Hey, everyone! This is my first fanfic, and I just want to tell you a little bit about it...it will seem like AU a bit at first, but it's not. I've been working on this fic for a while, so I'll have more chapters to post soon! Until then, I hope this one intriques you enough to keep you interested! Enjoy...
(Oh, and I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters. I'm simply borrowing them!)
The Forgotten
Harry Potter was proud to say that he was perfectly normal, thank you very much. He was the last person you'd expect to be involved in anything strange or mysterious, because he just didn't hold with such nonsense.
Harry's life had started out anything but normal. He and his parents were involved in a car accident when he was just barely a year old. He had been the only survivor, and now he carried a life-long reminder of the day his parents had died in the form of a lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
Luckily, however, Harry's aunt and uncle had graciously taken him in, raising him as their own alongside his cousin, Dudley. It was there he had learned to be normal despite his very unusual start in life. They had given him everything he knew his own mother and father would have given him, and they always seemed so very pleased that he'd turned out the way he did.
So tonight, on the eve of his nineteenth birthday, it was not in any way unusual when Harry picked up the phone in his modest London flat to call Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. It was a routine he had begun the day he moved out of their house, and Harry held true every Friday night. After all, his life had been ruled by routine and normalcy in its purest form.
At least, that's the way Harry remembered it…
