Note:

As you can see I started with a passage from the first book and after some lines I continued myself. I rlly love some passages in the book that I refuse to leave out :P cuz they are too good and there are ppl reading this story without having read the hp books.

English is my 3th language, I'm sure I've made a lot of grammatical errors, try and read over them (or post the errors and I'll correct)

I do not own Harry Potter nor any of its characters, I'm not J.K !

Chapter 1 - The Boy Who Lived

Albus Dumbledore didn't seem to realize that he had just arrived in a street where everything from his name to his boots was unwelcome. He was busy rummaging in his purple cloak, looking for something. But he did seem to realize he was being watched, because he looked up suddenly at the cat, which was still staring at him from the other end of the street. For some reason, the sight of the cat seemed to amuse him. He chuckled and muttered, "I should have known."

When he found what he was looking for in his inside pocket, he flicked the Deluminator open, held it up in the air, and clicked it a few times until the entire street went dark. If anyone looked out of their window now, they wouldn't be able to see anything that was happening down on the pavement.

Dumbledore walked to the cat and spoke to it. 'Fancy seeing you here Professor McGonagall, you're not celebrating?"

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had had around its eyes.

Professor McGonagall threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore.

"Seems like everyone is celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "I heard it. Flocks of owls . . . shooting stars. . . . hmm.. shooting stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You- Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?" She asked while looking in his deep blue eyes.

"It certainly seems so," Dumbledore answered.

Professor McGonagall continued, "you know what everyone's saying? About why he's disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"

It seemed that Professor McGonagall had reached the point she was most anxious to discuss, the real reason she had been waiting on a cold, hard wall all day.

"Would you care for a Gummi bear ?"

"A what?"

"A Gummi bear. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm getting fond of.

"No, thank you," said Professor McGonagall coldly, as though she didn't think this was the moment for Gummi bears.

"What they're saying," she pressed on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters.

The rumor is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that … they're — dead."

Dumbledore bowed his head. Professor McGonagall gasped.

"Lily and James . . . I can't believe it . . . I didn't want to believe it . . . Oh, Albus . . ."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her on the shoulder. "I know . . . I know . . ." he said heavily.

Professor McGonagall's voice trembled as she went on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' son, Harry. But — he couldn't. One of the most powerful wizards of all time couldn't kill the little boy. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he tried to kill Harry, Voldemort's power somehow broke, and that's why he's gone."

Dumbledore nodded glumly.

"It's — it's true?" faltered Professor McGonagall. "After all he's done . . . all the people he's killed . . . he couldn't kill a little boy? It's just astounding . . . of all the things to stop him . . . but how in the name of heaven did Harry survive?"

"Now we can only guess," said Dumbledore. "Future may tell or we may never know."

Professor McGonagall pulled out a lace handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes beneath her spectacles.

Dumbledore gave a comforting look at her and took a golden watch from his pocket.

"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has left now."

"Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us."

"It's the best and safest place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, almost falling back off the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand him! He'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Harry Potter Day in the future — there will be books written about Harry — everyone in our world will know his name!"

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, looking very seriously over the top of his half-moon glasses. "It would be enough to turn any boy's head. Famous before he can walk and talk! Can't you see how much better off he'll be, growing up away from all that until he's ready to take it?"

Professor McGonagall opened her mouth, changed her mind, swallowed, and then said, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. And I suppose Hagrid is bringing him?"

Before Dumbledore could respond they could hear a rumbling sound, they both looked up and down the street, it swelled to a roar and a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed abruptly in Number four's front garden.

As the man stood from the bike, it was clear that he was twice as tall as a normal man and four times as wide. He looked simply too big to be allowed, and so wild — long tangles of bushy black hair and beard hid most of his face, he had hands the size of trash can lids, and his feet in their leather boots were like baby dolphins. In his vast, muscular arms he was holding a bundle of blankets.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last…, no problems were there?"

"No, sir — house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead they could see a cu riously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning.

"Is that where — ?" whispered Professor McGonagall.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Dumbledore?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Un derground. Well — give him here, Hagrid — we'd better get this over with."

