Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, even as much as I wish I do. This story, however, is my own, despite any and all similarities it may have toward other stories like it.

A/N: I will admit, I have read several stories of the "Wrong Boy-Who-Lived" and "Abused", possibly even a few "Taken In By the Dark Side" types of stories. I would like to consider this, ignoring any and all similarities, as a completely new story. Enjoy.


Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts and other assorted titles, looked down at the two infants before him. James and Lily had been gone for the night, leaving their Secret Keeper, Peter Pettigrew a.k.a Wormtail, to watch the twins. Harry, the eldest by ten minutes, had black hair and green eyes. His brother, Michael, had auburn hair and hazel eyes, both boys being the exact opposite of their parents in appearances...Harry with James' looks and Lily's eyes...Michael with Lily's hair and James' eyes. The prophecy children, these two were...which is why it made it so difficult for Albus to figure out which one it meant. Voldemort had attacked the house, marking one...but which one?

Harry had a scar above his right eye in the shape of a lightning bolt...while Michael had a scar in the shape of a LV on his cheek...everyone knew Voldemort took pride in himself and his bloodline, so it made sense he would mark the boy with his initials!

"Lily...James...may I present to you, Michael Alexander Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived!"

James gave a grin at the moniker, looking back at Lily, who seemed worried.

"What's wrong, Lils?"

"This is going to get lots of media attention, James...I'm worried about Harry..."

"What about him? He'll be as supportive as we are of Michael, no worries!"

"Actually, James...I had an idea." Albus cut in. "You have a sister, Petunia, do you not Lily?" At her nod, he continued. "As you said, Michael is bound to gain media attention. So, in a preemptive movement of ensuring that there is no sibling rivalry or worries about Harry being left out, why not have him live with Petunia? She has a son about Harry's age, they could grow up together, and when Harry goes to Hogwarts, he and Michael could meet face to face."

"It..seems sound.." Lily replied, unsure. James, however, was not so unsure.

"It's a great plan! I say we do it. Harry and Michael could correspond through the owl post, and meet at Hogwarts, it's brilliant!"

Still very unsure, Lily nodded her assent, hoping this wouldn't, couldn't, backfire on them.


The night was cold, the moon shone brightly upon the utterly normal street of Privet Drive. Inside the white walls of Number Four, a small child no older than the age of five lay curled in a ball beneath a thin, threadbare blanket in the cupboard under the stairs. His emerald green eyes stared blankly at the space in front of him. Something was about to change...he could feel it. The change wouldn't be pleasant.

Several hours later as the sun rose into the morning sky, the child, Harry, was jerked out of a light sleep by a shrill voice outside the door.

"Get up and get out here!"

That was different...his Aunt or Uncle usually just shouted at him to make breakfast and get the chores done...odd. Slowly, Harry rose from the nearly nonexistent mattress beneath him and dressed, flicking an errant spider from his clothes and opening the cupboard door. Squinting slightly from behind his taped glasses as his eyes adjusted to the light, Harry stood confused for a brief moment. Breakfast (for the Dursleys) was already on the table, his Uncle Vernon standing by the door impatiently.

"Come on, boy. Haven't got all day."

"Where are we..." he asked before being interrupted by the large man.

"Don't ask questions! Let's go." Vernon said, walking out the door. Blankly, Harry followed, not anxious for another beating after the one the day before. He'd been whipped with a studded belt Vernon had, the metal cutting and bruising his back.

"We've decided that we've had enough of you, freak, so I'm taking you to an orphanage." Vernon spoke bluntly, making Harry's eyes widen in shock. Harry knew there was no love lost between him and the Dursleys, but they were his only remaining family. Then again, perhaps he could be adopted by another...? That was a best case scenario, he admitted. Silently, the two entered the car, Vernon immediately starting it and driving away.

By Harry's estimation, it had been at least twenty, maybe thirty minutes from their starting position until they stopped. Exiting the vehicle, Harry unconsciously grimaced at the building. A dirty grey, the place nearly screamed "filthy" and "unpleasant". Prince Orphanage, the sign above the door read. Walking after the fat man whom Harry unwillingly called Uncle (you couldn't pick family, after all), the two entered the building, Harry noting the thick layer of dust that covered nearly everything in sight. Vernon was speaking with someone Harry assumed was the owner, an older woman with grey hair and sharp blue eyes, a grimacing sneer on her lips.

"I'm dropping off this boy, Harry's his name." Vernon said, shooting an irritated glance back toward the mentioned child.

"A last name, not that it really matters." she replied.

"Potter."

"Hmph. Now, any problems with him? Sickness, weakness, etc.?"

"He's a freak...makes things happen around him."

"I see...alright, we'll take him off your hands. Sign here."

Harry watched as Vernon eagerly signed the forms, cutting down on his emotions until nothing was left but a blank stare as the woman led him into a room.

"This'll be your room until you get adopted, or leave. Either way, I don't care." she said, sending him into the room with a vicious kick to the back. "Watch yourself around here."

Oh...this will be fun, Harry thought sarcastically.


