~Tell Them- Before~

Two boys Lay in the cot that night. Alius Remus Potter, and his brother, Harry James Potter. Both were named for their parents' friends. Alius, for Albus Dumbledore and Sirius Black, and Remus Lupin. Harry for his mother's childhood friend, and his father.

Alius was the expected 'smart' one. He, at one year of age, was able to say 'Moo-ma'. Harry resented this. There was something in Harry that understood his parents and brother. His parents thought that just because Harry had nothing to say meant he was slow, and that as his brother could mimic a cow, Alius was bright. He kind of doubted this logic.

Harry was very intelligent for a baby. He didn't talk because he accepted things for what they were, and he didn't cry because his brother did. So this made him different. But his parents still loved him.

In fact, the last words his mother, Lily, had said to the twins were "Stay safe, my children."

That night, Godric's Hallow was empty, excluding Charlus and Dorea Potter- the two's grandparents. Charlus had held Harry, talking in a low voice, while Dorea cooed at the giggling Alius.

"I'm not senile, Harry," muttered Charlus Potter, smiling slightly at the curious child. "Your parents both believe Alius is the child of the prophecy. That he's powerful and smart. I don't. I won't deny the kid's smart, but you're clever, kid. And powerful? I could feel your magical core when I reached the gate, Harry. Couldn't feel Al's till I was beside the cot. Normal, I s'pose, for a baby. Even dear Alice's boy has the aura of a squib. But Dumbeldore thinks it's Al, and I'm none the wiser. But even the greatest wizards can make mistakes, kid."

Harry gave a near-toothless grin at his grandfather, and Charlus Potter had a feeling the baby had listened and hung to every word he'd spoken. He was probably right.

"Charlie?" Came Doria's shaking voice. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That creaking noise, Charlie! I swear it sounded like that old gate!"

Charlus sighed. "It's probably Black, or Lupin. Or that no-good Pettigrew. You can even sound the 'petty' in it."

"Charlie!"

"Sorry, Dorey. But that boy's as brave as a spineless rat."

Dorea smiled a little, and Alius gave a sharp tug at her greying hair. She cringed, and gently pulled his little fist away. "Now, now, Alius. That isn't very nice, now, is it?"

Alius gave out a large wail.

Dorea exhaled, slightly irked, but she let the child grab at her hair.

Charlus tut-tutted. "That boy's a beast." But he had an amused expression on his face as he said it. "Just like his father."

But instead of laughing, Dorea gasped again. "I'd give an unbreakable vow on it this time, Charlie! I swear I heard the front door open!"

Charlus flinched, knowing the severity of the unbreakable vow, and stood. He placed Harry into the crib, and Dorea did likewise with Al. "Alright, dear, I'll check it out. You stay with the boys."

His eyes flashed back to Harry when he heard the faintest sound. A small sob. The boy was crying. Harry had never cried, from the moment of his birth until now, the Charlus hadn't heard of the boy ever releasing a single tear.

"S'okay, kid," he said unsurely.

"No, I don't think it is," came a low voice. "Not when you're dead- Avada Kedavra!"

Alius let out another cry as Charlus Potter fell back, lifeless.

Harry just stared, silent now. The tears stopped.

The man with the snake-like red eyes stared back. He smirked. "Ah, Harry Potter. Known for your Killing-Curse green eyes," he eerily pushed some of Harry mop of jet black hair away from the boy's eyes. Dorea cried out.

The man hissed, serpent-like. He stumbled back in surprise.

"Those eyes..."

As those eyes stared up at him in vague interest, the Dark lord came to a near-remorseful conclusion. (Something he rarely did.)

"You must die, child." He said, almost softly. Something flashed in his eyes. A boy, eleven years of age, raven black hair and snake green eyes, different from those around him. Misunderstood. "It's one heir, or another."

He rose his wand, yelling the cursed words. Dorea began caterwauling, and she flung herself in front of the green curse. Harry released a shrill sound, not unlike a scream.

When the light died down, Voldemort looked down at the dead body in front of the cot. He looked back up at Harry, and the boy smiled sadly at him. The most odd smile from a baby. Almost as if Harry knew something the Dark Lord did not.

"Avada Kedavara!" He yelled, for the third time that night. The spell hurled itself towards the baby's forhead... and bounced off it. The baby kept on grinning, as the curse zapped back, and, in turn, hit the Dark Lord.

He screamed, a throaty, angry sound that made Alius bawl even louder. The child laughed, as the dark lord was dissolved in an orb of green light.

And vanished with a hiss.

Harry was beaming. Touching his forehead with a little finger, he felt the lightning shaped scar.

No. He didn't like that. It felt... odd. Evil. He didn't like it at all.

He offered it to his brother, but the other boy said no. Harry frowned. What could he do with the scar? Nothing. It was no map of the London underground, and Harry decided it was gaudy and not at all nice. And so he rubbed at it, irritated. It slowly began to disappear, like he was washing off a stain. Harry, satisfied, uncaring of where and on whom the scar ended up, lay back down and fell to sleep.

Alice was a terribly nice person, and she and Lily had been friends since Hogwarts. Lily had always had a place in heart for the sweet Gryffindor girl.

And now she was staring at that woman's body. She had been only twenty-one, Lily thought weakly. The same could be said for Frank Longbottom, Alice's beloved husband. Now the loving couple lay, side by side, strewn across the carpet. There was no blood. The Cruciatus curse didn't leave traces.

Bellatrix Black had gone mad years before this. But even she should have known that holding the Torture curse for over half an hour or so ended disastrously. Performing it for longer could kill.

Unlike the Killing curse victims, long-term Cruiciatus curse victims die in pain.

Alice was too good a person to have deserved this, and Lily held back a sob.

"Alli?"

"Yeah, Lils?"

"If... If You-Know-Who comes after us, you know, 'cos we're not pureblood..."

"Y-yeah?"

"How would you prefer it to end?"

"A simple Killing curse. No pain. It's fast. I might not even know it's coming!"

"What about... what about Frank?"

"Frank would fight. But he'd lose. He's a great dueller, but He-who-must-not-be-named is a murderer. And I'd rather die fast, unaware, and happy, then live slow, aware and sad."

A tear ran down her face, leaving a translucent blue line. She didn't have the vanity to wipe it away.

She felt an arm around her.

"It'll be okay, Lils." Said her husband, James. "Their kid survived. They saved their kid, Lils. Sent him away to his Gran's for the last month, under Dumbledore's warning. They knew he was coming."

"B-b-but Alice didn't want to know!" Lily cried. I'd rather die, fast, unaware, and happy.

By the time they'd reached an apparition zone, the first screams had already gone off in Godric's Hallow.

Appearing before their hidden house, Lily noted that the gate was open. They never left the gate open.

"The front door's wide open," James said, slight worry in his tone. This only added to the paranoia.

"It's nothing," Lily said with equal anxiety, her voice betraying that she felt the opposite. I hope.

In the end, nothing was Dark Magick seeping out from the house. Nothing was two dead grandparents, horror captured in their still expressions. Nothing was a smiling baby, sleeping happily- while his brother poked the tingling pink lightning scar on his forehead. Nothing was the Boy-Who-Lived, Alius Potter.

No one thought to check. No one noticed the lightning had no darkness within. No one noticed that dark magick protruded from Harry's forehead.

And that was the biggest Nothing of them all.

(And so 'Stay Safe My Children' became 'Stay Safe My Child').

Eight years later. Age: 9.

Harry was sitting up in his room, completing a letter. Surrounding him were heaps of books. He had long since devoured all the 'Light' reads in the Potter manor, and so had moved onto the less than legal ones. Of course, his parents needn't know so.

Downstairs his parents were literally drooling over his brother, Alius. Harry thought Alius a buffoon. Perhaps even more idiotic. The sounds Al was making as he complained about his 'Milk being too wet' were astonishingly loud, but Harry had learned to place a No-Sound charm on his ears. There was nothing his brother could say that he'd want to hear. He frequently forgot to remove it, but what did it matter when no one spoke to him nowadays?

He knew not to care. But that didn't mean he didn't.

