THE GREY

HEY GUYS! This story is intended to be very long and I will be updating every Friday! I hope you enjoy it and please if you have any suggestions, I would love to hear them!

Also i would like to thank my Beta, CalliopeGalaxy!

He would have never though that this was the way things would end. So much has changed and was going to change.

Harry took his last glance at the view before him and apparated away. He knew that he had nothing more to give.

13 years ago

"…ARE YOU MAD!?" Uncle Vernon asked as he tore into the kitchen. His eyes were livid and if this were a cartoon Harry could imagine steam sprouting from his ears. "How many times, in these six years have I told you boy, that Dudley is allergic to peanuts? HUH? Are you trying to kill him? Handing him a peanut butter and jelly sandwich! I've always said that you are DAFT!" he shouted the last word and opened the trashcan with such force that when the metal lid connected to the wall, Harry jumped and Aunt Petunia shrieked from the next room.

"Vernon? Vernon are you okay? Did the freak do something to you?" his aunt stepped into the kitchen and eyed him warily.

"That thing" he pointed to Harry, "knows better than to unleash his freakiness in my house! Huh? Don't you, boy?" He cocked his eyebrows and looked straight at Harry. Not giving him a chance to respond, he continued, "Not after that lesson I gave him last time! The boy knows better! Even though he's daft…." He shook his head and stalked out of the kitchen and dragged his wife away with him, probably to watch one of their stupid TV shows.

Harry sighed and leaned on the counter. Damn his prank failed, miserably if you may. Ever since he had discovered that he could do things that no one else could, he had been practicing so maybe he could make his life easier. It had started with little things, like, moving a piece of crumbled paper around the nursery school he attended with his cousin when he was four years old. He didn't have friends, courtesy of Dudley; that bloody rhino kept telling everyone that he was a freak, that they should all keep a distance, and that he had a disease like his parents! So naturally everyone kept a safe distance from him, and Harry not having anyone to play with, passed the time by staring at inanimate objects and making a life story for them. There was this particular old chair that he deemed a celebrity among the other furniture, it was posh looking with burgundy cushions and yellow stripes on them so he had decided that it belonged in the Buckingham castle, but due to its ugly state it was kicked out and gifted to his school. Honestly it went pretty well with the ugly wall that was painted yellow because they were too cheap to clean the stains.

It was a particularly cold day and Harry was sitting by the window and looking at the angry sky. In a way he thought he could understand its anger and frustration, that is if you can relate to the weather. Maybe the sky was lonely like he was so it was trying to make everyone else feel how it felt. Alone, angry and sad. That was why Harry loved this weather; if Harry wasn't allowed to go outside and play and enjoy the sun then no one else should either. He was so mesmerized by the clouds that when a paper ball hit his head his whole body jerked forward and he fell from the windowsill.

Laughter could be heard as Harry tried to get up. He starred at the crumbled paper by his feet, far too proud to cry or show any indication that their antics bothered him. The paper moved and was thrown towards the obnoxious little blond girl that followed Dudley around like a puppy, on the back of the head. Since everyone was trying to look away and not be recognized as the culprit they were looking away, pretending to be playing with Legos and trying to muffle their laughter. So the action went unnoticed, but Harry was now very much curious.

"Oh god! Harry, are you okay? Are you hurt?" Mrs. Art, one of the teachers, rushed towards him interrupting his musings and looking him over several times to make sure he was alright. "What happened sweetheart?" Her American accent always comforted him, in a weird way he liked the distinction between the British and American accents. He knew it was not logical, but for reasons which obviously the Dursleys were to blame for - he trusted the accent more as if she was not part of the reality he was living in.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Art," he managed to say in a small voice, not wanting to draw more attention to himself.

"Sweetie, I saw you fall after the paper ball hit you," she gave a dirty look towards Dudley the perpetrator of the attack. From experience she knew that reprimanding the children for picking on Harry only made matters worse for him. "Do you want to sit with me? I can read the rest of my story for you?"

Harry nodded enthusiastically, remembering the first time he spoke to her, asking about her peculiar last name, to which she responded that it meant a Champion, a Follower of Thor, the Norse god of thunder. Upon seeing Harry's interest on the subject she kindly asked him to give his opinion on the children's book she was writing based on the Norse mythology and Harry having nothing better to do for the nine hours he attended this yellow walled hell-hole, accepted the invitation and spent Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays in Mrs. Art's small office listening to her beautiful voice and succumbing into a world of gods and adventures and occasionally asking questions about the characters and their origins, the mysterious force throwing the ball across the room forgotten…for now.

So the first thing he did when he got home, locked into the cupboard after lunch, was to move objects with his mind as he had done with the ball. This of course was met with lots of failed attempts, and when he was angry and on the verge of giving up - the green soldier that he had stolen from Dudley's room when he was cleaning it - was thrown against the cupboard door with a small thud. -Harry knew then that if he practiced enough, he could do anything he wanted and stop his tormentors. Which may not have been one of his best ideas because as soon as things started to move around the house and dishes started floating towards the sink to be washed, the Dursleys had reacted very badly. Which resulted in Harry being slapped very roughly by his aunt and the four dishes and glasses on the way to the sink shattering on the floor. Dudley, trying to catch the floating dishes, cutt his foot on the crystals sprawled all around the floor. However, that wasn't enough punishment; Vernon sat on a chair by the scene of the crime and berated Harry on his freakiness and disease, while watching Harry to see that he picked every single shard of glass by his hands and discarding them in a little bucket nearby. If he ever dared to do any sort of that magic voodoo like his sick, unstable parents, he will be shipped to a mental institution and straight into a straight-jacket.

And that, to this date, was one of the best days of his life in the six years that he had been breathing on this earth. There were a couple of reasons for this:

Firstly, he managed to freak the Dursley's out and see fear in their eyes; secondly, he found out that what he was doing was Magic, like the Norse god Loki; and finally and most important of all, his parents were like him!

Now, during his stay at the Dursleys all he had gathered from his parents was that they were alcoholics, unstable and very jealous of the Dursleys life. Which resulted in the car crash that killed them both, and burdened the Dursleys to take Harry in. Sometimes Harry wished he had died with them but now he had a way of getting even. So for the next two years he practiced in the dark of the night, locked away in his cupboard and entertained himself in the non-magical pranks he pulled on his awful relatives. After all Vernon did only say no magic;nothing about the use of his brain and taking advantage of Dudley's stupidity.

REVIEWS MAKE ME VERY HAPPY

I MIGHT UPLOAD THE NEXT CHAPTER SOONER ;)