Generally speaking, the best way to start a story is at the beginning. However, what constitutes the beginning is never absolute; it is arbitrary depending on who is telling the story. This story could begin any morning in Harry Potter's childhood, on a cot in the cupboard under the stairs of #4 Privet Drive. It could begin the morning of November 2nd 1981, when Petunia Dursley found an unexpected package on the front step of her house, or perhaps two days before when the Dark Lord Voldemort blew the door off the hinges of a cottage in Godric's Hollow and massacred the residents only to be blown to bits himself in inexplicable circumstances. However, this particular story begins before all of that. It begins when Lord Voldemort discovered a secret that changed everything.

Some knowledge is hidden for a reason.

...

Tom Riddle glanced at the extensive ritual circle on the ground around him. It was cold in the very deepest recesses of the tomb, and the only light came from the stark white sphere of conjured light that floated above his head. The room was enormous, half the size of a quidditch stadium, with tall columns defining the edges of the circle he stood on. In the middle stood a stone podium with a single ancient tome placed on top.

The Dark Lord walked slowly toward the altar. His magic flowed from him into his surroundings like a sniffing hound, searching for any threat to its master. When he reached the center of the room, he looked down at the dusty grimoire. It had a black mark burned into the cover, an incomplete angular 8 with a line running through the center vertically. His heart started to beat faster with excitement. He used wandless magic to very carefully open the decrepit book and began skimming the contents.

This was it!

The years of searching had been worth it. He had finally found what he was looking for. A way to achieve his goals. Not just a way, the way. The only way that mattered. Nothing else compared, not his horcruxes or the dark enhancement rituals he had used to improve his magic and physical body. All of that would be trivial, inconsequential compared to this.

He carefully levitated the tome off the podium. With a wave of his hand he created a small expanded area in space and folded the book inside it. The book disappeared, safe from all harm that could befall it before he left this wretched tomb. He turned a slow circle, memorizing the runes inscribed into the floor around him. With one last disdainful sneer, he raised his hands.

"Fiendfyre."

He apparated away silently as his cursed, sentient fire ravaged the caverns, burning and melting through earth and magic until nothing was left of that place. The Dark Lord cackled as he reappeared in his manor home. All that was left now was to pay the Potters a visit. He would assure his ascension, guarantee his immortality forevermore, and remove any risk posed by the prophesied child, all in one night.

...

Three years later

Harry Potter peeked through the curtains and out the window of #4 Privet Drive. He hoped that his aunt wouldn't catch him slacking off on his chores, but he couldn't ignore what he saw outside the window.

It was hideous.

Limping down the sidewalk of the perfectly normal suburb was a monster. It looked like it had once been a man, but its skin was rotted and missing in many places. Its arms were just slightly too long, its gait unnatural and stuttering. Empty, soulless red eyes stared out of its sunken, dead face. Its mottled head turned this way and that, like a confused child. Suddenly, with terrifying speed, it whipped its head around and locked its glowing red eyes on Harry.

Harry screamed. He couldn't help it.

"What in God's name are you doing, boy?" Aunt Petunia's shrill yell came from behind him. He stumbled back from the window.

"Look!" he said, pointing out between the curtains. Aunt Petunia sniffed and glanced out the window.

"There's nothing there, you foolish boy, now finish the dusting before Vernon gets home."

Harry looked out the window at the dead man walking right in front of the garden. He glanced back at his aunt, who was still looking out the window at the neighbor's house, and back at the monster staring him right in the face. And the four-year-old boy went back to dusting, studiously trying to convince himself that monsters aren't real.

...

One year later

Harry Potter looked out the window of his Year 1 classroom. He was practically bouncing up and down with excitement. He was finally at school! He finally got to escape Privet Drive and his aunt with her relentless chore lists and required perfection. He was going to get to go to class and play with the normal kids! Even his cousin's non-stop pestering couldn't ruin his high spirits today. Everything was perfect.

Until he saw it.

On the other side of the playground, right near the edge of the tree line, stood… something. It looked too tall to be a man, its limbs sickeningly thin and boney. Its face looked vaguely human, although it seemed stretched and waxy. Its eyes rolled in their sockets and gave off a red glow that was visible even in the sunlight.

Harry's blood ran cold. He had convinced himself that he was seeing things, that the monsters he sometimes glimpsed out the windows of Privet Drive were only his imagination. His aunt couldn't see them, neither could his uncle or his cousin. They couldn't be real. Besides, they had never done anything; they just wandered near the edge of the garden before moving on. Somehow, he knew this time would be different.

Suddenly, the man's head snapped toward him, its neck stretching unnaturally as its eyes stopped rolling and focused on him. The mark on Harry's forehead burned white hot, like someone was branding him. Harry pushed himself back out of his plastic chair, stumbling away from the window as the monster opened its maw. Its bottom jaw stretched, opening far wider than should have been possible, and it screamed. Even across the field and through the glass, Harry heard it. His heart rate skyrocketed, pounding in his ears as he scrambled away from the window.

The monster lunged forward faster than should have been possible. It fell to all fours, its elongated arms bending backwards so it scuttled across the playground like a horrifying, ravenous spider. Harry ran, knocking over a desk and two kids as he tried to get to the teacher. His teacher barely had time to look up at him before the window exploded inwards. The monster tumbled across the floor in a cloud of broken glass, righting itself far faster than the children scattered around it. It brought one of its arms down as it shrieked in a terrifying harmony with his screaming classmates. Harry dove behind a desk, but he could hear the sickening cracks and shrill screams as the monster ripped its way towards him, tearing through rubble and children alike.

