Hogwarts

They tried to befriend him. They tried to talk to him.

They tried to welcome him and all they felt was a concrete wall, reinforced with steel.

He buried himself in books and attended his classes with religious fervour.

Learning about magic was all he cared about.

Harry Potter had successfully gained a reputation as an anti-social and a snob.

Charms and Transfiguration were Harry's favourite classes. He had risen to the position of star student. Prodigy in the making with the ease with which he mastered spells. Theory was unnecessarily twisted and complicated but the magic was simple. Harry had mastered control over the Void a long time ago. All that was needed now was direction and with the wand, it was too easy.

Potions was weird. The Professor seemed to target him during the entire class and Harry ignored him while answering all the questions. It was the few times anyone ever got to hear his voice. The soft quality of it made those in hearing vicinity shudder. They felt like a dangerous undertone lay hidden in his voice. Even Snape left him alone after the first class.

History of Magic severely disappointed Harry. The ghost who taught the class seemed to be stuck in some kind of time loop. He repeated the same story with a haunted look and haunted voice while he haunted the classroom of History. The monotonous drone of the ghost made Harry make a note to learn how to exorcise ghosts.

Astronomy felt like a waste of time. He had no desire to learn about the constellations and their meanings. But when the teacher told them about the position of stars affecting magic in a unique way, Harry was all ears.

Defence against the Dark Arts was astoundingly ridiculous. The Professor stuttered all the time and never got around to teaching them anything apart from learning how to block a pinching spell or about how to cast a pinching spell. The name of the class was nothing like he had imagined after reading that book on Dark Arts. The book he had bought had nothing about spells in it. It only spoke about the horrors and products of Dark Magic. It was more like a vague history book than knowledge. That got Harry thinking and with the desire to learn more about this mysterious Dark Arts, Harry was on the prowl in the Library.

To his annoyance, the books he wanted were in the Restricted Section and he couldn't enter without the permission of a teacher. The wailing screech when he had crossed an invisible line had shown him what would happen without permission. His ear still throbbed after the librarian had dragged him away and it took all his will not to kill her then and there.

Kill.

The word echoed in his mind more often than ever after his arrival in Hogwarts.

He restrained his instincts. His thirst for magic kept his blood from boiling. It simmered all the time, but it never boiled. Harry knew if it boiled, Dumbledore would take magic away from him.

"Excuse me," a haughty voice interrupted his dark thoughts.

Green eyes slid of the restricted section signboard and refocused on a girl. It was the same girl from the Market and she didn't look pleased to see him.

Harry looked at her with a blank stare.

"You're Harry Potter. You didn't think that was something you could have mentioned the first time we met?"

Had she forgotten he had brushed her off the last time they met, thought Harry.

He turned away from her strolled deeper into the library. Maybe there was something he could find that wasn't in the restricted section and was worth a read.

"Excuse me! Just because you're famous does not give you the right to ignore me! Don't you know who I am?!"

I could make her bleed. A nick on her hand? Or maybe the neck. That would keep her away. But Dumbledore wouldn't like it... Maybe he won't find out?

Harry hesitated.

The girl got the wrong impression and quickly walked in front of him to block his way. She wore a triumphant expression and faced him with an arrogance that made Harry want to snap her neck instead of making her bleed.

Talk to her and get it done with. Maybe she won't bother us after that.

"What do you want?" Harry asked with disinterest.

Like last time, his voice sent a shudder down her spine. It wasn't quite normal. It sounded normal but it was soft and there was something in it that made his innocent voice sound very dangerous. Her confidence faltered but her desire to know more about him won out.

"To be friends," she said firmly.

Harry blinked. She had been persistent because she wanted to be friends?

"Friends?" Harry echoed strangely. It was an entirely foreign concept to him and based on what he had seen of Dudley and his cohorts, he had no interest in friends. The word, after thinking about it for a moment, disgusted him entirely.

"You're an interesting person. I saw the books you selected. Did you finish reading them?"

The thought of books took Harry's thoughts back to the restricted section and his scowl deepened. "I need to get in there," he said, jerking a finger towards the red signboard that read 'Restricted Section'."

"Really!" she gasped. "Whatever for? There's all sorts of book on Dark Magic in there!"

Harry said nothing but his eyes conveyed a message that was to be interpreted as mind your own business.

"Well you need a Professor's permission," she said hesitantly. "I could ask Professor Snape. The other teachers would ask too many questions."

Random thoughts connected into an idea and Harry smiled.

The girl involuntarily took a step back.

"Get me that permission and we can be friends," said Harry. Like that was going to happen, he thought with a mental giggle. That said Harry slid past her walked away leaving behind a stunned girl.

A moment later she scowled as he disappeared around the dark bends of the bookracks.

"That jerk didn't even ask me my name," she huffed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

Ever since the offer of friendship, Harry began observing the behaviour of his fellow students and soon came to a simple conclusion. Friendship, it seemed, turned people into annoying giggling and laughing creatures who spoke of things that had no relevance to magic. When they were alone, they were quiet and focused on learning. The conclusion was further reinforced during a class of Transfiguration.

He had noticed a Gryffindor girl who seemed to have a love for giving answers for every question laid in the path of her mind. While her overzealous nature was annoying, he didn't think much of her. But a month into their first year she began to talk with her fellow Gryffindors and soon instead of focusing on giving answers like she used to, she would glance at them hesitantly and reluctantly put her arm down and laugh with them at times during class. It wasn't long before she stopped raising her arm unless no one else did or if the Professor aimed a question at her.

