Summary: Suppose Harry ran away from the Dursley's at age five

Summary: Suppose Harry ran away from the Dursley's at age five. Suppose he didn't trust Voldie or Dumbles. Suppose he wasn't as dumb as people figured. Suppose he befriended Bellatrix's estranged daughter…

"You're a real bastard, you know that?"

A raven haired, green-eyed youth raised an eyebrow lazily at the pretty yet slightly gothic looking girl in front of him.

"Who stuck a pole up your arse?" he quipped, a debonair air set about him, though he was wearing fairly worn out jeans and a quite large t-shirt for his lithe frame. "And I was not born out wedlock, thankyou very much."

The girl was adorned in a pair of plain black slacks and what appeared to be a white singlet, her thick, sable ringlets the only source of warmth on her person as they were draped, albeit haphazardly along her chest and down her frame until the hair had grown no more, which was to her elbows.

The nine year old girl spotted this insufferable four-eyes looking her up and down and snapped; "What on earth are you looking at? I'm not a pretty painting to be admired! If you've got somthin' to say, say it and be on your merry little way, you runt!" she spat, jibbing at this boy's lack of height. He was as tall as she was, and she was considered short for her age!

The boy, also nine years of wisdom tucked into his belt (Well, his belt that was once a very wealthy man's- fool, for not realising a nine year old homeless boy would be an expert pickpocket) narrowed his emerald eyes at the girl.

"Well at least I don't have a fairy nose!" he taunted back, grinning wickedly in satisfaction as the girl took offence to the slur, if you could call it as such. Harry, the 'four-eyed bastard', as this girl called him, knew he could have done a much better job of insulting her.

But frankly, all he wanted was the shiny locket, and it was obviously this pretty little girl wasn't going to give it to him. Besides, he should be going soon if he wanted to find some form of shelter before it started to piss down rain.

As to justify his point, the green and grey sky released a lash of lighting and shook the ground with thunder.

The black haired girl put a hand over her nose protectively, and grabbed a lone shard of glass that was near the rubbish heap she had been sleeping on before this rogue came and tried to steal her silver locket, examining her nose.

My nose is small! That stupid little runt was right!

The girl cursed every God she knew of with every invective she knew as the heavens opened and rain feel down full and fast.

The sable haired girl looked at the boy; he looked like he was in the same predicament as her.

"Have you got a place to go?" she shouted over the pouring rain.

The boy stepped forward, blinking away the raindrops that had fallen behind his glasses lenses. He shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I'm guessing you don't either?"

The girl shook her head from side to side- 'No'.

Harry took the girl's hand in his own grasp.

"Look," he yelled over the rain. "We're both homeless, so why don't we just stick together? We'll find shelter more easily if there are two people looking."

The girl was not so easily persuaded, it perceived.

"If there are two of us, there'll be less space to fit in the shelter. What if there's only enough space for one of us?"

"We'll take our chances!" Harry replied. "Do you want to be alone in this storm?"

The fairy-nosed girl seemed to stuff her pride in her left pocket- just for the moment, anyways. "No," she retorted.

She wrenched her hand from Harry's grasp. "Okay, four-eyed bastard, I'll stick with you."

Harry smiled.

"But on one condition." she continued, and Harry's eyes widened at the prospect. The last time someone had said that to him he'd landed himself in a whole world of trouble…

"The condition being that I know your name."

Harry relaxed. "My name's Harry Potter."

The girl grinned, wiping her wet ringlets out her vision.

"I'm Aubree; Aubree Lestrange."

"And I you. Well, shall we, my dear Aubree?" asked Harry, mock bowing despite the pouring rain.

Aubree just grinned, clasping her hand into Harry's palm, dragging him along the alleyway.

She then turned around, with a devilish look in her deep eyes and said firmly,

"And let's get this straight, Potter; I do not have a fairy nose!"

The two from then trudged on in the stormy and dangerous conditions never knowing that they were special, in many more ways than one

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A little while later...

"This is your idea of shelter?" asked Aubree incredulously as the sat neath the underside of a yellow plastic slippery dip. "A playground?"

