A World of Color Chapter 1: Prologue, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not get a single dime out of this, nothing, nada, zilch.

Summary: Haunted by her sister's beauty and talent, Petunia is driven to the edge with jealousy, only to find a reminder of her sister's greatness on her porch one morning. Harry is neglected by the people he calls family , especially Petunia who cannot seem to relinquish her hate and envy. One day, at a "open house" school event, Petunia is driven insane by the Harry's resemblance and she brutalizes him, leaving him blind forever. Unaware of Harry's disability, Dumbledore and the rest of Hogwart's staff find themselves a very different Harry Potter then they had expected.

Warning: Slash! Harry/Draco

Prologue

Godric's Hollow, October 31, 1981

Lily Potter gazed upon her beautiful baby boy. He was so small, fragile. Wispy black hair curled around the side of his round pale cheeks, long silk lashes rested over his closed eyelids, plump pink lips pouted softly with the sounds of a gentle breath. Harry. Harry Potter, the son of Lily and James Potter. Lily smiled at the thought. Everything seemed so perfect; she had married the love of her life, and had finally created her own family.

Vermillion hair brushed softly against the babe's soft white cheek causing the child to shift slightly at the touch. The boy, Harry, snorted at the ticklish sensation and his eyes fluttered open gently like eager butterfly wings. Emerald met emerald. A smile blossomed on the small pink lips and a peel of laughter left the petite vocal chords. The beautifully innocent sound was like a chime of silver bells, musical in every way. Lifting his small hand, Harry grabbed a small strip of red hair that tickled his face and pulled gently. The child was curious, very curious about his mother's silken locks, the ministrations caused her to pull the small bundle into her bosoms and snuggle the warmth. Lily nuzzled the soft fine black hair the rested gently on Harry's forehead. Time could have frozen and still Lily wouldn't have cared. Her world was right there in her arms, and honestly, she didn't care about the dangers that lurked outside the sandy white walls of her house, because to her, that single moment convinced her that life was perfect.

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An earthquake. No. There couldn't be an earthquake in Godric's Hollow. Lily Potter placed her no slumbering child into the white crib gently before leaving the nursery to find her husband.

The building shook as if an elephant had rammed itself against the exterior walls. Wooden beams fell, dusk scattered the air, ceilings cracked under the powerful pressure. The sound of glass falling echoed through the house as precious memories in black frames fell onto the rubble covered wooden floor. A loud rumble hummed in the chaotic air. Screams and shrieks of terror and panic sliced through the night sky like a hot knife would slit a tender awaiting throat. Maniacal cackles of joy and hysteria mixed with the cries of help and desperation.

Godric's Hollow was attacked.

"James" Lily gasped as she quickly comprehended the events transpiring around her. No. This can't be happening. She panicked. Her baby, her beautiful Harry. Not bothering to find her husband , Lily desperately stormed up the stairs into the undisturbed nursery. Lily scrambled to her sleeping son. Tears, bitter tears of despondency trailed down her with face, leaving a clear path on her dirty face. A warm heart beat hummed in her embrace, and soft peaceful breaths whispered in her arms.

"Harry," her voice came out as a whisper "Harry, baby. Mommy loves you."

Lily pulled her sons face out to look at the now wide away eyes that had been awoken by the silent trembling sobs the ricocheted through her breast.

"Mommy will always love you. I love you Harry, I always will"

Innocent green eyes stared deep into hers.

"I'm so sorry Harry. I'm so sorry"

"I will always love you."

"Harry."

A bright green flash escaped the orifices of the cracked building, and the world fell silent.

Little Surrey, Private Drive No.4, November 1, 1981

Cold mist glazed over the perfect lawns and repetitive houses of Private Dr. The air was still with the new breath of the sleeping sun and all life fell silent to the creeping dawn. The chaos of the day before was left unknown to the residents as what were they to worry about. Life was simple and the world was mundane, no miracles or wonders were known to these ignorant beings, no, only simplicity. A rather stubborn community in which outcasts and the unique were unwelcome, as none saw the through the haze of prejudice as they believed their world was perfect in every way. And only a small cry of musical bells seemed to disrupt this illusion, but only to phase it temporarily as what could a single child mean of any significance.

