"A tale of a tail" canonish events, trite situations, and probably nothing you've not read before. Whole story is written, but I'm trying this "chapter" thing this time, cause it's kinda long. Except for this intro chapter. It's really short. No real bashing, though I'm not a huge fan of some of the major characters. Independent (kind of) harry. No pairings. Changes begin when Hagrid picks Harry up…

There once was a small boy who lived in a cupboard. That sounds like a fantastic beginning to a fantastical kind of story, right? And of course, the evil people who put him in that cupboard, they can't ever be nice to him. No matter how you've heard this story before, know this: he was abused. Abuse might even be too clean of a word for it. Believe me, these folks, the Dursleys (isn't that a horrid name?) had no problem using the rod and beating the child. Even when they weren't physically whacking him, they were verbally castigating him. These "people" who were in charge of him - they were supposed to be his aunt and uncle - they constantly berated him, his actions, his person, his parentage. They didn't call him by name; a name's too good for a freak like him. As he carried out all of the household drudgery – and I mean ALL: he was the Dursley's unpaid cook, butler, maid, landscaper, etc - they constantly reminded him that his effort always falls short and always will. He's worthless. They didn't allow him to have any possessions – even the underclothes he wore were their rags, not his. He was allowed to use these only to cover his freakishness.

To overcome all this loveliness, that little boy'd learnt to be sneaky. He decided early that he would have things, even if they were things that other people threw away. When he found his name – Harry Potter – he practiced writing it in dirt, in dust. He was Harry Potter. And he was NOT what they were. He had some things that were his, if his captors didn't know it.

This boy was born with a big heart, and as a baby, he had felt all the love in the world. But when he had been dumped with the Dursleys, his world became dark and cold. His innate heart and happiness were still there, but they didn't have much call to be used. Also, his relatives punished him if he was happy – so he'd learnt not to wear his heart on his sleeve. He was quite smart – just as his parents had been before him, though he didn't know that. The Dursleys, however, were dumb. He wanted to be what they were not, so smart was necessary. He started to write more in the dust and dirt, practicing his reading and his maths – if his dumb cousin couldn't do it, Harry would.

Even his teachers didn't realize how smart Harry was, because when they realized it, and rewarded him for it, he got punished by the Dumb Dursleys.

He took to hiding out in library; he was quiet so the librarian wouldn't notice him. On rare occasions, he's been able to find "treasures" that the Dursleys didn't know he had. He acquired two small chalkboards that neighborhood kids had thrown out, even though they were in perfect condition. He took the boards apart, keeping only the slate. Paper and pencils or pens were hard to come by, and even if they had come from a completely different source, Petunia, the "mother" of the family, would take them from Harry, saying he didn't deserve paper or pencils or pens. Chalk was easy to come by – he just stole it from his teachers. He could practice maths and writing and drawing in his cupboard, especially after he learned how to make it so they couldn't tell he had the light on in there.

Pilfering also became second hand. He was very nimble of finger by necessity. Things like food and socks were easy to steal. And he stole. He had to. He also stole books. When he was done, he'd return them. But he wasn't allowed a library card.

His only friends were a pair of ravens – he called them Annabelle and Edgar. They had stayed in the tree overlooking the yard of the house where he was kept. They watched as he did yard work. After a time they drifted closer, so he began to talk with them. In the library, he learned that ravens and crows of all manner liked shiny things, so when he found bits of glass or metal, he'd offer them to his friends. Over time, they seem to almost understand him, and when no one was around, would even land on his shoulders and preen his hair, which was as black as their feathers. He would ask their advice on different plans – what he would do when he finally escaped from his prison – and they would approve or disapprove. Or perhaps that was just his imagination.

After a few years, a fourth member joined his little group. Down the street and around the corner, a woman named Arabella Figg lived. She was – even to Harry – quite strange. Just the mention of her name brought a sneer to and a sniff from Petunia Dursley's face, perhaps even faster than the mention of her nephew did. Mrs. Figg was one of those "crazy cat ladies." She had dozens of cats, and they were strange – always sneaking round the neighborhood and peeping in people's windows. One kitten in particular – a pure black cat who had a tail that almost seemed like a lion's – had seemed to take a shine to Harry. Perhaps it was because he had eyes the same color as Harry – vivid green. The cat lady called the cat Beelzebub, claiming him to be a devil – Harry called him Bub and assured the cat that he was not a devil.

