Disclaimer: All recognizable characters from the Potterverse belong to JKR. Most of unrecognizable characters (if any) come from my rotten mind. You may also find some mentions of other works – all characters belong to their respective owners.

Timeline: starts like the original series, the summer before Harry's first year at Hogwarts (PS/SS) and continues to the sixth year (HBP).

Warnings: all evil stuff Dark Lords tend to do: Dark Magic, murder, torture, theft of lemon drops, unhealthy relationships with snakes. Specific warnings, if needed, will be placed on the beginning of every chapter.

More warnings:

Expect anything. If you see something completely bizarre, it's here on purpose. Like, don't be surprised if you find, exemplum gratia, Hagrid being a master Occlumens. This is crack. You have been warned.

I'm not going to bash anyone. Not Percy, not Ron, and definitely NOT Dumbledore. Some characters might be described unfairly when the narration is more from Harr's POV tough.

Don't read it for the pairings; one - I'm rubbish at writing romance, two - you won't see Harry paired with anyone. For Merlin's sake, don't whine for HP/HG, HP/DM, HP/LV/TMR... British Dark Lords do not have time for running after girls. Or boys. Or anything they could be paired with.

Please note that English is not my first language. I make mistakes just like everyone else, and sometimes even my dear beta, Yentshmyen, can't catch everything. Grammar Nazis are welcome to point out any errors they see.

Part I: Harry Potter and the Oncoming Doom

Chapter 1: The Boy Who Lived to be a Nerd

Seventy-five percent of the people of Number Four, Privet Drive – namely, Vernon, Petunia and Dudley Dursley – were completely, absolutely and entirely normal. The remaining twenty-five consisted of a boy of middle height, with a mop of jet-black messy hair. His eyes were bright green, a bit resembling the eyes of Lily Evans – only a shade colder, strangely alike in their color to the deathbringing flame. He wore round glasses, because apparently the Dark Arts damage eyesight... Oh, wait. We haven't gotten to that part yet.

Anyway, Harry Potter was nothing like his living relatives.

Cute child, said Mrs. Figg, the crazy cat lady living on the street next to Privet Drive. Little devil, said his teacher, who had his own reasons to make such judgment. Talented boy, said Vernon Dursley. Freak, said the kids in Dudley's gang.

Long time ago he noticed there was something different about him, something that made him special among the ordinary people – and he wasn't entirely sure whether he shall feel worried or happy because of that. For no particular reason, strange incidents seemed to like Harry a lot. More than he would like them to, actually. Once, he unwillingly set his teacher's wig on fire – blue fire – without even approaching the guy. Perhaps that's why they didn't like each other much...

Another example – their next-door neighbor had a huge dog, which he accidentally let out one evening; it was in a rather serene mood, yet Harry could somehow get it to bite Duddydums once... or twice... or... anyway, it was worth the fun Harry had that day.

Uncle Vernon insisted Harry had his hair cut once or twice a week, as he didn't wish any 'uncivilized cavemen' sleep under the same roof as him. He gave up after five consecutive visits at barbers, none of which made Harry's hair any different after just one night. Was that magic, or just the genetic heritage of a certain Marauder?

In the past, Harry had often wondered why the Dursleys never fussed so much over him doing the unexplainable; after all, they weren't fond of anything abnormal... He worked out three possible answers: a) he didn't cause as much trouble as his sweet cousin, b) his aunt and uncle didn't give a damn about him, c) both. The last one was probably the closest to the truth. Not that he was some abused child from an orphanage. AND he totally didn't have a secret desire to rule the world... Not yet.

Having tried a few times to use these mysterious abilities on purpose – mostly, to no avail, he came to the conclusion that most of the time it was just a slight trick of his own brain or a coincidence.

However, on the day of his eleventh birthday everything changed.

"BOY!"

The yell of uncle Vernon echoed the whole Privet Drive – and possibly the rest of the town as well. However, it fell to deaf ears when it came to the person it was directed at.

Harry, who was sitting in the kitchen, trying to focus on reading, listened closely. Aunt Petunia looked up from over her precious orchid, stopping the pruning for a while.

"WHAT IS THIS?!" boomed the man. "WHY THE HELL DID YOU FAIL AGAIN? I CAN'T BELIEVE, IS THIS THAT DIFFICULT OR ARE YOU JUST MIRACULOUSLY RETARDED?!"

Harry thanked the heavens, the CapsLock attack was gone.

Someone was crying – well, not really crying, it sounded more like a howl of a kid who really, really wanted something to happen – his father to stop shouting, in this case – and couldn't get it no matter what.

