Cats were about as smart as people were.

It also didn't work on insects. Whenever he tried to control them, they would just…die. Fall over and never move again. Harry didn't like that, so he rarely tried to use it on bugs these days. Spite would have been proud.

Harry had also been trying to change the color of things around him. It might not have been very useful, but it was a lot of fun! So far, Harry only changed patches of grass different shades of brown, so it would look natural if he didn't have the energy to change them back, but he was getting better. He vowed he would turn Dudley's hair pink when he mastered the skill.

Apart from those two exercises, Harry was also practicing moving things around with his powers. Unfortunately for him, all he could do was levitate small stones and twigs, and how much fun was that? None, but Harry continued practicing, vowing not to stop until he could levitate Dudley.

Harry chuckled quietly to himself. Levitating Dudley would be next to impossible, if he kept growing at the rate he was. Dudley was already having problems sitting down in the 'cramp' desks at school!

Harry woke up to pounding on his door.

"UP!" screeched his aunt, "Back your things and hurry up!"

Harry lay in his bed, dazed and confused for a moment. Pack your things? For what? Were the Dursleys leaving? And why would they want to take him with them on vacation?

Reluctantly, Harry emptied his school pack and shoved a few pairs of pants and shirts inside, as well as a few of his books, pencils, and his journal. He zipped up the old bag and headed downstairs.

Petunia was in a frenzy. Letters were falling everywhere and she and Harry's uncle were scrambling to burn them all. Neither noticed Harry quietly enter the room, grab a letter sitting on the floor, and exit just as quietly.

Harry scrambled up the stairs, entered the smallest bedroom, locked the door behind him, jumped onto the bed, tore open the letter, and read.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed, of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry smirked and placed the letter in the envelope; he'd read the other one later. Harry put the envelope in his bag and raced down the stairs and into the car. The day passed in a blur of Dudley's tears, Vernon's paranoid glances behind him, and the sound of the car driving farther and farther away from number four, Privet Drive.

The last thing Harry remembered was laying down in some musty old hotel, laughing to himself at his muggle relative's stupidity and the irony that he already had read the letter that they were currently running away from.

Harry had to stuff a few more spoonfuls of cornflakes in his mouth to muffle the laughter that he couldn't hold back when the owner of the hotel they were staying out came up and told Uncle Vernon that there were about a hundred of his Hogwarts letters at the front desk. Petunia noticed this and sent him a poisonous glare.

'We wouldn't be here if it weren't for you,' she seemed to be thinking, narrowing her eyes until they weren't visible beneath her eyelashes. Harry concentrated on turning the skin on her stomach red. That would give her something to worry about quietly over the next few hours.

'Can anyone see it? Oh, this is dreadful; what will other people think?'

Harry could only imagine the blissful peace he would get if his aunt wouldn't turn around to glare at him every three minutes. It would be like heaven; Dudley would be too busy wallowing in his own self pity and his uncle would be too busy being paranoid! He'd finally get a break from all of the looks he was getting!

When Harry finished breakfast, he was told to go and grab his things and get back in the car. He and Dudley did so, and before long, the four were off again. They drove for hours, passing by forests, cities, and rivers before Vernon finally decided to stop. It was late afternoon by then, and Dudley was complaining about missing his favorite T.V. show today, since it was Monday.

And that's when it hit Harry that he would be turning eleven in a few hours. Harry rechecked the date in his head- and today was the 30th. As Vernon came back smiling and blabbering about how he found the perfect place, Harry wondered about what was going to happen. Exactly what did his uncle plan?

Well, Harry wasn't very happy to see that they would be spending the night in a shack on a rock out at sea. The shack had two rooms, and Harry would be sleeping on the floor. The dinner they would eat was a bag of chips and a banana. There was no fire, and it was freezing. And if that couldn't have been any worse, it was raining.

Harry sighed as Aunt Petunia told him and Dudley to go to bed; it was getting late. He reluctantly laid down on the thin blanket Petunia had put out for him and tried to rest his eyes. He tried listening to the pattering of the rain against the roof of the shack and saying the alphabet backwards and every other trick in the book, but he honestly couldn't get to sleep.

'Might as well write a bit,' Harry thought to himself, grabbing the journal from his backpack and a pen from another pouch. He sat cross legged and wrote by the dim light of the lantern that hung a little bit away from him, supposedly to help Dudley see if he were to wake up suddenly. Judging by how loud Dudley's snores were, Harry doubted that the lantern was necessary, though he was appreciative for the light.

Harry glanced over at Dudley's watch, curious as to what time it was, and was shocked to see that it was eleven fifty-eight. Harry closed his journal and decided to wait for his birthday. He wanted to celebrate it, even if no one else did.

One minute left… Harry sighed, wishing there would be someone there to celebrate with him.

Thirty seconds left…maybe he should change the color of Dudley's hair, just for fun…ten… nine… eight…Harry put away his journal, not wanting it to get lost… three…two…one…

There was a loud crack, and a voice barely above a whisper:

"Potter?"

-Fin Chapter One-

Please review, I am very lonely. AND TODAY, OCTOBER 5th, IS MY BIRTHDAY!

Oh, Chapter one is finally done! I'll give you all a summary, just in case you're really hyper and didn't understand what was going on, he's a summary of what's happened so far.

Summary: Harry has been learning lessons since he was young, and comes to hate the Dursleys for their abuse. When he was eight years old, he met a cobra named Spite, who befriends Harry and tells him about his place in the wizarding world. At the age of ten, Harry has been practicing controlling his magic, and he's been taking less crap from the Dursleys. That doesn't mean that they've stopped trying to bully him, though. Dudley and his friends bully Harry and force him to watch as they kill Spite. In his anger, Harry bites and forced magic into Dudley's arm, causing massive damage.

A few weeks later, Harry is waiting for his Hogwarts letter, and misses it when he was talking with his uncle. Harry doesn't manage to get a letter until mere minutes before Vernon takes him and his aunt and cousin away, foolishly trying to outrun the wizards. Finally, the moment of Harry's birthday, while the Dursleys and he were on the hut out at see, somebody appears and calls out Harry's surname.

Tune in next time to see what happens next in:

Chapter Two:

Of Laughter and Loathing

(Watch I name it something completely different)