So heeeeyyyyyyy

The new chapter is here at last! And aaaaaabsolutly not late! I don't know what you're talking about

Thanks to anyone who reviewed, favourited or followed this story!

Oh, and sorry if you see any errors...

What can I say?

I'm french and only have high school English education, err...

*cough*

And also, I'm looking for a beta for this story, anyone's interested?

Harry James Potter was not a normal child, he always knew it.

To begin with, he slept in a cupboard, thanks to his uncle, and was more often hurt than not. Apparently, he was a freak and freaks couldn't sleep in normals rooms like normals people and needed to be beaten so that the freakiness didn't infect other people.

Uncle Vernon always said that he should thank them for giving him food (once a day if he was lucky), somewhere to sleep (a dark little cupboard under the stairs), clothes (Dudley's cast off which were five-time his own size) and for trying to beat the strange things out of him (because three broken ribs and a torn ankle was so going to help him).

When he first arrived, his Aunt had tried to make his uncle give him Dudley's spare room but the man hadn't relented and he slept in the dark little room for the past four years.

It wouldn't have been so bad for Harry himself, he never feared the dark or the spiders anyway, but something in him screamed that it wasn't of him, that his uncle wasn't worthy of him and that one day, he would show the stupid whale of much more than him Harry was.

Of course, the child never said anything to his Aunt's husband, because even if it wasn't really difficult to get food, it still was rather unpleasant to get cloistered in a cupboard for a month.

Petunia also didn't like Vernon's little session with him. Each time, she would try to stop him, speaking about people who were watching, but after the first five-time, the man has stopped caring altogether and didn't stop himself from breaking his bones.

Second, he was highly intelligent, more so than anyone thought.

Since he could remember, Harry had always understood everything in the world, even things other people couldn't even begin grasp. Come on, what was so hard about relativity and quantum physics? Child's play, really!

Since he started school, he had only got A on every subject and was completely bored.

After the first week, his teacher asked him if he could see his guardians, and Harry had gone to Aunt Petunia.

The woman already hid his good mark from his husband, and while Vernon would hear things from Dudley if the black-haired boy went in a superior class, he wouldn't care if his nephew had to stay late every evening for "detentions".

The teacher was really enthusiastic about Harry's abilities and had coaxed him into spending is gained time in the local library and sometimes they would even attend conventions that the teacher would happily pay for, saying it was his honour to have such a prodigy with him.

The green eyed-boy would soak all the information and would later be able to debate it with scientists who worked on the subject for all their life and stand his ground.

They called him Harry-James Lilyson, the silver tongue.

But he was not just a science genius.

He found himself able to understand, speak and write every language as if it was English, words rolling off his tongue flawlessly, his hand forming perfect letters with quick efficiency.

He also liked etiquette, dance, music and politics, but really, his favourite subject was undoubtfully mythology.

He found himself deeply engrossed by the tale of Asgardian gods, blue Jotun and how the worlds were held by Yggdrasil, the world tree.

He read books after books on Odin, Frigga, Thor and Loki mostly. Strangely, he always prefered the text who spoke about the later, perhaps because of the magic, the seidr he was capable of using and the pranks he loved to pull on people.

However, he found simply prosperous the history about his children. What, really?

A giant wolf, an Earth-sized snake, an undead girl who ruled Death's kingdom and an eight-legged horse.

What's more? A giant, flamming chicken able to teleport?

Sometimes, he would find himself frowning down at a passage he just read, fighting the urge to correct the things because it just looked so WRONG, and Harry had to close the book before he decided to rip the page and throw it in the fire.

When he would come home from his "detention" in the library, Vernon would immediately shut him in the cupboard without food, saying that his behaviour was creating gossips in the neighbourhood.

In truth, Harry was sure the excuse of a man was just looking for an excuse not to feed him.

Fortunately for the child, his aunt would always bring him something to eat in the dark of night, along with water.

Did the woman love him?

Harry didn't know and didn't really cared, unlike most children his age he didn't crave the attention and love of his guardian.

He felt oddly mature about the about the whole thing. It wasn't exactly that he didn't want people to respect him, love him or whatever, but it was like his heart was dead.

He just felt cold inside.

Cold as Ice.

Third, strange things kept happening around him. One day he was invisible, the other he was teleporting on the roof of the school, every day he would make something new and special happen, just for him to see.

Harry didn't think anyone could see the power, the magic, like he could. It was everywhere, flowing in the plants, in the air and in some people too. Sometime, he would find a man or a woman with a strong aura, but most of the time, the power was faint, unusable, like in Aunt Petunia or in Mrs Figgs.

It was actually a lot like how the seidr was supposedly everywhere in Yggdrasil in the North Mythology, and Harry had started calling it seidr in himself.

When he did so, it brought forth questions:

Could he do everything the seidr user could do? Could he shape-shift and make illusion at will. Be there and at the other side of the globe at the same time.

For the genius child, it was just another knowledge he needed to master.

He began to plunge himself into self-study, trying to figure how his power worked.

At first, it was incredibly slow, and he was getting more and more frustrated and interested.

He could see the magic in people and object but not his own.

