Chapter 1:

The Dursleys prided themselves on their own normalcy, believing themselves to be the naturally dominant people in Little Whining to whom all should look for inspiration. Petunia and Vernon Dursley both loved their son, 'little' Dudders more than anything and would perfectly fine with bending anything in their way to do whatever their petulant and untamed child requested, as difficult a task as that was for the child that could crawl but was too heavy to move very far and still spoke with his entire vocabulary of, mama, daa, food and poopy, all shouted at whoever it was directed too.

Despite their ultimate goal of being the perfectly conforming and natural family they strived for, the pair knew of oddities far more unnatural than any other and believed in the purging of such filth from their pure and perfect world. This filth was magic, the source of Petunia's own sense of inferiority as her sister had been accepted into this world that she had been denied entry to, and her parents hadn't even acted different due to it, still treating the pair the same as ever and equally. This only enraged her as she was always supposed to be better treated and her sister didn't deserve her parents attention. Vernon had been quick to accept his wife's view on the matter when he learned of it and they had been fast to cut off all ties with Lily and her band of freaks when their perfect baby boy was born, not wanting him to be exposed to it at all.

Their perfect world was soon to come crashing down as a fitfully sleeping baby sat in the thin sheets of cloth that had been wrapped around him as he was placed in a basket and left on the doorstep of number 4 Privet Drive in the freezing cold, only kept warm and safe by the unconscious heating charm he had placed on the sheets when the babbling old man had ditched him there.

Opening the door to fetch the paper for her 'perfect' husband, Petunia let out a shriek and softly lifted the basket on the doorstep, taking a closer peek at its contents. Gazing upon the baby she was soon to identify it as her nephew, of whom she'd so far only seen the couple photos she'd been sent by her 'annoying brat' of a sister that seemed intent on remaining in contact, despite her rebuffing each branch held out by her sister.

Looking at the cute angelic face, the largest differences she could notice from the last image she had been sent, was the growth in the tuft of black hair atop her nephew's head and the lightning bolt shaped scar that marred his forehead. Staring at the boy Petunia's anger and resentment of her sister only grew encompassing the 'troublesome imp' before her as she saw the perfect child her sibling had. It was never fair; her sister had always gotten everything she wanted, and she was left working tooth and nail for everything she had. Carrying the basket inside, Petunia set it down on the dining table before lifting up the note left behind. Opening the folded parchment, Petunia read,

Dear Dursleys,

It is with great sorrow in my heart that I must inform you of the tragic passing of James and Lily Potter. Last night in a brutal and disgusting act of terrorism, James and Lily's abode was attacked and they were killed in the act of protecting their child.

As a result of their actions taken toward keeping Harry safe a protection bonded by blood was generated. As such, if Harry has a home with those related to him by blood, he will be protected by what are known as Blood Wards, a set of defences impassable for his enemies.

It is therefore my duty to inform you that as the last blood relatives left for the young Harry Potter, it is necessary for you to take him in. Despite this, you will also gain from taking your nephew in as his protections shall extend to your family, warding you against the followers of the now dead terrorist who attacked last night.

I must request that you refrain from informing Harry of his magical nature and raise him as one of your own in order to protect him from the attention he has gained in our society due to his involvement in the fall of the terrorist.

Until he has reached his majority at the age of 17, I wish you luck and god fortune in the raising of your kin.

Kindly,

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Headmaster of Hogwarts.

Petunia was impressed, despite the fact that this man was obviously one of the filth that plagued their world, of the titles he held and obvious authority. Despite this she was disgusted by the letter. With little thought as to the passing of her 'dear sister', Petunia was aggravated by the expectation for her to care for the runt that was dumped on her doorstep. The only thing stopping her from tossing the imp out like last weeks trash was the warning of a threat in the letter, and if there was one thing that she was unwilling to do, that was risking the safety of her perfect dudders, even if it came at the cost of housing the greatly inferior child of her sibling.

Around an hour later that morning, Vernon Dursley came stomping down the stairs, fortunately not waking their sons sleep, and was greeted by his favourite thing each morning, the big and greasy breakfast prepared by his dutiful wife. Despite this, there was something accompanying his breakfast that saw hi develop a red tinge to his complection.

