Chapter 1:

"The Day It All Started-The Answer to a Desperate Plea?"

The news had flown. Damn right. It took a Scarbato longer to launch himself on a galleon than the news of the fall of the dark lord travelling all over Europe. As each Patronus moved, chimneys were lit and celebrations began, a dark silhouette waited, sitting on a rock at the foot of the hill. He was a tall man with slightly long black hair, neat but with a rebellious touch. He had both elbows on his knees and his face hidden between his interlocking hands. His posture was tense, betraying pain and fear, hardly able to look at the night sky. Really it was a beautiful night. Full moon, clear sky and wearing all its shining constellations. That night sky brought back many of the best jokes that he and his best friend made when they were young.

-Suddenly he fixed his gaze a little above his head. The sound of the wind began to be displaced by a louder, dry, almost roaring noise. In just a few minutes the big black motorcycle he had borrowed before landed in front of him being ridden by a big guy-have you been here long?" asked the biker walking along the gravel path.

-Only a few minutes -He answered dryly. Although it felt like years.

-He asked the semi-giant looking up the hill. But he only received a negative nod-Yes, I was thinking the same thing. I don't know if I could go up alone.

-Where is Dumbledore," Sirius Black asked as he stood up and shook his pants.

-Rubeus Hagrid responded as the two of them began to walk uphill. He just asked me to come and pick up Harry.

-Only Harry," asked the wizard, "did the old director already think his best friends were dead? Hagrid saw with pain the face of the man next to him and, unconsciously, both began to walk faster. He also didn't want to think that James and Lili were... dead. But Dumbledore never spoke in half.

The rest of the way was fast, but both stopped at the small brick fence. Which was one of the few things still standing. Sirius could not help but place his hand on the small wooden door. He and James had spent a whole Saturday painting it Muggle-style, and Lili had made lemonade for them while Harry slept. And possibly he could have stayed there all night, gazing with his glazed eyes at that beautiful, ruined house. The front door, the walls of the living room and the hall were torn down and smoking, the house itself seemed to vibrate even as a cloud about to lighten.

And at that very moment, as Hagrid placed his huge hand on Sirius' shoulder trying to give him a little support, an intense golden light shone from inside the second floor. In the room of-

-HARRY! -A desperate cry. Heartbreaking. A mixture of scream and the pitiful howl of an animal from which part of it had been torn away. Without realizing it, his legs ran all over the place, the debris jumped straight into the room, he was up the stairs in practically three strides, and in two more he was on the demolished door of his godson's room.

A gasp escaped his lips at the sight of the scene and he went straight to the crib. He took Harry in his arms, he was crying, but he calmed down a bit when he recognized his godfather's arms and heartbeat. For his part Sirius kept his eyes fixed on the wall in front of him. He needed a moment to stop:

-He was standing at the door, slightly bent over because of his large size, and from there he could see perfectly the body of Lili Potter lying on the floor, at the foot of the baby's crib next to Sirius, who was crying inconsolably. And at the other end, lying on the floor and leaning against the wall was the body of Lord Voldemort. Seriously burned, damaged and visibly dead-Sirius...

-Incendiary! Diffindo! Reducte! -Holding Harry to his chest with one arm and with the other, wand in hand, he pointed directly at the body of the dark wizard as he walked to the door while casting one curse after another at the corpse- Expulsion!

With a final explosive curse, Black left the room, followed by a silent forest ranger. Back outside the wizard cleaned the baby, changed his clothes with a wave of his wand and wrapped him in a blanket before handing him over to Hagrid.

-He asked, "What are you going to do?

-I'll go get Pettigrew-Grumpy the Anima- The fucking rat, I'm gonna-

-Peter? What's wrong with him?

-And Harry," inquired the Black, ignoring the other.

-I will take him to Dumbledore-Hagrid replied solemnly. I didn't need to add anything else, just the mention of the director's name gave his words enough security not to need any further explanation.

-No-Short cut while walking outside the fence- Take my bike, you better not try to show up with a baby- With the last word he officially left the property and disappeared with a Crack in the dark. Once alone, the ranger looked at the little boy in his hand, who looked at him expectantly with his bright green eyes. I sigh with regret: one more orphan of the war.

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Of course, it wasn't just McGonagall who was unsure of the old director's decision to leave Harry with his aunt and uncle. Everyone felt that their hero deserved to grow up surrounded by the best of luxury, attention and those who loved him; but with his godfather, the unmasked deadly double agent and traitor, a prisoner in Azkaban, Dumbledore's intentions quickly became evident and gradually everyone accepted it as the best course of action. It was best that Harry grow up with his family, away from excessive attention and incessant adulation. No sir. He would grow up as a normal child. He would receive the attention of a family: to be cared for, pampered, scolded and protected. And when he was old enough, he would become part of their world again.

-Of course, not even Professor McGonagall, after watching them all day, could have imagined the kind of abuse those Muggles were capable of.

Since that cold morning of November 1st, when Petunia Dursley went out to place the empty milk bottles and found the small bundle of blankets in the entrance of her house, she could not avoid almost falling backwards. I would be lying if I said that part of her was not moved by the little creature sleeping peacefully in the basket. But every piece of candor and piety died just by reading the name "Potter" on the letter they had left with the infant. Vernon wanted to take him to the orphanage immediately, neither of them wanted him near their little Dudley, but both of them feared possible reprisals against him if they did. So, between fear and anger, they spent the next few years making their nephew's life as miserable as possible.