Of course, the Dursleys: Vernon, Petunia, and their horrifically fat, spoiled, and beastly son Dudley hated the cat. But Bub was incredibly clever. He and the ravens knew, almost innately, how to find Harry when he would manage to escape to a hidden park. They had even helped Harry find some of his best hiding spots from his ghastly cousin. You see, Dudley had also learnt his lessons from his parents well: Harry was meant to be abused at all times. Dudley was not smart about it; bullies don't need to be smart. They just need to be mean as spit. That, Dudley achieved. The students at the primary school were terrified of Dudley and his gang of thugs, and the students were very grateful that Harry existed to take the attention of said delinquents. "Harry Hunting" was a game these hooligans came up with – not much imagination to it, but it was extremely satisfying to them, nonetheless. Surrounding and beating a child who is smaller than you is something that only brainless low-lifes could enjoy. Dudley and his gang didn't quite make it up to the mark of brainless low-lifes.

In the summer Harry turned eleven, a rather strange thing occurred. Harry received a letter. Well, he didn't actually receive it. It was addressed to him, and upon seeing it, Vernon Dursley destroyed it. Strangely, this destruction was not the end of the matter. Within days, there were hundreds of letters being delivered – all of them addressed to Mr. H. Potter, Number 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Of course, they also had the room he slept in – that boot cupboard – but Vernon was so shocked by the sight of the letters on the strange paper with the wax on the back that he didn't take in the details, at first. When Petunia noted the address, she gasped that "they" must be watching, whoever they were. And plans were made to confine Harry to the smallest bedroom in the house, instead of the cupboard.

After days of trying to destroy the letters, Vernon decided to leave the house on an unplanned vacation. First, they went to an hotel, but the letters followed. Then, the family, a somewhat amused Harry in tow, went to an island off the coast, simply to avoid letters.

No letters came.

Instead, a giant of a man, introducing himself as Rubeus Hagrid, came. He stated he was "keeper of the keys at Hogwarts," whatever that might be. He told Harry that Harry was, in fact, magical. A wizard. Harry wouldn't have quite believed it, no matter the accidental magic he'd cast in the past. Magic didn't exist. Everyone, even the Dursleys, knew that. But then the Dursleys got Hagrid mad. And Harry knew that would spell trouble for him. If this man who was trying to take Harry hurt a Dursley? Harry might as well write his epitaph now.

So, when Hagrid tried to curse Dudley, for being a little pig, Harry stepped in the way. He didn't want magic to hurt the Dursleys because they'd take it out on him. He figured he'd got them in his debt now, in a way.

The giant of a man looked ready to wet himself, he was so scared. Harry had no idea that this Hagrid might be in trouble for hurting Harry. After all, all of his remembered life, Harry had been the goatiest of scapegoats, the most ocular of bulls-eyes. He was everyone's favorite target, and no one ever regretted hurting Harry, in any way. So when Hagrid was practically in tears and a panic sweat, Harry took charge.

"Calm down, Mr. Hagrid. It's okay. Isn't there a way we can fix this? No one really needs to know. I mean, if you put it there, you can take it away, right?"

Hagrid stood, wringing his hands. Dudley was torn between laughing at Harry's predicament and trying to hide his massive bulk behind his parents, lest the weird man do something even worse than giving a pig's tail to him.

Eventually, the big man agreed. Sure, he could get the tail fixed. He pulled Harry none-too-gently from the cabin on the rock in the sea and, talking a great deal to himself, going back and forth on possibilities and possible horrific outcomes, Hagrid got himself and Harry back to the mainland.

He then proceeded to seat Harry in the sidecar of a somehow-familiar motorcycle. The déjà vu kicked in completely when the motorcycle began to fly across country. Hagrid kept muttering the entire ride.

Harry had, over the years, developed a method of eavesdropping to find out which way the wind blew. He had almost a sixth sense of figuring out what an adult thought from their looks and mumblings. He used this skill now.