Everyone was forever telling that his parents loved him, because they were always forgetting to tell him themselves. Sometimes Harry thought that they didn't forget- that they didn't love him anymore. But for his own sake, he discarded the thought.

The truth was that Harry loved his parents dearly. He loved them more than his brother, or old Dumbledore, and most definitely more than his aunt Petunia. But one of his deepest fears was that they didn't feel the same way about him. Sighing, he looked out the window to see a man with a long greying beard and a peaked blue cap and robe in the driveway. Albus Dumbledore, the most powerful wizard in England.

Harry hated him.

That man was the one who had let the Dark Lord know of the prophecy, that man was the reason his grandparents died, that man was the reason his parents loved Alius more than him.

Wordlessly, Harry removed the No-Sound charm. How impressed would his mum and dad be- to see him doing wordless and wandless magic. If they weren't so caught up in being the Boy-Who-Lived's parents. They were so obssessed, they would probably think it was under Al's influence.

He slowly slinked downstairs. He rarely let his presence be known when near Dumbledore- he hadn't done so for years, now. Not that the dullard noticed. The only Potter child on his mind was the 'Chosen One'.

Harry knew that his brother was a 'Chosen One'. But in a different way to Dumbledore.

Alius had been chosen over him by their parents. Alius had been chosen over him by Dumbledore. Alius had been chosen over him by the public.

But Alius had not been chosen over Harry by Voldemort. No. And that's where they all were wrong.

Harry didn't bother telling them so. He let them draw their own conclusions. Let them be wrong. Let the wizarding world suffer for their mistake. Harry didn't care.

Except... he did. If they had chosen correctly, his parents would love him. The public would love him. He wouldn't be overlooked. Why couldn't Alius be the one stuck in the shadows?

He didn't understand. He and Al were twins. Though one had red hair, the other black, and one with brown eyes, and the other green, he saw no immediate differences. So why Al?

Let them have their 'Hero' thought Harry, angrily. When the Dark Lord does return, let's see the Boy-Who-Lived die.

"Yes, Lily. Alius will be receiving his Hogwarts letter in two months' time." Dumbledore confirmed. "Two years early... and of course you know that he won't be attending for two years, but just for sentimental value..." And in case Voldemort returns earlier than I expected, he thought sadly. The least he could do was supply the boy with the happiness all children got when receiving their letters.

Lily squealed, pinching her little boy's cheek. "Oh, Al! You must be so excited."

Alius grunted, embarrassed. "Stop it, Mum. And, yeah."

"I'm so proud! My little hero is going to Hogwarts!" Lily beamed, as if he was going that very year.

A snort sounded from the staircase. "Oh yes, because only one of your children is going to Hogwarts," someone droned, sarcastically.

Dumbledore looked up, confused. He was shocked at who he saw descending the stairs.

"Tom?" He felt his eyes widen in horror. But that was impossible, he reminded himself. Impossible. But his eyes widened, none the less.

"Hm, usually I go by Harry. Or, Alius's-less-important-brother." He said, wryly.

Dumbledore blinked. Of course. Tom was gone... for now. "Harry Potter?" Dumbledore asked. He hadn't heard of the boy, or seen of him, in years.

Something flashed in the boy's eyes. Hatred? No. It couldn't be. "Yes, that would be true."

"Ah, I was just talking to your brother." The older man said, watching closely.

Oh. There it was again. A flash in Harry's Killing-Curse eyes. Hate. "My bother? Ah, yes, I understand. I'll leave you to your Boy-Who-Lived-To-Die conversing now."

"Harry!" Lily snapped, astounded at her other son's rudeness.

"Yes, mother?" The raven haired boy said, half-way out the door.

Lily opened her mouth, befuddled. Mother? How strange and eccentric. Not at all familiar. Something in her heart ached. Before she could get herself straight, Harry had left.

The grounds around Potter Manor were fascinating. Harry had identified over two-hundred magical plants growing wild. Some were even poisonous! He'd picked a few, sometimes, testing them out in various potions. Some had exploded in his face, others had been more interesting. (On a completely unrelated note, just last month Alius had swallowed a poison that transformed him into a frog for three days. How Harry laughed...)

He sat on an old tree stump, in front of the small lake. He watched as the young Whitsnappers flew about the pond. His friend, Luna, nicknamed the Lunatic, had warned him of them. They, without careful use of the See-Me charm, looked like ordinary flies. With a closer glance, you could see a glimmer. A shine. The See-Me charm magnified them, showing the vibrant, golden specks across their backs. Whitsnappers were very powerful creatures, and, like nargles, they could get inside your head and fuzz up your mind. Except, they were much stronger than nargles. They did as the name somewhat told, they snapped your wit. Broke your mind.

Luna had used them as an example. How not everything is how it seems.

Harry hadn't taken them so seriously. He joked that Alius must have been affected by them.

Now he understood what Luna had meant. Alius seemed to be so much more than he was. And Harry- so much less.

He felt a stab of pain in his chest. As if his parents had knifed him. (They might as well of. It hurts so much). All he could feel was

Pain.

Pain.

PAIN.

And then he was crying.

He didn't know how- everyone always had told him that he had never cried. Not once. But he did now.

"It hurts," he moaned. Maybe someone had cursed him? His parents, for insulting Al?

The pain increased.

"So... bad."

It was so painful. Harry had never experienced anything like it. He didn't understand that he was just feeling upset, rejected, and unloved. He didn't understand why.

"Reparo," he murmured. "Reparo, reparo, reparo!"

But the spell couldn't fix him.

And the people who could... they weren't there.

Albus Dumbledore saw through the window what was happening. The boy was tearing up, hands over his head and eyes in miserable slits. Looking at Alius, the perfect child, the perfect son. The Potters loved him, Albus was sure of it. But... they had another son. One Albus hadn't heard of, nor from, since the boy was young.

The Potters didn't seem to see how Harry had slowly drifted away, and Albus felt regretful that even he had neglected to notice the child's withdrawal.

Now Harry stood. Albus watched in awe as the tears vanished, as if by magic. Unlikely, he thought, as the boy has never had any teaching. But he watched the boy with scrutiny now, as he stood and made his way back towards the house, an emotionless mask over a real face.

"Albus? Albus? Dumbledore?" Lily questioned, concerned.

Albus shook his head of the thoughts, and turned to face the other Potters once more. "Ah yes, we'll begin the lesson. Has James set everything up?"

James stuck a smiley head out the door and nodded. "Yep. All's ready." He entered the kitchen again, standing behind Lily's chair. "Eat up, Al. You'll need your strength for this."

Harry came in, silently, and headed towards the main door.

"No!" Albus yelled, but it was too late. Harry had walked straight into the path of the large box. Immediately, something emerged from the box. Or... more like somethings.

Lily and James Potter climbed out, along with their son, Alius. Boggart.

"No one cares about you, Harry!" Al sneered. "Mum and Dad chose me, instead!"

Lily jeered with him, "of course we did! You're useless! You can't do anything right! Not even You-Know-Who thought you worth it!"

James smirked. "We all hate you. Your brother is perfect. We love him. We love him like we never did you!"

"Alius isn't perfect!" Harry snarled. "Riddikulus!"

The four at the door cocked their heads in confusion when nothing happened to the boggart.

"Aah!" Boggart-Alius screamed. His hand was at his forhead, and, when he removed it, the skin was clear. No gaudy lightning scar. The Boggart-parents looked shocked and disgusted.

Boggart-Lily screamed in outrage.

Behind Harry the group reacted.

Lily and James stared at him in horror, with dropping jaws and wide eyes. Alius looked befuddled. Albus... he looked like Harry had proven his expectations, something Harry didn't like doing, and a grim line was set on his face.

"Harry," Lily said, her voice wobbly.

He didn't turn. "You can't deny it, can you." It wasn't a question. It was a plead.

"Oh, Harry," Lily sighed, moving forward. But Harry swung 'round, eyes blazing.

"Can you?"

Lily didn't answer, her mouth open, trying desperately to form a coherent sentence. She wanted to hug him, to tell she loved him just as much as she did Al, and that they had to favor Al because he was going to be their hero. He was going to endure so much.