Could I — could I say good-bye to him, sir?" asked Hagrid. He bent his great, shaggy head over Harry and gave him what must have been a very scratchy, whiskery kiss.

"Goodluck Harry Potter" said Dumbledore as he took Harry and laid him gently on the doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle; Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "G'night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumble dore, sir." Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the engine into life; with a roar it rose into the air and off into the night.

"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," said Dumbledore, nodding to her. Professor McGonagall blew her nose in reply.

Dumbledore turned and walked back down the street. On the corner he stopped and took out the silver Deluminator. He clicked it once, and twelve balls of light sped back to their street lamps so that Privet Drive glowed suddenly orange and he could make out a tabby cat slinking around the corner at the other end of the street.

A breeze ruffled the neat hedges of Privet Drive, which lay silent and tidy under the inky sky, the very last place you would expect astonishing things to happen. Harry Potter rolled over inside his blankets without waking up. One small hand closed on the letter beside him and he slept on, not knowing he was special, not know ing he was famous, not knowing he would be woken in a few hours' time by Mr. Dursley's rage as he opened the front door to see his destroyed garden, nor that he would spend the next few weeks being prodded and pinched by his cousin Dudley. … He couldn't know that at this very moment, people meeting all over the country were holding up their glasses and saying in hushed voices: "To Harry Potter — the boy who lived!"

About five years later

In those five years Harry was not treated with the love that Dumbledore had hoped and wanted. He lived in a small cupboard under the stairs, got only two meals a day and he was hated by his aunt and uncle, they only cared for their little Duddy. Judging by the pictures around the house there was no sign at all that another boy lived in the house, too.

When Harry turned five, he was forced to do a series of chores each day, from cleaning and gardening to cooking. If something was not to his Aunt's or Uncle's standards, he would be slapped by either his aunt or uncle before been thrown in his cupboard with no food until the next day. Harry learned at a young age to keep his emotions in check, he knew that if he cried or yelled during a beating he would only make it worse. If he was smiling when passing by his aunt or uncle, they gave him extra chores to try and make him feel bad. Yes, young Harry could put up a Poker face rivaling Chris Ferguson.

The Dursleys never spoke about Harry's parents and he was forbidden to talk about them, in fact Harry was forbidden to ask any questions. Nevertheless they had once told him his parents died in a car crash and that's how he had gotten the very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. Recently there were those strange things that happened around him. He didn't dare to talk about them – it's not like he had someone to talk to.

Harry's life was about to change on Dudley's sixth birthday.

His Aunt Petunia was awake and it was her shrill voice that made the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt rapped on the door again.

"Up and make breakfast!" she screeched.

Harry, still half sleeping, walked to the kitchen. He threw some bacon in a pan, some eggs in another one and wanted to start frying when it happened.

For a short moment there came very little fireblasts out of his hand, they disappeared instantly. Harry thought his aunt and uncle were too busy noticing him, so he tried doing it again but now nothing happened. He decided to start the gas fire to fry the eggs and bacon.

Vernon Dursley's purple face went red as he shouted, "WHAT DID YOU JUST DO?" He threw the newspaper he was pretending to be reading against the window.

Aunt Petunia was in shock after she saw what Harry did, she nearly fainted.

Harry knowing he had to stay calm replied, "I'm making your breakfast, like always."

"Don't talk to me that way, you ungrateful bastard," Uncle Vernon sneered, "YOU WERE DOING ….. "

Dudley was standing in the doorway, eager to count his many presents but he didn't want to interrupt, his dad bullying or beating Harry was a good starting present. This was going to be his best day of the year.

"This ?" Harry shot again a little fireblast from both his hands, never thought he could redo the action he did moments ago. This time the fire kept coming for 2 seconds, reaching up to 40 cm from his hands.

Now Aunt Petunia really fainted, Dudley's mouth fell open in horror, Harry's heart gave a leap, amazed by what he just did.

Uncle Vernon didn't believe what he just saw, then he realized he had to act before something worse happened.

"You go to your room!" Uncle Vernon shouted while pointing from Harry to the hallway.

"Room?" Harry asked, putting up his poker face.

