Chapter I

The early morning sun bestowed its young, glistering, yellow sun rays through the edges of the small, green curtain dangling from the skinny thread of string neatly tied to each side of the window, the rays were the only indication Harry Potter needed, to know that it was finally early morning, as he was taking no chances in using a battery charged alarm clock which would have definitely woke up the Dursleys.

A wave of his muscular arm caused the curtain to shift its position into a further, more exposing position allowing all the available rays of the cheery sun to flow freely into the smallest room of the Dursleys' house at Number 4 Privet Drive in Surrey. It sent a warm and peaceful atmosphere into the room which was a particularly good way to start a new day.

And it was one Harry Potter desperately needed.

For he needed everything to be as peaceful and calm as possible especially after the flashback he had, one from the night of Halloween 1981, the night his mother and his father were murdered by the psychotic maniac by the name of Tom Riddle.

Yes, Harry Potter knew everything about Lord Voldemort mostly due to the fact that he had an ability called eidetic memory, he had heard the little, ushered conversations between his parents and Uncle Padfoot in the little cottage in Godric's Hollow, about the foul man who wanted him dead because of some sort of prophecy that had been made. He could remember almost every day of his life, and the worse one was the day - or rather, night - that Lord Voldemort had entered his house and had murdered his dad on the staircase and then his mum right in front of him, and the night kept repeating in his mind, slowly killing him and tearing his sanity apart with each night. And the worst part was that he couldn't help it.

But nothing in the Dursleys' household - especially with a pig in it - could have guaranteed anything close to the verb: peaceful; it was an outrageous a thought as it was as a hope. As much as they tried their best to ignore him, they were very aggravating and no less, infuriating. They wanted for Harry to perhaps lose his temper and be destructive, which would give them a perfect excuse to apply their little methods of 'discipline'.

But Harry had learned to keep his cool and keep his emotions and magic under control with the help of advanced meditation and shutting the thoughts of wanting to snap on his so-called family out of his brain so he could concentrate on more important things like books and - of course - the wonderful art of magic.

He always knew that he had magic within him, but unfortunately, he didn't know any spells like the ones his mother and father had performed with their wands to cheer him up whenever he was upset as a baby. But he still knew how to perform magic, with the art of intent. He just had to imagine what he wanted the outcome to be, or what he wanted, move his hands a little, and bam, he would have it done! He called in Hand Magic or Wandless Magic.

But the Dursleys weren't exactly fond of magic — more of gravely despised. They had made it clear – very clear – that they didn't want him to show his 'freakish abnormalities' (as they put it) to them because they hated it. Which was funny, as it wasn't as if he wanted to show them any of it anyway. They were rather scared of it. And he used that to his own benefit.

For he had made a deal with Uncle Vernon. A deal that insured him his own bedroom – rather than the little cupboard he used to sleep in that was poorly placed under the stairs - and in return, he ensured them their breakfast and dinner, despite the fact that he might unintentionally burn himself...

The bedroom was certainly worth it, though.

It was a good-sized bedroom to him, even though it was the smallest of the four in Number 4 Privet Drive, the walls were decorated with many little shelves that once held the broken junk and toys that were once Dudley's. Harry had thrown them away into the Recycling Bin just outside Privet Drive and replaced them with books he had bought with his own money from working chores for the neighbours.

Harry got up quickly and did some morning stretches before letting out a soft yawn, although he didn't permit himself to do that all the time. He pulled out his blue trainers from under the bed while he waved his hand and an armless grey hoodie and black jogging pants landed on his small and comfortable bed, he was getting ready to do his exercises.

Harry Potter was very muscular for a ten-year-old boy and had an unbelievably toned body for his age – even if he hadn't reached puberty as yet. His hair was raven-black and as messy as ever like he remembered his father's to be, while he had his mother's eyes. Even though they weren't related – by blood and name at least – he had his godfather's – Sirius Black – strong jawline. He preferred to call the man Uncle Padfoot, though.

