Prologue

Everything you can recognize belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm only borrowing it to write this fic.

This is my first fanfiction. Do review. Constrictive criticism is always welcome.

Harry Potter, lying in the cupboard that had acted as his room for the past 5 years, was waiting for the clock to strike 12. Twenty-five minutes and he would finally be 6 years old. Not that his birthday was anything to celebrate for his relatives, with whom he lived, his maternal aunt Petunia, uncle Vernon and his cousin, if you could call the fat lump that, Dudley. No, he had every reason to believe that they detested the day with all they had, but he always waited for this day in hopes that someone, anyone, would come for him and take him away to somewhere he could call a home.

He looked up at the clock, 11:40, twenty minutes left. His relatives were perfectly normal people and this was the reason they hated Harry; he was not normal. Everywhere he went strange things happened, from turning his teacher's hair blue to somehow repairing the alarm clock his relatives had given him after Dudley broke it. That was clock he, now, held in his hands and these occurrences were the reason they called him a freak. They didn't physically hurt him, well except his cousin. Harry was his favourite punching bag and "Harry Hunting", where he and his friends chased Harry and beat him if he got caught, was his favourite game.

The clock ticked 11:45, fifteen minutes to twelve. He thought about what his relatives would give him for his birthday, not that he cared. Last year he got a broken cloth hanger and the dubious pleasure to start cooking for his relatives, now that he could reach the stove. He didn't want a score of gifts like his cousin but a gift and a kind "Happy Birthday" would be nice. He shook his head to get rid of the impossible dream. At least one good thing had come out his last birthday, he was now allowed to go out of the house on his own, even if it was done so he could bring the groceries and stuff.

He looked down to see that ten minutes were left now, his thoughts straying to what his birthday, and life, would have been like if his parents had not died in the car crash like his aunt had told him. She had said they were no-good drunkards who didn't want him. He had been hurt but some sub-conscious thoughts and memories prevented him from truly believing this. He had had some dreams which he couldn't remember clearly on waking up but vaguely remembered what he thought was a woman's soft singing voice and a man's (or a few men's? he couldn't be sure) deep laugh. He liked to believe it was real and had something to do with his parents.

Just five minutes left. He didn't know anything more about his parent than their names, Lily and James Potter, from when from the time his aunt had 'kindly' consented to tell him when his uncle and cousin were out. Their names sounded like music to his ears and he often smiled after repeating them to himself.

In the last two minutes that was left, he, once again, thought about how good it would be to have someone to love him and care for him. He counted the last 10 seconds and closed his eyes wishing for the same. He slowly opened his eyes and "eep!", he ended up screaming. He put his hands to his mouth stopping himself mid-scream. He strained his ears to listen to any approaching footsteps. There were none, indicating that his relatives didn't hear him. He gave out a sigh of relief and glared at the box wrapped in brown paper lying at the foot of his mattress. He was positive that it wasn't something he had caused. He was wary of it but something about the box was pulling him towards it, it wasn't a bad but a calming, enveloping feeling. He wanted to resist it but ended up pulling the box on his lap and opened the wrapping carefully.

He reached with his hand inside the box and came out holding a solid thing and saw that it was a silver-framed portrait. The portrait was a little larger than his palm and was heavy because the frame appeared to be real silver. It was the most expensive thing he had been allowed to hold in his hands. The portrait was of a handsome, messy black-haired man who wore glasses, Harry had a strange feeling of familiarity when he looked at him, and a very beautiful red-haired woman, both lounging on two easy chairs with their eyes closed. He didn't think he had seen them for as long as he could remember but he felt a strange pull and familiarity towards them. He reluctantly tore his eyes from them and his attention was drawn towards a crest on the centre in the lower part of the frame. It was shaped like a shield. It was a roaring lion in the centre with a pair of swords crossing in front, forming the lower part of the crest and the upper part was shaped like a horizontal scroll with 'POTTER' engraved on it. His family had a crest! On the lower frame was engraved 'James and Lily Potter'. He was almost shocked to dropping the frame for the 3rd time in as many minutes.

It was the first time he was seeing his parents' photos, in his memory. He kept staring at the photo trying to memorise every feature of their faces and how they dressed. He concluded that they were both good-looking and respectable people and that his aunt had been lying about them because they were 'not normal', according to her standards, judging by the way they were dressed in robes.

It was then that he noticed that the back of the frame was soft and lumpy. He turned it over and saw an envelope attached to it's back.