But she was too late. Harry stared at her in awe. "You can't. None of you can." He backed up, and then, so fast that they couldn't tell what he was doing, he had backed up into the fireplace with a handful of floo powder... he yelled something she couldn't understand... and then he was gone.

"Harry, please come back. Please. We love you. We miss you. Please, my love. Come home. Come home..."

She muttered into the howler. Unlike most, this wouldn't scream, but convey the message in her soft, miserable tone.

Please let this reach Harry. She wished, as she handed the message to Hedwig, Harry's owl. She believed Hedwig could find her master. She hoped so.

"Incendio," he said, watching the unread letter go up in flames.

Harry faced Griphook with an equally mirthless expression. "I wish to see the Muggleborn Evans family vault, Mister Griphook."

'Mister' Griphook smiled a little, a disgusting look on his goblin face. "Of course, Mr Potter... but, may I ask, why not the Potter Vault? It has far more valuables within than the Evans vault?"

"That money is for my brother, not I." Harry said bitterly. "I have no key, but I am willing to do a blood test if necessary."

"I believe you, Mister Potter, but it is unlawful to perform the test on anyone without solid proof."

"Of course," Harry said. He had grown used to speaking so formally to people and magical creatures in Diagon Alley, for many took great offense to the slightest of mannerly mistakes.

"If you would come with me, Mister Potter," the goblin said, leading Harry over to another desk, labelled 'Blood Tests'. Harry sat down on a chair in front of the small booth, as Griphook took his place behind it. The goblin placed a small piece of parchment on the table, and held in his other hand a sharp needle. "Give me your hand, Mister Potter."

Harry warily extended it, unquestioningly. Griphook took his pale hand, and quickly pricked his index finger. One perfect drop of crimson dropped on the parchment, sinking into it and disappearing.

"It should tell me the most prominent blood in your body," the goblin told him.

Suddenly, in curly script, words formed-

Evans (Slithirin, Rowansworth)

Potter (Peverell, Black)

"Oh," Griphook said, enthralled. He cleared his expression so quickly Harry second-thought whether he'd seen the amazement. "How... strange. Here are your keys, Mister Potter-Evans. Slipfoot, take this human down to vault 654- immediately!"

"Yes, Sir," the inferior goblin said, leading Harry to a cart.

All Harry knew was that it was one hell of a bumpy ride.

Standing before Vault 654, Harry pondered his inheritance. Slithirin? Rowansworth? He had heard of the Peverell family- his parents had always told of the story of the Deathly Hallows, and the Blacks were a family friend.

Slipfoot activated the vault, and the door slid open.

Harry gasped. He knew his parents were wealthy- but this? He stared in awe at all the gold and galleons in the room. Surely no one could notice some money gone? He scooped up sickles, and knuts, and galleons into a small pouch. He counted it up. It made for 200 galleons. Not enough to live on, but he was confident he'd gain more. Somehow.

Something caught his eye. A key. A Gringotts key.

Surely his mother hadn't left her own key in the vault... unless....

He compared the two keys- noticing an obvious difference in size and colour. This new one was far larger and green, rather than the regular metallic silver.

He brought it to Slipfoot, who told him it was most definitely a Gringotts key, and showed him the way. "Vault 191," he said, when they were in front of the new vault. It was also a serpent green. Almost like his eyes, Harry thought to himself.

He went in and fell back. "Merlin!" He cried. His parents were wealthy, but this vault was filthy rich! The vault was enormous, at least nine times the size of his bedroom, and was filled with various items. Books, coins, gold, and other valuables. His eyes were immediately drawn to the books.

"Whose vault is this?" Harry asked, amazed.

"Ah, this an ancient, noble vault... the name is lost to time, I'm afraid, Mister Potter. Though I'm sure you'll find a name somewhere... perhaps in the books?" The goblin hinted with a grin.

"Right, thank you." Harry said gratefully, already starting his search.

He opened the first book- "The Power of The Parselmouth". Nothing. "The Most Noble House of Slytherin" Naught. "Slithirin to Slytherin"- wait, what?

Harry took out the crumpled piece of parchment in his pocket. There it was! He was a heir of Slithirin? Uh...

He opened the main passage in the book.

Good day, or night, as it may be. I am called Salazar Slithirin, though many now know me as Slytherin, one of the four founders of the mighty school of Hogwarts. My parents were Blood Betrayers, fools who only believed in helping filthy muggles. But where did it lead them? Towards the stake on which they burned. Muggles will never understand us. We are too powerful... too different, for them to ever. This interbreeding that leads to Half-Bloods is less than respected, but my parents supported it. Blood Betrayers were frowned down upon by all. It was my dear friend, Godric Grifindoor, who saved me. We were too different. His parents shared my beliefs on muggles, Blood Betrayers and the like, while Godric shared my parents'. In the end this tore us apart. Rowena Rowansworth, or as she is know named, Ravenclaw, disowned her father for his cruelty. It was he who had her mother slaughtered as a witch. Though not predjudiced, Rowena understood me. We married, and bore a child, whom we called Sallin. Sallin broke our family apart. Some muggles in a town nearby mocked him, calling him a Daemon. He resented this, and brought upon the three muggle boys great pain, using a torture curse of my own design. I named it the Cruciatus Curse. I was proud of my son. He had show strength and mercy, two things I treasured most in this cruel world. But Rowena found it monstrous, and when it leaked that I was the curse's creator, she left, claiming I was no better than her father. This angered me greatly. What I did next, out of remorse and fury, is most likely the reason of my infamous name. Now, as I die, I take on my old name. For Salazar Slytherin was cruel and infamous, but Salazar Slitherin had no evil to his name. Reader, you must know that none of the founders are as the legends tell.

"Ah," said Slipfoot, appearing behind him.

"I don't understand," said Harry, still staring at the book. "What does this mean?"

"It means, young Potter," Slipfoot said solemnly. "That you are a heir, of the great and noble family of Slytherin."

Harry felt his eyes go big. He took a minute to take this in. Then, with a foolhardy smirk, he declared, "then, please, Mister Slipfoot. Call me Harry Slitherin."

Al wasn't a jerk. At least, he hoped he wasn't. He didn't know his brother very much- Harry had always been somewhat excluded in family activities. A distant figure who happened to live in his house. Al hadn't really ever attempted to talk to his brother. He knew Harry didn't like talking to him and had never bothered trying. He guessed Harry wouldn't care about what he had to say.

Besides, his long-time friend Ron Weasley had told him he knew 'Harry's type'. Ron had snorted at the sight of young Harry sitting on the staircase, engrossed in a book, and told Al that Harry wasn't the type to 'hang out' or 'have fun with'. Al guessed that Ron should know, seeing that the other boy had so many siblings.

The morning his brother ran away he'd attempted a joke. He didn't really know what type of person he was, though Ron assured him was of the right sort. He'd tried a few different edges, today he was going to try 'funny', like his dad. His dad. His idol.

"My milk is too wet," he said, mock-whiney. He waited for his parents to laugh, but instead they looked worried.

"Oh, Al! I'm so sorry," apologized his mother, sounding terribly guilty.

"Should I get you another bowl?" Asked his father.

Al just blinked up at them. Were they serious?

"I'm... I'm joking, guys."

His parents gave ridiculously fake laughs, sounding nervous. Al hated when they did this. He wished they'd act normal, for once. Like they did with Harry, he thought foolishly.

He sighed, taking another spoonful of cereal. "Just because I'm the Boy-Who-Lived, doesn't mean you can't act like parents 'stead of fans."

Lily and James looked guilty, "we just want you to be happy, baby," Lily said, hugging her son. And when it came down to those moments, his parents' and friends' love and respect, or Harry, his anti-social brother who hated him- Harry was at a disadvantage.

He loved his brother, but more as that cousin you don't know very well. At all.

"It's cold," the boy muttered to himself. "So very, very cold..."

He had taken to talking to himself over those lonely two months. He'd been living on the streets of muggle London, moving around and begging for money. Though rich in galleons, in pounds he was not. He hadn't the energy to go all the way back to Gringotts- he didn't know how to get there without use of floo or side-along apparition. And who knew who might recognize him had he tried?