"Your cupboard room, stupid brat!" Uncle Vernon wanted to crush Harry but he restrained himself for some unknown reason.

Harry went to his cupboard, figuring he'd better leave the room to avoid a beating or being locked up for 5 days.

"And don't come out for the rest of the day!" Uncle Vernon shouted after he heard the cupboard door close.

Was that fear Harry noticed in Vernon's voice? Harry jumped on his bed, thinking about what had happened.

"Dudley, help me with your mom," Uncle Vernon urged.

Aunt Petunia was slowly getting up from the ground with the help of Dudley and Vernon. She looked terrified and lost. Dudley had never seen his mom in a state like this, he decided to wait before telling his parents he was 2 presents short compared to last year.

"Petunia, dear you alright?" Uncle Vernon started after a moment of silence.

"Oh Vernon, what will we do?" Aunt Petunia muttered, still not over the shock. Dudley didn't want to wait any longer and started unwrapping his first presents.

"Can't we throw him out?" Uncle Vernon asked, "I don't want any of those freakish things happening in my house!"

"Then the neighbors would start to talk." Aunt Petunia didn't want to lose the reputation as role model family in Privet Drive.

"And you remember the letter that came with Harry, I don't want any of his kind coming over here to see he's not staying here anymore." Aunt Petunia added fast.

"You are right," Uncle Vernon agreed as he walked over to his son who started crying for more presents and attention on his birthday. His son wants his money's worth, just like his father. He ruffled Dudley's hair and promised they would buy him 4 more presents.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't want to ruin their perfect son's birthday and two hours later the Dursley's left to see a movie and lunch at Dudley's favorite Hamburger restaurant. They dropped off Harry at Mrs. Figgs, a mad old lady who lived two streets away. Harry didn't like it there. The whole house smelled of cabbage and Mrs. Figgs made him look at photographs of all the cats she'd ever owned.

After looking at many photographs for two hours, Harry went to the garden as Mrs. Figgs started to cook. The garden behind the house was larger than you'd imagine for such a small house on Privet Drive. Harry lay down on the grass and looked up in the sky, again wondering what had happened this morning. Deep down he knew he was special, but he wanted to know more. He slowly sat up, looked at a small branch a few meters away, then tried to move it by thinking about it in his mind, nothing happened.

Harry remembered a few days ago, when he woke up early, agitated by his buzzering alarm clock, he had sent the clock flying against the wall in order to continue sleeping. When he heard Petunia shouting an hour later he had to hurry to make breakfast and never thought about what happened to the poor alarm clock. Harry sighed and tried moving the branch again, without success.

"Why can't I get it to move," Harry asked himself in frustration.

"Clear your mind, concentrate and focus only on the branch," something hissed.

Harry quickly turned around and looked at a small Gopher snake.

"I can understand you?" Harry asked, clearly not afraid of the snake.

The snake nodded vigorously.

"You are the first wizard I can understand," the snake continued, "Parselmouths are very rare."

"Parselmouth? and I'm a wizard?" Harry asked confused.

The snake made a strong hissing sound, moved closer and started explaining, "Parseltongue is the language of serpents, an individual who can speak Parseltongue is known as a Parselmouth. It is a very uncommon skill, and is typically hereditary."

Harry listened quietly, fascinated by the talking snake.

"And yes, Harry Potter you are a powerful wizard," the snake slithered over Harry's leg. The snakes body was slippery but surprisingly warm.

"Now try and move the branch, remember what I told you."

Harry had more questions, but decided he could ask them later. He didn't want to disappoint the one knowing more about him than himself. He straightened up, took a deep breath, tried to clear his mind and looked at the branch.

"Close your eyes and concentrate harder," the snake hissed while watching closely at the almost six year old wizard.

Harry closed his eyes, his mind was completely empty, he felt ready, started focusing on the branch maintaining deep concentration. The branch was up floating in the air as Harry opened his eyes.

"Wow" Harry exclaimed in a trance of happiness after he managed flying the branch to his hand.