"What is this at MY table?" Vernon almost shouted, sneering at the obstruction to his ideal morning.

Handing the note over to her husband, Petunia sat next to him at the table and awaited in silence for his response. It took a while as Vernon struggled through the note whilst his complexion gradually grew darker and entered a purple tone that displayed his unrelenting rage. Turning to his wife, he yelled, forgetting all regard for their dosing son and without the slightest regard to the soon awake and frightened, yet silent, child on the table, "I don't want this scum in my house. We shall take him back to these hooligans and he can be shipped off to god knows where!"

Cowering from her husbands formidable anger, Petunia replied in a meek voice, "I know it is far from ideal but this protection that is spoken of will keep dudders safe, that is most important here."

After a few moments of silence, Vernon came to his conclusion, "Very well. But the imp will learn his place in this household. As soon as he is capable, he shall clean and cook, maintain the house and any other chores we see fit. In return for his servitude we shall allow him to remain here and try and remove his disgusting taint however we can." The patriarch of the Dursley family spoke with certainty, believing his actions to be virtuous and overly generous.

Agreeing with her husband's judgement, Petunia whisked the child away, leaving her husband to his breakfast which he consumed after tossing the note into the flames.

Unfortunately for Harry, whilst he could understand what his newly discovered relatives were saying he was far from knowing what it meant and so all he took away was that his parents are truly gone and that this was his new home.

Over the next few months, Harry didn't speak a word and refrained from moving much after he had walked over to a toy in the baby room he shared with his cousin and had provoked a wailing tantrum from Dudley as he did something his cousin couldn't and retrieved a toy he wanted. This resulted in Petunia slapping his face and causing a painful sting as she scolded him, ripped the toy from his weak grasp and handed it to his cousin, then put him in his crib.

Despite the harm caused to Harry, this was nothing in comparison to what had happened when Vernon witnessed Harry using his magic to summon a blanket to cover him when he been left bare, other than his old and ripped onesie that had come from his cousin, attempting to quell the shivering cold he was exposed to.

This act had invoked Vernon's angered response, grabbing Harry by the wrist he yanked the boy up, dislocating his shoulder with a wet pop, accompanied by a quiet squeal of pain from harry, and dangling the boy in the air. Whilst spitting in his face, Vernon's purple face yelled, "You disgusting imp, you will never use such filth in this household, or ever again. Using your stupid magic will not be tolerated and is an abomination to nature. Do you understand!?"

After Harry nodded timidly, the movement almost blending in with his now violently shaking body as fear gripped the infant, "Good, now if I witness that again I will make sure you regret it." Vernon said with conviction before tossing Harry back into the crib, causing the 1 year old's head to collide with the barred edges of the crib and being knocked unconscious. Fortunately, Harry's great power and connection to his magic allowed the concussion and dislocated shoulder to heal overnight without lasting damage.

After this, Harry had stopped using the abilities he once found such joy in as he played with his parents and his uncles and aunt (Sirius, Remus and Amelia). As a result of his avoidance of gaining any attention Harry had gone almost unnoticed in the household, often missing meals due to his own self-induced seclusion.

Unfortunately, Harry's 'celebration' of his second birthday 9 months after his arrival was the awarding of responsibilities around the household, which involved cleaning the insides and weeding the gardens to start off with. Harry struggled with these tasks on his birthday as for the day he received more attention from his aunt and uncle than ever before. Despite having wanted loving attention, this was anything but, as Petunia struck him on the legs with a bamboo cane whenever he was performing his chores at any point below her standards.

Despite being able to talk, Harry barely mumbled any words, and those were 'yes sir' or 'yes ma'am' which he had been taught to refer to his aunt and uncle as through being whipped with the cane each time he didn't. Whilst Dudley enjoyed his toys, still knowing few words and not knowing how to walk, Harry was slowly piled with more work, from cleaning the cars, to repainting the exterior of the house, to cleaning and ironing the clothes. Through his tasks, Harry often found himself wounded by things such as splinters and burns but had soon learnt to work through them as his uncle had backhanded him when he had tried to take a break to take care of the injuries.