His belongings at the moment varied from some small coins to multiple books on the Dark Arts from Slithirin's vault. Stupidly, he had never thought about the prospect of being cold, or hungry, and was unprepared for the harsh life outside of Godric's Hallow. He felt he'd been spoilt in his old house compared to what he was living through now.

It was a horrid day, with freezing temperatures, strong, gusty winds, and torrential rain. He had being scouring through his books for some source of heat. The only fire charm he knew was 'Incendio', but it was too weak and burned out all too quickly. It took him an hour of skimming through the pages to find anything to aid him whatsoever, as Fire-Making charms are not usually seen as 'Dark'.

"The 'Flamosiul' Charm is a dark spell that Slithirin himself invented. While witches and wizards burned on the stake, Slithirin taught his followers to burn muggles as they were to death with the incantation of 'Flamos' (Pronounced Fla-ay-mos). This spell causes the victim to go up in green flames. As painful as burning to death is, the Flamosiul Charm is also used as a Torture Charm; as the victim will suffer for hours on end before fully burning, as magical flames are slower to light than real flames. (Wand movement- twirl and flick at desired area)."

Harry closed the book, putting it back into his bag. He looked over his shoulder, assuring his privacy, and muttered "Flamos" at the crumpled pile of newspapers in front of him. An unnatural green fire arose from the burning papers.

Heat. Brilliant, Brilliant heat.

But it would only last a while, and he may have to put it out if any muggles, or wizards alike, came too close. And, with the merciless temperature, he almost wished someone would find him.

That someone would try.

They had been searching for the last two months, suffering ongoing trails trying to find their son. Sirius, Harry's Godfather, was particularly worried. He had been the kid's first 'Friend', and when Harry was four years of age he had always referred to Sirius as 'My best friend Siri'. Remus was also very anxious. He hadn't been able to pick up Harry's scent anywhere they had looked.

Dumbledore seemed strangely affected. Lily had dismissed it at first, but now was watching the man oddly.

"What's wrong, Albus?"

Dumbledore snapped back to reality, and looked over to her. "I fear we have made a grave mistake, Lily."

"It wasn't your fault, Professor." She said out of habit, sniffling a little. "It was mine," she and James said at the same time.

"I'm... I'm sure Harry will come back soon," said Remus, unsure.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said, in a daze again. It was like he didn't recognize the name. He shook. "Oh, yes. Harry."

"What do you mean, sir?"

Dumbledore sighed, overwhelmed. "Nothing, James. Harry just reminds me of another boy I once taught."

"Oh, what was his name, sir? We may have known him."

"I doubt it, he was born in a time before you. His name... his name was Tom Riddle.

Harry hadn't seen any wizards, or muggles alike, looking for him, since he had run away. He hadn't even heard of his parents trying to find him.

Harry remembered the Boggart.

"No one cares about you, Harry."

He banished the thought from his mind, shaking a little in the warmth.

Boggarts show one's worst fear... and Harry's fear had become his terrible reality.

James found no escape anymore in the large warm bed. Lily stayed near the edge. He knew she believed he couldn't hear her sobs- but he did. If he was as arrogant as he had been when he was younger, he would've taken it as a source of comfort. Someone else felt bad, too. But now it just made him feel worse. What sort of parent was he? Harry James Potter- named for himself. Forgotten.

James wanted to throw up at the idiocy of it all.

He wanted to talk about it- but to whom? Peter- hell, no. What an awkward conversation that would make. Remus- maybe? But Remus was in a huff (huff, and I'll puff... no? Don't get it?) with him. Sirius- he couldn't do that to his friend. Walburga Black had always favoured Sirius' brother, Regulus. Sirius had ran away, taking shelter in Potter house. He had ran away from a home that hated him. Or so he thought. Harry had now just done the same thing. He knew bringing it up would ruin Sirius. He had always loved Harry, more so than Harry's own parents had.

Lily gave another heart-wrenching howl from the other side of the bed.

"It's okay," James said, reaching over to hug her. Lies, lies, lies...

"No, James!" She cried. "It's not!"

He edged closer to the magical flames, taking in the slight heat.

He felt hungry. So very, very hungry. No spell could conjure real food. It could only mimic something edible. It wouldn't last that way.

He couldn't last like this.

Harry had known that from the start. But back then, anything was better than Godric's Hallow. Anything.

He had thought his parents would've found him at this point. Would've apologized. Would've brought him home.

His eyes blazed like green flames.

They hadn't.

Hadn't bothered.

Hadn't tried.

Harry growled, hurt. Why do I care? I've got to stop pitying myself. Even if I'm the only one who does.

But he had. He had bothered to be a good son. Tried his hardest.

And now he was free.

And the thought made him grin.

Sirius Black was always seen as 'the happy' one. He went through many 'blood traitor' insults, nonplussed. He'd been disowned when he was a kid, uncaring. He'd ran away even sooner- pleased.

He'd always thought he'd get married. Everyone thought so. He was the hilarious 'flirt', and proud of it. He'd expected to be married and have a family, by now. Though his friends were family to him... they were not by blood nor marriage. So, when he'd seen James' eyes going past Harry like he wasn't there for the hundredth time, he'd sort of adopted the kid. Harry was like a nephew to him. Then, he, like all the rest, became obsessed with knowing the 'Boy-Who-Lived'. It had taken time, and by the time Sirius had completely forgotten the kid, he was seven. Six years of loving the two twins equally. He deserved an award- only he and Remus had lasted so long. But it wasn't enough. Harry was gone now.

Harry had always looked like James, except with his mother's eyes. He even had James' comb-eating hair. Sirius had used to joke, calling Harry 'Hairy' which the toddler had resented.

"Harry no Hairy." Harry had huffed. Like 'Hairy' was something very bad.

Right now, Sirius would go for either.

He slowly fell to sleep, beside the jade fire, slipping into a dream without vision.

S'okay, kid... Avada Kedavra... Ah, Harry Potter... Killing-Curse green eyes... A monster hissing... Those eyes... die, child... A woman screaming... Avada Kedavra!

A flash of green light, and it was over.

Harry woke to see his fire dying, smoke escaping into the muggle area. He sat up, tired, and took out his book to perform the fire-making spell again.

"HEY!" Came an adult's voice, and Harry whipped 'round. He shrunk his book and hid it, quickly. A group of muggles with strange uniforms stood at the end of his alley. Their suits read 'POLICE', and Harry cocked his head in confusion. What's a police?

"That's a kid!"

"Homeless?"

"We should bring him to Miss Stubbs."

Harry stood, shaking. He grabbed his bag, shrunk it, and fit it into his pocket. Eying his way for an escape, he found nothing. The only option was to run right past him. With slow steps towards the men, he looked for a gap between them. There! Between the moustached and the bearded one. Head down, he stopped, and they watched him in confusion.

Then he bolted.

"After him!" Yelled bearded.

Harry panted, not used to athletic activity. He'd choose books over sports any day. He skidded down another street. It was dark now, and the rain lashed down on him. He no longer had the shelter of his little alley with the extending roof.

Though Harry was quick and stealthy, the 'POLICE' were persistent. He ran in the dark through another alley- running into a wall. The last consistent thought he had was Oh, Merlin, I'm an id- before everything went black.

On his wake, he found himself in a small room. The door, from what he could tell, had no lock. The windows, however, were bolted shut. He stared out of them, he could only just make out a sign.

"W-W-Wool's..." His eyes widened. "Orphanage?" Nonononononononononono.

He rushed to the door. There was a name plate on it. 'Harry S.'

Of course. He'd left his notepad in his pocket. The book had read, over and over again, I am Harry Slithirin. I am Harry Slithirin. I am Harry Slithirin. Until even he had believed it. Mostly.

He tore the name plate off the door. Beneath it was yet another name. 'Martin. T'. He ripped that one off too. 'Rodrig F.' 'Flynt M.' 'Jass G'.

Then there was one last name. One that he recognized.

'Tom. R'

Every time Dumbledore had seen him, he had brought up one name- Tom Riddle.

