I forgot to do this in the first chapter, so I'll say it twice in this one. I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N All right, it's not much of a chapter, but there will be another one soon, and I just posted the other one yesterday, so you can't really complain.

-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_- signals a change in point of view, and is oddly enough very fun to do.

Re-posted now that Erfa had time to go through it. It should be easier to read now.

Chapter two

The ten years were up, but they wouldn't be seeing their little hero again anytime soon. As a matter of fact, Dumbledore decided it would be best not to tell Harry about magic yet. Why show him what he can't have, especially considering what the press would do with that information? So for now, only Minerva McGonagall and Dumbledore himself knew the truth, but it wouldn't stay that way for long.

Ignorance is bliss had never applied less. Harry Potter sat in his cupboard wrapping the cut on his left forearm in one of his oldest and most threadbare shirts. He had received it just a few hours ago. Harry was dusting the living room, when Dudley walked through and knocked Aunt Petunia's favorite crystal vase to the floor where it shattered beyond repair. The sharp jagged pieces went cascading across Harry's bare feet, but the pain of those small cuts was nothing when compared to the beating he got for breaking it. He was even going to have a new scar from the cut he was wrapping, which he had received from a rather large shard of the vase that he landed on when his uncle threw him to the ground.

Harry glanced at the glowing numbers of his wristwatch. It had of course been Dudley's, but was now too small for his fat wrist, so his parents had bought him a brand new gaudy gold one for his birthday.

According to the one Harry was staring at he was now eleven years old and had been for the past six minutes. He tied off his makeshift bandage, singing a soft and tired rendition of "Happy Birthday" to himself. He laid back and stared at the ceiling, wishing for someone to come and save him. The logical part of his brain scolded him for such stupid thoughts, and he fell asleep.

Harry spent his birthday avoiding the Dursleys. He browsed through all of the shops in town but hated the way the managers of each shop would follow him around. He didn't blame them. He would probably try to keep an eye on the kid in the unnecessarily baggy clothes who never bought anything too if he were them. It was just a bit of an annoyance.

He ended up in the park, where Mrs. Figg was out feeding the pigeons. She ended up being the only person to tell him happy birthday.

He spent the next day the same way, and the next, and the next. The monotony was killing him, but he supposed it was an easier death than if he stuck around the house and let Uncle Vernon do it.

September first came, and a great party was held for Dudley's going away. Harry was locked up beneath the stairs. He read the book he had taken out from the library by flashlight and listened to the babble of happy voices from beyond the door.

Harry closed his eyes and imagined he was out there, not with the Dursleys, but at his own party, with the Potters and all of there friends. They were all singing "For He's a Jolly Good Fellow", and his mother was bringing a lit cake in from the kitchen with their congratulations scrawled across the top.

He opened his eyes. There was no point in his stupid fantasies so why should he spend so much time on them. From that moment on Harry refused to indulge in such childish things.

Dudley left for school the next day and Harry was sure Aunt Petunia would flood the train station with the tears she was making such a show of shedding.

Hours later Harry was laying in his cupboard trying carefully not to move his shoulder which had been jarred against the stairs when he and his uncle had been "discussing" whether or not he should have laughed when Dudley slipped on the step onto the train. Uncle Vernon made his point, and Harry decided he needed to learn to control his emotions, if he was going to live through the next seven years here.

The next day dawned, though you couldn't tell by the sky outside, and Harry woke to a completely silent house. He got up and put on his pathetic excuse for a uniform. After grabbing an apple for breakfast he made his way out the door and down Privet Drive. By the time he reached the school there was still a full two hours before classes were to start. None of the faculty had even made it there yet.

Harry took the worn looking library book he had borrowed out of the patched old bag of Dudley's, and picked up where he had left off.

A chapter and a half later, just as the unlikely hero entered the ill disguised secret lair of the quasi-evil villain, Harry's attention was called elsewhere. A man with slightly graying hair towered over him as he looked up. He flinched back at the intimidating presence.

-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-

David Blackwell got out of his trusty old SUV and walked up to his school, merrily whistling some tune he didn't remember the name of. The song was put out of his mind as he neared the building.

There was a small boy perched on one of the benches in front of the school, his black hair looking as though it hadn't been combed in several days. He checked his watch to make sure he hadn't lost his mind. He walked over and stood in front of the boy. He recognized the book as one some of his older students were required to read, but the boy wasn't old enough to be in one of those classes. In David's opinion, he didn't look old enough to be wearing the uniform that was nearly falling off of his skinny frame.

The boy looked up, and flinched away. David mentally scolded himself. He knew he was intimidating to his students, standing a full 6'6" in his stocking feet.

-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-

"Didn't mean to startle you," the man said as he took up a seat next to Harry.

Harry was very nervous. What if he was in trouble? What if he wasn't supposed to be here this early? What if this teacher called his aunt and uncle?

"Um, that's okay," Harry mumbled, "You just startled me." Having held so few conversations in his life, he was none too skilled in them.

"What grade are you in, son?" the man asked with genuine curiosity.

"I just finished primary," Harry confessed, "This is my first year here."

"My name is Principal Blackwell," the man said and then paused for Harry to supply his name. "Harry, why don't you come inside and read? It's sweltering out here."

-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-

David took him inside, marveling that this tiny person in front of him was actually eleven years old. That's at least three years over what he would have guessed. The conversation continued as they walked. He welcomed him to the school, and convinced him that he was not in trouble. They even discussed the book he was reading, which Harry seemed to understand fine, even though it was about five years above what his reading level should have been.

-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-*-_-

Principal Blackwell told Harry that he had some "principal duties" to attend to, and that he would see Harry later. Harry watched the retreating form of his new principal, thinking that he liked him much better than the old one, which wasn't surprising considering Ms. Stowe hated children and made it a point to tell them all that whenever she could.

Harry made it a bit farther in his book before the other students started to show up, and Harry got up from his position on the couch in the commons to try and find his classroom.

A/N Thanks to all of you who reviewed. (Okay, so that's just Luci and Mella.) Please do it again (or for the first time.) I'll be waiting patiently (or not so) to read them. Love ya!