A/N – Hope you like this chapter. Next one should not be long coming though your thoughts are welcome. Please review ~silvermoonfae

Disclaimer - Disclaimer: I do not own anything remotely related to the fantastic world of J.K Rowling!

Mysterious Happenings and Truths

16 years later-A young man, peered out the window of the smallest bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive. The night, the stars, the moon. They entranced him, helped him focus on the inconsequential and forget the unobtainable, shrouded it in the mystery of the night. He tilted his head slightly, letting the pale moonlight brush delicately against the soft features of his face. His messy, jet black hair, now lined with silver moonlight, intense emeralds shining like jewels from beneath ebony lashes. A slightly raised, red scar in the shape of a lightening bolt, peeking out from beneath his wayward fringe. And then there was the dark purpling and yellowing stains marring his pale skin. A crimson crust clinging stubbornly beneath his eye. Bruises and Blood! Permanent feature whilst he resided at 'home'! However, it was something which bothered him no more than actually trying to find a way to cover them up. And since he found glamours at the end of his first year, well even that wasn't a problem anymore. This was his life here, no point complaining. Easier to just get on with it, Potter! Funny how his conscience sounded like Professor Snape!

So what if his 'family' hated him, for he had people who loved him and cared for him in the Wizarding World. As far as he was concerned, this was merely a stopover (not of his choosing) for two short months every year until the next. Then he was free! None knew the extent of what occurred here at the place he should call 'home'. In some way, he felt it was perhaps penance for the crimes he had committed, namely murdering two people. The guilt was overwhelming and the grief almost brought him to suicide twice. Cedric and Sirius, the first casualties of war, not the last, but one of the first and he had a hand in both of them.

But enough depressing thoughts. Here it was, 5 minutes before his 16th birthday and all he could think about was his so called family. They weren't even worth the brain power and he wouldn't let them ruin his birthday. They had already managed to ruin a lot of things which meant so much to him. For example, simple touch! A touch, a hand on the shoulder, a hug, a playful shove. All things which had an ingrained reaction to. Flinch and duck and cover! Over the years he had managed to suppress a small amount of it, mainly his closest friends, but the rest he avoided. He had thoroughly fooled everyone and none saw his problems. He would not let them ruin his birthday with bad thoughts.

Wincing slightly, the skinny boy leaned back against the wall relaxing in the comfort of ritual and his yearly birthday tradition on his bed. Glancing at the battered clock, he counted down the minutes and seconds until midnight.....3minutes.....2minutes.....50 seconds .....20seconds.....5,4,3,2,1 .....

"Happy Birthday to me!" he whispered softly and lay back, closing his eyes, a quiet sigh escaping gently.

As such, he therefore didn't notice the faint luminescent glow which appeared around his body. It was a silver shimmer, like the moonlight itself had taken life and bathed his whole form in soft pearly glows. Suddenly a sharp pain erupted from his chest and his eyes shot open. They widened in distress as he took in his surroundings. The pale glow had transformed into a blinding light. There was a faint humming in the background that was vaguely familiar. The pain which had blossomed from his chest had spread from his head to his toes and all the way to his fingertips. It was an all encompassing pain, his mouth opened in a silent scream, still detachedly aware the need for silence in wake of the Dursley's anger. His eye's glowed a killing curse green and he arched his battered body as a surge ripped through him.

Concentrating totally on the immense pain he never noticed the very vocal screams which came unbidden to his lips. He never heard the tell-tale thump of heavy footsteps in the hall, or the door flying off its' hinges or the roar of "Potter!". He didn't even blink as his uncle advanced fists raised to hit, or the silver shield that erupted from him, totally enveloping him.

No all he felt was a great surge of power and pain beyond all comprehension rush through him, through his blood than ran through his body, through every fibre of his being. And the the sweet bliss of darkness.

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Miles away in a magical school called Hogwarts, the Headmaster, the esteemed Albus Dumbledore, sat in the circular room of his office sucking absent-mindedly on his lemon drops, thinking about a young boy, no man now, with particularly messy hair and shocking emerald eyes. How his actions over the past year had hurt the boy he saw as a grandson terribly, and how he had lost the deep-seated trust he had once. In hindsight, he realised how precious that trust was to him, for Harry did not trust lightly and an adult at that, well it was a very short list. And only one he could name for certain. Ah hindsight, it was a beautiful and terrible thing. A deep ache settled in the pit of his stomach. The great Albus Dumbledore, leader of the light, Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, was ashamed of his actions last year to the young man.

With all of his renowned wisdom and knowledge, he had made a nearly fateful mistake in boy. distancing himself from the boy. He had blatantly ignored the fact that Harry had shown more resilience than many men twice his age had in the face of adversary. He should of known Harry would have been able to deal with the complications of last year if he had known. It pained him to see the suspicious distrust lurking beneath the stoic mask he always wore whenever they had met last year. He knew he had a lot to atone for, however he vowed with all his power he would do what was right by the boy and earn back the child's trust.

Lost in his thoughts, he never noticed the emerald jewel, a seemingly unobtrusive, yet beautiful object on his desk, glow a soft crimson colour. Even as the shimmer intensified, so focused inward that he was, he missed the shrill whirring that rang through his office.

Observing him, was his ever loyal friend, who was growing considerably alarmed at his mentor's inaction. The old coot, as he often referred to him affectionately, was completely locked away in his thoughts, dangerously oblivious to everything. Fawkes knew that the emerald was tied to the young boys life, the boy whose eyes matched the emeralds. And he liked the boy, he had a quiet power and pureness which was steadfast. He knew he had a major role in the upcoming war, more important than his wise friend could know. Frustrated at the lack of response from his friend, he swooped angrily and with an indignant squawk, he swiped the hat off the old fart's head.