Harry tried to run as his cover was torn away, but he wasn't fast enough. Long skeletal fingers caught him, and he was wrenched backwards. He twisted to face the monster. His vision was filled with nothing but the darkness of the monster's gullet, almost human-like teeth encircling the black hole. He screamed and brought his arms forward to defend himself against the closing jaw.

Crunch.

Harry stared in stunned horror at the mangled, bloody stumps of what used to be his forearms and hands. Blood poured from the twisted tissue, stark white bone showing and punching through in horrible sharp angles. He couldn't process this, couldn't believe it. It couldn't be real. The pain hit him, but he could not even comprehend it. He felt numb.

The creature opened its mouth and lunged forwards again, and this time there was nothing between those crushing teeth and his head.

No no no no no n-

Harry felt it before he saw it. He felt the tingling, electric power bloom in his chest. He felt it sizzle and crackle through his broken, useless arms. He barely had time to register that his arms were twisting, snapping back into place and his hands were reforming, splayed out before him facing the monster, before a green light lit up the room. Harry felt the monster let go of him, but most of his mind was focused on this incredible feeling. He could feel the energy coursing through his body, feel it pulsing beneath his skin. It was absolutely amazing.

He finally realized that his surroundings were far too quiet. He opened his eyes and looked around. He was alone in the room; all of the other children had either run or been ripped apart by the creature. The teacher was nowhere to be seen. He looked down and stumbled backwards in shock, landing on his back on the floor.

The monster lay before him, just as grotesque in death as it was in life. Its long limbs were tangled and disarrayed; its skeletal body draped over the desk where it had fallen. However, what scared Harry the most was what remained of its head. A burnt, gaping hole punched straight through the back of its mouth and head. Its eyes and face remained intact, staring up at him. The eye sockets were completely empty now, showing no trace of the maniacal red glow they held just moments earlier.

Harry kicked backwards away from the creature, pushing himself along the ground until his back hit the wall. He brought his legs up to his chest.

It was all just too much.

Too much.

Too much.

He remained there against the wall until the police arrived.

...

Three Years Later

Harry Potter raced through the forest. He could feel branches whipping him, cutting into him as he forced himself through the briars and underbrush. He didn't care, he knew that the small scratches would heal before he could even look down at them anyway.

Every time, he thought, every time I think that they won't find me. Every time I convince myself that last time would truly be the last time.

But they never stopped.

After the police were done questioning him about the incident three years ago, he had been sent back to the loving arms of his aunt and uncle who promptly grounded him for weeks for "causing trouble". No one would believe him when he told them what happened. The official story was that a mad gunman had shot out the window and fired into the classroom before killing himself. No one questioned the crushed bones of the dead children; no one noticed the bite marks on their bodies. They marked it off as a terrible attack by a sick man whose motives remain unknown, but nothing more alarming than that.

That wasn't the end for Harry. He could feel the unnatural power within him, and he remembered having his arms destroyed by the creature. He wouldn't let himself be convinced that they weren't real anymore. Hidden away in the dark cupboard under the stairs that he called home, he tried to call to the power. It took time and effort, and at times he lost faith that it was even possible, but finally he managed to bring that feeling forth again. It felt warm, like a fire was burning pleasantly inside his chest. He flexed it, letting it run down his arms and legs. He felt his bruises from his cousin Dudley's latest beatings disappear, felt the marks on his back from Vernon's belt heal.

Harry grinned in the darkness and pulled the energy into his hands. The tiny closet lit up with eerie green light, casting stark shadows in the small space.

Every night Harry practiced with his newfound power, and every time he summoned it, he basked in the wonderful feeling. He wasn't crazy. Whatever this was, it was real! The next time they came for him, he wouldn't be powerless.

It took longer than Harry thought it would before anything strange happened. Weeks passed, but he refused to grow complacent. He knew that the monsters weren't gone.

He was right.

Most of the time he managed to avoid them. Whenever he felt his mark burn, he would make his excuses and run. So far, they hadn't chased him very far before disappearing again. Sometimes they caught him, but he never let it get as far as the first time. He would bring forth his power in wide bursts, driving them away. But they didn't stay away; in fact, they seemed to be getting worse.

His foot caught on a gnarled root, and he fell, sprawling across the ground. He rolled and tried to right himself, but not before the howling creature behind him caught up. It was a dog of some sort, but nothing like anything he had seen before. Its jaw was unnaturally long, the sick split of its lips extending back to the very base of its skull, and its eyes were huge and glowing madly. It leapt at him from across the clearing, front claws outstretched and mouth gaping. Harry rolled to the side, barely avoiding its charge, and leapt to his feet.

He let his power flow, intending to throw it at the monster. He never got the chance; the beast was faster than he expected and bowled into him, sending him and the canine rolling into the underbrush. Harry felt its claws pierce the skin on his arms and swung wildly, letting his power infuse his fist as he felt it connect with the dog's flank.

He was surprised when he felt the monster's bones give way under his knuckles as the beast was thrown off him by the force of the blow. He scrambled to his feet and looked down at his hands. With his power singing through his fists, the wounds from the creature's claws were already healing. His hands seemed almost warped, the air around them rippling with the haze of power. He grinned as the wolf righted itself.

He didn't need to run. He didn't need to hide. He would not let these monsters be the end of him. He would not let them make him into nothing.

Harry and the creature circled each other warily, until the monster couldn't restrain itself any longer. It lunged at him with serrated teeth snapping but he was ready this time. He forced as much power as he could into his fist as he brought it forward to connect with the dog's head. He felt the sickening crunch of the beast's skull, and its head snapped sideways at an unnatural angle. It fell at his feet as the red glow dimmed from its eyes.

And, alone in the forest, the tattered, scrawny child began to laugh.