Harry got to his feet and carefully peeked out into the salon, only to see his uncle shaking a sheet of paper in front of Dudley's face. A sheet with lots of red glyphs and a huge F on the top.

"Believe me, I don't demand the impossible!"

Harry sighed heavily. He didn't need to listen more.

"Math Test Rage Outburst again?" he asked his aunt, although the answer was already known to him.

Petunia slowly nodded, muttering something about how her son was ruining his life, and got back to the plant.

With another sigh over his pitiful cousin, Harry continued the reading.

Or at least he tried to do so, because even his mysterious abilities wouldn't fully protect his ears.

"If you don't want to achieve top marks in every test, you can still do something USEFUL! Work for Grunnings! Breed dogs like aunt Marge! You can even stay at home and help your old mother-"

Dudley wailed again and even Vernon's words got lost in the piercing noise; when the kid had stopped, the uncle was so tired that his voice got hoarse.

"-look at your friends, Piers came in first in three running contests in a row, Malcolm learns cooking with his grandfather, I'm sure Gordon has some plans as well... What kind of life do you have? I am working to get you the best future, and you throw it away, only to sit and play these gory MMOs; your cousin can appreciate that little fact of my care, and-"

"He's a weirdo!" Dudley interrupted.

"But he's more hard-working!" yelled Vernon. "I don't have to shout to have him study!"

Harry's endurance had reached its brim. He closed the book and got the hell out of there.

For the next hours, everything seemed to go its normal way. Except of one particular incident.

"HOW DID THAT BLOODY OWL GET HERE!?" roared his uncle.

Indeed, a large, gray owl perched on the windowsill. It looked expectantly at the boys; Dudley wanted to touch it, forgetting that owls aren't the same kind of birds as chickens. Well...

It took a while to get the bird off his head.

"Vernon, take it easy," said Petunia, trying to approach the owl without giving it an opportunity to use its sharp talons again. "The window was open, it probably just flew into the room and didn't know how to get out."

"Uncle, you will scare the bird," interrupted Harry. Vernon went silent and the only source of sound was whimpering Dudley.

"Look, it dropped something," the aunt pointed at an envelope resting on the floor. "A... a letter?"

Slowly, the horrible realization crawled upon her mind. That wasn't true... That could not be true... And yet her nephew had just gotten his first letter.

His letter to Hogwarts.

Petunia shooed Vernon and Dudley out of the room and locked the door from inside. "Open it."

Harry bent over and picked it up. Made of yellowish parchment, with a drawing of a medieval-looking crest, reminded him instantly of the Middle Earth and the RPGs Dudley's gang played constantly. He turned the envelope to see who sent it, but the only address was his own one:

Mr. H. Potter, The Spare Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey

He had never gotten a letter; in fact, none of the inhabitants of Number Four had. The only exception were the phone bills – blame Aunt Petunia for that. Besides... Who would address a letter like that? He scrutinized its contents – two pieces of parchment, everything on them written in green ink, and a somewhat ancient-looking train ticket.

"It says I have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," said Harry, slightly puzzled. "It is probably another idiotic prank my beloved cousin and his gang were hoping to make, or-"

Somewhere, in the depths of his mind, something was saying otherwise...

"It's not," whispered aunt Petunia. "And don't insult Dudley."

"It's not, because...?"

"Harry, your parents were – well, they were wizards," she said, trying to sound casually.

"You're kidding me, Aunt, aren't you?" was the only reply she'd gotten.

Petunia shook her head. "No, it's true. Magic does exist."

His initial excitement faded slightly, only to be replaced by disappointment and carefully hidden wrath, as Harry slowly said:

"And you didn't care to explain that little fact?"

Six days passed already since Harry had sent the owl with his reply and nothing foreshadowed any unpredicted events. Six days of silence between him and his aunt.

That morning was as normal as any other – Harry got up, ate whatever Petunia hid from Dudley, checked mail, cleaned his room, etc, etc.

He was intent on being a normal boy, while his internal musings were interrupted by the ring of the doorbell.

Aunt Petunia opened the door, only to see a tiny man with greying hair, wearing a pointy hat and something closely resembling a dress.

"Hello, my name is Filius Flitwick. Does Mr. Harry Potter live here?"

AN: Soo... Yeah. That's the first chapter. Hope you'll like it, folks. Reviews are love!

Notes and Explanations:

Cold Fire (Canon spell; HP wiki: Bluebell Flames) - Flamma careulea - an easy spell that creates relatively harmless flame. Wizards tend to use a lot of fire-based magic - especially in battle, so prepare yourself for more...

Dursleys are friendly - the main reason why Harry is NOT going to hate all Muggles - he believes that this fact makes him a better Dark Lord than Voldy was.