I don't own Harry Potter. J. K. Rowling does.

"Go away."

"Now son, is that anyway to talk to your elders?" The father of the young boy curled up on the threadbare carpet looked down at his son is disappointment.

Joma had been holed up in his room all night, refusing to talk to anyone. Though he was certain it was nothing serious, he was still concerned. It wasn't like the boy to act like this.

"Joma, please answer me."

The young boy looked up from his knees with hatred in his eyes. The father was shocked by the amount of distrust contained in the green orbs, for never before had he seen his son like this.

"Joma, whatever is the matter?"

"I know," Joma, said, his voice cold and clear.

The father was getting concerned now. He couldn't know, could he? Nonsense, it was impossible…

"Know what, sweetheart?"

"What you did. I know what you did."

Oh no, it couldn't be! But what else could have possibly happened? After all, his son had never ever acted like this before.

"What I did?"

"You know. You blocked my magic. You planned to give it to Adrian when I turned eleven."

Joma knew. But the boy couldn't leave. There were wards on the house. He could keep him here until he turned eleven then take him to the magic transfer. For now however, it was best to play dumb. Better a willing ward to take care of than an unwilling one.

"What are you talking about, dear boy? I would never do such a thing!"

Joma, the boy he'd worked do hard to keep in the dark, turned his angered face to his.

"You already have, old man. Luckily my magic overcame your block, otherwise I might never have realized," Joma snarled.

"Now Joma-"

Joma cut across him. "Do not call me that. I know you stole me from my family. My name is Harry. Harry James Potter."

He was shocked. Joma –Harry- had discovered he was adopted? He knew his given name? He knew that he had tried to isolate him? By the look on his face, he had. If his frown was any indication, he was angry. Very angry.

The adopted father had to salvage this, and fast.

"I do not know where you heard such lies-"

The green-eyed boy stood up tall, and spit in his face.

For a moment the adopted father was too shocked to react. Then he went for his wand. Harry saw this, and with a lazy flick of his finger, the father's wand soared across the room. Shocked once again at the impressive display of wandless magic, the father began to realize he had made a grave mistake.

"Now Harry-"

"No. You have wronged me, and I will swallow no more lies. I am leaving, and there is nothing you can do to stop me," said Harry, his teeth clenched.

For the first time, the father smiled. "There are wards, my dear boy, and they will not allow you to leave."

Harry threw back his head and laughed humorlessly. It sent a shiver down the adopted father's spine, and he was forcibly reminded of another boy, one so similar to Harry, that had killed hundreds…

When the laughter stopped, a cold smile graced Harry's lips. "How do you think I attained such information in the first place, old man? I have already surpassed the wards."

The father was now beginning to panic. The greater good would suffer if Harry Potter left his control. He must subdue the boy. It was crucial he be controlled.

"The wards are far too powerful to be broken by a eleven year old wizard," said the father, confident in his assumption.

"What about an eleven year old wizard who has trained his entire life, never knowing what he was training for?"

The father froze. Harry hadn't been trained, had he?

Harry smiled again. "Oh yes, old man, I have trained. And right under your crooked nose. I always thought you wanted the best for me, and at first I wanted to tell you, but something held me back. Now I see my fears were with good reason."

The boy must stay here! The father began to panic. It must have showed on is face, because Harry smirked.

"There is nothing you can do to stop me. Goodbye and farewell, Albus Dumbledore," Harry said, before giving Albus a cold smile and disappearing without a sound.

The leader of the so-called light collapsed into a conjured chair and lowered his head to his hands. He no longer had the boy. His magic could no longer be transferred to his brother, Adrian Potter, the boy who lived. This was a disaster. Adrian needed that magic to fight the Dark Lord and proclaim Albus the one who had helped him succeed! Without Harry, the god-like savior that Dumbledore envisioned Adrian becoming would never happen, and Dumbledore could never coast to supreme leader on that savior's fame. Curse that boy for ruining his plans!

One thing was certain. In the regard of Harry Potter, he had made a grave mistake.