Even worse was when he had decided to take the risk of healing a deep cut, he had gotten on his hand from putting a stake in the ground as he tied it to a plant to keep it upright. Channelling his power into his hand as only felt natural to Harry, he watched in joy as his hand healed back to perfection, without even a scar, unfortunately Vernon had witnessed this. As a result, Vernon had decided it was time for Harry to leave his room with Dudley and he found his new room in the cupboard under the stairs where he was thrown and locked into in order to heal from the backhands and slaps that he had received from his uncle that left him bleeding and bruised.

This was the first time Harry had cried since arriving as he had slowly healed his injuries with his magic as he was curled in a ball on the cold hard floor of the cupboard that housed only cobwebs and spiders. The next morning, he had been sent straight back to work and so his life continued.

After yet another year, Harry had the joy of his third birthday 'celebrations' which saw him once again trailed around the house as he was instructed to cook and clean afterwards, using a stool to reach the stove and benches as he received more burns to his hands. Avoiding showing his pain or disgruntlement, Harry worked through it, cooking the three main meals of the day, multiple times as they were often rejected, which was accompanied by a sharp slap or two. Between which, Harry had been told to continue his usual chores and did so without the complaints that he knew would only result in more pain.

And so, continued his next year in his life of misery. Unfortunately, along with the added tasks that were placed upon Harry, so did the violence towards Harry grow. What had once been restrained to slaps and backhands, as harry grew older, Vernon begun to hit him with closed fists, causing more damage, whilst Petunia used her bamboo cane more and more often. In many rough cases, Harry had succumbed to fractured ribs, arms and legs, along with cuts and bruises that were painful and exhausting to heal in time for his next day's work.

Furthermore, Harry begun hearing things, things he didn't understand. As Vernon got angry and hit Harry, he was able to hear Vernon saying things about him, horrible things, yet when he looked, Vernon wasn't saying anything. This happened with Petunia as well and it took him month to figure out that the painful and foul things that he heard about him were the thoughts of his uncle and aunt. This only furthered the emotional pain and it was only in the weeks approaching his 4th birthday that Harry was able to block out the thoughts of others and control his newfound ability.

In the privacy of his own cupboard, that was not fitted with a bed made from his wardrobe of Dudley's large, torn and dirty, hand-me-downs, under the thin scratchy blanket that he had been given, Harry was recovering from his most recent and most brutal of beatings and he came to the decision that he wouldn't read people's minds if he could help it as it was wrong and he didn't wish the problems he had being inflicted on another, not even the perpetrators of such actions.

Finally, after the year that seemed to drag on, Harry's 4th birthday saw him greeted with two more gifts, the first, and unplanned by his relatives, was Dudley's new role in shoving him around and hurling abuse at him. The second and far worse left Harry barely healed the morning after and crying from his second time in this horrible place. After having served dinner, of which he was given the few scraps the Dursleys had left for him as per usual, the grossly malnourished Harry retreated to his cupboard where he hoped to be left undisturbed.

This was not to be, as after Dudley had gone to sleep the locks on his cupboard unlatched with a seemingly deafening clang as his uncles meaty fist grabbed him by his shirt and wrenched him from his safe-haven. Next came a strike to the face before his hands were bound to the post at the bottom of the stairs with him facing away from his uncle and aunt. Vernon had then announced his intention saying, "It is time for me to remove the taint from you, as it seems to remain even in this perfectly normal place. You will be quiet, or you will regret it, and you should be grateful for all we are doing for filth like you."

And so, it began, A whip was removed and cracked across his back eliciting a hiss through clenched teeth as Harry held his tears back, a burning fire erupting across his back as his skin already broke away leading his blood to be soaked into the tear in his shirt.

For a year he was beaten and whipped, his treatment growing progressively worse as time went on. A weekly whipping became a daily affair and knives were pulled out for special occasions or when his uncle began to grow bored.

At the beginning, Vernon's actions seemed to be motivated by a real desire to remove the 'taint' that he saw within Harry, but as he experimented and found out which forms of abuse worked best on making him squeal it became a game to the obese man, taking out his own problems on the helpless child.