He grinned to himself as he looked in the mirror, he was quite proud of his body shape and his strength. He was sure that he exercised a lot, yes, but sometimes, it seemed as though he got stronger magically – but he wasn't sure that was the case.

He pulled out his watch and noted that it was 6:05 in the morning. The Dursleys weren't supposed to be awake for an hour or two, since it was a Saturday, and Harry knew they liked to sleep in on a day like today, he wouldn't blame them either, there was peaceful energy surging through the house, which was – without a doubt – something rather unusual in the Dursleys household, but Harry was scared, scared of going to sleep and reliving the worse night of his entire life - his ability to remember that day and every day, in general, was a curse rather than a blessing sometimes.

So Harry silently jogged down the old wooden staircase of Number 4 Privet Drive, fortunately avoiding the creaky steps, and finally, he opened the front door with a tiny creak.

The morning wind hit him and as he sighed contentedly, he closed the door behind him with a flick of his hand and started doing some warm-up stretches twisting his upper torso, touching his toes, pulling his hand over his head and between his shoulder blades, and very soon, he was finally ready.

He pulled on his hoodie and began jogging as his feet finally found the pavement, a few well-known turns and jumps later he was in a rhythmic jog through the suburban city in the outskirts of Surrey. He checked his watch with a raspy breath and nodded as the hot sweat dripped down his forehead and built a bridge between his two neat brows, and then he found what he was looking for, the Surrey Park.

The Surrey Park was relatively small compared to other National Parks countrywide but it was enough for Harry, it was nice and peaceful, calming and subtle, just the way he liked it. He made his way into the park avoiding all contact with the other morning joggers — who were all rather lazy, having stopped jogging every second to take a 'well-deserved break', as he had heard one of them whisper to the other.

Avoiding all of the surprised glances, Harry continued to jog along the concrete pathway, stopping at intervals to sprint a little. After taking a short break, Harry continued his routine: push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and much more. He finished soon and sighed softly, his body aching with pleasurable pain as he conjured a bottle of water and gulped it down in two swings.

After jogging the way back, Harry returned silently to Number 4 Privet Drive where he tiptoed to his bedroom. He sighed, thankful that he hadn't awoken anyone in the Dursley family, and silently plunked down on his bed as he caught his breath. With a swing of his hand, multiple attires swung out from a closet and floated in front of him, waiting for him to pick one of them.

He finally settled for a green silky pair of pants that perfectly matched his eyes and a black t-shirt that matched his hair, he summoned his white, fluffy towel and walked towards the bathroom of the house. The bathroom of Number 4 Privet Drive was small and only had a tiled, glass shower and a toilet along with a cupboard filled with toothbrushes - that also acted as a first aid kit - and a sink with a drill themed faucet – which was due to Uncle Vernon's obsession with his job as the top salesman at a local drilling company called Grunnings.

Harry silently shed his clothes and placed them in the laundry basket that had been just for him – The Freak's Basket as Dudley and Uncle Vernon had called it constantly. When he finally entered the glass shower he turned it on and let the water fall freely on him, he raised his head hoping that maybe the water would wash away his sorrows, the nightmares – or rather the memories – the pain of his aching lightning bolt scar and the aches of the wounds that Vernon Dursley had caused with his hands and his weapons.

He wanted his mum. He wanted his dad. He wanted Uncle Padfoot or Uncle Moony. There was this other guy. Uncle Wormy, Harry had believed him to be, but Harry didn't like him, he didn't seem trustworthy to Harry, although Uncle Padfoot, Uncle Moony, and mum and dad had liked him and really trusted him a lot. But to Harry he certainly didn't seem trustworthy – more like pathetically dimwitted and scared – he looked like the kind of a person to hide behind someone of great power, someone who could protect him from harm.

