Disclaimer: I'm not famous, and certainly can't write like J. K. Rowling, so I must not be her. All things recognized belong to her. Harry Potter belongs to her. This plot however is mine. I apologize if any part of this story seems familiar to another story, but I haven't copied or replicated any parts. Now on with it! ~Kuro


Through the howling wind, hardly anything could be heard by the outside of Number 4 Privet Drive. On the inside however, the house was going through its daily routine. Harry Potter, a young boy of 9, lay abandoned by the side of the dining room, silently staring at the dinner table. His petite, short and skinny body lay collapsed by the little cupboard under the stairs, right arm hanging at an awkward angle. Jet black hair was covering his left eye and his forehead, where a small scar shaped like a lightning bolt rested. His hair ran fairly straight until it ended with little waves. His right eye, uncovered and bright green stared at the other residents of Number 4 Privet Drive, who at this point were enjoying dinner, chattering away noisily.

"Did you have a nice day at work today hun? Our little Diddykums here was really rather lively at the supermarket. He told exactly what kinds of food he wanted- meat, and lots of it!"

Petunia Dursley- an old lady with a plain face, long neck perfect for spying, and more gray hairs than she cared to admit. She had an everlastingly nasal voice, which grated on and on when she screeched at you. She was sitting at the right of the table currently enjoying the kale that Harry had prepared earlier on.

As was to be expected, she was talking about her perfect, little (more like fat) Dudley 'Diddykins' Dursley, a 8 year old beach ball- boy, who brought light and goodness wherever he went. Dudley was eating about half the meat Harry had cooked, sat on the left of the table.

Last but not least, was Vernon Dursley, fat, not at all smart, epitome of all seven deadly sins, currently swallowing the other half of the meat. He was sitting at the head of the table, Ogre Lord Dursley, and the reason for Harry's twisted arm.

"I had a very nice day at work today, sweetums. And of course, my boy knows what he wants. No finer thing in life than lots of meat and women to enjoy it." Vernon replied.

Harry snorted silently to himself. He should probably hide the fact that he was gay then. As if Vernon needed an excuse to beat him up more, same thing with Dudley. Actually that might not be such a problem, considering that he probably wouldn't ever love anyone enough to get close to them. A sharp voice cut into his musings, as footsteps thundered above him.

"Get to work freak. If you finish fast enough there might be a full plate left over for you, to feed your worthless beggar stomach." Petunia screeched at him.

Lies. There was never a full plate for him- never even a plate for him. Petunia would say he was too dirty to get a plate, that freaks didn't deserve one, that beggars had to be useful to get one. LIES. Petunia made him take showers everyday to stop the germs from entering the house, he wasn't a freak, and he did most of the chores and household keeping. Still, he always had to eat off the ground or rummage around the garbage. Well, it didn't matter anyways. Harry sighed softly in annoyance than got up slowly, gingerly moving his right arm.

"Well, freak? What are you waiting for hurry up and wash those dishes, or no supper for you." Vernon bellowed, his piggy eyes watching Harry's movements from his spot on the couch.

Harry walked to the dining table, where the dishes were strewn around, spilled sauce covering Dudley's part of the table. He gathered the dishes quietly and moved them to the sink, where he started methodically cleaning each one, slower than normal due to his right arm handicap. Suddenly, a crash of glass shattering behind him and footsteps following made his startle, and he turned around slowly. Green eyes met rage filled ones. "Boy!" Vernon yelled. Oh, he'd zoned out again.


Dudley Dursley slipped downstairs. He had forgotten to take his usual after dinner snack to go with his tv watching. Closing the refrigerator after grabbing the carton of ice cream, he saw a glass of milk on the kitchen countertop. Smirking evilly, one of his simple minded plots sprang into his head. He took the glass of milk and threw it against the floor. As he had planned, glass shattered, the milk made a mess on the floor, his dad Vernon rushed over.

"Diddykums, are you all right?" Bonus! Scored! His mother had rushed over as well, wanting to see if her precious son was all right. Yes! Dudley cheered internally. That freak was going to get it big time.

Dudley started to fake sob. "Mommy, Dad, t-the freak threw the glass of milk at me when I asked him if he wanted it."

"Oh my Diddykums, you're so sweet and kind and caring. That nasty freak doesn't even take an act of kindness seriously. Well, Vernon will show that freak what exactly is his place in this household. Don't worry Diddykins, everything will be alright." Petunia said. "Vernon, that boy broke one of Diddy's cups after our son was so caring, the freak deserves a beating don't you think?

"Yes honey, got to show that freak his place." Vernon grunted as he lumbered over to the kitchen. He bellowed "Boy!"

Harry met his 'uncle' *insert- fat pig* Vernon's glare, and sighed internally. What had 'he' done now? "Boy, you've broken one of our precious glasses and made Dudley cry, you're gonna get it now." Ah, there was his answer. So Dudley pretended again just like always. Well nothing he could do right now would help despite his little secret, so he just stood in silence.

