Harry was seven when he ran away. He had never regretted it. Over the years he had managed to gain some control over the 'accidents' and realised the Dursleys must have known, or at least his aunt and uncle must have known, one way or another. He had given up trying to figure out how they had known or what, exactly, he was. The question of why they had never told him was easy enough – they thought he was a freak, and he was, he supposed, but he quite enjoyed being a freak.

But … there must be others, Harry reasoned, others who told Vernon and Petunia what he was, but then why wasn't he staying with another freak? Blood relations won out he supposed. Or lost out, when it came to the Dursley's opinion of him. But whoever had left him at Privet Drive must have realised the Dursleys didn't want him. They must have been eager to get rid of him, Harry didn't blame them, he wasn't anything special, and he wouldn't have wanted to be lumped with a wailing baby that wasn't his.

But the one question that always nagged Harry, that wouldn't let go no matter how hard Harry tried: Had his parents been like him? Possibly. He liked to think they were anyway.

A bright green light. A cold high laugh.

That was their death, he was sure of it. And if he could only deduce one thing from it, it was that they certainly hadn't died in a drunken car accident. Harry obsessed over and feared that memory, because he wanted to know, but he never wanted to see his parents' deaths.

The biggest gain Harry had made in controlling his 'powers' was his ability to turn into a fox. It was difficult and painful, all those organs and bones grinding together. He had always been overly fascinated with the foxes that occupied the city. It had all started the day Harry had grown a snout, or something nearing a snout, he had been wishing, having gone a week without food, that he could just smell food like the Urban Foxes he saw around did. And then he could. Harry had found a puddle and stared at himself for some time before he rushed off to find food. Ever since then he had concentrated on being able to turn himself more and more into a fox. Sometimes he had got stuck, but that didn't stop him.

In fact, Harry had worked quite obsessively on his fox form, until sometimes it had become dangerous because he didn't have enough time to find food. Harry had often relied on pick pocketing and petty theft to survive, and now he was very good at it, but he had been almost caught far to often to be comfortable. Having a fox form would make scavenging a lot easier, especially as a fox could digest foods that a human couldn't.

In the beginning he'd been uneasy at the thought of stealing, not wanting to become another bullying thief like Dudley, but an empty stomach and the way the rich folk's eyes slid over him soon convinced him they could stand to loose a couple of pounds.

Harry's birthdays had never been celebrated in the Dursley household. If any of them had remembered it, only Dudley ever said anything, and that was to torment him about his lack of presents or friends, and so Harry had started his little tradition of his own to remember it. On his birthday, or the days leading up to his birthday he would take the chance to swipe himself a little extra food and have himself a birthday 'feast' in his cupboard. Sometimes he even managed to get himself one of Dudley's abandoned toys.

It was much harder to keep track of the days now he was on the street, but Harry still liked to try and remember his birthday.

Harry sat in his little den and eagerly tucked into his leftover pizza he had scrounged from the neighbour's (it always made him laugh to call them that) bin. He'd got lucky; it was still warm and so instead of rationing it out like he usually would, he was eating it all while it was still all gloriously warm. Sometimes he had to wonder whether fast food places weren't deliberately helping homeless kids on the sly by making such large portions. After all, they didn't want to ruin their image of being greedy corporations, would they?

It was on his eleventh birthday when his life changed forever. All he could ever remember was that it felt like he'd been hit by something very heavy, that it looked like everything was flowing backwards before, unsurprisingly, unconsciousness.

Professor Minerva McGonagall was looking through the list of the soon to be first years. Specifically, looking for the Muggleborns, which would soon become her responsibility in individually introducing them to the wizarding world. Unlike most of her colleagues, McGonagall kept up to date with Muggle dress, technology and Muggle news in order to not draw attention to herself when she was collecting the Muggleborns. She had heard it had become quite a game on Diagon Alley to spot her in Muggle dress with the Muggleborns.

Her current problem was one particular name that had appeared on the list. Firstly the magic couldn't seem to decide whether the boy was Muggleborn or not. Perhaps it was halfblood brought up by Muggles and therefore unaware of their heritage. The lists (though rarely) had shown such children before, although rarely.

Her second problem was that the child was named Harry Potter. She hadn't heard of any other Potter children, and it was extremely unlikely that that the Potter clan would throw a child out. She knew the name was not so uncommon in the Muggle world, however.

Her third, and most immediate, problem was that the child seemed to be living on the streets. McGonagall quickly changed into her Muggle clothes. She was determined to get to Harry Potter as soon as possible.

Harry woke up and was immediately tense. His first thought was that he had been attacked, but he didn't seem to have any injuries, his battered watch was still on his wrist, and his few remaining coins were still in his pocket. Harry froze when he spotted an abandoned newspaper, then hurried to check another one. It seemed he'd time travelled. Odd things were always happening to him but this beat them all – even turning into a fox.

Just then a tall, stern looking lady appeared before him with a small pop. Harry did the only thing his brain thought reasonable at that point. He fainted.

Harry woke to see the stern woman crouching over him holding a stick. He stared at it for a second, "Is that a wand?"

"Very perceptive, Mr Potter. What lead you to think so?"

"You weren't holdin' it like you were goin' to hit me. More like it was doin' something. Just sitting there," Harry couldn't tell how he knew the stick … wand was responsible for him waking up, but it was like he could feel it. Then something hit him, "How d'you know my name?"

"Indeed, the reason I am here. Perhaps we could adjourn to somewhere more comfortable? I can see a small café over there that should suit."

Harry glanced at his dirty, torn clothes and for the first time in a long time felt a little embarrassed, "I aint exactly dressed for nice places."

