Disclaimer: This story is origional, but uses Rowlings Harry Potter characters and story back ground. Enjoy!

Chapter One

Little Harry was the saddest boy in the world. His parents were dead. His new family hated him. And he was always such a bad boy no matter how very hard he tried to do good. His cousin was loved, cherished, and he was an angry, ungrateful boy. Harry was always told by teachers that he was much better behaved than Dudley, but his aunt and uncle still hated him.

They were always yelling at him and throwing him in the closet, into the dark. They didn't care if he cried or was hurt. They looked at him suspiciously if he smiled at them. He worked to keep the house clean, to do everything he was told, but he always made mistakes and every night he'd be shoved in the dark as Dudley got stories and kisses.

It wasn't until he was seven that someone noticed his pain and decided to do something about it. It was his teacher. Mr. Kenneth took him aside and asked what hurt him so. Harry cried before him, laid bare the truth of his worthlessness. He told him with tears spilling from his wide innocent eyes how he tried to be good, but it was never enough. How he always made mistakes and got in trouble with his family.

Mr. Kenneth told him his aunt and uncle were wrong. He took time during every lunch period to praise Harry's school work and tell him how smart he was. Harry worshiped the man. And when Mr. Kenneth offered to take Harry away from his mean family, Harry agreed. He went home with Mr. Kenneth and the only human being on the planet that he trusted and loved took advantage of him. He made that night one full of terror, betrayal, pain, and blood.

And after nearly ten hours, when all the games were over, Mr. Kenneth took an already bloodied belt and wrapped it around Harry's throat. He was going to kill him. Harry was broken. He couldn't have resisted even had he wanted to. He was physically unable to move. It had been only the practiced skill of his teacher that kept him conscious this long. As the eternal darkness of death rose up in him, Harry almost welcomed it.

"It hurts. It always hurts. I don't want to hurt any more." He whispered into the darkness with a pain racked voice.

But he was scared as much as he hurt. This darkness was deeper than the darkness of his cupboard. He was so frightened. But he wouldn't be scared in that darkness if someone were with him. And then he would go and no longer hurt. So he reached innocently with his child's fear for a comfort to go with him into that unknown darkness, and amazingly someone answered. The heat of another soul filled him, joined with him as he held it close, and he let the darkness come, comforted by the presence.

Unknown to him, Harry's swollen, blue face twisted in that moment, and blood red eyes opened. Mr. Kenneth looked into those maddened eyes, driven even more insane by the sudden, all consuming pain that tormented the child's body that was now his as much as Harry's. Mr. Kenneth looked into those eyes and jerked back. But it was too late. His hands were covered in blood, and because of that guilt he died screaming, died to the bruised and hoarse sound of a tormented child's laughter.

Died as the blades he used on helpless children were thrust into his body over a hundred times by Harry's bloodied hands. Those small swollen hands stabbed him over and over again. And when's Harry's body couldn't do any more, already pushed past human endurance, he collapsed in the puddle of blood, his own and that of his treacherous teacher's.

Unknown to Harry, a neighbor had heard Mr. Kenneth's screams, when his own gagged cries of torment had gone unnoticed, and had called the police. They came in and found Harry with the knife in his hand and the corpse of his teacher. They rushed the child to the hospital and after over twenty-four hours of surgery and intensive care, Harry's life was saved.

He woke to police interrogations, but he remembered nothing past the belt going around his throat. They tore into his life, surprisingly not finding anything to incriminate the Dursley's, and demanding to know everything that happened. He didn't tell them. Telling had lead to his suffering at his teacher's hands. These scary people would probably do worse. So he kept quiet.

They didn't let him see his guardians very often anyway and when they did his family wasn't interested. The Dursley's were furious that they had been brought to the attention of the public and berated him for trusting the man, though on camera they played their parts and became martyrs.

The interrogations, the sterility of the hospital, the doctors speaking of his injuries in words he could never understand, the trial, it all terrified him. He became more and more withdrawn. There were just too many strangers, different people always coming in and out, and he was drugged and in pain most of the time. Only the warm presence still inside of him kept him sane. When it was all over and all charges were put to sleep, he was taken by the Dursley's and they moved away from Surrey and the publicity.