Was this a coincidence?

... But coincidences don't happen in the Wizarding World, did they?

Someone knocked on the door, and Harry rushed back to the bed. He winced at how stiff the mattress was, and how thin the blankets were. He dived beneath the blanket, only then realizing he was shoeless. A thought occurred to him. What if...

He touched his clothing. It was different. These clothes were clean and fresh. He opened one eye. And grey. They were grey, too. He was nearly relieved. Wearing the same outfit for so long was a putrid experience. But what about his books? He gulped, horrified at the idea.

A woman opened the door. She had light brown hair, up in a high bun, and an old fashioned white blouse and grey skirt. Around her waist was a red apron, and the woman was balancing a filled mixing bowl on her hip with a spoon in her other hand.

"Hello, Harry," she said kindly. "How are you?"

Other than the fact I woke up here? "Okay."

"I'm sorry if you got a bit of a fright," she smiled. "My father had the fright of his life waking up here. He was an orphan, too." Her expression turned anxious. "You are an orphan, are you not?"

Harry took a minute, then gave a perfectly polite smile. "Oh, yes Ma'am. My parents died years ago."

"Oh," she said, understandingly. "My father died a good few years ago, now. He'd always hated this place. Some cruel boy hung his pet rabbit from the rafters when he attended Wool's, you know."

Harry nodded, though he did not know.

"So I decided I'd take over the place, after Miss Cole passed away. Her aunt, Mrs Cole, ran it when my father came here," she went on. "Nasty piece of work, she was."

Harry nodded again, trying to keep up.

"Oh, yes, I forgot to introduce myself- how silly. My name is Miss Stubbs, Harry, and we promise to take care of you here."

It had been a year since Harry had disappeared. The Ministry hadn't even managed to find traces of the young Potter. They had checked Gringotts, but no Harry Potter was in its data base. There were only 'Harry Glassred' 'Harry Motrig' and 'Harry Slithirin', to name a few, who were even his age. No one in the Wizarding world had heard of, nor from him. The Potters weren't surprised. Most wizards didn't even know the Chosen One had a brother.

Maybe if Harry had come out in public at least once or twice, he would've been found. But Dumbledore doubted it. As sorry as he was for the boy, he couldn't do with Al being distracted. The poor child had been quieter, now. A little distant.

Understandable. He had just lost his brother.

But Al was ten now. He needed to be prepared for Hogwarts, Dumbledore fretted. He needed to be prepared for whatever problems faced him within the walls.

And there would be problems.

Tom Riddle had been in Fifth year when he'd placed a piece of himself within the diary. A well done curse, if he had to say so himself, and all it had taken was his father's life. No good muggle. And it had been well worth it.

As an inconsistent memory, Tom didn't feel the time going by. He had created this horcux in 1943. He had waited, bided his time. But even though he was a memory with no real sense of time, he knew it had been a forever since he'd killed his father in reality. In fact, by the time someone had opened his diary, it had been forty-six years. He remembered the excitement as writing appeared in the diary he held in his hands. This was his world, made from his mind.

He had wondered what to do? Possess the fool, or manipulate him? It depended, he decided. Pureblood or Mudblood. Wise or stupid. Powerful, or weak. He watched in anticipation as words were written, as if by an invisible quill, onto the paper.

My name is Harry.

Tom watched as the writing vanished.

I live in an orphanage. Wool's.

He blinked. Wool's?

My mother was a mudblood, my father a pure bred Blood Traitor.

A halfblood, Tom realized. Like him. He almost pitied the boy.

They were bewitched by a liar. His name is Dumbledore.

Tom could understand that. Of all his five years in Hogwarts, Dumbledore had rightfully been suspicious of him after he'd accused the oaf, Hagrid, of being the heir. Ridiculous, Tom knew, and he almost regretted soiling the Slytherin name. But it had saved him from a lifetime in Azkaban, so he was grateful. As grateful as the contemptuous teen could be.

I ran. Away from my hateful parents, Dumbledore, and my pompous brother...

Tom nearly dropped the blurry diary he held at the words that followed this.

So what's your story, Tom?

He had been searching everywhere for his books. They weren't all in his jacket when he'd checked. There was only a 3rd year charm book, which he'd had, shrunken, in his pocket since he'd ran away.

In desperation, he'd searched the book for some sort of helpful charm. Perhaps a Where-I-Am charm, or a Point-Me charm? Neither were within the basic book, but he did find something of equal aid. The summoning charm.

"Accio my books," he'd murmured, as not to inform the muggles of his powers. The books had come flying in, from where he supposed was the Laundry room. He'd looked closely at the ratty diary he'd picked up in Slithirin's vault. At the time he had guessed it to be Salazar's own, but now he was rethinking it.

He used a spell he'd heard his father use on Al's fan mail, one that checks for any spells or curses. He aimed it at the book.

"Arentizo," he muttered, not quite sure. Nothing happened. He stared at it in confusion. "Arentillo?" Nil. "Alentio?" Zip. Did this always have to happen?

Fed up, he muttered, "Show me." To his surprise, the book gave a jump, and its pages began flipping. It landed at a page in the middle, and writing started to appear.

This is Tom M. Riddle's Diary, and Horcrux. This diary is protected with:

Horcrux Magic.

Threats from this diary are:

Possession.

No other curses/spells/charms within this diary.

A Horcrux? He mused. It must be incredibly dark if he hadn't heard of it already. It was that revelation that brought an amused Harry to write in it.

How do you know me to be here, Harry? He scrawled furiously.

You are a horcrux came the other boy's writing. Tom sucked in a breath, but exhaled at the next sentence. What does that mean?

Tom considered lying to him, but chose against it. Half truths were his style. It means I'll live forever. How did you find my diary?

It was in my vault. Came the innocent reply.

Your vault? And which may that be?

The most ancient vault of Slithirin. Tom read on, amazed. An heir? A relative? But with unworthy parents, like his own. Bah.

What year is it, Harry?

1989.

Tom choked, or, would have, had been been substantial. Then it has been forty-six years since I created this. What is the world like?

It is a terrible place, said the cursive writing. Dumbledore manipulates, parents neglect, and people think Dark Magick is evil.

Tom took a minute to write back... Nothing new, then.

Harry laughed a little.

What's your story, Harry?

Harry paused, distrusting for a moment. But he began to write, in swirly letters, before I was born, a prophecy was spoken. It said that the one with the power to defeat the Dark Lord was going to be born soon. Three people met the description. Alius Potter, Neville Longbottom, and myself. Alius Potter used to be my twin.

Used to be? Tom asked.

I'll get onto that later, came Harry's irked scrawl. The Dark Lord came to my house when I was one. He killed my grandparents, who were babysitting, and then tried to kill one of us. Everyone thought Alius was the one he tried to kill, but that Alius made the curse rebound on the Dark Lord. They hailed Alius as the Boy-Who-Lived, while my parents and the rest of the world slowly forgot about me. Birthdays, Christmas, Halloween... my parents forgot my existence. I hated that. I hated them. So I ran away. I was caught, though, by some people called 'POLICE's. They brought me to this place, called Wool's Orphanage. It's horrible here. The muggle children hate me, and the lady in charge, Miss Stubbs, seems scared of me now.

Miss Stubbs? Tom repeated, amused.

Yes. I believe you killed her dad's rabbit. (I found your name on my door).

I believe so, as well. How old are you, Harry?

9.

And why are you no longer a Potter?

When I ran away, I found out I was a descendent of Slytherin, or Slithirin. I chose to take on his original name, instead of keeping Lily and James Potter's.

I respect that, wrote Tom, truthfully. One last question, Harry.

Yes?

What is the name of this 'Dark Lord'?

Voldemort. Lord Voldemort.

And with that, Tom Riddle found himself smirking brilliantly.

ONE YEAR LATER- AGE: 10.

The children in Wool's were relatively nice. So when the new girl, Holly Banks, arrived, they all (excluding one) welcomed her kindly.