"Very good, Harry!" the snake congratulated the boy. The snake knew it was most uncommon for such a young wizard to be in control of his magical abilities this early. The snake never expected the boy to levitate the branch this high, that quickly, let alone flying the branch to his hand. Suddenly the snake felt a high pressure and was being pushed away by a flow of invisible dense energy. He could feel Harry Potter's stunning magical aura.

The snake looked up and to his amazement, Harry with his eyes closed, had a ball of fire on his right palm and a ball of lightning on his left, he kept making them bigger and smaller. Then he opened his eyes and started throwing them from one hand to the other, juggling playfully.

"Where did you learn that?" the snake asked curiously while moving back closer to Harry.

Harry answered, looking ignorant, "I don't know, the past years these things just happen. After you learned me how to move the branch, I wanted to try this too."

"Mr. snake?" Harry asked after a small pause.

"Impressive," the snake thought in himself, not noticing Harry trying to get his attention. "This boy surely has big potential."

"Ehh, Mr. snakey?" Harry asked for the second time.

"Yes what's up?"

"You know my name but I don't know yours…, you have a name do you?"

"My friends call me Korin," the snake replied with a friendly hiss.

"Ok Korin, you think you could teach me more of this magic?" Harry asked, hungry to learn more.

"Well Harry, I suppose I could guide and learn you some magic with the knowledge I've acquired throughout my years of travelling. But you see I'm not a wizard, my magical abilities are very limited. In time you'll meet the right people and they will enjoy teaching you," Korin explained to the boy who was listening silently but very attentive.

"And from what I've seen and felt, you are a natural Harry, with limitless magical ability. Moments ago you used wandless magic, a more difficult form of magic that can only be used effectively by powerful and disciplined wizards and witches. There are different kinds of wizards in the world, some stronger than others — in magic ability, some have special abilities. You could say that each magical spirit is different and has their own limits. When you grow up, you will see that magic comes natural to you, while others have to work for years to achieve this and some will never," Korin added with a serious look.

"Harry !"

"Harry ?" Mrs. Figgs called him for lunch.

"Harry, don't use magic near non-magical people!" Korin hissed quickly, right before Harry went inside.

When Harry and Mrs. Figgs were done eating, Harry had to look at a new series of photographs. After looking at a dozen of boring pictures of cats, Harry felt asleep. In the evening the Dursley's came to pick him up. Uncle Vernon was driving while talking with Petunia. Harry sat silently in the back, next to Dudley.

Harry tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. He had a funny feeling he'd had the same dream before.

Dudley looked sick, he kept muttering "Worst birthday… ever….."

Harry figured the fat pig probably ate too much hamburgers.

Uncle Vernon complained to Aunt Petunia. He liked to complain about things: people at work, Harry, the council, Harry, the bank, and Harry were just a few of his favorite subjects. This morning, it was motorcycles.

"… roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he said, as a motorcycle overtook them.

"I had a dream about a motorcycle," said Harry, remembering suddenly. "It was flying."

Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front. He turned right around in his seat and yelled at Harry, his face like a gigantic beet with a mustache: "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"

Dudley sniggered.

"I know they don't," said Harry. "It was only a dream."

But he wished he hadn't said anything. If there was one thing the Dursleys hated even more than his asking questions, it was his talk ing about anything acting in a way it shouldn't, no matter if it was in a dream or even a cartoon — they seemed to think he might get dangerous ideas.

When they arrived at Privet Drive, number four, Dudley went straight to bed after puking on the stairs. Usually Aunt Petunia would command Harry to clean it, but now she didn't. To Harry's surprise, she started cleaning the stairs herself.

Uncle Vernon took Harry to the kitchen, he wanted to talk to him alone.

"Boy, we never want to see those freaky things that happened this morning, again" Uncle Vernon started, putting his large purple face right up close to Harry's.

"Yes I understand," Harry said timidly, remembering what Korin had told him.

Uncle Vernon took a few deep breaths and then forced his face into a smile, which looked quite painful. "You will get the empty room upstairs next to the guest bedroom if you keep your promise," he continued.

Harry nodded, "That's a deal!" glad he could say goodbye to that dusty cupboard. All this happened on Dudley's birthday, Harry managed to hide a smirk.