This will likely be the last time I post twice in the same day, but I finished the second chapter after I published the story because I was too excited to wait.

Disclaimer: Despite the how badly I wish I did, I don't own Harry Potter.

Warnings: Description of animal cruelty

I apologize in advance for any grammar/spelling errors, a few mistakes might have slipped through my editing (I don't have a beta, so thank goodness for spell check)

Harry Potter was a quiet child.

He loved the privacy his little cupboard ensured him, and while it was quickly becoming a tight fit, it was cozy and snug and sheltering. The cupboard was his sanctuary in his chaotic and cruel world. Uncle Vernon couldn't hurt him in here. Dudley couldn't hurt him here. Aunt Petunia couldn't hurt him here. After that little door closed, the outside world ceased to exist and he could close his eyes and breathe and lower his guard like he couldn't anywhere else. He could study in peace, away from Dudley's mocking sneers and escape into the loving embrace of his books in total, relaxed silence.

Despite the fact that he toned down his intelligence and the quality of his work at school to appease Aunt Petunia's unjustified belief that Dudley was the smarter child, Harry was a very studious boy. He felt soothed by the cold repetitiveness of studying; math, science, literature, language, he found an escape in all of them. To his textbooks, he was just another student, not an unloved little wretch or a worthless parasite. He could be himself, without fear of humiliation or degradation. The sanctuary provided by his cupboard and his books shielded him from the constant hatred pouring in from the Dursleys'.

Harry knew exactly why the Dursleys hated him too; when he was about four years old, before he had understood that the Dursleys' hated the very air he breathed, he had had his first bout of accidental magic. Uncle Vernon was shouting about a snake in the garden and was about to embed his shovel into its brain. The snake, not even thirty centimeters long, shrank in on itself, bracing for impact. For a split second, it seemed to look up at Harry, its tiny eyes bore into his mind and a silently pleaded for help. Harry, from his seat on the back porch and cried out to stop Vernon from killing the little serpent. Harry's hand few outward and reached for the snake as if to summon it to him. Imagine his surprise when the snake actually did fly toward him, the poor thing was yanked into his hand by some invisible thread and was so disoriented, it wrapped itself around his wrist to ward off the dizziness. Of course, Uncle Vernon was sputtering mad and demanded he give up the snake so he could "exterminate the little vermin". Oblivious to the real extent and reason behind Uncle Vernon's rage, Harry said nothing and curled his body around the little reptile, his eyes flashing with childish defiance.

The beating that followed was the first and worst he had ever received, and not only had he broken both his arms trying to protect himself and the snake from Vernon's heavy blows, he had had to watch Vernon pry the little serpent off his twisted little wrist and jab his big, fat thumbs into the snake's mouth and pull until its little jaw could not stretch anymore. With a loud snap and the papery sound of tearing skin, the snake found itself with an agonizingly limp lower jaw that hung loosely like a well oiled door hinge. Without hesitation or pause, Vernon then twisted the snake's head clean off its body and brought its bleeding jaws to his face, forcing him to take a good, long look at the "worthless, puny thing he had used Satan's powers to save".

As he lay broken and sniveling on his cot in the cupboard, he mumbled apologies to the little snake Vernon had killed and disposed of, he wept helplessly at the injuries his uncle had refused to let him seek medical attention for, and he worried endlessly at the possibility of continued abuse at the hands of that brute. Harry wished that the pain would vanish; he wished that Uncle Vernon would somehow forget about his fruitless attempt to save the snake and that weird power he had used to do it; he wished that the snake wasn't killed so horribly because of him. But even as a four year old, he knew such things could not happen. He wished anyway. He wished and he wished and he wished.

The next morning, Uncle Vernon rapped sharply on his cupboard door to wake him as he did every morning. Harry's immediate response was to cringe and curl in on himself, hoping beyond hope Uncle Vernon wouldn't open the door and continue his punishment from the day before. But when Uncle Vernon just walked away from his door as he did every day, Harry cautiously peeked through the grating on his door and heaved a sigh of relief when Vernon never turned back. It was after he opened the door to leave the safety of his cupboard that he realized that his arms were completely healed. He walked apprehensively into the kitchen and saw Vernon sitting in his usual seat at the dining table, reading the morning newspaper. Upon his entrance into the room, Vernon looked up and grunted at him to start making breakfast, not even taking note that Harry had somehow miraculously healed both his broken arms. At this casual reference to the norm, Harry thought that perhaps the ordeal from the previous day was all a bad dream and none of it ever happened. Internally, he let out a happy sigh of relief.

Later that day, however, as he was being dragged out by Vernon to take out the trash, he noticed that at the bottom of the rubbish bin, there was a gruesomely detached snake head with its jaw torn clean in half. What remained of its body was being pillaged by flies and maggots on the other end of the bin. Harry froze, and Vernon, noticing his pause, opened his mouth as if to shout at his uselessness, but upon doing so, caught a peek inside the rubbish bin. With a shocked exclamation, Vernon then raged about "those stupid little arsehole children leaving dead things in my rubbish bin again" and Harry couldn't help but gape at him. Vernon himself had done that, how could he forget? After all, Harry still had the vision of the poor snake's head being brutally mutilated burned into his eyeballs.

As Vernon shouted about the imagined culprits, Harry quietly apologized to the snake and dropped his trash bag into the rubbish bin, turning to follow his fuming uncle back inside the house. He numbly continued his daily routine, absently taking note of Vernon's behavior. Vernon didn't seem to be acting any differently from before. Aside from his usual hurtful remarks about the pointlessness of Harry's existence, it was like the snake incident never happened. At the end of the day, when Vernon locked him back into his cupboard without any snide reference to the snake, Harry wondered what was going on. If that incident did happen, Vernon would not have hesitated to torment him about it. But he didn't. Harry knew it happened because there was evidence in the rubbish to prove it, but there was also evidence to counter it. Yes, there was a dead snake with the garbage, but Harry also had two perfectly not-broken arms and Vernon's temper was at its usual level of terrible.

It was later on that Harry understood that his desperate wishes had, for the most part, come true. Vernon forgot about his accidental bout of (what he later realized was) magic and his injuries were healed as if nothing had happened. He had somehow erased his uncle's memory of that day and healed his broken arms.

This realization was the beginning of Harry's fascination with the supernatural. His studious habits were able to conceal the influx of fiction books he suddenly found himself reading. Not only did he begin to experiment with his powers based on what he had read in the books, he also discovered a new safe haven for him to retreat into when life with the Dursleys got difficult. Learning was still wonderful, but now he found characters who could sympathize with his plight and his power. Perhaps he could pick up a few pointers about what to use his magic for...

In the secret of his cupboard, he learned to control his gift. He learned how to fix things that broke, he learned to heal the injuries he frequently suffered, and he learned to make the Dursleys forget anything he had done with magic to eliminate any chance of discovery. But despite the constant memory cleansing, Aunt Petunia always watched him with narrowed eyes, ill-concealed suspicion glinting sharply against the ever present backdrop of disgust and irritation, as if she knew.

He had learned a great deal, and couldn't wait until his next birthday, when he would put all he learned into action and finally free himself of the Dursleys forever. He would be able to disappear from their lives and they would be none the wiser. Oh, he was so excited! He would finally be free!

Until then, he would quietly bide his time and wait.

A/N: A little bit from Harry's perspective, he's clearly more level-headed then Petunia XD

The bit about the snake was difficult to write, I'm sorry, but it had to happen. It will be referred to later points in the story.