The sun was starting to set on Number 4, Privet Drive, as a young boy was busy yanking weeds from a rose bed, his tattered, dirty clothes loose over him. Every so often, he would wipe his scarred forehead and look at the setting sun, sighing.

Harry Potter wasn't normal. He knew that. His aunt always made sure to tell him that when she could. She also made sure to let him know of his freaky parents' unnaturalness any chance she could and always mentioned how it was their fault that they died in a car crash. He muttered under his breath and went on to grab another weed, yanking it from the ground before he moved to another spot.

He was only six years old as far as he knew, and his aunt always had him working hard every day. His uncle was always busy too, out at some meetings and working hard at a place called Grunnings. Harry had constantly been interested in the place his uncle worked. He was curious because supposedly it was a company that made drills to dig into the ground! A fact that interested him greatly as he often wondered if they tested them. That would be fun! He grinned to himself, and grabbed another weed. He had to be careful this time not to yank it out too hard since it was close to a daisy.

Soon enough, Harry made his way over to the hose. Grabbing it, he doused himself in the cool water. He tried to wash off as much of the dirt as he could. Aunt Petunia never let him use the bath unless Uncle Vernon was home. Freaks should use as little as possible, she had told him; a mantra she had drilled into him repeatedly.

Harry wasn't too sure WHY he was a freak, but he could make some odd things happen. Perhaps he was a freak because of that? Or maybe it was because he loved his crawlspace so much. After his small shower, he moved to water the plants, just as the sun dipped below the horizon.

As the chill of the night air began to settle over his wet form, Harry walked over to the grate that was used to allow air to get into the crawlspace. Pushing it aside and entering the crawlspace, he took out a small book and sat down. He moved to use the light from the door light to read his favorite book, "The Fantastic Mister Fox".

It was his treasure, a small book he had found in the few times he had actually "won" a game of Harry Hunting. His hiding spot had been perfect. It was under the stands in the playground, so Dudley couldn't find him and was secluded from sight to most everyone. He had found the book there and fallen under a seat too small for a normal child to reach, so he had squeezed in and claimed it as his treasure. For once, his small size had come in handy!

His fingers traced over the well-worn pages, relaxing as he waited for himself to dry in the cool night air of summer. He always loved this part of the day. Aunt Petunia normally sent him outside before Uncle Vernon came home, saying he could have some time for himself if he was as quiet as possible. Of course, he did his best to always be that quiet; Aunt Petunia got furious when he was loud.

Harry heard the latch on the porch door unlock and the door open. "Time to come in, lad!" It was Uncle Vernon's voice. He was finally home, it sounded like.

Harry quickly rushed over, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. He could get in trouble if he wasn't fast… Uncle Vernon never minded, but Aunt Petunia was always watching. Then, when Uncle Vernon went to work, she would make sure to punish him for it.

As Harry hurried to the door, Uncle Vernon clicked his tongue. "Your clothes are all dirty again, boy. Make sure to switch out to a new set so we can get those washed," Vernon's voice was gruff, but Harry always liked hearing it.

Of the three people in his "family", Uncle Vernon was the one who was always gruff, but always seemed to have a reason for it. He was never rough on Harry like Aunt Petunia was. Plus, Uncle Vernon's heavyset weight always reminded Harry of the pictures of Santa Claus that were so prevalent during Christmas.

"Y-yes sir." Harry's voice was small as the large, burly man patted his head, making Harry's heart soar. He always loved doing good enough to warrant that simple gesture.

Without a word, Harry hurried to the table and took his dinner. Small portions, as always on Aunt Petunia's orders. He then swapped out his oversized clothes for a second set, these ones being massive on his small form. Aunt Petunia always stated he wasn't good enough for real clothes after all, and the few pieces he had were special treasures that Uncle Vernon got him for special occasions, but Aunt Petunia never let him wear them.

Quick as a wink, he slid into the crawlspace from the spot in the kitchen. It was his home, carefully expanded over the past two years.

Originally, it had been a place to hide from Aunt Petunia and Dudley, but Uncle Vernon said if he liked the place so much then he could have it all to himself if he desired. Aunt Petunia had not been happy about it at all, and she had said he should be in the cupboard under the stairs. Uncle Vernon had said that Harry deserved to choose where he wanted to be, somewhere he felt safe.

Harry had been jubilant about that, especially when Uncle Vernon had done his best to make sure Aunt Petunia would not try to remove him.