Startled from his thoughts Dumbledore immediately was assaulted with the cacophony of sound that was suddenly in his office. Then recognition dawned upon him and his face paled dramatically. Harry's lifestone, the crimson colour almost shadowed the emerald completely. Harry was hanging onto life by the barest thread. He needed help and the only other teacher in the castle at the moment was Severus, an order member to boot. Without another word, and in a flash of colour he was out the door.

Satisfied, Fawkes settled back on his perch and preened his feathers. Every so often he would glance at the door, or would cock his head to the side as if listening to something only he could hear. He was worried for the scruffy, little jewel-eyed kid. He hoped they would make it in time before he broke!

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Back at Privet Drive, Harry slowly came around. Pain! Pain engulfed him from all sides and angles. He couldn't move and he felt drained, both physically and magically. His injuries flare anew with pain. He was sprawled on his bed, the silver shield glowing faintly around him, flickering in and out, like a battery running low on power. He whimpered slightly as he shifted. This was not good! How could he his chores in this state? He shivered as he thought of the punishment he would receive. A flash of light and a second later his shield dissipated. Harry just lay gasping for breath quietly on his bed. Well, he'd be lucky if he wasn't expelled from Hogwarts, for he was sure huge amounts of magic was used last night. He could feel it in the sir, the slight crackle, like static electricity and a pulsing in his ears.

So focused inwards that he was, he failed to notice his Uncle beginning to stir on the floor from where he landed after the magical surge. Rocking slightly on his heels Dursley immediately spotted his nephew and moved stealthily, for his massive size, a murderous glint lurking behind his eyes. Apparently the commotion had been kept to this room only, as Pet and Dudders hadn't investigated. Good! No interference. It was time for the Freak to learn a lesson, in his opinion. He tensed, fist clenched, teeth grinding, in an effort to restrain himself, until the appropriate time. He waited and ever so slowly, Harry raised his eyes, shock flashing across his face as he registered the scene. Terror lit his eyes! Dursley fed off the fear and the control it gave. With a malicious grin, and feral snarl he pounced!

The bed gave way under the huge weight of his Uncle and Harry immediately fell into unconsciousness as his head smashed into the wall behind. A hidden blessing, it was, as his Uncle began to rain punches down upon his small, malnourished frame, whilst muttering about no good freaks. Slowly the life force of the young boy was dwindling, to the faintest it could be whilst never giving up. He could not die by his Uncle's hand. However his spirit was slowly breaking and with it the hope of the Wizarding world.

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Just outside walking briskly down the street was a pale Dumbledore and an irritated, yet slightly concerned Severus Snape. Snape had never seen Dumbledore like this, hell he had never seen Dumbledore scared in his whole life. And this scared him! Sure he didn't even fear Voldemort, so what in the nine hells had Potter done this time?

Meanwhile Dumbledore just prayed that they weren't too late, all the while ignoring the strange looks Severus was giving him. Hurriedly, half jogging, half running up the prim path to Number 4, Privet Drive, Dumbledore dispensed of the unnecessary manners and broke into the house sneakily, worthy of a Slytherin, wand at ready and missing the shocked look that flashed in Snape's eyes. Little did Snape know that he had the house monitored for Dark Auras and there was no indication of any. Therefore it was no deatheathers but an internal force or unknown danger. This of course didn't ease his mind one bit!

Lighting their wands with a quiet lumos, they took in their surroundings, for any present threats. The house, both inside and out, was the definition of normal to the extent that it was actually abnormal. It was unnatural to be this normal, this clean, this precise, not a speck of dust evident, or dirty sock escaping the laundry. Photo's lined the walls, the gaps in-between each, measured within the millimetre and all of the same pig-like kid and his parents, Potter's cousin if Petunia was to be recognised beside him. And therein lay the problem for Snape, where were the ones of Potter. Surely the pampered Golden boy would have a whole wall to himself? But further investigation only threw up more blanks. Snape found himself wandering around, searching for any sign of another occupant within the house. A sign that another being, a wizard at that resided here, an owl feather, a broken quill, perhaps some spare parchment lying around, anything. But there was nothing! Zero, Nada, zilch and this didn't settle well with Snape at all. A dark foreboding clouded his mind. Dumbledore didn't seem to be having anymore luck than Snape and his anxious expression was worrying Snape.

Silently Dumbledore motioned them upstairs and they were faced with 4 doors, one obviously being a bathroom as the door was slightly open, leaving a slither of light to find its way into the hall. The others must be the bedrooms, though one door looked more like a cell with all the padlocks on the outside and a cat flap at the bottom. Keeping something in. They stood contemplating their next move, though frequently Snape would glance at the padlocked door. Something about that door stirred dregs of worry in the pit of his stomach.

All was quiet but the faint slap and thump of muffled sound. Slap? Thump? To Snape, the ever observant spy, it sounded like flesh upon flesh. A smack or punch or something. Horror flashed across his face as his brain caught up with what he was thinking and he raced to the padlocked door from where the faint sounds where emitting from. Dumbledore was but a breath behind him. Without faltering he used his raw magic and burst through the door. And what hit their eyes would be etched into their very eyeballs for an eternity. Particularly Snape, who had just had his previous ideals of one Harry Potter thrown out the window and into the breeze. Some form, some sort of being, vaguely resembling a whale, was pounding incessantly at the still form of Potter muttering insane words such as 'freak', 'cleanse', and 'destroy' over and over again. Finally coming to his sense, as Potter made a slight movement, Snape roared "Expelliarmus!"

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