Hi…this is my first fanfic. I'd appreciate any comments you have to make so please review. Basically, this story is about what would've happened if Harry's parents never actually died and how his life would be if they came back. I, out of curiosity, searched and found a few other stories with the same sort of idea, but my story is going to be quite different. I hope you like it!

Prologue

Harry James Potter looked for all the world an ordinary boy of ten. He was a little short for his age and more than a little skinny, a fact emphasized by his overly large clothes passed down to him by his cousin, but Harry Potter was not an ordinary boy of ten. He was far more than that; he just didn't know it yet. Still, Harry couldn't deny that a lot of very strange things happened to him.

Once, his aunt Petunia had tried to make him wear a very horrible orange and brown cardigan that had once belonged to his cousin, as she tried to force it over his head the cardigan got smaller and smaller until it was no bigger than a handkerchief, fortunately Aunt Petunia assumed it had shrunk in the wash.

Another time was when his Aunt had attempted to deal with his extremely messy hair by cutting it almost all off except for his fringe (which she left to cover the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, a mark he had gotten in the accident that killed his parents). That night Harry had gone to bed dreading school the next day. However, when he awoke, his hair had gone back to how it had been before Aunt Petunia cut it. Harry couldn't explain how it happened and inexplicably, his aunt and uncle were furious.

Yes a lot of inexplicable things happened around Harry Potter. And yet the boy could not help but wish as he lay in his cramped bed in the cupboard under the stairs that he could have what most other boys his age had, and he didn't mean toys or pocket money or even his own room. No, what Harry wanted was a parent, a real parent who would love him and care for him.

Because Harry Potter was an orphan, his parents had died in a car crash when he was only one year old. His aunt Petunia and uncle Vernon, who he currently lived with, hated him. His cousin Dudley bullied him and he had no friends because all the children at his Primary school were scared of Dudley. In short, the boy was completely alone. Whenever he tried to ask about his parents his aunt would purse her lips angrily and his Uncle would shout at him. There were no pictures in number 4 Privet Drive of them. Harry didn't even know what they looked like.

When he tried to search his memory for an early image all he saw was a flashing bright green light.

But we're getting side tracked.

Harry Potter had just turned 10 years old. It was pitch black in his spidery cupboard and Number 4 Privet Drive was deathly silent; the only one awake was the small birthday boy. It wasn't very often that Harry thought of his birthday, you see, he'd never gotten a present before or a birthday cake…he'd never even been wished happy birthday. But for some reason, as Harry Potter realised that another year of his life had gone by without happiness, comfort or love, he began to cry. Silently he cried with rivers of tears running down his cheeks, begging for someone to love him, wishing that his parents hadn't gone and left him.

And as Harry Potter cried, many miles away in a small ordinary town in Wales two people woke up in their hospital beds. Slowly the red haired woman turned to her husband who lay in a bed next to hers and said one word in a voice hoarse and cracked from lack of use, before both of them succumbed to exhaustion. Almost immediately after, Doctors rushed into the room, checking their machines and running tests. None of them had heard the woman murmur her son's name.

So that was the prologue! Interested? Plz review and tell me what you think!