Quickly eating his dinner, he carefully wiped his hands on an old shirt he had set up as a sort of towel. The crawlspace was all dirt, but when he had been given it by Uncle Vernon, the large man had given him several carpets to set up under the house. He prided himself on all of them, even having a few of them as a bed. After all, Aunt Petunia was always saying how Freaks shouldn't be seen or heard. Maybe she would be happy if he managed to find ways to save her money.

Soon enough, he was curled up, reading his book under the light of the small light bulb that was the only form of light in the small crawlspace.

It wasn't long before he fell asleep atop his book, happily dreaming of Mister Fox, and his guile. Of foxes and rabbits, of woodlands and fox dens.

Harry's life was simple and he worked hard to try to get his aunt to be a bit nicer to him. His seventh birthday had come and gone, and he knew that Dudley's birthday was far more important, something his aunt had repeatedly stated to him. Of course, someone like him really didn't deserve presents or gifts, right?

However, Harry soon found himself with a gift of his own. It had been a rather windy day when he was working outside, the blustery gale making it difficult to water the plants in the backyard correctly. He had managed to stop a few things from flying away, but he wasn't prepared for a book to fly out of the sky with a light flapping noise and strike him in the face!

Harry was curious and giddy after he recovered, realizing what had struck him. His eyes quickly danced over the cover, seeing it was a rather old book.

"Tales of Beedle the Bard"

It was so old that he thought maybe some grandmother had lost it. But still, it was a book! And another book meant another treasure. He hugged the book tightly to his chest, keeping it hidden under his baggy clothes as he finished his work for the day.

Hurrying inside under Aunt Petunia's gaze, he hurriedly returned to his crawlspace, where he leaned against the wall and started reading his new treasure.

The tale of Babbity Rabbity was his favorite, thinking of the witch who could turn into a rabbit. He imagined how it'd feel to be a rabbit and his gaze fell to the book of "The Fantastic Mister Fox". Or a fox! He imagined what it would be like to bea fox, sly and witty, always able to protect himself.

Harry found himself idly wondering if Aunt Petunia would like him more if he was more sly and intelligent. Uncle Vernon seemed to be nice, and maybe he'd get even more pats on the head if he was smarter, too!

After thinking about it, Harry decided on a plan. He'd help more around the house and do more chores. Maybe if he proved he was able to help more, His Aunt would like him more! And maybe he'd get those wonderful headpats from his uncle. He seemed excited at the possibility of such a future, as he vowed to do more the next day.

It was another hard way of work, as young eight-year-old Harry Potter slid back into the crawlspace. His idea from a year ago had been a mistake. When Aunt Petunia saw him working harder, she had demanded he take over ALL chores in the house. Cooking, cleaning, weeding, washing, everything was now on him. And when he spoke to say anything other than "Yes Ma'am", he would get a swift slap on the cheek. It hurt, but Harry should have known better after all.

The silent, quiet boy's highlights were always the evenings, when he was able to read. It was strange, however. The harder he worked, the more strange things seemed to happen around him. His insides would tingle, and sometimes dishes would magically become clean or a tile on the kitchen would repair itself.

However, the oddest thing always happened when he worked outside in the garden. It would always be joined by a strange sound, that sounded like a man whispering. But it always happened on windy days, and it would happen over and over. Old books would somehow find their way to him.

A month after he had gotten "Tales of Beedle the Bard", another book had fallen into the yard. Then the same thing happened three weeks later. The books always looked old, with some being so ancient Harry was worried they'd fall apart in his hands. Oddly though, they didn't look like they had been torn in the wind, or even damaged from it. It was like magic!

The names of the books had been interesting too. "Wandcraft and Wizards: Knowing your Wand", "An Adventurer's Guide to Magical Creatures", "Magic and You: Knowing the Signs". It all seemed so strange, but after three months of new books Harry had found himself questioning it less and less. His relatives never saw the books, so he never had to tell them about it, right?

Harry had a total of ten books, ten whole treasures, that he carefully kept on the nicest of the carpets in the crawlspace. They truly were his treasures, and he wasn't going to lose them. Aunt Petunia never bothered herself with going more than an arm's reach into the crawlspace, Dudley was too fat to fit in, and Uncle Vernon wouldn't take his treasures.

The final book he had found was fascinating. Long had he had a strange feeling in his stomach. Sometimes it built up to the point it made his entire body tingle. It was like something was trying to flow out!

However, when he asked his Aunt and said he may be sick, she seemed almost… frightened. She hadn't even spoken to him in response before slapping him hard across the face, and saying he should never let it out.

Harry had learned quickly that whatever the feeling was, he wasn't allowed to show it in front of everyone. He didn't dare show it around Uncle either. Aunt Petunia had said he was a freak and he didn't want Uncle Vernon to know how freaky he was.