As he didn't know what he was dealing with, he couldn't find a way to harvest it yet.

When he began, the first thought that the way to control his seidr would be his emotions, since every time he had managed to make magical things happen eas when he was either feeling very sad, angry or happy.

However, even if his magic was flaring against his skin, raging against his fingers like fire, Harry didn't let it out. Even if the magic was beautiful and destructive, he knew he wouldn't be able to wield it like that just yet.

So he tried it the other way.

He numbed everything in him and he felt as he was frozen. Everything was clear, cold, clinical, there wasn't any parasite thought or unwanted feelings.

Harry felt once again the magic against his skin, but this time it was cold, like cool water, and he felt in control for the first time, a rose of ice rising from his open palm, alight with a strange kind of fire.

Later, he managed to put his magic all over his skin and bend it with his will, making him look like anyone he wanted or create a humanoid form and make it move and look as he wants.

Everyday week, every day, he would work his magic and make wonders.

Yet, his heart only grew colder.

But if someone were to ask Harry what was the strangest things about him, he could instantly answer that it was the dreams:

Every night, he would live in the skin of a man with long black hair and emerald eyes just like his own. Some people called him Loki, others Salazar and he even saw some memories where he was hailed as Merlin.

He would visit cities of gold, lands of ice, castles of rock and green forests.

Harry would live in their skin and learn their magic, practising it when he would wake up.

Sometime he would wake up with a smile, others with tears in his eyes and he had already woken with the urge to scream from anger or pain.

There were other dreams too. Dreams where he would live the mortal life of a black-haired orphan with crimson eyes. The child was intelligent and calculating, but unlike Harry, he used his emotion, his hate, to fuel his magic.

Tom, as the green-eyed boy learned, wasn't evil as the other people in his memories though.

He just wanted to make the world a better place for those like him, but all his ideas were rejected because an old man hadn't cared enough to look twice before making a judgement.

He had immediately become suspicious of the boy, taking his fear for madness, his rightful bitterness for unreasonable hate and his inner darkness, created by his broken childhood, for the beginning of evil.

Tom Riddle had wanted to teach, to stay forever in the place he considered home, instead of that he had been thrown away by society because of things he said as a child.

Sometimes, Harry wondered where was the man, turned dark Lord now.

Was he dead? Was he in hiding, biding is time?

But he already knew all that. Tom Riddle was in his head.

It would be lying to say that he knew a lot of things about how the other got there.

No, in truth, Harry had just seen him a few time in his mind, lurking around with furrowed brows, but whenever the green-eyed child tried to make contact, the man disappeared in a corner of his mind.

He was curious, of course, but there wasn't a lot of things he could do about that when he could only make out Tom's lean silhouette before he left.

But the thing truly interesting was his seidr :

Unlike Harry's, which was calm, golden and green, the other's was a pitch black with red flowing through it, flaring furiously everywhere around him.

It felt betrayed, angry and bitter and yet it was beautiful in its own right.

But when his seidr was a blazing inferno, hot as fire, Harry's was only getting colder, yet colder.

Petunia knew her nephew wasn't a normal boy, even stranger than her dead sister had ever been.

She had known since she first saw him, sleeping on the ground behind her door.

He had been too pale, his hair too dark, his eyes too green and intelligent. He was a child, not even a two years old and yet he felt ancient and powerful.

And so she tried, not for the strange power the child was showing, but for the sake of her dead sister, she tried reasoning with Vernon :

"No, we can't put him in the cupboard! What if THEY see?!"

At the beginning, her husband agreed and the child was left in the kitchen, not the best place for a child but still better, However, after a year without a single sign from the magical world, the cupboard under the stairs became little Harry Potter's room.

Then he has decided to "beat the freakiness" out of him. She was horrified.

She loved her husband, but beat a child?!

So once more, she tried keeping him at bay, but it was for nothing.

Whatever she said, Vernon would turn it in his favour or wave it away :

"They haven't checked on him for more than one year! They won't do it now!"

"If the boy babble to our neighbours, we'll just say he's a pathological liar!"

"So what if someone sees he's hurt?! We'll just tell he's a delinquent who keeps running into troubles!"

And when he began beating her nephew, she said nothing, did nothing.

But surely someone would notice, right? How could a four-year-old be a delinquent? Why was no one trying to find out?

It was just excuses really, trying to keep a good conscience.

When he wasn't allowed to eat, she would bring him food and water, when he was hurt, she would help him clean his wounds or put his bones right, but it was for nothing if she didn't do a single thing to stop the reason.

And yet, she stilled loved him, and that was the problem:

She loved her Duddy, she loved Vernon but she also loved Harry.

In a perfect world, she would have hated him like her husband, not caring about his well being, but in this reality, she did care and it hurt to see a child grow cold, not showing his hurt, not showing his emotion, keeping everything inside.

Petunia knew her nephew wasn't a normal boy.

He wouldn't complain about his chores, wouldn't cry when hurt, wouldn't care if she did nothing for him.

He would just look at her with a smile, an empty smile that she couldn't help but find so sad, his green eyes showing nothing, like deep under the ice.

Vernon Dursley knew the freak wasn't a normal boy, wasn't even human perhaps.