Harry shook his head summoned his bottle of shampoo – which he hid under his bed back in his small room – and poured the thick, pink liquid onto his hair and massage it in, it was deeply pleasurable. Deeply pleasurable indeed. He cleaned himself properly and took his towel - which he had hung on a metal rack – and dried his hair and then wrapped it around his waist, making his way to his bedroom.

After neatly dressing, he ruffled his hair and went to the kitchen of the house, and took out what needed to be taken out for breakfast, and began cooking.

He rather enjoyed the art of cooking actually, it was something he was very good at and although the Dursleys didn't show or say it he was a very good chef, he could tell they were thinking it. They were having bacon this morning, according to the timetable that had been made, but he wasn't eating any of that fatty rubbish! So he got out some vegetables and began frying them up together while the bacon began to sizzle and a metal spoon started to look after the egg on its own accord.

"Eeek!" It was Aunt Petunia, Good Morning to her too. She always hated magic – they all did.

So Harry took his magically moving spoon and began looking after the egg himself while his other hand switched to and from the bacon and his vegetables, he gave Aunt Petunia – who had opened her eyes to see if it was over – a sincere but very and clearly strained smile.

"Good Morning, Aunt Petunia." He greeted her with a curt nod, the woman with the record of the longest neck in the world – Harry constantly humored himself with that thought – and blonde hair just breathed a sigh of relief and nodded.

"Don't burn anything." She huffed angrily and crossed her arms as she looked down at her nephew, she was so ungrateful for everything he had done in this life for them, how rude. "It's my little Duddykinns Birthday!"

Ah yes! How could he have possibly forgotten that today was the world's third most unfortunate day? Of course after his parents' death and the day he was brought to their dirty doorstep.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry said, holding in a heavy sigh, how much he really wanted to let it out but it would've really caused trouble, "I won't burn the food," he confirmed mentally rolling his eye — that would've caused a world of trouble and a few drops of unwilling given blood.

The woman huffed in annoyance for some unknown reason and walked to her small kitchen garden just outside the circular little porch attached to the little house. Harry directed his attention back to his food and decided that his vegetables were finally finished so he took them off the stove before turning off the bacon as well, doing the same as he did with the vegetables, he then blinked as though he had forgotten something important and just remembered it.

That's because he did.

He groaned and looked over his shoulder to see Aunt Petunia's attention was drawn to her little kitchen garden so he took out two pairs of bread, and buttered them, and placed them on the little grill that had been attached to the counter, he used his magic to silence it so that it wouldn't attract Aunt Petunia, he flicked his hand and while he finished up with the egg, two slices of cheese flew out from the fridge and landed on the bread which made itself a sandwich.

It was for his best friend. Hermione Granger.

Hermione Granger was a bookish girl his age with very bushy hair and buck teeth, he didn't know why, but he liked the way her bushy hair looked, he thought it made her look cute. She could do magic too, but accidentally and not on purpose, Harry figured it was because Hand Magic or Wandless Magic — which he preferred to call it — was a hard feat to meet. She didn't tell her parents about it because she was scared of their reaction to her being a witch. He and Hermione were the best of friends, and inseparable some might say.

And today he was going to meet her, somehow he was desperate to meet her again, she always made the pain go away, both physically — when his muscles are sore from exercise, which she becomes all cross about — and mentally — to which she treats it with a song — and Harry loved her voice so much he thought he might go crazy, so soft and sweet; peaceful and subtle; filled with passion and bliss. They would go to the park and he would push her on the swings or they'd sit by a tree her head on his shoulder and they'd read together, or sometimes she would read for him to calm him down if he was angry or upset, or if he had a flashback.

Because his accident magic disastrously chaotic. There was this time when Dudley had called her sly names and a tree had caught afire while the thunder roared above.

But Hermione was there for him. To calm him down. And he never wanted her to leave. Ever.

He had blurted it out for some reason, that he never wanted her to leave, and she had promised him that she never would. And the weird part was, she could literally kiss away the pain. Bruises were healed by pecks and he was sure that it was her magic, he just wondered why it was showing itself then, and not when they were practicing.