Unfortunately, things would not last.

It was the middle of the school year at St. Grogory's when it happened. Another game of Harry Hunting, but this time, Piers, one of Dudley's friends, had brought something with him. It made Harry frightened, too; A long, metal-tipped cane that Piers said belonged to his father.

"Come on, Potter! Come and get your caning!" Dudley's voice was right behind him as he ran, and ran, and ran. Harry's tiny body could fit into places Dudley couldn't, but it was three against one. Harry only won Harry Hunting four times since Dudley had invented the game several years prior.

"There he is!" Piers' whiny voice caught Harry as he tried to climb a fence, attempting to get home so that he could hide in the crawlspace. It was his sanctuary, his home. The only place he was safe. Just as he saw Privet Drive ahead, Harry suddenly felt a hand grab him from behind. The collar of his shirt snapped back and pinched his neck.

"Got him!" Piers shouted. Harry could hear Dennis and Dudley cheer. Before he could say anything, there was a swift CRACK as the cane suddenly hit Harry on the side of his head from behind. Giving a yelp, Harry felt something warm and wet drip down beside his eye as he was thrown to the ground.

"We win, Potter! Now it's time for our fun!" Dudley's mocking voice spoke up. Harry had a hard time seeing. The blow had knocked off his glasses and sent them flying into the grass next to the sidewalk. A few seconds later, Harry felt Dudley's huge shoe slam into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him.

"Let's see how long we can keep him awake this time!" Dennis' snide voice said above him. Harry curled up into a ball and quivering and felt a weird sensation deep in his gut.

"Not now, not now," Harry muttered to himself. He had never allowed the sensation to escape before, but it was so hard to hold it now.

He didn't have a choice. As the cane and the other kids' kicks hammered him again and again, Harry felt the sensation burn through him like a fire that poured from around him. He could feel something tingling in the air around him, being drawn into his body as the kicks got worse.

Something in Harry's mind thought about Mister Fox. How would he have dealt with it? Mister Fox would have hidden, he'd never have been caught in the first place. He was too sneaky. If only Harry was sneaky. If only Harry was like Mister Fox…

POP

Suddenly, the three boys were screaming, and Harry could hear the sound of the cane dropping to the ground. Footsteps quickly grew quieter and quieter as soon Harry was alone. When no pain came, he slowly opened his eyes.

Everything looked… bigger. MUCH bigger as he opened his mouth. A tiny little whimper escaped from his lips as he suddenly noticed a long snout on his face. Panicking, Harry reached his hands up but found they were a pair of tiny black booted paws, snow white fur running up his 'arms' and to his shoulders.

Harry screamed in terror, but all that came out was a loud and yowling yip as he fell backwards. As he did, he could see a fluffy tail between two hind paws. He… he was a fox?!

Harry felt panic well up in his chest. Aunt Petunia would… she'd… Panic tore through his body and he whimpered again, feeling fear gripping his heart. How could he turn back?! Could he turn back?! What if he couldn't?! He suddenly felt a pair of hands grab him.

The panic got even worse, as he felt those hands brush over him. An unfamiliar yet soothing voice slid through the air. "Shhhhh, It's okay. Breathe. Focus." The voice was tender, and Harry felt himself being brought between a couple houses and into the shadows.

Slowly, the panic lessened, and he started to breathe. Harry could feel a pulsing chill in his veins, like an ice-cold fire that pressed through every part of his body. "There you go. Now, release the magic." Magic? Harry was confused. Aunt Petunia hated that word. It wasn't real, right? But still, he did as the voice said as he felt those gentle hands set him down.

It was like a rush, a flow of energy that escaped his body as he heard another soft POP. Suddenly, he was sitting in the grass, looking at a strange and gaunt man that seemed oddly familiar.

"There you go, you did it." The man's gentle voice calmed Harry, who slunk away a little. He was worried about this stranger. Aunt Petunia had always said to stay away from strangers because they could grab you and try to kidnap you!

"It's alright, Harry. I'm a friend," the man said gently.

Harry looked warily at the man. Between the bandage on his right eye and the long black unkempt hair and beard, the man looked rather scary.

Mustering up what courage he had, Harry timidly asked, "Who - who are you?"

There was a pause as the man considered the question, giving an answer a second later.

"You can call me Mister Dark."

Harry stared at the man. Mister Dark? Was that his real name? It couldn't be. "A-alright, Mister Dark. B-but why did you help me? I-I've never done anything like that before. I-I swear! I-I won't do it ag-"

The man snorted, "What are you talking about! That was amazing. Absolutely amazing! I've never seen someone do full self transfiguration as a child before!"