Holly was a sociable, cheerful girl- "And what's your name, and your name- oh, and your name?" And all the orphans (excluding one) found her likable. Then she made the mistake of turning to a boy with raven black hair, unnaturally green eyes, and pale skin, and asking "and your name?"

The boy sneered at her. And then the oddest thing happened. One minute, she was smiling and waiting expectantly, and the next, she felt like all the happiness was being drained out of her.

"Who was that?" She asked later, as one of her new friends comforted her in the common room. There was no one else there, just a hooded boy, writing in a diary.

"Harry Slithirin," her new friend murmured. "E's dark, Holly. Dark as 'un can get."

"How did he do that?"

"E's dark, 'Olly." The girl said, again. "The boys used ta call 'im a 'freak', but then bad things starte' 'appenin' to 'em. Rian started having accidents in 'is bed, blaming it on the nightmares that plagued him. 'N' he was 'un of the nicer 'uns to Harry. The worse 'uns... Tony used ta kick Harry, now 'e's got a broken leg, 'n' Tammie Goldwin used ta gossip 'bout 'im, now she can' talk."

"Oh..." said Holly, feeling a little scared now.

"Yeah, 'n' I 'eard 'e was 'un of the runners."

"Runners?"

"The un's who choose to leave 'ome. I 'eard 'is parents neglected him. I sorta' feel bad for the kid."

"How old was he?"

"Nine. But his parents ignored him since he was a babe."

"Oh," Holly said, sadly. "That's horrible." Holly had gone through a normal life, with loving parents, and a two-story house with just enough food. Her parents had died in a car crash, earlier that year. Holly had been at home. She still thought it was her fault. She'd gone to live with her aunt, who hated her. Two months later, her aunt dropped her off at Wool's Orphanage and drove off without a 'goodbye'. Holly was ten.

"'E always calls us something odd. Mukkles or somet'in'."

"Muggles?" Holly asked, out of the blue. She recognized the word. Her aunt had called her that. A 'filthy muggle'. She saw in the corner of her eye the boy with the diary look up for a moment. Dark in emotion, while not in colour, eyes clashed with her own blue ones. She looked away first. Feeling uneasy, she had to push away the idea that he recognized those terrifying jade orbs.

"Yeah." Her friend said, unaware of the eye-to-eye confrontation Holly had just had.

"Thanks," Holly said hurriedly, not tarrying to scoop up her belongings and flee from the room with nothing more than a 'bye!'

The next day Holly's friend was shaking. When Holly attempted to sit beside her, the girl burst into tears and ran away.

Holly heard her screaming that night.

It's been a year since you asked for my story, Harry. I suppose, now, after having taught you as much as I can from your level, I should share my memories. Do you mind?

No, of course not, Harry replied, excited. His eyes widened as the book began to suck him in, but he forced himself to subdue. And, with that, Harry vanished.

He was watching as a boy, who looked a lot like him, sat in the very room Harry had just been in. In his hands was a box, with a yo-yo, a hand-band, and a small ball. He got up, abruptly, leaving the box on his bed. He'd heard something.

By the time he reached his door, and unlocked it, he found words scraped into it. The scars on the wood read- FREAK.

Time had passed, now, but he was in the same room. A younger version of Albus Dumbledore, with greying auburn hair, had set the wardrobe on fire. Tom's words echoed eerily,

"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to...I can speak to snakes too. They find me, they whisper to me. I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to...I can speak to snakes too. They find me, they whisper... whisper... to me. "

And then, Dumbledore's words, echoing along with the previous, "You are a wizard, you are a wizard, you are a wizard."

He was in a shop labelled 'Ollivander's' and he was holding a wand, which emitted a smokey green skull.

"3½", Yew, phoenix feather core... powerful, Mr Riddle, very powerful indeed. This wand will do great things, I tell you, sir. Great things..."

He was on the train. 'The Hogwarts Express'. Two people entered his compartment.

"I'm Abraxas Malfoy," one said.

"I'm Alphard Black." The other introduced.

"Are you pureblooded?" Malfoy questioned, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"I don't know," Tom said smoothly. "I was raised in a muggle Orphanage."

Alphard frowned, and Malfoy sneered. "Mudblood..."

The two left the compartment.

"Brave..." said the hat. "But not excessively so. You fear Death, do you not, Tom?"

"Shut up," Tom hissed, unable to stop the dark thoughts from rushing through his head.

"SLYTHERIN!" The hat cried.

A school year had passed... he didn't want to go back... not to the place where they carved 'FREAK' into his door... where they despised him... not back to his inferiors... they were just muggles.

"Please don't make go, sir," he begged.

He was on the train back to the orphanage. On the other hand, he had a large knowledge of curses and a reputation in Wool's for being the 'maniac'. To the ignorant muggles, Hogwarts was a school for the insane.

But it was so much more...

He was twelve, still searching for a Wizard named 'Riddle' in the record books. He found nothing.

He was far older know, fifteen at least. A shining prefect badge adorned his dark robes. He had to be quick. He had told Mrs Cole that he would be off the train at 4pm, and it was 3. Gathering all of his wits, he shut his eyes and apparated. It was illegal, he knew, to do so at such an age and in a muggle area, such as the train station. But they wouldn't be able to tell it was him- after all, he was underage. How would he know how to apparate?

He had appeared before a large house.

"BOMBARDA!" He yelled, pointing his wand at the door. It burst open, smoking heavily.

He saw his grandparents. Muggles.

They hadn't done anything. They didn't deserve what their son was being punished with.

But... muggles. He closed his eyes, a single sign of weakness.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

His father. He didn't think twice.

The man fell, dead. Blue eyes, so different from his own... lifeless.

Filthy muggle.

He didn't feel any remorse, and just apparated away.

Sixth year, gathering his followers and meeting in the Room of Requirement. The Knights of Walpurgis.

What a stupid name, he thought. Abraxas had come up with it, telling of a Lord named Walpurgis who had brought safety to his people by executing muggles who had before been killing wizards. It sounded good, at the time.

"I propose we take a new name," Tom said, knowingly.

"Like what?" Crabbe grunted. The oaf wasn't worth much, Tom knew. But he was pureblood and rich, with links to even higher families- and he looked fierce. Tom had uses for him.

Tom thought for a moment, before suggesting, "how about... The Death Eaters."

He was screaming, the pain was excruciating. But, slowly, surely, amazingly, a wispy, silver piece of soul began holding onto his wand. He stared at it. It was beautiful, delicate...

He wouldn't miss it.

With utter confidence, he extracted the last part of his soul, and placed it into his diary.

He would live... forever.

Harry gasped.

You're Lord Voldemort.

He could almost see the grin in Tom's writing. Yes.

Tom smiled, not expecting the boy to write again.

To his interest, the word wow came up.

What do you mean, 'wow'?

That's amazing- you're as powerful as Dumbledore!

Tom smiled, genuinely this time.

Not yet, but I will be. Harry, your Hogwarts letter will be arriving soon. Practice your occlumency- Dumbledore likes to check the cores and minds of his students first. If your shields are too weak, think innocent thoughts. Like kittens, and bows, and chocolate. The buffoon will be suspicious, but he won't get anything from you.

Why are you telling me this? My birthday isn't for a month.

Because I mightn't be able so, later.

Why?

The transition might not work properly.

What transition? Tom?

I need you to do something for me, first, Harry.

Tell me what, then tell me why.

I need something.

What?

A body.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Harry finished the letter- Harry, Out. He smiled, a sad sort of smile.

He hid it carefully, not planning to let anyone read it for a long time.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Holly sat at the bottom of her bed. She had scooted back mere minutes ago, having seen something horrifying. A brilliant, jade-coloured snake. It was coiled up on her pillow, hissing gently. She must be hallucinating. She was certain that she had heard it talk.

And she had talked back.

She couldn't remember most of the conversation, but she understood that normal people did not talk to snakes.

Maaaster? It hissed, confused. She let out a whimper. She hated snakes. It continued until its talking sounded like hissing again.

"Thank God," she murmured. She looked out the window to find the world outside pitch black. She blinked. Hadn't it only been three when she'd came up to read?

