AUTHOR'S NOTE: The characters of the story solely belong to JKR and I'm not making any money out of it

Thanks to Jui (FGHermione) for great beta work and advise.

CHAPTER 3

A small boy was backing into a corner, whimpering as a huge man stood above him. The boy was small and skinny, with jet black hair and bright green eyes. He looked even more emaciated wearing clothes that were awfully big for him. There was a red handprint on his cheek and bruises on his hand.

The big, beefy man above him was hollering like a maniac.

"You useless piece shit, how many times should I repeat to you no to display your unnaturalness, you ungrateful freak!" he roared.

He looked dangerous with his face an alarming shade of red and the brandishing of his hands, as though wanting to hit the small boy again.

Behind him stood a woman with a tall neck and a horse-like face, looking disgusted at the sight of the boy.

Beside the woman stood a very large boy with blond hair who was eagerly watching the scene that was taking place in front of him, looking as though nothing would make him happier except perhaps getting a chance at having a go at the skinny boy himself.

"We fed you, clothed you, provided a roof above you and this is how you repay us? By displaying your freakishness so that the whole world will know, you stinking pile of a -"

"Shut up!" the boy shouted.

"What did you say, boy?", the man said in a deadly whisper, his voice quivering slightly.

"I said, shut up", the boy repeated.

His uncle, aunt, and cousin looked surprised for a moment. He didn't know what had made him shout at his uncle, something which would only lead to more bruises; but all the years of resentment, hatred, and misery had become too much to hold back any longer.

He didn't know how he had ended up on top of the school roof, but he wouldn't have been there in the first place if his oaf of a cousin and his gang hadn't chased him.

He didn't know why weird things happened around him. Those things weren't in his control, but he wouldn't let his so-called family do whatever they wished to him. Not anymore. He wouldn't bow down like a coward and a pathetic, weak cretin (a word which his uncle liked to use) anymore.

He was tired of it: the beating, the humiliation, the insults, and the bullying. At least he could do something about this now.

Consequences be damned. He wouldn't back down today.

"Are you shouting at me, boy? You no-good, worthless -"

" You're the worthless piece of junk, not me. I was barely fed. I live in a bloody cupboard with spiders crawling in it. I wear the rags of your fat lump of a son which would fit four people at the same time. Making me work all the time, treating me like a slave. You're the lot who are ungrateful and a bunch of morons. You're -"

BAM

A beefy hand connected to the boy's jaw, and the force of the blow threw him backward. He could see stars in his eyes. His uncle was advancing on him, raising his ham-like fist for another blow.

"You… You -" it looked as though he couldn't find a suitable insult. His face was screwed up in anger and he looked the most dangerous the boy had ever seen him. The man swung his fat fist, something which would surely have knocked the boy unconscious if connected.

The boy ducked the coming blow and ran past him, pushing the thin horse-like woman aside, and finally, he was out of the front door, running away from years of neglect and abuse.

He didn't know what he would do, how he would survive. But he didn't care about it at the moment. He somehow felt lighter than he had ever felt, as though he could face anything. The triumph of holding his ground and standing up for himself was flowing through him.

The pain of the blows didn't bother him much. Pain was not new to him. All that mattered was he felt strong for the first time in his life.

Harry woke up abruptly from his restless sleep. It was still early in the morning. there was no noise of bustling nor the smell of bacon, indicating that even Mrs. Weasley was still asleep. He still felt drowsy but knew that sleep would evade him.

Harry didn't want to start his day thinking about his past. But his mind betrayed him like usual, refusing to come back from his past.

He still remembered that day in the dream vividly, it was more of a memory than a dream.

The decision to leave the house that day had made him face many hardships, more than he had ever faced at the Dursleys.

But he had never regretted that decision to this day. It had made him strong, made him see the world from a different perspective. Not to mention that those hardships were because of a decision he had made rather than because his family hated the very thought of him.

A few days after that was when he had first discovered his magic. That there really was something weird about him. (He didn't want to think about it as freakishness or unnaturalness.)

He remembered being hungry; his stomach aching with hunger pangs and wishing desperately for the loaf of bread in the shop. It had miraculously come to him soaring, and as luck would have it, no one saw it happening. He had gaped at the bread in his hand, wondering whether he had turned delusional because of his hunger.

But hunger had finally won over curiosity and he had eaten it slowly, knowing he would make himself sick if he wolfed it down in one go.

He had started contemplating all the weird things that had happened around him. His hair growing overnight, his teacher's wig turning blue, appearing on the roof of his school, and many other things.

Now as he gave the matter a deep thought, he could tell that all these instances had happened when he had been desperate.

What if he could do them consciously, he had mused, already alight with the excitement of learning magic or witchcraft or whatever it was.

It had given him some hope that he may have some advantage in those bleak times.

He had practiced it continuously, concentrated on doing something, anything.

He could recall trying to move things, summon them and all the things he could think of which and things which he felt wouldn't be too hard

It had taken him a week to finally do something.

He had levitated the cardboard box in which he was sleeping, and was happy for what felt like admittedly the first time.

And slowly he had learned summoning and levitating and other things which helped him nick food and money.

Even though he felt ashamed for having stolen things, London's back street Alleys had taught him to do what he needed to do in order to survive.

Using magic had felt good at the time: it had given him a certain thrill. He had tried to do all sorts of things. Even the smallest tasks had left him exhausted but after continued practice, he had stopped getting drained so quickly.

He thought it was similar to building muscle or something along those lines.

And when he had thought he could survive being alone, fate had become a bitch again and showed him that all was not over yet.

He wrenched his thoughts away from the dark lane to the information he had weaseled out of Remus the previous day.

Trelawney had been hired in 1981, just a few months away from Halloween. She must have given the prophecy during an interview, which must have shown Dumbledore that she did have seer blood in her.

And the interview must have taken place outside Hogwarts. Dumbledore must not have taken the interview seriously or, else he would've conducted it at his office. Or was it because of safety concerns? Where would the meeting have taken place?

He was not very sure about it, but his instincts had never led him astray. So someone must have heard it at the time (He couldn't imagine Dumbledore being careless with that sort of information.) and must have been caught and thrown outside before hearing the entire prophecy.

Dumbledore must have known about it after the eavesdropper had been thrown out, or he wouldn't have let him go away simply without at least erasing his memory.

Something was niggling at the back of his mind. He was missing something, but for the life of him, he couldn't grasp what it was.

The sounds of pots and pans reached him, indicating that Mrs. Weasley was up. Harry's eyes were red and dark circles appeared underneath his eyes, which stood in stark contrast against his pale skin and the lightning bolt scar on the right side of his forehead, courtesy of a cursed knife. With the thought of practicing more Occlumency and restarting his Animagus training, Harry headed to the bathroom.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I know Harry shouldn't have a lightning bolt scar. But I can't imagine him without it. So I have Neville a different one. And the story of how Harry got that scar will be revealed later into the story.

Some action and fighting will be there in one of the next few chapters.