Food became more and more scarce to him and if not for his almost dormant powers he would have surely passed away one night in his sleep and no one would be any the wiser as to his existence. As his next birthday approached, Harry's dreams were plagued with horrors of his own minds creation as to what his relatives would 'gift' him with this year.

It therefore came as a great surprised when on his birthday, Harry received the nicest pair of clothes he had ever owned, even though they were still Dudley's worn out and ripped hand-me-downs, ones that were still in wearable conditions usually went to charity and not him. He even received an old book bag that had the strap broken, along with a notebook and pencil.

The purpose of which he soon discovered when he was sent to kindergarten with Dudley at the beginning of the new term. Harry, whilst still beaten and having endless chores and little sleep, was happier than he ever had clear memories of being. He would always pay attention in class and was excelling in everything they did, the teachers already starting him on material from first and second years of primary schooling.

He didn't interact much with the other children, them avoiding the impossibly small and scrawny kid who never talked obviously promoted this. But Harry didn't mind, he was finally away from that hell that he was supposed to call home and he learnt so much about everything.

Their teacher, Ms Morley, had taken a liking for Harry and always took care of him when he came with scraps for lunch, and helped him in his further study. After finishing his pencil, and later his notebook, she was soon to replace them. Such kindness Harry had never known, and he was overjoyed every day upon being thrown from the car in front of the kindergarten.

The term passed too fast for Harry's liking and by the end of it Ms Morley was calling him a genius, Harry not understanding why, but it was due to his completion of third year primary schooling already. He had also taken up the hobby of spending his break time sketching anything that came to mind in his sketchbook that Ms Morley had given him upon seeing him doodle in his notebook.

Further to Ms Morley's astonishment, Harry was able to create sketches so realistic that she had to look twice to make sure, and she had even gotten one framed to hand on the wall, the drawing depicting rolling hills of the English countryside with a small yet cosy seeming house perched atop one of the hilltops on the right, the sun dipping below the horizon. Even in the greyscale that it was drawn with, Harry only using his pencil, it seemed almost like it could come to life.

It was therefore with great sadness that Harry's happiness was crushed by his relatives upon the evening where parents were invited to discuss their children's experience throughout the term. When sitting down with Ms Morley, Vernon and Petunia had been exhilarated to here how their young Dudders was a child genius and were excited to hear that he would without doubt gain entry into whichever prestigious school he wanted.

Therefore, it came as great shock as their teacher slipped 'Dudders' name in, believing she had somehow mistaken the name when she said, "young Harry is such a pleasure to teach, with his endless thirst to learn and enthusiasm to match." When she continued this trend, dread entered his uncle and aunt as they realised what was happening.

The blatant torture he received that night for 'hindering their angels learning' was something that would never leave his mind, and likely the scars would never leave his body. He had spent the term trying his best to avoid anyone seeing his everlasting bruises, cuts and scars, learning not to flinch despite the pain of often broken limbs as to not get noticed by anyone. After that day he had been fortunate is was a holiday because he couldn't help the tremors of his body as it attempted to overcome the torture as he lugged his way through the day, completing his chores as best he could.

When he finally returned to school it was a welcome respite to the daily torture which his uncle and aunt now had to avoid as to 'not give away his rotten nature'. His teacher Ms Morley, as observant as she was over her student was unable to perceive Harry's meticulously concealed pain, Harry knowing what would await him should someone find out. Despite now failing the greater majority of his work in class in order to fade into the shadow of Dudley's admittedly pathetic achievements, Harry still worked with the teacher throughout the rest of the school year, in the end having finished the greater majority of work that was taught in all of primary school, much to Ms Morley's confusion due to his failing in regular work.

After the kindergarten let out for summer holidays, Harry was plunged into the darkness and despair of his uninterrupted stay in the hell hole of 4 Privet Drive, Little Whining. The endless chores, abuse from all his relatives, both physical and verbal, drove Harry deeper into his despair than ever before, and he had repeatedly considered whether it was better to stick it through and make it out or just end it all here. His greatest motivation to keep going was his eventual return to school, and the safe haven he had found there as he goes unnoticed by most.

Whilst many would be disappointed, Harry was relieved to hear that due to his failing grades, and uncles insistence, he was being forced to repeat the year of kindergarten he had already been through.

