Authors Note: This fic is Non Canon. If you don't like fics like this, please don't read it and then get mad at me. You have been warned. Remember, I'm not J.K Rowling. (Although if I was I wouldn't be doing this. I'd be reading this and cringing slightly).
Disclaimer: I own none of the characters in this fic except for the ones I myself made up. All others belong to the wise and wonderful J.K. Rowling, may she live a long and happy life.
Introduction
The wizarding war, according to Dumbledore, was over. Voldemort had been driven into hiding, the Death Eaters had been all but disbanded. The "Light" side had won. According to many other wizards and witches, the war was ongoing, just in a much quieter way. Small battles in politics, feuds between the old families, little things. Just because no real sides had been taken, didn't mean that something wasn't bubbling just under the surface. It was just a matter of time before it boiled over and spilled into the lives of the innocent. The hope of many was resting solely on the shoulders of a tiny black haired toddler with a lightning bolt scar.
Chapter One
A tiny little black haired boy was sitting in the corner of an incredibly, abnormally clean living room. His legs were crossed, his head bent in concentration. In his small hands he held an ugly mustard yellow sock, which he was attempting to mend. On the floor next to him was a shirt and a pair of pants, both crudely stitched in several places. As he fumbled with the needle, he accidentally pricked his finger. A squeak of surprise and pain escaped him as he dropped the sock and bent over his hand, inspecting the injured digit.
As he looked up, intending to resume his chore, he came face to knee with a pair of legs. A hand came down from above and slapped him hard in the face. Tears started to slide down his cheeks, but he didn't make a sound.
"HOW DARE YOU START YELLING WHILE YOUR COUSIN IS TAKING A NAP! GET TO YOUR CUPBOARD, AND YOUR UNCLE WILL DEAL WITH YOU WHEN HE GETS HOME."
The boy was yanked to his feet, and dragged out the living room down a hallway. His Aunt unlocked a door under the stairs, opened it, and then used her foot to shove the boy into the extremely dark cupboard.
Landing hard on his hands and knees, the boy waited for his eyes to adjust as best they could before he slowly stood up. Stretching his arms out before him, he inched forward until his hands brushed against something soft. His fingers latched onto it, and he pulled a ragged and dirty baby blanket into his arms. Sinking to the floor, he began to rock back and forth, dreading the moment that his uncle got home. As his unhappiness grew, a very faint glow started to outline his body. Then there was a flash of pure gold, and the little boy toppled over. He was deathly pale, and sound asleep. The flash was a magical block being broken, and the blast, undetectable by muggles, flowed out of the house and into the surrounding neighborhood.
A few blocks away from Number 4 Privet Drive, down a dark alley, something moved. A tiny creature raised its head, its orb-like eyes wide.
"Master! He is needing my help! He is being in trouble!"
There was a loud popping noise, and the bat eared creature disappeared.