~A/N Thank you to my reviewers!

I thought I should add, since I neglected to do so last chapter, that my direction for this story will be to place young Harry in an alternate reality from canon, but still give Voldemort his time in the spotlight with her. The chapter length should be significantly increasing after this. A/N~

Before they knew it, the Potters were thrust into a world of darkness. Voldemort was targeting them and their newborn child. They were forced to go into hiding. Lily, especially, was nervous. She had been having second thoughts on her decision, but it was too late to go back now. War was brewing and she and little Harry needed all the security they could get. Besides, where else could she go?

Unfortunately, the Potters were betrayed. One of their closest friends ratted out their position to the Dark Lord, hoping to gain power for himself. Sirius Black was hauled off to Azkaban, unable to act as godfather to the young child. And the Potters died at Voldemort's hand, all but young Harry. Somehow the infant managed to escape the curse of death that had felled many another wizard. Somehow a babe had managed to defeat the darkest warlock the world had seen in many ages. And so he was celebrated, worshiped even. He was hailed as Harry Potter: The Boy Who Lived.

Harry, however, knew none of this, having been left on a cold Muggle doorstep on the very night his parents were murdered. He knew not that he was a wizard, nor that he was famous, and would remain in the dark for quite some time. In fact, almost four more years would pass before he realized that anything truly unusual was happening, as many unusual or unexplainable things seemed to happen around the young boy.

It was a sunny, hot day in the month of June, a perfect day for beach-going. A few cumulus clouds drifted lazily across the sky, occasionally blotting out the sun's radiant gaze for a moment before continuing on their journey. Wizards and Muggles alike were enjoying this fine day all across Britain, but for one young wizard who would soon be finding this bright, joyous day very unenjoyable indeed.

Harry Potter, a black-haired, scrawny boy of nearly five years old, was sitting in a cupboard, currently in punishment for yet another mysterious, unexplainable occurrence. This time he had broken one of his Aunt's dishes, only to look down, horrified, and find it had miraculously reformed. His Aunt and Uncle were less than overjoyed, though for what reason Harry didn't know. He had long since given up asking questions; the number one rule of the Dursley household (for Harry at least) was to not ask questions.

Eventually Harry drifted off to sleep, floating in the gentle hands of Morpheus.

Such bliss was not to last, however, as his Aunt rapped sharply on his door, hissing, "Get up!"

Harry sighed, knowing that the only thing that awaited him would be more chores. He was very hungry, his stomach kept cramping uncomfortably, and he was feeling kind of weak, but hopefully if he got them all done in time Aunt Petunia would give him some food.

His Uncle's vicious words drifted back to him. "Freaks don't deserve food!" he had said. And what his Uncle said, he meant.

Harry hoped he would stop being a freak soon. It would make his life a whole lot easier.

Harry quickly pulled on his clothes, stuffed under Dudley's old crib mattress, now his, before stumbling out of the cupboard.

As he predicted, his aunt shoved a list of chores at him, promising, "If they're not all finished before your uncle gets home, you'll not get any food," in her usual nasally, sharp tone. She looked at him like he was a mud puddle marring her perfectly pristine white floor. Which was an accurate description, actually, seeing as he hadn't bathed in a week but still had to do all the gardening chores. His skin felt caked with dried sweat and dirt.

Harry had a lot of trouble making out the list, as his eyesight was truly terrible. However he eventually got it all down. He was to dust, scrub the front hall, and weed the garden. It was a shorter list than usual today, and for that he was grateful.

He started on the indoor chores first, making sure he removed every speck of dirt from the premises. His aunt would give him nothing if he didn't do his job perfectly. "Lazy, no-good freaks like you don't deserve the food off our table and the clothes off our backs!" his aunt's condescending voice rang in his mind. He scrubbed even harder at the sparkling tile floor.

By the time he got to the weeding it was midafternoon. He only had an hour before his aunt would start dinner and he needed to hurry. He always helped his aunt with dinner. She said that once he was old enough he would have to do it himself "to earn his keep", so he watched her carefully. If he did anything wrong he would have hell to pay.

The sun baked his sweaty back as he gingerly disentangled the roots of the sproutling weeds from his aunt's prized flowers. He actually rather liked gardening. It somehow made him feel happy, which was a forbidden thing in the Dursley household. The gentle green leaves of the plants, so dependent on his care. They never yelled at him or hurt him. Sometimes he even felt like they appreciated him. They were like friends, he thought. He didn't have any real friends to compare with but it seemed that those were things friends did.

All too soon he finished tending to the flowerbeds, the weeds bundled up and whisked away to the trash. The sun was midway on its descending arc across the sky. He washed off his dirty fingers in the cold outdoor faucet and reentered the plain beige-painted house, first taking off his shoes and placing them just outside the door. His aunt heard his entrance and appeared in the room.

She took one disgusted look at him before swiftly ordering, "Shower, now. You have five minutes, and don't use warm water! Then come help with dinner." Her bony finger pointed the way to the stairs.

Harry knew that the dinner wouldn't be for him. Freaks don't deserve dinners. Freaks don't deserve showers either, but his aunt would get fed up with his filth after a while and let him use the cold water and dish soap. It hurt, numbing his skin, but it was better than being dirty all the time.

Harry lightly made his way up the steps to the bathroom. He avoided looking in the mirror; it would only show the reflection of a freak. However, as he undressed, a shocking sight met his eyes. His- It- He was- He was-! ...What!? No way!

Sure things had disappeared around him before, but this was going too far! It was beyond freakish! (And that was saying something.) Should he tell his aunt? No, surely she wouldn't care, or would just punish him again... He...just had to hope...it came back... His subconscious took over and somehow he made it through his shower, mind buzzing with unanswered questions and exclamations.

It seemed that, at least for now, Harry Potter - unwanted, freakish relative of the Dursley family - had become even more strange than before. He was now, for lack of a better description, a girl.

~A/N Questions, comments, criticisms, send them my way!

If you would like to suggest what house you think Harry should be sorted into, feel free to do so in a review. Currently I'm not seeing Gryffindor or Hufflepuff as the one, though.

Also, if you would like more chapters with pre-Hogwarts Harry, let me know, as otherwise I'll continue on straight to Harry's letter. A/N~