He took from Hagrid's mutterings that his parents had been rather important, someone had killed them, tried to kill him, and he had lived. Somehow, this living had made him a Boy Who Lived (he could almost hear the capitals in the title) and him being hurt by Hagrid would be a Very Bad Thing for Hagrid. Apparently, lots of folks thought the Boy Who Lived was important.

Harry wondered where they'd been the rest of his life.

Eventually, Hagrid's motorcycle, with Harry in the sidecar, pulled up in front of a house in London. "Me friend Astrid and her husband Robbie live here, Harry. Just a hop skip and a jump from Digon. I thinks Astrid can fix yeh up, proper like." He was almost calm at this point, only twitching a bit when Harry's tail got caught in the sidecar. Harry laughed, though. Really, the situation was quite ridiculous!

Astrid, it turned out, was a healer – a magical doctor of sorts. She knew Hagrid as the groundskeeper from when she was at Hogwarts – the school that Harry was invited to attend. And, of course, she could reverse Hagrid's accidental magic. Shaking her head, she thought to herself that only Hagrid could get into that kind of trouble: introducing a muggle-raised to the magical world and accidentally cursing the lad. Poor Hagrid. She asked the gentle giant to wait in a different room, as his nervousness might impede the fixing.

When they were alone in the healing room, Astrid looked at the boy then did a double take. This wasn't any Tom, Dick, or Harry. This was THE Harry. Harry Potter. But what's this? He was dressed in rags, had bruises, and was way too small for his age.

Harry noticed the double-take that confirmed she knew him, or knew of him, from his scar. She was also very angry. This worried Harry, as angry adults usually meant a bruised Harry. At best.

Disguising her anger the best she could, she set about trying to calm the child.

"My name is Healer Astrid Stenwick. You can call me Miss Astrid, if you like. I'd like to do some simple spells, just to see the best way to go about… errr… de-tailing you. Is that okay?"

Harry cautiously smiled and nodded. Maybe she wasn't mad at him, after all.

Astrid cast her spells. She cast them again. The results were not as she expected: Curses, compulsions, hexes, and for Morgana's sake bindings on his magical core. Multiple bindings! Unheard of! Monstrous! There was also some sort of dark magic in the scar and some sort of magical lasso, for lack of better term, that seemed to be routed toward the west.

This child needed her help. Hagrid, though her friend and a wonderful source for rare potions ingredients, was not the kind of person who should be introducing a child to the magical world. Let alone THIS child! She didn't know the situation, but she thought she might know some of the ramifications. This kid had some hard luck: some of it from the loss of his parents, but it seemed that much of it was planned by another, powerful wizard. Making sure to get the signature on all the spells, a thought struck her. He needed better luck.

"I'm going to ask you to take this potion," she said, handing a glass vial to Harry. "It's called liquid luck. Not many can brew it – I can, though. Once in a while, I have a patient who needs more than I can give him or her. You're it, today. This is my last dose, in fact, so maybe you're already in a bit of luck!"

He drank it down, and before he finished, his eyes brightened.

"Now, Mr. Potter, I would like to do an overpowered finite on your tail, do you think I should do that?"

He wondered why she would ask him, then he realized that it seemed like a wonderful thing to do. So, once again, he smiled and nodded. She proceeded to do so.

This caused the tail to disappear, but it also weakened the bindings on his magic and cancelled the curses, hexes, and compulsions placed on him. The result was a magical maelstrom. It was as though someone had let a giant electric bolt loose in the room and it zapped right through the poor kid. His hair stood on end, his muscles all contracted and relaxed and contracted again. His skin rippled and his joints seemed to pop. It was, for both healer and patient, quite a bit scary.

But.

Luck was on his side. It was, in fact, coursing through his veins. And now, as all those bindings weakened, Luck (the good twin, anyhow), that fickle, whimsical partner who had always eluded Harry, entered, stage left. It was show time.

Harry had always been clever, but now his magic – which was really quite strong having been forced to grow to care for him, even when it was bound – would now be gradually released. As other bonds broke, his talents were optimized. From his mother he now had an eidetic memory. He didn't know it, but this would help with charms, since they're a lot of memorization as well as theory. He would also be good with numbers – maths for the non-magical side and arithmancy from the magical one. From his dad's genetics (from the Blacks, really), he has inherited innate skills in transfiguration. Even self-transfiguration would be easier for him. Also inherited from his father's side is understanding of runes. The Potter family had been warders until James because James didn't get the full runic ability from his own dad. Harry did. These magics had been there before, but now, with luck added as the bindings were nicked, they would strengthen and optimize over the next few years as the magic released.