Harry instinctively cringed away at the raised tone.

However, there was no slap. Instead, the man's eyes were twinkling merrily as he beamed at Harry. "Normally, magic like that is beyond the level of a child as young as you."

"M-magic isn't real," Harry said meekly.

"Of course it is, Harry." Mister Dark said gently, his hand reaching out and patting Harry's head. Harry froze. It was just like Uncle Vernon's headpats! His body seemed to relax. "R-really? I-I'm not in trouble?" Harry squeaked out.

"No, you aren't in trouble. In fact-" Mister Dark was cut off by the sound of Aunt Petunia's nasal voice. "Where are you?" It was almost like the hissing of a cat, not too loud and specifically not trying to draw attention to her words. However, Harry had heard the voice before, when he had spent too long outside. It normally meant that he'd be getting a slap or a spanking if he didn't come immediately.

"I-I have to go." Harry said quickly, grabbing his glasses from where they had fallen. Just as he was about to leave, Mister Dark whispered, "If you ever need to meet me again, just come back to this place."

Harry rushed out of the little alley where he had been carried. He almost ran full-force into Aunt Petunia, who looked at him angrily.

"What are you doing, you horrible little boy! Bullying little Duddy again? And he tells me that you did something freakish this time!" The second part was almost hissed out, making Harry shiver.

"B-but I…" Harry flinches, but that was the wrong thing to do as Aunt Petunia grabbed his ear, yanking it harshly. "Don't you dare talk back to me, young man! You and your delinquency will not be tolerated in my house! You will head straight home and start on your chores immediately!" Aunt Petunia's voice was a bit louder now as she yanked Harry's ear and started to pull him down the street.

Harry could barely manage a gasp, but he bit his tongue so he wouldn't make any more noise. Aunt Petunia's grip on his ear was tight, and it felt like his ear was going to rip off as she brought him down the street to the house. Harry could see a few eyes on him from nearby houses, eyes that quickly disappeared as curtains were drawn. To everyone else, Harry was the delinquent kid, the bully and dangerous freak of the family.

Tears welled in Harry's eyes from the pain as Aunt Petunia tossed him inside, closing the door behind them as she forced Harry to the floor. Harry barely had any time before Aunt Petunia's hand came down and slapped him hard across the cheek. Harry took it as always, feeling the red welt return to his cheek.

"You filthy little freak! Scaring my poor Duddykins half to death, and daring to use your freakish powers near him! What if he'd been hurt? And in public, too! What if someone had seen your freakishness? You won't be having any dinner tonight, and you will be waxing the floor until I can see my reflection in it!" She shrieked.

Harry got to work immediately and without another word. He was used to this, though the slap this time had been rather hard. As he worked, he thought of what the man had said.

Magic. Was it really real? He remembered the sensation of that energy in his veins. The tingling, and the icy-hot feeling of it. He remembered the book he had found that told about all sorts of magical things, Tales of Beedle the Bard. And the book on magic that he had been reading. Was, was it not just a fantasy book?

Harry worked diligently, as his mind was awash with the possibilities. What could Magic do? The question was at the forefront of his mind. Thoughts danced through his head of fairies and magical creatures.

-Author's Notes-
And here we get into the substance of the story. I never imagined such a warm reception... 20 whole follows! It's crazy, if I was to sit down with all of you in a restaurant, we'd probably fill up the entire place. I'm genuinely flattered at all the interest!

As you can see here, Harry is quite different. Finding a children's book early on in his life gave him a bit of home, and a bit of insight on the injustices in the world. He sees he needs to be cunning and intelligent to survive, no matter what. And with a certain Mister Dark out of prison, perhaps things can go a bit differently for the boy.

As for Uncle Vernon, this is a man who took courses in Anger Management in the Americas in order to become a director. Due to this shift in the timeline, he was not home when Harry was left on the doorstep. This fundamentally changed many things, including his reaction to Harry.

Once more, if you are interested in the story, I am looking for beta readers. As it is right now I have 180k words ready to post, but my editing process takes 3 read-throughs before I release it to the public. Anyone who'd be willing to help with it, even if you only look out for minor proofreading, would be much appreciated. Especially if I forget something and you catch it, that's my biggest worry, not a fan of leaving plot threads unchecked!

From here, I will be posting once a week on Mondays. I write an hour a day every day, but the main issue is the 3-stage proofreading process I use. If I get a few beta readers, I might one day be able to post a chapter every 2-3 days!

As per usual, Harry potter is owned by JK Rowling. This is merely my rehash of her story. Thank you so much for reading!