A little confused, she made her way over to the blinds, pulling them tightly shut. Regardless of how little she liked snakes, people might think her the second Harry Slithirin if she was found with a serpent in her bed.

Remembering the green-eyed beast, she turned back to her bed. The snake was gone. All the proof that it was ever there was in small creases around her pillow.

She must be hallucinating. She yawned, once, and returned to her bed, tired suddenly. She felt like, though she remembered nothing of it, she'd been up and active for hours. She, though wary of her supposed 'hallucinations', gave way to sleep quickly and drifted off with frightful dreams of green eyes and dark hair.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

When she woke, it took her a few minutes to gather her bearings. Her sight seemed blurred, and she couldn't seem to remember opening her eyes. It felt like she'd been awake before noticing so. But that couldn't happen.

When her sight cleared, she took in her surroundings. A bookshelf of odd books, named so strangely she couldn't even read what they were called. Monstrous Bubbulisks? Differentiating Darke Magick? A large pile of newspapers sat at a bed table, with equally preposterous headlines. Malfoy Mansion Manic? Hogwarts Letter for Boy-Who-Lived? You-Know-Who Followers Found?

She could not understand a word of it.

She next noticed someone sitting next to her on the bed. A boy. And now she was positive that she was not in her room.

Her eye lids fluttered, and she felt oddly tired. The same feeling from yesterday. Her head turned to the window- huh? Cars and buses cruised through the streets, and people bustled 'round. Surely she couldn't have slept so late?

The final clue- she was sitting up. Hands on her lap and legs crossed.

Dear Lord.

The boy stared at her, seemingly as befuddled as she was.

Wait- oh no.

It was him.

Harry Slithirin- the Devil himself, some said. His jade eyes so like the snake from yesterday bored into her and she cocked her head. Was she hallucinating again?

"W-w-why am I here?" She stuttered. Would he hurt her like he did Rian? Or Tammie? Or Tony? Or the many other victims of his anger?

He copied her, cocking his own head. Longish black hair followed his head in the action, covering the green eyes staring so intensely at her. "Yes," he murmured. "Why are you?"

Holly, terrified, shook as she attempted to stand.

"Is this real?"

He looked at her, interested. "Yes, I should hope so. Or are we both hallucinating?"

Holly stepped back. It was like he had read her mind.

"I hope not," Holly muttered. "Why should I be hallucinating you?"

His eyes flashed with something similar to mirth. Holly guessed she was seeing things again.

"Quite so," he said.

Holly slowly backed over to the door, "I suppose I'll go then…"

"Cheerio," Harry called. She couldn't tell if it was sarcastic or sincere.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

The girl Holly had made friends with that first day, who avoided her now, was called Scottie. Scottie, who regularly just steered clear of her, was watching her like a dear would look at a lion.

Holly eventually got sick of the act after Scottie begged the teacher in front of the whole of her English class to swap partners, and approached her at lunch.

"Scottie, what's wrong?" She asked, sneaking up on the girl at a lone table and plopping down beside her. She'd remembered how much Scottie loved food and had guessed she'd be first to the canteen. None of Scottie's friends had arrived yet, so Holly had minutes to speak to her.

The girl cried out, bushy brown hair bouncing as she leaped in her seat. She was shivering, Holly noted.

"P-p-please don' 'ur' me," Scottie begged. Brown eyes stared into hers like a doe's.

"Why would I hurt you Scott?"

Scottie looked horrified. "Ya did it last week. Ya called me a mukkle."

Holly felt her mouth form a wide 'o'. "What?"

"Ya did," Scottie insisted, scooting down the bench, away from her. "A moronic, filt'y mukkle."

"A… a muggle?"

Scottie's eyes went big. "Yes! Ya did!" She shuddered. "Don' 'urt me again, please."

"What did I do?" Holly gasped.

"Ya did bad stuff, like Slithirin. You're a bad 'un!" Scottie yelled, eyes big, and rushed out of the canteen, the juice box in her taut grip spurting.

0oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Harry had learnt from the day he'd ran away.

He had learned from Tom that he had to earn his title of Heir of Slithirin. That he hadn't deserved it when he'd crowned himself Harry Slithirin. But Harry was certain he did now. He had worked with Tom, gaining him a body and more power. Even better, this body had natural magic. A Mudblood, most likely, but it was better than a muggle, Tom said.

Tom had taught him to keep his thoughts hidden, to protect himself, and to fight. Basics, of course. He only spells that would help him, not miserable changing-your-rat-into-a-goblet spells- though Tom said they were simple enough, so he need not worry.

The best part was that Tom's body could come with him to Hogwarts. Sure, the spell wasn't thorough. He couldn't be Tom all the time. The soul in the body had to have control sometimes, or the body might die and leave Tom some sort of zombie.

He felt proud, now. He had worked so hard, helping Tom and gaining a reputation in the orphanage. He had gotten the message across, the message Tom had taught him. That he hated them. That they were inferior.

Even kind, silly Miss Stubbs was scared of him.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Holly left the canteen shortly after. It was hard to miss the frightened glances Scottie's friends were sending her. Even kid, helpful, cheery Miss Stubbs was sending her odd looks.

She didn't know what was going on. Was she having black outs? Was that why chunks of her day were vanishing? Or was it something stranger? Something… impossible.

She knew only one person who could give her the answers.

Harry Slithirin.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Half-way through 'Dark Magick Worthy' Harry heard a knocking on his door.

"Come in," he said, flipping the page. Horcrux's are of the Darkest Magick. To make a Horcrux is to give up part of your soul. It takes murder to make a Horcrux, and with every Horcrux, its creator becomes less human-

"Slithirin?"

He looked up. He thought he knew what was happening immediately.

"Oh, Tom, I was just looking up-"

"Tom?" Came a soft, feminine voice.

Feminine?

As strange as it was, Harry had gotten used to the comical sound of Tom's male voice coming from the girl.

"Oh, it's you, Holly Banks." He said, looking back down quickly. He had to cover up that mistake. He could have ruined everything. "The Sleep-Walker. Am I a Hallucination, this time?"
She blushed, mumbling something incoherent under her breath. "No. I… I just wanted to… to… to…"

"To?" Harry mocked.

"Toaskyousomething!" She blurted out, face red.

"Pardon?" He asked, raising an eyebrow.

She took a deep breath. "I wanted to…" she inhaled. "Ask you something." She exhaled.

"Now, that wasn't too hard, was it?" He teased. Holly nearly smiled before remembering who she was in the presence of. "What?"

"Did you… did you do something to me?"

She watched his eyes widen a fraction, before returning to normal.

"Besides plague you in hallucinations? No."

She winced. "I keep blacking out," she admitted. "Everyone's turned against me in just a few days. They just ignore me."

Harry's eyes sparked with something like empathy. Holly had to keep herself from questioning on it.

But the sympathy vanished and his eyes became cold again. "Maybe you've done something wrong. Or maybe they have."

"W-what?"

"Don't depend on other people," he looked back at his book, though not really comprehending what he was reading. "You'll just get hurt."

Holly looked at him. Now, his eyes betrayed nothing, but his shoulders slumped, and his mouth twisted into a grim line. Holly recalled what Scottie had told her- "I 'eard 'is parents neglected him. I sorta' feel bad for the kid. His parents ignored him since he was a babe. "

She had the sudden urge to leave, to go back to her room, and then her body was working against her. Her feet were stomping her away, and the most movement she could manage was a feeble wave in his direction. As she drifted 'way to sleep in her bed, her body refusing to let her go, her last thought was that Harry Slithirin might be bad- but he wasn't evil.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

She was walking down the corridor, but she felt… pushed away, by her own body. Her mind was dormant, but she could make out what was happening.

She stopped in front of Harry's room, knocking, thrice.

Harry opened the door. "I'm supposing it's you. We did agree to only use the three knocks."

"Yes," she said, in a masculine voice not her own. "She was too weak. Her mind submitted to sleep, unaware and quiet. We should have time. If she wakes up here again, remove her memory."

"Okay," Harry agreed. He stepped away from the door. "Do come into my humble dwelling, Tom. Don't be a stranger."

She felt herself smirk. "Of course, my friend."