While Harry was "healing" – or recovering from the healing, Astrid processed the rest of his medical evaluation. She was thoroughly incensed when she saw the extent of the malnutrition and all of his poorly-healed bones.

Harry, always attuned to anger in adults, quietly asked if he had done something wrong. She smiled at him.

"No, young man. I'd say you've had great wrong done to you, though."

Realizing that she knew what had been done to him, he begged her not to say anything. After all, he had lived with it, was about to escape from it, and had no need to broadcast this situation to a world that already, apparently, would be watching his every move (and gossiping about them, also).

Astrid agreed, but only if he agreed to stop by later in the day for his immunizations. She'd give him the any jabs he needed then, along with nutritional and growth supplements. Harry nodded.

"Go get a long, hot shower. Take your time. I'll get these clothes clean while you do so."

Astrid shook her head as she looked at the rags the Boy Who Lived wore. After taking magical picture of the clothing, she decided to fix them up. She cleaned them with lots of gentle scourgifies. These clothes were not new, but very, very worn. Why didn't he wear better? She wondered. Then, she answered her own question. Since they didn't feed him, they probably didn't clothe him, either. She wouldn't be surprised if these were his only clothes. She'd shrink them to fit better, but didn't know if they'd survive the charm. She was very glad she gave the kid an entire dose of liquid luck. He'd need it.

Calling her elf, she prepared as well as she could to get the Boy Who Lived off to a good start in the magical world.

Harry came out, toweling his hair and wearing his clean clothes. He smiled at Astrid.

"Before Hagrid comes back, I have something for you." She handed a lunch bag. "This is a stasis bag. It keeps food at proper temp, keeps it fresh, and doesn't allow it to be damaged – I've filled it. You eat when you're hungry. This is in case Hagrid forgets to feed you. Also," she handed him three potion vials, "These are for you. They are an appetite enhancer, nutrient absorber, and growth encouragement potion. The absorber should be taken three times a day, so you get maximum nutrition from all of your food." As he drank the potions, she put two more of the absorber in the stasis bag. "Make sure you sneak one before lunch, okay?" He smiled and nodded, shyly. "By the end of the day, I'll have enough potions for you to last for a few months. Now, I have something serious that I want to talk to you about. The people you're staying with, they don't feed you much, right?" Harry's face closed off; he really didn't want to talk about that. "I understand. You don't want to talk about it. But here's the deal. We need to find a way to get you food while you're with them. If we schedule treatments, starting next summer, we can regrow your skeleton in parts. That will fix all of the bad breaks and weak spots. After a year of nutrition, you'll be able to regrow a skeleton that you're supposed to have. What do you say? It can be our secret." As he thought about it, luck gave Harry the final nudge, and he nodded. He hated the idea of needing the potions and regrowing his skeleton, but he really liked the idea of growing, so he nodded. A place to hide food went on his mental shopping list.

Walking Harry to the kitchen, Astrid invited Hagrid back with them. There, on the table, was a breakfast for kings. While Hagrid and Harry feasted, Astrid spoke.

"Well, Rubeus Hagrid, I'll keep the secret of what happened if you promises 3 things: take the child to whatever stores he wants today – it's his birthday, so you let him pick what he wants, tell NO ONE what I did, and finally, since Mr. Potter needs immunizations which will tire him out, you should drop kid off with me at the end of the day."

Hagrid looked up from his plate. "I promised Dumbledore I'd get Harry back to the muggles," he said uncertainly.

"Hagrid, you know I'm better in the muggle world than you are, and I don't think those muggles are going to want to see hide nor hair of you again. Why don't you let me take him home," she reasoned.

Hagrid nodded, sopping up egg yolk with toast.

In due time, Harry left that flat clean, full, and happy. Waving goodbye to Astrid, he followed Hagrid down the street with a spring in his step. He'd been told the next stop was Diagon Alley, just a short walk away, and he just felt like that would be a great place to go.