Harry finished plating the Dursleys' food quickly and snapped away the sandwiches to his bedroom to wait for him. He nodded in approval of his fine job and got to work on Uncle Vernon's morning coffee. After carefully placing them all on the dining table, Aunt Petunia came in, she looked at all the food with a hint of approval in her eyes and she looked at Harry and nodded.

Harry nodded and made his way to get his vegetables when the door to the kitchen was viciously swung open and in came the fattest kid in Privet Drive.

No, that can't be right.

Fattest kid in Little Whinging.

No, that can't be right either.

Fattest kid in Surrey.

Now that was surely incorrect.

Fattest kid in Britain?

Nope.

Fattest kid in Europe?

Close enough but acceptable. Dudley Dursley pushed past Harry and excitedly made his way over to his mountain of presents, it looked as though Dudley had gotten his new computer, along with his second television and racing bike, but that didn't make any sense, no sense at all, Dudley wasn't interested in physical activities — unless it was all these years ago when he used Harry as a punching bag, that was before Harry thought himself self-defense — although Harry still got his fair bit of punches from the pig nowadays when he was angered and didn't get his way, which was — not to mention —particularly rare.

Uncle Vernon came in through the door next — although he could barely fit through without getting himself stuck — he looked at Harry and grunted as his way of 'good morning' or just 'oh you're not dead yet'. He then looked at the table and saw all the delicious food prepared and waiting and then he looked back at Harry and narrowed his eyes — if they could get narrowed without his cheek swallowing his eye socket.

He went and said his good mornings to his wife and son — who he added birthday greetings to — and began eating his food and drinking his coffee at intervals while Aunt Petunia did the same — except for the coffee, she had tea — and Dudley started counting his presents — too caught up to eat for the first time in his life ever since Aunt Marge had bought him a new video game.

"Thirty-six!?" An outraged Dudley Dursley asked, his breath quickening as he looked at his two parents — who looked at each other and gulped — with confusion, impatience, and anger all rolled up into one ball as big as Uncle Vernon's tummy, "But last year — last year I had thirty-five!"

Harry sensed a Dudley tantrum making its way and he rolled his eyes as he ate some of his vegetables and drank some Orange Juice he had conjured, but Aunt Petunia was just as fast to see the same thing and she wasted no time in stopping an infamous Dudley Tantrum.

"But you haven't counted the one from Aunt Marge as yet, sweetikins!" She said quickly and ran to her oversized little boy and fixed his hair and bow.

"Fine — but that's only thirty-seven!" He retorted quickly, Harry sighed — earning a glare from Uncle Vernon — and Aunt Petunia rattled her brain for an answer.

"Here's what we'll do!" She said excitedly, "When we go out later with your friend to the zoo, we'll buy you two more presents, okay?" She asked, Harry raised his eyebrows and shook his head, suppressing a sigh before Uncle Vernon spanked him behind the neck back.

"Ok..." Dudley held out his fingers and began confusingly counting his fingers, "That makes... Thirty...? Thirty — err?"

"Thirty-nine, Duddykinns!" Aunt Petunia giggled and touched her son's nose before getting back to her food.

Then all of a sudden — like some button had been pressed — they all turned towards Harry — who was reading The Tales of Sherlock Holmes by Albert Rufendro — which he had summoned from his bedroom. The Dursleys all had scowls on their faces as if books were him performing magic, it was Uncle Vernon who first spoke.

"Today's Duddykinns' birthday, boy," he stated, "That's why I'm not letting you come with us — no matter how much you beg — so find yourself in your room or just get out of our sight as quickly as possible, and do not try and acting smart or you'll have to face the consequences of your actions, am I understood?" He asked, Harry just stared at him amusingly as he chewed on a carrot, it wasn't as if he had wanted to go with them anywhere, where did Uncle Vernon possibly have gotten that idea from?

Harry choked a chortle and nodded — almost frantically, "I'll be in the park, with Hermione."