She let herself in, shutting the door and sitting down at the bottom of the bed. Harry sat up top.

"Have you been practicing recently?"

"Oh yes. Dumbles couldn't read me if he tried."

"Good," she was smirking again. She felt an unfamiliar pride. "And your own legilmency?"

"The girl suspects nothing near the truth. She thinks she's experiencing black outs."

She laughed, though she felt horrible. What had they done to her?

They.

There was someone else in her mind.

Suddenly she felt a painful probe on her thoughts. She backed down, exhausted from fighting, and meekly hid in the corner of her mind. She remembered no more.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

When she regained consciousness she was standing, yes, standing, alone in her room. She felt dizzy. Sleepy. She made her way back over to her bed, collapsing half on, half off of it.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Upon waking, the events of the other night came flashing back at her. She, like last night, found herself stomping towards Harry Slithirin's room, mindlessly. Except, this time, it was on purpose.

She knocked, three times, on the nameless door. Harry poked his head out, opening his mouth to speak. He took in her bedraggled appearance, bed-hair, bags beneath her eyes, and tears forming. She was only in her raggy pyjamas. He quickly closed his mouth again.

She let the tears flow. "What did you put in me?"

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

She woke in her bed. She was clutching her duvet tightly in her grip. She had the foggy feeling that she was forgetting something.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Miss Stubbs stood over her bed, holding her hand. A look of pity upon her face.

"Oh, dear. It looks like you haven't been resting at all!"

Holly felt something stirring in her memory, but something else supressed it. She moaned.

Miss Stubbs patted her head. "Just sleep dear. You haven't been eating or sleeping properly, you must be exhausted."

The kind woman left a tray of food beside her bed. Holly appreciated it, even if she didn't eat it.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

It took a week for her to regain strength. She blacked out less, now. She still didn't know why she was losing time.

That Saturday, she had a visitor. An old man with a long white beard, a peaked red hat, and starry red robes.

"Why are you here?" She said, quizzically.

"You're special, Holly," the man, introduced as 'Headmaster Dumbledore', told her. "You have been invited to attend the school in which I reside, Hogwarts. It's for people like you. People with magic."

"Magic," she breathed. "Show me."

She watched in awe as the walls of her room disappeared, and she stared out into open air. "Wow."

"Do you believe me now?" The Headmaster said, eyes twinkling.

"Yes," she enthused. "Yes."

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

"And what is Harry like?" He asked Miss Stubbs.

Her smile faltered. "Harry is… different. He never talks to any of the other orphans, but I sometimes hear him talking in his room. To himself, or to some unknown friend, I don't know. But most of the kids seem afraid of him."

"Afraid of him?"

"W-well, we can never find proof, but there were all these boys who used to bully him. Then, one day, they cornered him in the canteen. I- I don't know what happened to them. They stay away from him know, but they seemed so scared. I don't know whether he did something to them, Albus, but if he did, it was horrible."

Concerned, he asked, "Have any other occurrences like that happened around Harry?"

She gave a dry laugh. "Anything strange happens around Harry. Anyone who bullied him, or irked him ended up in a bad state. Holly Banks? The girl you came to see? The orphans avoid her like the plague. Some of the kids say she's just like him, but Holly's a very sweet girl. Very likable. But some other kids… they say he did something to her. To make her different." The woman's eyes widened. "But what am I doing! You mustn't take my word for it! I could be wrong! Harry is a very smart student, all amazing marks! You must consider letting him go to your school, sir. It would be very good for him. An opportunity to make friends and perhaps discover who he is?"

"Of course, Miss Stubbs," Albus said. "He will be welcomed at Hogwarts, regardless. Though we won't tolerate bullying."

"Oh no! Harry doesn't bully, per say. He, in some twisted way, gives them a taste of their own medicine. If he's the one behind all this, believe he was just defending himself. The other orphans don't like him very much, you see."

"Ah," Albus said, truly sorry for the child. "And what about his parents?"

Her expression darkened. "When I first met him, he told me they were dead. Then it got round that he had run away from neglecting parents. I think the reason he won't make friends here is because he doesn't trust anyone." She sighed. "I hate hearing about some of the hard lives my kids go through. But their all so good, really, Albus. Inside."

"It's alright, Miss Stubbs," he said, raising his hands in surrender. "I wouldn't think of judging children before I got to know them."

She smiled, thankful. "That's good. Harry's room is just down the hall, to the left, just before the stairs."

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

He remembered what Tom had told him to say, knowing it would haunt the Headmaster.

"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt if I want to...I can speak to snakes too. They find me, they whisper to me. "

The old man left, minutes later, an unspoken speech on his lips, and a tremble in his step. And Harry was once again left alone. He disillusioned his books on the shelf, and picked up the red crested letter with slight interest. It read, in curly, cursive writing;

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,
Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

And the next page read-

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM

First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)

2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear

3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)

4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic

by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory

by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration

by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi

by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions

by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand

1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)

1 set glass or crystal phials

1 telescope

1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus, Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions.

And, for the first time in quite some time, he gave a genuine smile.

0ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Holly had a dream that night. A boy, perhaps at sixteen years of age, with jade green eyes, equally dark hair, and pale skin, stood before her.

"Rest, Holly," came his voice in a whisper. She felt the need to obey, regardless of the fact that she considered herself already 'resting'. "Rest," his voice sounded quieter, further away. "Leave." His green eyes flashed like lightning.

If she had been awake, her eyes would've snapped open. She didn't want to leave. No.

"Leave," he growled, angrier now.

She flinched back, hiding in the corner of her mind.

0oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

The strict woman, McGonagall, with greying hair and a dark purple cloak, took her hand.

"This might be somewhat frightening, just don't let go," she ordered.

"What would happen?" Holly asked.

"You could lose a body part," Harry mumbled, eyes unfocused, whizzing round the room. "Or your mind."

The professor looked confused, but shook it 'way. "Correct, Mr Potter." She frowned. "Knowing that, I encourage you to hold onto someone."

Harry sounded a slight 'puff' of breath out of his nose, like a little kid being asked did he know what 2 and 2 was by an adult.

Holly felt a little irritated. This was new to her- why couldn't he just let her enjoy it?

Then it struck her. He probably knew all this because of his parents- the ones who'd ignored him and caused him to run away. He was probably being plagued by memories. Scottie had said he'd had a brother, who his parents loved so much more. Perhaps he was trying to show he was as good as this brother?

She winced. She sure hoped they didn't meet Harry's family in this 'Die Dragon Alley'.

Reluctantly, Harry took Holly's arm. Holly looked at the ground. Why couldn't he have just taken the teacher's?

Maybe he'd known this woman in his past life. Maybe she'd disregarded his existence, too.

Hesitantly, she asked, "Ma'am, do you know any Slithirins?"

Harry's head whipped up. She didn't meet his gaze.

The professor looked troubled. "Slytherin?"

Not noticing the difference of its spelling, Holly nodded. "Harry's one."

McGonagall stared. She stared into his green eyes, they just the colour of the crest of her least favourite house.

"There hasn't been a recorded Slytherin in for over fifty years," she said, perturbed.

"Oh," Holly said, disappointed. "Oh."

She sneaked a glance at Harry, but looked away, startled by the smugness in his eyes.

0oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Holly was just as disappointed when they arrived outside a bad-smelling pub with the name 'The Leaky Caldron'. They were behind the pub, in a small, walled off courtyard with a dustbin. There was a newspaper, scrunched up, but visible, sticking out at the top. Holly watched in slight wonder as the pictures moved. But that seemed to be the most magical part of the yard. "Is this it?"

Harry was smiling. Properly so. "No, see that wall?"

Holly gave an incline of her head, waiting for him to explain further. He didn't.

The professor, taking her wand (Holly still couldn't wait to get her own) and tapped a specific brick on the wall. "Three up, and two across," the woman said under her breath.

Holly blinked. Was she surrounded by lunatics? She hoped not.

To her surprise, the wall went in a small hole first but formed a large archway, like in a movie.

"Wow."

0oooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo0

Redone 29/10/14.

- Kaleidoscope.