The hot presence was always there from that day on. It sat like a second pulsing heart in Harry's chest, angry and impotent. But as time went on and it watched through Harry's eyes and listened to Harry's mind. It grew still and lost its vicious edge, though the anger never left completely. Slowly the presence got strong enough to whisper words within Harry's mind. The sad boy was now nearly nine and wept for days with joy that he now had a friend to confide in. He was so grateful for any contact from anything that didn't hate him or wouldn't ignore him completely.

Desperate to ease the pain in the boy, mostly because he didn't want to have to feel it any longer either, the presence dug up Harry's forgotten happy memories and played them over and over for the boy, his host. In this way, Harry got to know his parents. He remembered whole conversations of them rocking him, laughing and talking. He had his mother's voice singing to him every night, the same dozen songs over and over. As many times as he wished it, he relived playing with his father. And through these memories with his parents he began to know kindness and goodness, and he drank these in thirstily. The presence was forced to drink it in as well.

Of course as soon as the warmth began talking to him, Harry began talking back. This was the presence that had protected his sanity from the hellish cruelty of his life, and Harry wouldn't ignore the only one to ever pay attention to him. He just couldn't. Not even when his family mocked him for it, yelled and threatened. It never even tempted him to ignore the voice in his head. Harry was use to their derision and, though it still hurt, he was not about to stop talking to his only friend because of it. When the years passed and teachers began to send home notes of worry about Harry continuing to believe in the same 'imaginary friend', Harry's uncle had had enough. He hit Harry.

Huddled in the corner, Harry raised his arms protectively over his head as his uncle's meaty blows rained down on him. But even still, Harry refused to deny his friend. But he screamed and pleaded to be spared, promising to do anything else to please his uncle. And then Vernon pulled off his belt and raised it. That was it. It was too much and Harry was driven into insanity, enough to loose his grip on his own being so that when his tearful and terrified eyes rose to his uncle, one emerald eye was now a dark demon red.

Vernon shrieked and backed away in a panic before launching himself at the eleven year old. Terrified, Harry screamed. Pain exploded through his body, it shrieked along every nerve. His friend pushed at him to do something, to let him do something, but Harry didn't know how. He hadn't meant to give up the little control he had, didn't know how to give up the rest. He was frozen, drowning in agony and fear. By the time the third vicious snap fell, his friend did the only thing he could and shoved Harry's magic hard, forcing something to activate and protect them.

The kitchen windows shattered, exploding outwards, and rich black soil swarmed in like a heavy cloud. It swirled around the sobbing, battered child. It formed around him like an egg, becoming a living shield. Curled up in the sudden dark, protected and warm in his cocoon, Harry lay still and slowly calmed. He knew here no one would be able to touch him. Here he was safer than he had ever been.

"I won't let them take you away." Harry mumbled brokenly. "I won't let them hurt us no more. It'll be alright. We'll be together forever."

The presence ached for this boy, ached for HIS boy. Somehow through the years he had lost everything. Harry had become his world. There was nothing besides this child and he was howling with bloodlust to kill the bastard that had done so much damage to what was his. Who made him hurt, even indirectly. But he couldn't do anything. His powers were still coming back. All he could do was speak in the boy's mind. But Harry was losing it. He wouldn't survive much longer, even with his awakened elemental magic.

But there was something he could do. He couldn't reach outside his host's fragile mind, not yet, but he could reach all the way through it to its core. It would weaken him greatly, set him back months, but he'd die if Harry didn't survive. And he wanted to ease the constant pain the boy lived with. So after hours of work and effort, Harry's mind was linked to a third. It wasn't a permanent addition. Harry could only see this new friend in his dreams. But it proved to be enough.

The three of them would meet on a different landscape every night. Harry's body was formed as a young colt; black body and mane with white boots up to his knobby knees, and green blazing eyes. The new friend formed as a puppy; playful, strong, and sly. They played as children do. And for the first time in his life, Harry was allowed to be a child and indulge in uncomplicated, joyful play. His old friend, the presence that was so enmeshed in his soul, formed as a large boa constrictor, red eyes watching their fun with haughty indulgence.

The two boys never talked of the waking world. The snake made sure of that. He was afraid it would hurt Harry. Harry already had a hard time distinguishing reality as it was with his voice in his head and the enhanced memories of his parents. So the boys played, wrestled, swam, and raced; never thinking of anything outside of the blissful world the boa created for them. But not all their time was heavenly.

