Warning: AU for all the books, whilst it will follow them in key events. May later contain slash, albeit much, much later.

AND THE TRUTH SHALL SET YOU FREE

By

SilverSkies

CHAPTER ONE: Life At the Dursleys

Life at Number Four, Privet Drive, was as regular as clockwork. Vernon and Petunia Dursley would both rise at seven o'clock. Petunia would get ready first, and then come downstairs to rouse her nephew, Harry Potter, from his cupboard underneath the stairs so he could make breakfast for herself, Vernon, and their son Dudley. By eight-fifteen, Vernon would be kissing his wife goodbye and leaving in his car. At eight-thirty, Petunia would walk the boys down to their school, wishing Dudley a good day, and firmly telling the boy, Harry, to not make any trouble.

You see, whilst Harry once had two loving parents and a number of pseudo aunts and uncles, the Dark Lord Voldemort had killed his parents and of those pseudo-aunts and uncles – two were insane, one was dead, and another imprisoned. So he was sent to live with his mother's sister Petunia and her family. The Dark Lord was missing, presumed dead, but that did not mean his followers weren't going to try to harm Harry.

Harry wasn't a particularly happy boy. His relatives didn't like him and his cousin Dudley was always trying to get him in trouble. It worked too, his uncle never believed him when he told the truth – in fact his uncle had punished him for it and tried to get him to say that he had caused whatever trouble it happened to be – but he couldn't. Harry couldn't get the words to pass from his throat. He could think a lie, but he could never voice it. It had troubled him during his younger years – as a toddler and then again during the first half of primary, but he soon found a way around it. He might only be able to speak the truth, but that didn't mean everyone could understand it. He had developed a larger vocabulary than normal for a child his age and had a way of looking at things sideways, so that what he said could be construed to have a number of meanings.

His uncle still punished him frequently and whilst Harry had attempted to explain things to a teacher; he soon discovered that though he told the truth, it was of no use. Even the one teacher that had believed him had seemingly forgotten about it completely - just a few days after taking it to the proper authorities. So Harry's life continued without getting any noticeable better, though Harry himself was changed by the experience. He no longer had any faith in adults; he wouldn't trust anyone but himself and most importantly perhaps, he recognised that if he wanted a better life, he'd have to make one for himself.

Regardless, this day, October 31st, was going to be a Hallowe'en for Harry to remember. Harry was eight years old, it was a Tuesday and he was returning to Privet Drive after school. It hadn't been a particularly hard day at school – everyone was still getting back into the swing of things after the half term and now the weekend.

Harry had just turned onto Magnolia Crescent when he became aware of the feeling of being watched – he casually strolled over to a low wall where he pretended to re-tie his shoelace, all the while trying to spot his observer. There! He had her – she appeared rather bedraggled – a homeless person perhaps? Why was she following him? Why had nobody else noticed her? Her hair was dark and long, hanging in tangled curls – she looked as though she might have once been pretty, but she was so gaunt that her skin was stretched taut over her bones.

The young boy continued on his way, until he quickly slipped down a side path – for cyclists and pedestrians only, which led to some small shops. Here he awaited his follower, whom he soon saw, looking around with a scowl on her face for having lost sight of Harry. As she passed by, Harry came up from behind.

'Why are you looking for me?' The young boy asked, deciding to get to the point. The older woman spun round suddenly, startled. She caught sight of Harry then and stared. 'Well?' Harry questioned. The older woman twisted her mouth as though she had tasted something particularly sour and scowling once again, proceeded to speak.

'What's a little lost boy like you doing out talking to strangers? Eh, baby Potter? I came a long way to see you – and here you are just out and about without even the sense to run.' Here, the woman pouted. 'I was looking forward to a chase as well…'

Harry was taken aback. She seemed utterly crazed, despite the purpose that lurked in those dark eyes. 'You didn't exactly answer my question, Ma'am; but…' he decided to be insulting, '…what is an apparent beggar woman doing stalking me? And how do you know my name?'

As Harry expected, why he expected it he wasn't certain, but the woman was outraged at being called a beggar. He didn't understand all of her ranting, 'BEGGAR WOMAN! I am a Black! Bellatrix of the most Noble and Ancient House of Black, wife to Rodolphus Lestrange and the most loyal Death Eater to the Dark Lord! I'm the first person to escape from Azkaban! HOW DARE YOU CALL ME A BEGGAR!'

If Harry had known better, he would have realised that the woman was being remarkably coherent and for once somewhat sane despite her shouting. Since he didn't know better, he was now firmly convinced that the woman was delusional, possibly even an escaped mental patient.

He turned away and left the woman still ranting before an audience of none. It had become a somewhat interesting day. He wondered if he should phone the police in regard to this… Bellatrix was it? It was a rather odd name. And so, still musing about how the woman knew his name Harry trudged back to Number Four, unknowing that it is always a bad idea to anger a Black.

--

Later, that very same night in fact, Harry woke up in his cupboard; you see the Cupboard Under the Stairs was where he slept and where he was put whenever the Dursleys wanted him out of the way – which was most of the time. He was to not move, stay quiet and pretend he didn't exist. Harry wasn't dumb – he knew that his relatives would be much happier if that were the case – his non-existence that is. For now, however, he wondered what had woken him – the lack of light creeping between the slats in the cupboard door from Outside (and sometimes he truly believed that outside of his cupboard deserved a capital letter) told him that it wasn't yet past dawn, much less time for him to get up – the lack of his aunt pounding on his cupboard door and yelling for him to get up and make breakfast, only confirmed this for him. So what had woken him?

He listened.

'Blast…damn…mug…could have…the house…no sign…here…all! …any…rooms! Why…Martin's…all…look…same!' the muttering faded in and out of his hearing.

If Harry had been able to hear more clearly, or the unknown stranger spoken just a tad louder, then it would have sounded a little more like this: 'Blasted, damned bloody Muggles! I could have sworn this was the house, but there's no sign he lives here at all! And he isn't in any of the bedrooms! Why in Merlin's name do all their houses have to look the same!'

What little he could hear was worrying, the woman, he decided after a moment's thought, was pacing back and forth and her and Martin, was it? Martin and the woman were planning on mugging someone or perhaps they had been going to mug someone and now they'd obviously expanded their repertoire to burgling houses. The woman was supposed to check every room according to Martin and didn't sound too pleased. He hoped she wouldn't bother with the cupboard – it was a cupboard after all. He tried to keep still and not make a sound but then It happened.

Dust. His nose. He felt an awful tickling sensation, his nose twitching as if – 'oh no' was his only thought – as if he were about to sneeze.

'AITCHOO!'

The pacing stopped. There was a pause before the footsteps and their cause came towards the cupboard door – the door was flung open so hard it rebounded and hit the woman, whom Harry was surprised to realise was the crazy beggar woman, Bellatrix.

AN: I love Bella, I have to admit. And as for her seeming sanity/coherency during her rant – she hasn't been in Azkaban for as long… her time there is roughly halved I believe, so she's not as far gone. I imagine she would waver between periods of lucidity and get lost in bad memories at times… About updates - I will try for updating each week... Thanks for reviewing tishtosh, The PhantomHokage and suikofan!