The lady waved her wand again and his clothes changed, then she waved it again and it felt like his skin was clean. She held out a hand to help him up, which Harry ignored. He didn't like relying on anybody else. The lady pursed her lips but didn't say anything and they walked to the café. They sat and the lady ordered drinks

"Now then, as to the reason I am here,

Yer a wizard, Harry.

I have come to inform you that you are, in fact, a wizard. What we call a Muggleborn wizard and as such you are invited to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. My name is Professor McGonagall and I teach Transfiguration. I know this is a shock, but can you think back to anything that happened, perhaps when you were angry or happy?"

Harry nodded, he had, after all, spent a long time cultivating his powers, even if he didn't understand them. This McGonagall woman didn't seem to expect him to be so advanced though, he would have to keep that quiet, he didn't want to show his hand so early. Most children probably didn't have to use their powers to survive, though, which was probably why he was more advanced. "I don't have any money to pay for…" Harry silently cursed this McGonagall for making him more embarrassed in a few minutes than he had been in years. He kept his lips tightly shut, though. This seemed to be like a good opportunity, and he didn't want to ruin it.

"Hogwarts has trust funds set up for those who cannot pay. We shall also have to find some accommodation for you," Harry flinched, he didn't like others being in control of his life, "Now, for a question that may be a little more sensitive. You seem to have appeared out of nowhere, Mr Potter. Were your parents-"

"My parents are dead. Died when I was a baby," Harry had just one photo that he had stolen before he had run away, he had found it in the attic when Aunt Petunia had ordered him to clean it out. He wasn't going to show this McGonagall woman that, especially since this seemed to be the past.

JAMES AND LILY DIE IN A CAR CRASH? IT'S AN OUTRAGE – A SCANDAL!

Harry suppressed a smile. At least the … memories … premonitions? Alternate life? Gave him some idea of who his parents were.

"I understand, Mr Potter. I think for now we should purchase your school equipment, and find you some temporary accommodation," Harry's eyes flashed at having his life so suddenly and completely controlled, but the information he seemed to be getting, and the prospect of something better waiting kept him silent. Besides, it really seemed that he had no choice. There was one thing though.

"One thing. I can read, and write, even. But I've missed loads."

"Understood. Tutoring shall be arranged before and during term. Now come along."

"Ah, Mr Potter, Mr Potter, my you are enigma. Which is your wand arm?"

"My … right," Harry said. McGonagall, who was now standing sternly behind him, had told him that his 'wand arm' was equivalent to being right handed or left handed, and that, if he was asked, he would be asked which was his wand arm rather than right handed or left handed.

"Mmmm, hold it out. I see, I see." Ollivander's long, tapered finger reached out and touched Harry's scar. Harry jerked back.

"Mr Ollivander, is this necessary?" asked McGonagall. Ollivander didn't seem at all daunted by her tone.

"Mr Potter's magic seems to be unique in a way I cannot quite identify," instead of being put off, Ollivander seemed to be quite excited by the prospect, "a challenging customer, but never fear, I haven't failed yet. The wand chooses the wizard, see."

As Mr Ollivander had predicted, Harry went through wand after wand until eventually Ollivander pulled down a case from a very top shelf. By now Harry was very tired and couldn't bring himself to care much. He'd been managing just fine without a wand. But, as he had with all the others he picked up the wand and gave it a wave and all of a sudden a warm feeling swept through him and he knew, somewhere deep inside, this was the wand for him.

"Wonderful! And so curious. Curious, very curious."

"It so happens that the phoenix that gave its feather for this wand, gave one other feather. Just one. And that young man is a most curious fellow." Ollivander's eyes gleamed with a hungry fascination.

Its brother gave you that scar.

Harry sat in Madam Malkin's waiting for Madam Malkin to find him some well fitting second hand robes. Luckily for him plenty of good quality robes were returned to Madam Malkin every year as the students had grown out of them, or they were leaving Hogwarts, so Harry would have plenty to choose from.

There was another boy sitting next to him, who had said 'Hi' to him awkwardly and both found themselves unable to think of anything to make a conversation about and they were both relieved when Madam Malkin returned.

Somehow, Harry thought, the trip to Madam Malkin's should have been more significant. Then he wondered why he thought that.

Harry sat in his room in the Leaky Cauldron feeling happier than he had ever been in his life. He had a room! An actual room, with a bed and windows and space. He liked McGonagall infinitely more now – she had obviously seen his need for independence, although she had no doubt asked Tom to keep an eye on him. He would have to clamp down on his instinct to run away once he was actually at Hogwarts, but he would deal with that when it came. The thought of the school made him both excited and brought him out in cold sweat, and he hadn't even seen the school.

He didn't think much of the tutor, Jane Fisherman, though. Apparently she was a recent graduate who was 'looking to go into social services.' He had hidden his snort of derision, when had the social services done anything for him? When he was at the Dursleys and when he had run away they had just turned away and ignored him. That didn't stop him trying in his lessons though. He'd been given this one chance for a new life at Hogwarts, and he wasn't going to waste it.

And then, suddenly, it was time. He was getting the Hogwarts Express tomorrow.

A/N – And that's the first chapter! And yes, Harry is getting memories/premonitions (who knows which it is;) of his original life.

Also, this is a smart!Harry story, rather than a super!Harry story – it's shown in canon that when Harry is really dedicated to learning to something he can do extraordinary magic, such as producing a corporeal patronus, something most adult wizards can't do, when he's thirteen. So if he obsesses over becoming a fox, he can do it, eventually.

Next time… we meet a group of unlikely looking wizards who will one day become the great Marauders!