She had been one of the few who hadn't stared at him like he was a unique creature in a zoo and she still didn't. Now Harry felt pity for her and anger towards her as well. How could she let her thirst for magic be subdued? Were these Witches and Wizards even worthy of having the power of magic?! They could not see the void, they could not adeptly perform simple magic and they treated magic with no respect! Just looking at them wave their wands clumsily and not get spells correct made him mad. And when he got mad, he got the urge to kill people.

"How long do you intend to stare at Ms Granger, Mr Potter," cut in a sharp voice. "Are you finding my lectures boring?"

Ms Granger, upon hearing the startling statement turned sharply and looked at Harry but the boy had already refocused his gaze on the Professor.

"No Professor," Harry said truthfully.

"Then perhaps you'd like to prove it by changing the properties of this matchstick from wood to sliver."

Harry was always eager to embrace the void. He pulled on that part of his mind where his power lay and channelled it into his wand. Then without saying the incantation Harry focused on what the Professor had taught them about metals and organic matter and sent a pulse of magic through his wand.

The brown matchstick with the phosphorous tip shimmered and exquisitely morphed into a threading needle, complete with a sharp tip and a little hole at the back for the thread to go in.

McGonagall had expected him to stutter and balk. The class expected a cold response. No one expected him to go ahead and transfigure the matchstick when the Professor had only just completed simplifying the complex task of explaining the properties of metal and wood to eleven year olds and hadn't even come to the practical aspect of the transfiguration.

Harry felt a rush of thrill. The transformation was perfect. He looked up at the Professor waiting for a response and saw a blank face staring at him. Harry frowned. Had he done something wrong?

"10 Points to Ravenclaw," she said in a clipped tone and slid her eyes over the rest of the class. "This is the kind of skill I expect from all of you. As Mr Potter has adeptly shown, if the theory is understood, then the mechanics of the spell and wand moments are simple. All you…"

Professor Minerva McGonagall glanced at the pale and anti-social Potter. It seemed none of her students had noticed he hadn't said the spell. While calling out the spell name was unnecessary, it was necessary to focus the mind to channel and understand the magic in play. It told her volumes about the capabilities of Harry Potter and his mind set. Considering what he had done and where he had ended up, the possibilities scared her. What did the future hold for this boy? She was one of the few who knew the truth about his past.

When the class was over Harry quietly gave those still attempting to talk to him the slip and ghosted towards the library. The girl had subtly sent him a note during Charms instructing him to meet her at the library. She had looked like she could barely contain her excitement.

She was waiting at the entrance to the library.

"I did it," she said with barely supressed glee. "I told Professor Snape I wanted to research on the variations of the sleeping draught and he signed the slip without even looking! I had to ask some of the seniors how to cast a concealment spell on parchment, you know, to hide you name but as it turns out, it wasn't even required!"

The girl was red in the face, her eyes alive with broad smile stretching her cheeks. She was clearly still exuberant over her success.

Harry looked at her pointedly and stretched out a hand to look at the slip but she quickly snatched it back and made a taunting sound. "Ah, ah. There's a condition attached."

Harry suppressed his annoyance.

"You have to ask me my name and tell me why you want access to the Restricted Section."

Harry glared. His nostrils flared and his anger pulsed.

The girl faltered in her triumph but she didn't back down. She stared back with almost equal will.

Finally, Harry's desire to learn more about magic won out. "What's your name," he asked.

The girl grinned and opened the face of her palm for a handshake. "Daphne," she said. "Daphne Greengrass. I'm sure you've heard of the name."

Harry snatched the paper out of her hand and walked into the library missing her stunned and outraged look.

"Hey!"

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

A month had passed since school had reopened and Dumbledore was rotating a glass of whiskey in his hands absentmindedly. It was his first drink in 11 years. The last being a toast to victory and this being a cure for a headache. A headache that went by the name of Harry Potter. A headache of his own creation.

"I feel like history is repeating itself Fawkes," Dumbledore sighed.

A bird of red and gold and black beads as eyes stared at him curiously.

"He's like the second coming of Tom Riddle only without the needless cruelty and touched by insanity."

Dumbledore felt his age when he thought about the circumstances leading to Harry's withdrawal into a world of his own. He could have never imagined the Dursley's would be physically abusive to their own orphaned nephew. He never imagined Petunia; the same girl who had pleaded to come to Hogwarts, would unleash such horror on her own sister's son.

He had a feeling she might resent him for what he was but what occurred in Privet Drive went beyond nightmares.

A knock on his door disturbed his thoughts and he waved his arm impatiently.

McGonagall walked in.

"Well?"

"He's scary," she said without pleasantries. "His command over magic is incredible and is something not even adults would be able to do. He is one of your kind of Wizards," she said grimly.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and took a sip. His kind of wizards. Those destined to pull the Magical World to their Will, shaping the future around their powers.

"Has he shown any inclination towards socialising?"

McGonagall snorted. "Daphne Greengrass has been seen having one sided conversations with him. Everyone else avoids him like the plague.

In the past Dumbledore had isolated Riddle and tried to keep magic away from him. This time he resolved to do the opposite and hope Harry Potter embraced the light and not the dark.

"Encourage him to learn more about magic. Call him to your office often and ask Flitwick to do the same."

"What about the Stone?"

"It's too dangerous to keep it here now. I'm sending it back to Flamel." Dumbledore feared what a conversation between Harry and Voldemort would lead to.

"And Quirrel?"

"I'll be taking care of that soon."

"If that is all may I leave?"

"Thank you Minerva."