He never cared for him, never loved him, never wanted him to feel at home.

No really, Petunia's nephew, the son of her whore sister, was just a dead weight leeching on their family.

And they gave him money to care for him! As if he would spare good things on the freak when he had his wonderful little Dudley, the smartest, most beautiful and greatest little boy he ever saw, so much better than the boy.

So Vernon didn't have any remorse making the monster sleep under the stairs, skip dinner or wear hand me down even when he could have easily filled his needs with half the money he got.

He tried helping though:

Petunia would be happy if he managed to beat the magic out of the boy right? He would finally be normal and perhaps he would stop being a shame for their family.

And let's not forget: beating the freak was a wonderful stress reliever:

Al the problem he had in his day, like how his new associate wasn't moved by his threat and refused to obey him or how he didn't manage to get a contract, everything would go away when he would hear the satisfying snap of the freak's bones.

He would take him out of his cupboard, pushing him head first into the kitchen's floor while closing the door with his other hand.

Why the kitchen? Well, it was really the perfect place:

It was easy to clean, so the freak could make his blood disappears easily, it could be closed and it has curtains, so no one could think that he was abusing his nephew, and it was near the cupboard, so he didn't have to make too much effort to throw the boy in the room.

It couldn't have been better.

Usually, he would take the freak in their little... session once a week or more, changing if he was particularly angered or bored and he would generally make sure the freak was recognisable after.

Generally, that was it.

Because today, Vernon Dursley was not going to be nice.

He had had a bad day, with his stupid, rebelling secretary, wanting to find a "new, better job", noticing that the freak's money was already spent earlier that week and he couldn't buy some new toys for his son and most of all, he just learned by Dudley that the freak had changed his mark at school and was cheating on his precious son.

For everything, the freak was going to hurt, he would make him pay.

He would kill the freak tonight.

"Vernon, you can't do that!"

BLAM

"DON'T TELL WHAT I CAN DO IN MY HOME WOMAN!" yelled Vernon, his face purple.

Her husband had actually raised his hand on her.

Shocked, she stood there, in the kitchen, too dazed to realise that Vernon still hadn't stopped beating her nephew, even when he had stopped moving, a pound of blood forming under his head.

"I'LL KILL YOU FREAK!"

It woke her up, finally feeling her cheek burns from the pain, and she realised that her husband was trying to kill her nephew, a little boy of six, the blood of her blood.

And for now, she couldn't feel love anymore, just rage and sorrow.

So she took the nearest thing and brought it down on Vernon's head.

The frying pan impacted with a gong.

She couldn't remember what happened next, everything was a blur.

She thought she called the police, but she couldn't be sure.

Still, now she was here, at her nephew bedside in a hospital, his face pale while doctors desperately tried to save him.

"A chance he isn't dead yet," said one, "they are signs of prolonged abuse," said another.

She wants to say that she didn't know but she can't bring herself to lie.

Vernon's going to face the tribunal soon, Dudley is sitting next to her, the six-year-old not understanding what's happening and Harry is still on his hospital bed, looking too small, too thin in the white sheets.

So she waits, for hours, for days, perhaps for weeks, the hospital put her a bed next to Harry's and she only moves to care for Dudley or herself.

She doesn't even go to the tribunal, it's not important, they already have all the proofs.

Vernon is given 20 years in prison for abuse of a minor, misuse of founds, assaults on his secretary ( Petunia can't even bring herself to be surprised) and attempted murder.

She's not happy, but she's not really sad. She understood that her love was dead but somehow it still hurt. At least, Dudley and Harry will be major when he's out of prison.

Dudley doesn't understand why he can't see his dad again.

The madam from the hospital say that he was a bad man and his mum don't say anything, she just stares silently at the freak (Harry she insists), waiting for something.

Why doesn't he just wake up? He's boring and his mum is sad because of him! Does he do that on purpose? If dad was there he would take care of him!

Dudley threw one tantrum, then two, but his mum wouldn't stop staying with the boy, and where's his dad?

So now he just stares at the freak too, waiting for the universe to unravel, or something.

Everything is dark.

"I am dead" ask Harry to himself.

He can't be sure, but somehow he always sought that there was at least... something when you died, not just an empty void to starre in for all eternity.

'Is someone there?"

Why did he ask? Vernon killed him, or put him into a coma, that's it, so who would answer his cries.

"Yes," said a voice.

The child turned around to face a tall man with dark hair and red eyes.

"Tom." he greeted.

The other said nothing, there is nothing to say, they just stood, perfectly still, looking at nothing and waiting, waiting for something to finally happen.

"You should wake up now. Your... Aunt is waiting."

Harry just smiled, it was not a happy smile but neither was it sad, it just was.

"I guess I do have to go back, hmm?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

"Farewell Harry Potter..."

Emerald eyes snapped open.

So here's the chapter!

I guess it's perhaps a bit strange at the end, with all the point change of point of view... er...

*cough awkwardly*

Still, I hope you liked it!

In the next chapter, Harry and his relatives move out of Britain and a new, important character meet Harry.

Happy new year, and don't forget, reviews are the author chocolate! Or coffee! or really, whatever you live on xD