Returning to Ms Morley's class, Harry had spent the next year enduring the ceaseless punishment that accompanied his mere existence, yet also began his study of secondary school education, finishing the first three years from reading and talking with his teacher alone, although he still forced himself to fail the few pieces of assessment given to him in class.

Regardless of his failing, this year Ms Morley had been very insistent on Harry's moving up into first year of primary school and wanting to avoid any attention possible, Harry's aunt and uncle had soon folded to her demands, taking out their anger in the usual beatings of the defenceless child they held captive.

Primary school had only gotten worse and worse as the other children stopped not taking notice of him and only saw a soft target, adding more abuse and mistreatment into Harry's life. The new teacher being one with little regard for the people he teachers and a mind solely focused on his next pay check, resulting in Harry only learning from his new favourite place, the library.

He had found peace between the aisle of books, heavily laden with knowledge yet to be found. Reading had granted him the ability to extend himself and learn more than he had ever before known, not restricted by the necessary aid of others that had burden him in the past. Furthermore, the librarian was both kind to him, giving him snacks as he stayed back after school each day in order to read and escape the Dursleys, much to their anger, and she was great at seeming scary to those that would disturb her domain, meaning none of his usual bullies, including his worst, Dudley and his 'gang'.

What had begun as a purely academic quest for the young boy had evolved upon the librarians insistence that he read an old book she had enjoyed that she had found left in her house beneath a bed when she had bought the place off an eccentric couple who had recently had a child.

'The tales of Beedle the Bard' had Harry engrossed, with each page there was a trove of new amazing things to read and imagine and secretly he had hoped that he was like some of the people in the book, using amazing powers he once thought he himself had possessed despite such beliefs being thoroughly beaten out of him.

He had done many sketches in his now almost full sketchbook of himself wearing billowing robes and using magic to help those who couldn't protect themselves and for an unknown reason he felt like the wands were unnecessary, instead depicting himself with outstretched arms, pure magic flowing around his hands in a wild yet contained manner.

Despite the joy he had found deep within the library of his school, it was soon to come to its inevitable close, as did all happiness in Harry's life, giving way to more pain, something he had practically become numb to after the years, much to his relatives' chagrin.

At this point, in the summer after Harry's first year of primary school, Harry's strength to survive both his injuries and lack of nourishment came solely from his magic that was maintained by his unbreaking will to find the light that he faintly remembered within memories of being held by his parents, one of his few recollections being the soft smiles on their faces as they peered down at him.

Unknown to him, his magic had grown, with its constant use due to the abuse of his family having the opposite affect from what was intended. Strengthened by its use, Harry's connection grew, and his magic became more natural to him, flowing through him without thought as any person's blood would. At this point his magical power rivalled that of a full grown average adult wizard or witch, the only thing lacking was the skill to use it that adults were taught through their schooling.

As Dudley had grown older, he was physically stronger than Harry and far larger, having been fed an exuberant amount all his life compared to scraps that wouldn't sustain a common rat. As such Harry had only gained another source of physical and emotional abuse to which his body had to repair from.

It was upon the eve of his 7th birthday that Harry finally broke, In a fit of anger after Dudley had thrown him down the stairs and broken his leg, Harry's often suppressed magic surfaced instantly healing his leg, snapping it from its awkward angle back into place before he stood and threw his approaching cousin back up the stairs and through the wall at the top into the spare and empty bedroom.

Having already approached at the sound of conflict Petunia and Vernon were out of their minds in rage seeing the freak harm their child with his taint. Harry still reeling in anger at the comment Dudley had made before throwing him, "You're such a stupid freak, just like your useless, weak parents. No wonder they dumped you, the idiots are probably as retarded as you." When Vernon grabbed his arm preparing him for the beating and whipping that would make the others seem like kindness, Harry banished him through the coffee table in the living room behind him and onto the floor where he was knocked unconscious immediately.

Petunia looked fearful and, as her fright and anger warred inside her, she stood frozen. Taking this opportunity, Harry made the decision that would forever change his life and future.

He ran.

Thanks for reading and I'll see you next chapter :)