Uncle Vernon strode across the room in three swift steps and grabbed Harry by his broken arm. Roughly dragging Harry behind him, he pulled Harry past Aunt Petunia, and Dudley, past the dining table, and into living room. "Strip." He ordered harshly, turning around to get his belt that hung by the door. Vernon grabbed his belt, and closed the living room door. Turning back around, Harry had already stripped his shirt off and threw it towards his cupboard. He was lying on the floor motionless, face expressionless.

"You Freak." Crack went the belt. "Doing all that-" Crack. "unnatural stuff. Being a disgrace-" Crack. "to the people who took-" Crack. "you in despite your freakishness." Crack. "Not showing your-" Crack. "gratefulness to the ones who gave you-" Crack. "shelter and food. You haven't-" Crack. "done anything to repay us." Crack. "Us, who took you-" Crack. "in out of the kindness of our hearts." Crack. And so it went on- Vernon ranted while whipping Harry for at least a dozen more strokes.

Harry closed his eyes, pushing the pain into a numb pile at the very edge of his mind. His face turned from emotionless, into a slight glance of annoyance and fury, before morphing back to impassiveness. Vernon had repeated the same speech so many times, it was a wonder he didn't get tired saying it. His back when he got into his cupboard again would most likely be a fury of red welts and blood, some of the less recent bruises turning into a throbbing purple. If not for his secret, it'd probably still be that way the next day.

An hour later, Harry got roughly thrown into his cupboard, the sounds of a lock being turned happening soon after. "Stay in there boy. And no dinner or breakfast for you tomorrow. Wake up early to make us breakfast, and don't let anyone at school know about your freakishness. We Dursleys are perfectly normal unlike you." Vernon ordered.

Later, after the Dursleys were asleep, Harry was left staring at the ceiling blankly. Finally, he sighed after he heard a loud rumble- his Uncle's snoring. Harry closed his eyes and focused. He needed to concentrate hard enough to wish away the pain. As the pain melted away slowly, Harry relaxed. He found himself in a large circular room. Books filled the walls from top to bottom. A gap in the bookshelves left enough space for fireplace, warm, toasty, and roaring. A big mahogany desk with a large black spinning chair was towards the back. Files and paper were strewn across its surface. The middle of the room was covered in a white, fluffy rug. There were two single person green couches facing each other. One was occupied. "Hey." Harry breathed.

"Oh you're here. Finally, I was getting tired of waiting." The handsome man sitting on one of the couches replied. He had inky black hair in neat waves coming down to his neck, muscular shoulders, had a lean, lithe body, and seemed to draw eyes wherever he went. His face was probably shaped by magic herself, perfect, symmetrical, and flawless. But the most fascinating part about him, Harry mused was his ruby red eyes. They always caught the light and shined impressively.

"Hey Tom. Sorry I'm late."

Tom arched one perfect eyebrow. "Did they hit you again?" He asked concerned.

"Not too bad." Harry replied.

"You want me to help?"

"Nah, it's good. It'll give me a chance to practice my recovery magic." Harry grinned. "He used the belt again, so there are fresh cuts that are still bleeding, but I'll be healed by tomorrow.

"That damn muggle. I'll kill him for touching you." Tom growled, rage present in his eyes.

"It's fine Tom. Anyways continue where we left off last time, where you were talking about how to walk like a pureblood."

"Wait, a week Harry. I'll definitely send someone to rescue you from those hateful mudbloods. Then you'll grow up with a proper pureblood family. Dumbledore won't be able to touch you then. Just tell me your address and I'll save you." Tom proclaimed.

"Thanks Tom. It's Number 4 Privet Drive." Harry reached over and hugged the older man. Tom stiffened then wrapped his arms around Harry gently.

"Night Harry."


Far away, in castle in Scotland, an elderly man sat on his luxurious chair sucking lemon drops. His white hair and beard stood out along with his twinkly blue eyes.

His desk was just about to sag with the weight of all the piles of parchment that lay scattered among the old desk. Many odd things were jumbled among the shelves that surrounded the desk. Rows and rows to little silver whirling things made a low mechanical hum as they spun in place.

"It's almost time for Harry Potter to be introduced to our world. Just 2 more years to go." The man said to himself. "He'll be weak but strong, dependant on me, but a leader to all, my greatest pawn." The man smiled triumphantly. It'll be time for you to die Tom." He slipped into a deep, peaceful sleep.

One of the man's silver instruments stopped. For the slightest, fleeting moment, it seemed as if the silver had turned emerald green. But that moment vanished and it once again was silver. Only the smallest drop in mechanical humming would be the evidence that the instrument was no longer working. But it would be too late a discovery for the man to do anything about it.

A name plate gleamed on top of the messy desk. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was spelled out in elegantly long letters, shining in the moonlight. Albus Dumbledore slept on.


O-kay and that's a wrap. Chapter 1 is done. Please read, at this point you've probably already done so, and review. I would ask for people not to hate on me, but criticism is appreciated. Updates are sporadic, hoping to get one in within the next few weeks, but no promises. Sorry if it sounds very cliche at the moment, but it'll start moving over the next few chapters. ~Kuro