Harry swept his vision over the small children's playground, complete with swing and see-saw. He badly wanted to tell Aubree that it was better than the pile of car parts and mouldy sandwiches she'd been sleeping on, but settled for something that would irritate her more.

"You know," he replied coolly, "Aubree can be translated into Elf Power, and an elf is kin to fairy, in folk legend."

Aubree's left eye twitched. She would have nothing to do with prissy little fairies. Her role model was Amalasuntha, Queen Of The Goths.

"Well, I suppose I should be thankful they did not call me Fae or anything." she replied, trying to ignore the jibe.

"They?" repeated Harry, not following.

"The awful people who ran the orphanage I used to live at."

"What happened to your parents?"

Aubree sent Harry a death glare, plainly telling him not to talk about it. "What happened to yours?"

Harry narrowed his eyes at the girl. She was really getting on his nerves!

"They died in a car crash," he replied simply, as if commenting her hair. "It's where I got this scar-"

Harry pointed to a lightning bolt shaped scar upon his forehead.

Aubree frowned. "I've seen that scar before!" she exclaimed, and began to rummage through her small pockets in her black slacks.

What in the world is she looking for? Harry wondered.

The black haired lass pulled out a tiny piece of white paper with what seemed to be a series of tiny black dots scrawled upon it.

Aubree took in a deep breath while Harry shot her a quizzical look that she didn't see.

She bit her lip and looked at her new companion apprehensively.

"Ok, Potter, don't get freaked out…" she stated, trailing off.

Harry angrily muttered "Don't call me Potter!" but his anger changed into amazement as she waved her hand over the piece of paper and it glowed an unearthly purple colour.

It suddenly expanded to become a newspaper clipping.

But Harry wasn't shocked by this fact. He was more freaked out that when Aubree had done…whatever she had done; her left eye turned a bright amethyst. Quite a contrast seeing as her other eye was still ebony.

Harry stared at her, eyes wide in shock.

"Do you have heterochromia iridium by any chance?" he asked Aubree, as if he were asking her what time it was.

Aubree looked scared. "Heto-WHAT?"

"Oh, it's the…condition…where people have one eye a different colour."

"Do my eyes look a different colour to you, Potter?" snapped Aubree. True, her left eye had gone back to its ebony colour.

Harry's eyes started to prick and feel hot, and before he or his new 'friend' knew it, tears were streaming down his face.

"I said don't call me 'Potter', Aubree!" he cried. "My name is Harry, Harry!"

He then turned away from Aubree, blocking her completely from view and sniffled.

Aubree felt the train had jumped the tracks. He was more concerned about that fact that her eyes turned a different colour than the way she (for lack of better word) magically expanded a piece of paper.

Harry's sniffling stopped, and he quietly said, "Don't you mean for lack of practical word? Because as far as I know, magic isn't real, so 'magically' wouldn't be a very practical word. Of course, it's your choice whether to use 'better' or 'practical'..."

Aubree's jaw dropped; she stopped listening to this kid rant a few hundred words ago. But-how--

"How-what-I mean…I didn't say any of that stuff out loud, now did I?" she said, silently cursing herself for not being able to say a simple sentence coherently.

Harry wiped his eyes on the back of his hands, and readjusted his glasses after taking them off to wipe. "Like you can make that paper become larger…I can read people's thoughts. And put thoughts into people's heads."

At the young Lestrange's questioning look, Harry continued.

"Like once, when my Uncle was going to hit me, I just heard his thoughts as if he was speaking…and then I just thought Please don't hit me, and he looked dazed for a second and then didn't hit me anymore."

"You're Uncle hit you?"

"And you say…think…I miss the point! But, yeah, he did. So did my cousin… so I ran away, a few months ago, right on my ninth birthday. They never used to call me by my name, just 'Freak' or 'Boy' or 'Potter'..."

As Harry trailed off, they sat in silence for a bit.

He's had a bad a time as me… thought Aubree, wondering if Harry could hear her thoughts…how wicked…

Harry ran a hand through his hair, and Aubree snapped her fingers.

"This is what I was enlarging before…" she announced, showing what once was a scrap piece of paper with black dots, and was now a newspaper, with the broad title;

THE DAILY PROPHET

Queries, concerns, reviews, flames, and theories are all welcomed.