Making sure they remained as the redeeming saints by adopting their orphaned nephew, they barely paid any attention to the infant. They did not hesitate to leave him crying all night long, only changing him when the smell exceeded his limits and feeding him enough to keep him alive. And as his attention grew, it only diminished and diminished. They never congratulated Harry on his first steps, even though they were long before Dudley's, although he was practically forced to do so since no one was carrying him.

-Ma... ma... -His first word, with his uncles at least, and I deserve the first punishment of his life. Petunia's hand did not tremble to slap the little three-year-old who began to cry in dismay. From that day on the cupboard under the stairs became his new and permanent room. If he was able to talk, he was able to deal with spiders.

As he grew up, his uncles began to treat him more and more as part of the furniture, he would just sit quietly in his cupboard. Until they had the bright idea of putting it to better use: their own servant.

-If Aunt Petunia-Al least they allowed her to address them as "uncles". By the age of six he was used to getting up early. He turned on the light, put on his socks, and was frightened by a little spider as he took his old shoes. He came out of the cupboard and heard how his aunt was already preparing breakfast in the kitchen. Sticking to her routine, she silently crossed the kitchen through the back door and went straight to the garden, out there she took her time to look for the tools in the shed and start tending the plants. Gardening was one of the few tasks he really enjoyed. Besides, he could take enough time until the family finished eating breakfast. Whenever he passed Uncle Vernon in the hallway, he had to step aside or back up, his uncle could easily throw him down and run over him again. He would only move the dirt, water the plants and until he heard Uncle Vernon's car crossing the street he would venture back into the house. His aunt used to accompany Dudley to school and he was left in charge of cleaning the kitchen and washing the dishes. Woe betide him where his aunt found a single piece of silverware that did not shine.

Why wasn't he on his way to school? Simple, he didn't have to go. He didn't need to learn to read or write, let alone numbers. Of course he didn't. All he needed to know was that the house should be clean, the yard should never look dry or loud and clear, Dudley would always need to blame him when he broke something.

But he was a child and didn't think about it. The only ideas present in his head were to keep his uncles happy, never make them angry and keep punishments to a minimum. How? By following the rules: he could only eat what was left on his plate in the kitchen, could not go to any of the bathrooms except the one in the garage, could not touch Dudley's toys, or the TV, phone or sound system, could never enter the rooms and never answer them unless given permission.

Months passed and while Aunt Petunia was in her bridge club Harry, in a small stroke of fate, she looked forward to Dudley's school books. She didn't understand anything, she just stared at the words as if she hoped she could suddenly understand them. But as he tried to decipher the phonemes of the consonants, nature made a little appeal to him. Trying to put everything back in its place, he rushed downstairs and went straight to the garage...

-Vernon Dursley dragged his nephew downstairs after catching him using the bathroom. He had come home earlier that day, a small wiring problem had forced his company to close early. He hadn't even thought about his nephew's phenomenon; he just wanted to go upstairs to take off his shoes and come down to watch the evening news. But I never expected to see the little one with his hand still on the doorknob and looking at him with those eyes he hated so much. Of course I didn't plan to leave him like that.

That's how Harry again had an intimate encounter with his uncle's leather belt. His back was burning like hell and he could feel the blood dripping down his skin and even splashing a little on the floor. The punishment continued with the usual kicks and insults. And of course, the warnings of a worse one if he did it again. After Uncle Vernon left Harry hurriedly cleaned the little blood off the floor, and if Aunt Petunia saw a single stain she would leave him without dinner for a week. The Dursleys were a good couple in that respect. Vernon would beat him and Petunia would starve him. They complemented each other so well in that way that there wasn't a single night when Harry wasn't miserable.

Like now. When he found himself like this again, hurt and in the darkness of his small cupboard full of spiders, the six-year-old could only cry, taking care that his moans were not too loud if he didn't want to bother his uncles. His tears fell down his face soaking his old pillow, his hands hugged his shoulders trying to get warm and a little plea escaped his weak throat:

-Please... Someone... Please save me.

He was so immersed in pain and despair that he did not notice how, for the first time in six years, that sleeping magic that had been attached to him since that tragic night that he did not remember began to consume his energy and even his very breath. If anyone had seen him at that moment they would have thought that a small cloud was hovering over him like in the cartoons. The moment that small presence finished sucking up every last ounce of magic, it began to surround him like a brilliant aura and all the space around him began to deform: the small mattress he slept on, the shelf with his few belongings, his clothes, the space, the darkness around him and even the light outside in the corridor began to bend in a strange way. As if suddenly a wave broke the surface of reality and the fibers that held it in place began to break one after another.

A chain reaction that would wake up every sleeping person in the Surrey neighborhood and in a few hours shake up both Muggles and magicians. The former only locally. The latter, all over the world.

That morning the Dursleys would have their five minutes of fame, as the survivors of a strange spontaneous implosion that took place inside their house, partially destroying it and making them the topic of conversation of their whole little world. And they might have enjoyed being the talk of their neighborhood and the center of attention like all the other surviving heroes, if it weren't for the panic that the thought provoked:

What would all the other phenomena, the wizards, say when they found out that Harry Potter was dead?

To be continued...

END NOTES:

And so we come to the end of the first chapter of this small initiative of linguistic expansion hahaha

What did you think? Did you like it? Did you love it? Did I pique your curiosity, even just a little bit?

First, I am using an online translator. Pretty good, but we know that they are not infallible so any error or thing you find out of place, I will gladly read your observations. And if you want to comment on the story I'll be happy to read you also hahaha

What do you guys say? Will you give this new story a chance in your language? I hope so.

PS: I will be updating every week, I will try to do it on Mondays or Tuesdays. So I hope to see you every week...

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