Blood spilled from his lips as another foot caught him in the ribs. The painfully thin seven year old grunted as a muscled arm raised him from the dirt, broken ribs shifting. A mere glance of shaggy brown hair and blue eyes were all he saw before a fist slammed into his cheek, sending him to the ground once more. Marcus Thompson, a fifteen year old boy who hated Harry, had walked into the field and taken his chance.

As a boot stomped onto his back, Harry's eyes narrowed. Ever since he'd come here, he'd been beaten. Truly, it was no better than the Dursley's at Number Four, but he'd held out hope it might stop...and it didn't. The emerald green eyes blazed, something inside the child snapping. Marcus rolled Harry onto his back, catching a glimpse of startling green as the eyes locked on to his blue ones. The boy was muttering something under his breath, and Marcus motioned for everyone to get back. He'd seen the freak do some things, like levitating a book and other freakish actions...he didn't want any part of that. Harry's eyes shot open, something like lightning coursing through the older boy's body. Harry watched impassively as Marcus began to convulse, the muscular teen held entirely by Harry's will...and he wasn't sure that he wanted to stop.

The other boys backed away, some running in fear. Silent screams issued from the teen's mouth as Harry kept his eyes locked on to Marcus' form, the writhing body making a small grin erupt on the normally blank face of the raven-haired child. Something like a signal began to ring in Harry's mind, the seven year old breaking the eye connection instinctively, start to breathe heavily. He stared at all the surrounding people, locking eyes with each one of them.

"I can do this and more, you know...do you want me to?"

Frightened shakes of the head met his question, making a smirk cross Harry's lips. After years of being beaten, he finally held some power. He knew how to use this...ability, the knowledge simply appearing...like magic.


On his eighth birthday, a new orphan arrived. She was thin, with dirty blonde hair and blue eyes, and would've been quite pretty if she hadn't had blood streaking her face and clothes. It hadn't been but a week until he'd seen Marcus make a move on the thirteen year old girl.

Harry watched impassively, his eyes cold, as Marcus shoved the girl against a wall. Kaylee, her name was, thirteen and the one Marcus had chosen for a victim...apparently he'd forgotten the lesson Harry gave him that day...time for a new one. Harry decided the time to intervene was now, Marcus attempting to rip the girl's shirt.

"Marcus." he called out, ice lacing his voice. Freezing, the sixteen year old bully and would-be rapist turned toward the eight year old who wielded mysterious power.

"Harry...look, she's mine. I'm not putting up with any shit from you."

Harry smirked, feeling electricity crackle in his fingers. One thing he'd learned how to do over the year is harness that ability, causing faint black lines to move in a jagged pattern up his arms and lightning, raw electricity, to course through his body. He could fire bolts of lightning from his hands. Aside from the initial freak-out, Harry had put his mind to mastering the ability, and done so, within the year. Every time he used it, the lines got darker. Raising a hand, he willed the electricity forward, the black lightning flying from his palm. There was a difference in the instinctive ability he'd done that day and this one...and that was this was much more powerful...

"I beg to differ, Marcus. You see, Kaylee is going to be under my protection, I think. And as I all but run this place, you will listen...or you will die."

Harry let up on the power after a few moments, delighting in the weak cough of the older boy.

"Fuck...you...Harry."

Cocking his head to the side, Harry smirked once more, shrugging.

"No thank you...but here's for the insult." Harry replied, lightning coursing from his hand once more, electrocuting the teen.


One year since that day, and Marcus made yet another move...toward Harry, this time. It wasn't like the two were rivals or anything either! Harry was nine years old, Marcus seventeen...granted, Harry was able to summon and manipulate lightning, but even so...it didn't make sense. Things were different this time...Harry was leaving, regardless of what anyone else thought. Despite his ability, people still slapped him around when they could, and it was surprisingly often. No more...not again.

Dodging a strike from Marcus, Harry asked,

"Why are you even doing this? I mean, really, what have I done to you? Other than putting you in your place and shocking you every now and then when I feel you need it, what have I done to you?"

"Maybe I just feel like killing you, you little freak!" Marcus shouted, pulling a knife from his jacket. Harry's eyes narrowed, deciding to end it now before anything could happen. So Marcus wanted to kill him...Harry determined his best option was to take him out, and permanently.

"Fine...die then."

Harry let the lightning loose, the black tendrils of electricity sending thousands upon millions of volts through the irritant's body, Harry watching impassively as Marcus convulsed, froth spilling from his lips, a crazed, pained look in his blue eyes. Not letting up, Harry kept the power going as the light faded from Marcus's eyes, burn marks appearing on his body. Harry cut the connection, striding from the room toward the front door of the building. Janice, the owner, stopped him at the door.

"Where do you think you're going, freak?"

"I'm really getting tired of hearing that...move, you old hag. I'm leaving." Harry replied coldly, vision blurred from his lack of glasses, having broken them during the first few beatings. Slipping past the elderly woman, Harry walked through the open doorway out into the streets of London.


Chapter 1 is finished...so...what do you think? Send a review or two my way!