Harry had bad days quiet often where he'd have flashbacks. The snake would do all it could to keep such attacks at bay from within Harry's mind, but he knew in the long run it would be better for Harry to endure them. So he subdued the worst and let the puppy help with the rest, and it did all the snake could wish. It would drape itself over the stallion, warming him and trying to ease the colt's shaking. It would howl as the colt whinnied in remembered pain and fear. And there were days Harry would feel as worthless as the Dursley's told him he was, and the puppy would pounce and lick at the colt until he was ready to play again.

But for every six attacks Harry had, the puppy had one as well, and Harry would return the favor to his friend. The puppy would sometimes form cowering and whimpering, and the colt would lovingly lie next to it, offering comfort through physical contact. Harry would nuzzle his soft nose into the puppy's fur until it was calm.

And slowly as time passed, both of their attacks become less frequent. Their play at night had become a therapeutic release and escape for them both. Their connected dreams returned strength to their bodies and minds to face the next day. But even with the help of the puppy, Harry couldn't survive the way he was forever.

After his stunt with the earth magic, his family was so terrified they had thrown him into the basement and locked him in there. He was taken out of school and the only time the door was opened was when the Dursley's threw down food and water. And though Harry was okay in the dark and his snake guardian was always with him to keep him company, always came up with new ways to occupy and stimulate his mind, he was a human teenager and would eventually need others around him. But more importantly, his magic was growing and maturing and if he didn't get help soon it would be impossible to control and would eventually destroy them both.

The snake guardian knew he had known all about magic before he was what he had become, but as the years within Harry had passed he had lost all memories of before Harry. He no longer knew enough to teach Harry what he would need to control himself. But as Harry's power grew, so did his and for the first time ever he reached out with his own power.

He couldn't remember who he was looking for, but he trusted his instincts. Those had yet to let him down. He knew how to work magic, knew there was someone that could protect and teach Harry. So he just let himself work without thinking much about what he was doing and how. But as soon as he found what he was looking for, he was suddenly plagued with doubts.

The mind he found was the person he had been looking for, but as soon as he grasped it triumphantly he recoiled with sudden rage and dislike. An old insane anger filled him with the need to tear and maim. But Harry….With a growled curse, he launched himself against that mind once again, swallowing his own hate to do what was best for his host. The mind didn't let him in, but the owner's voice did meet him just outside its barriers.

Who are you and what do you want? The ancient voice asked.

There is one in need of your teaching. He sneered in response

Identify yourself. The voice sharpened, suspicious, and began to probe.

Harry needs you. He singsoned, somehow knowing that name would grab the ancient one's attention. He let the name echo, and as the tension and hope and fear rose in the mind he so detested, he began to laugh, to cackle in glee.

What? He had gotten his host help. Why not also revel in the chaos he had stirred?

…

"Severus!" Dumbledore bellowed through the fire.

"What is it?" Severus came running out of his bedroom and into the sitting room with only a thin robe on.

"Get up here." Dumbledore said quickly and disappeared from the fire.

Severus' heart beat hard against his ribs. He'd never seen the Head Master so frantic and his hands trembled in dread as he grabbed the floo powder. He stepped into Dumbledore's office expecting…. He didn't know what. But something from Hell, or the world falling down around them. Instead, he was met with Dumbledore pacing and Fawkes screeching.

"What is it?" He demanded.

"It seems our information five years ago was mistaken. Harry Potter is somehow alive and out there somewhere."

"What?" Severus didn't understand.

Four years ago, on Harry's eleventh birthday, they had searched everywhere and no spell could get a hold of him. And the neighbors on Privet Drive had said a tragic accident had befallen the poor boy and the Dursley's had moved to get away from the tragic memories. The boy was dead. And the wizarding world had lost hope. Dark times had fallen since that day. And even Severus' hatred for all things Potter had dissipated with the whole world's need for hope, till he found even himself wishing the miracle child had lived.

"Are you sure?" He breathed.

"No." Dumbledore said gravely. "I am not. But we must try again. I have to be sure!"

"Alright." Severus quickly agreed. "We will search again."

"Something is wrong with his magical soul. But nothing should be wrong with his blood. We will dig up his parents."

"Headmaster?" Severus gasped, utterly shocked. "That is Dark Magic."

"I know what it is, Severus! But you will do it. For me. For our world."

"Yes. Of course." He straightened and bowed, hurrying back to his dungeons to prepare.

"Oh, Harry." Dumbledore sat tiredly. "Let this not be some trick of an old man's mind. We need you. No matter whom the news bearer is. Those implications can be dealt with later, after we have you safe and sound."

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