But how wrong they were. Soon their small peaceful world would be torn by a single child.

A child by the name of Harry Potter.

.~O00o.H.o0oO~.

Little Surrey, Private Drive, July 31 1985

Silence, that's all that greeted the black morning. There was no ticking of clocks or chirping of crickets. No squeaking mice, sweeping winds, or night dancing trees were there to bless the small being that resided in a world of darkness. His "sanctuary" , how old it was for him to call it that for it was nothing pleasant to boast about, but in this seclusion of abysmal ink, he was never harmed. No. In his little black world he was safe, much safer than the dangerous outside world. He didn't belong there. They had made sure he understood his lack of acceptance as he was nothing but a dreadful burden. An unwelcome being. A FREAK. He was a freak beyond the small wooden door of his refuge. Yes the dust made him tickled his lungs and made him wheeze ; yes the small four by six feet interior was cramp and unkempt, but inside those walls he was safe.

Safe to be himself.

Safe to be Harry Potter.

Brushing his small hands to the splintering wooden frame of his cupboard, little young Potter sighed. Sucking in his breath for the sigh had caused his intended to stop half way and turn into a set of painful coughs. Yanking his small slender fingers back, Harry clutched his chest as his lungs gave way to the fury of the violent wheezing. Not releasing his right hand from his tattered grey shirt, he lifted his other hand to his nose before breathing slowly in and out in a strained manner. Harry was quite used to this happening as he did live in the small compartment for nearly his entire life. He had been given a small faded-blue sleeping bag and a flat torn pillow to lie on. The ceiling slopped to accommodate the needs of the structure of the stairs above him, and when anyone walked on them, specks of wood fell on his small pale figure. Though his courters, though such a term would be too kind to truly describe the inadequate conditions, was really all he needed to survive but nothing more. He was not given lavish toys like his cousin Dudley, or ate hearty meals like the rest of the slumbering humans in the rest of the house. Harry was given a single meal every two days best and was required to manage all the domesticate chores of the house.

Finally able to calm his breath, Harry reached down from his sitting position to fumble through the thick blackness for the green crayon hidden under his sleeping bag. Utensil in one hand , he reached out his other hand to graze the wooden frame once more to find a row of smooth wax that clearly did not belong on the roughly chipped surface. Holding the side of the frame, Harry pushed the crayon hard on to the bottom of the long rows of wax. Harry gently touched his work on the frame as if fearing it would crack under his touch.

Five.

Five wax marks lined the frame.

He was finally five.

He had lived to be the age of five.

A beautiful smile blossomed on the feeble child's face, only to be drowned by the shadows. Honestly, he had no idea whether he would live to the age of five. Every day was torture, a torture he was now able to tune out only to a slight humming sound. He had been beaten, starved, overworked, and mentally abused. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon had found him on the porch one cold morning and ever since he had been condemned to a life of misery and abuse. They had never loved him; in fact they hated him. To them and everyone else in the world, he was a freak. Nothing more than a waste of space and money. Harry had always wondered where he had come from, but every time he asked they had told him his parents were freaks just like him. They had died in a car crash from being intoxicated with alcohol. Harry didn't believe it. It simply wasn't possible, and he knew they were lying but still he kept quiet and merely nodded. Oh, Harry knew all too well that their treatment to him was far from normal; in fact he knew it was abuse. The Dursely's hated every fiber of his being, though he had truly no idea as to why. He had never spoken out of hand, although Vernon had often accused him of so, nor had he ever rebelled. Such an enigma left the young boy very confused, but nevertheless, he was only five and there was not much he could do. His parents had "died" and no one would believe his accusations.

Sighing mentally Harry pulled his knees to his chest and rested his cold forehead on their hard surface.

Closing his eyes, Harry made a wish.

It was his birthday after all, and as far as he was concerned the stars owed him big time.

Smirking to himself, Harry clasped his hands together over his heart and whispered, "Happy 5th Birthday."

And the shadows consumed him into a deep sleep.