Chapter 1

November, 1, 1981.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were completely normal, thank you very much. They lived in a normal house, in a normal neighborhood, with normal neighbors that had normal pastimes and didn't belomg to those people. And who were these dispicable people? Why the abnormal, freakish people who could do magic; Mrs. Dursley's sister was one of such people.

Mrs. Dursley was a thin, horsey woman while her husband was a whale of a man. Their son, Dudley, rook after his parents with Mr. Dursley's girth and Mrs. Dursley's coltish movements, turning the one year old into a piglet shaped beach ball. On the morning of November, 1, Mrs. Durlsey was greeted by the sight of not just the milk jars but also her nephew, wrapped in a blanket with a letter resting on top of him. This displeased her and she was tempted to just leave the baby there but the fear of the neighbors finding the baby and asking questions about whether they were normal or not stood out in her mind. "Vernon, come quick," she said, giving into her fear as she picked the child up. The two Dursleys stared at the still sleeping baby while Dudley screamed in the background. The letter was, unfortunately, the gruding deciding factor in keeping him.

July, 31, 1991.

Ten years had past since that awful night of death and the celebration of the end of Lord Voldemort's reign. The Dursley's house couldn't look more the same if its occupants tried. The only difference was the famed photos of a colorful beach ball in different bonnets becoming an older Dudley Dursley. Petunia was still as horsey looking as before, Vernon was still a whale of a man, and Dudley had grown out of his beach ball phase to look like a pig. Nobody would know that there were four occupants in the house instead of three unless it was absolutely necessary.

Hidden under the stairs was the last member of the family. Harry Potter was a thin boy with messy black hair and bright green eyes. His clothes were Dudley's old ones and the glasses he wore were a pair of cheap reading glasses Petunia picked up from the store. He knew his parents had died in a car crash, leaving him with his most distinguished feature: a scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. He remembers asking his aunt how it had happened, the car accident, and the reply seemed to have shocked her as well.

"They were drunk and tried keeping you and those no good brothers of yours from crying," she sneared, face pale from her slip up. Harry had perked up and before she could regain her composure he said hurriedly, "Brothers? Are they alive?"

Petunia's face had regained its color and she smiled nastily at him. "Don't ask anymore questions," and that was the first and last time Harry heard about his brothers.

He had been four. That conversation stuck with him, even though it had less to do with his parents death then the siblings he didn't even know he had. If they were alive did they know about him? Were they searching for him, ready to take him away from the Dursley'sfor good? One day, when Petunia told him to clean the attic and Vernon had taken Dudley to his work for the day, Harry found a faded picture of him and two other babies.

On the back, written in neat cursive, was the date and three names, each one identifing one of the boys. On the left was a hazel eyed baby with black hair that the name listed as Michael Sirius. In the middle was him, snuggled between them and sleeping. And the last baby was sleeping but had auburn hair and was listed as Charles Remus.

From that day forward Harry kept the picture a secret, hiding it under the worn mattress under the stairs. He didn't resent his brothers if they were alive. Sure he would have liked the company if the Dursley's were in a particuliarly foul mood, maybe some help if Dudley wanted to play Harry Hunting, but there was nothing they could have done either.

The morning his life changed started with the mail, or more specifically, the letter addressed to him.

Vernon, in a fit of rage, nailed the mail slot shut to keep the continuous letters out. This went on for a solid until the man, mustache twiching and face beet red, moved his family away from the house and to a shack near the ocean. It wasn't terrible, all things considered. There wasn't any closets so Harry was able to be out in the open and dispite the hatred from the Dursley's, it was a nice change of scenery. Vernon and Petunia were upstairs sleeping while Dudley was on the couch, cacooned in blankets and snoring away. Harry usually didn't resent his brothers but tonight he felt the smallest bit of jealousy and anger towards them.

They probably had nice families who didn't hate them for even existing or made them sleep under the stair and on the cold, dirt floor. They were allowed to read their letters if they got them instead of running away from them and being punished for them. He scowled darkly at the birthday cake drawing before glancing at the clock and sighing. "Make a wish, Harry," he muttered, then he gently blew on the drawing until it was no longer there.

He stood up and streched just as a flash of light ing illuminated the room and a loud bang hit the door. From upstairs, the two adults sat up quickly and without a moments hesitation ran towards the living room. "Who's there?" Vernon shouted. The rifle in his hands shook slightly as he aimed at the door. "I warn you— I'm armed!" The three Dursley's stood at the base of the stairs, Petunia behind Vernon and Dudley crouched behind his mother. Harry ducked behind the wall just as the door smashed in, hitting the ground. The giant of a man walked inside and with a cheery, "Sorry 'bout that," he picked up the door and shoved it back in place.

Vernon, rifle still shaking, aimed at the man. The giant glanced over and with a quick twist of his wdist the gun was pointing towards the ceiling. "Dry up, yeh old prune," he man said before walking towards Harry.

"An' here's Harry! Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby," he sniffles at the sudden reminder. "Yeh look a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mom's eyes. Hold on, got sommat for yeh here— I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right." Harry watched as the man pulled out a slightly squashed box. He opened it, nervous as to what it was. Inside was a large, sticky chocolate cake with the words Happy Birthday Harry wditten in green icing across the top.

He meant to say thank you but what came out instead was, "Who are you?" The man chuckled, "I haven't introduced meself, have I? Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts."

"Hogwarts?" Harry had never heard of such a place and he was quite sure he would remember if he had, the name stood out. Hagrid blinked, "Yeh, but yeh'll know all abou' that." Harry frowned, "I've never heard of any place called Hogwarts."

The giant glared at the Dursley's who shrank back against the stairs. "I knew yeh were't gettin' yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud!"

"Sorry," he said as the giant lept to his feet and glared darkly at the still cowering Dursley's. "Sorry? It's them that should be sorry. Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"

"Learned what?"

Hagrid mumbled to himself before straightening to his full height and fishing a letter from his jacket. Harry examined the odd seal before opening it.

HOGWART SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Superme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,

Deputy Headmistress.

Harry read and re-read the letter, trying to make sense of it. "I don't think I understand Mr. Hagrid," he said, still staring at the letter. "Jus' call me Hagrid, everybody does. And this," he said, tapping at the letter. "Is the letter for Hogwarts, school where yer parents went. As to what yeh learn— magic." Harry wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. Magic. That made absolutely no sense no matter how he looked at it. Hagrid must have seen something in his look because he said, "Yer a wizard, Harry."

The giant looked so earnest and when he glanced at the Dursley's their enraged expressions stood out against the dim light from the fireplace. It would explain some of the weird things that happened around him, like when he turned his teacher's hair blue or floated on top of a roof when Dudley was chasing him.

The more he thought about it the more everything made sense. The Dursley's hated him and anything not like them, often complaining or shrewdly punishing every little mistake he made. If his parents were wizards then that would mean there was a chance that his brothers were as well.

With a nod he finished reading the letter then said, "When do we leave?"