You were that foundation
Never gonna be another one, no.
I followed, so taken
So conditioned I could never let go
Then sorrow, then sickness
Then the shock when you flip it on me
So hollow, so vicious
So afraid I couldn't let myself see
That I could never be held

-Linkin Park, Lost in the Echo

Chapter One- Prologue

November 1, 1981

Petunia Dursley was not amused. As far as she was concerned her little brat of a sister had ruined her life. She had taken the normal, suburban life Petunia was excellent at living, and made her parents believe their was much more. Only Lilly could give them this "much more" that they were so fascinated by and Petunia's exceptional talent of being neither extraordinary nor a disappointment was no longer interesting to them. Their eyes were wide, reflecting magic wands and filthy gnomes and goblins at Petunia whenever they returned from the places Lilly needed them to take her. She remembered the tears in her little sisters wide, emerald eyes as she called her a freak and couldn't deny the similarities between the child and her sister.

Little Harry Potter laid at the feet of Petunia Dursley and she trembled to think what the letter she held in her hand meant. She was meant to keep her nephew. She did not want him. After a moments hesitation she knelt down, glancing up and down the street, and finding herself relieved when no one was about, and carefully unwrapped the blanked from the child. He was small, skinny, very much unlike her own son Dudley, who had been nearly thirteen pounds at birth.

She ran her hand along his cheek and through his hair, and paused when she saw the scar, a small, zig zag along his forehead. It looked frightening, and clearly unnatural. She looked up and down the street. Her family wasn't unnatural, and she didn't want it to be. She didn't want that. She could not keep him, he would be a freak just like her sister. The child would grow and show everyone that "more" she could not give them, and her life would be blown to pieces, by another one of them. Horrified, she stood, and backed away. The door slammed shut on the baby and the sound woke him, he began to cry.

Twenty minutes later a car pulled up onto Little Whinging and stopped in front of number 4, Privet Drive. A frail, grey haired woman got out of the car and approached the child on the doorstep with a concerned expression on her face. She immediately lifted the child into her arms and something her eyes seemed to tighten. A wrinkled fist raised to knock on the door rather angrily and the door opened several moments later.

"Miss, are you certain that-" the woman began, as Petunia glanced at the car parked in front of her house with the words Winston Lane Orphanage printed in large letters along the side.

"His name is Harry," she interrupted, and without further comment, slammed the door in the woman's face.

July 3, 1988

The orphanage was full of whispers. A new boy would be arriving soon. He had been adopted three years earlier in London and his adoptive parents did not want him. They were returning him like an ill fitting sweater. The younger boys and girls pressed their faces against the glass of the second story window, watching as a boy, around seven or eight years old, climbed out of the car.

"He has black hair!" a little ginger boy exclaimed loudly and an older girl who was reading a boy snapped at him to shut up.

"He has a whole suitcase!" he yelled, louder still.

"William I swear to God almighty if you don't shut it…" the girl chastised, and the ginger boy rolled his eyes with his nose scrunched up. He was one of those people who never seemed pleased, and when he was pleased, the look on his face did not make others feel very pleasant.

"Stephanie maybe you two will get along, you already have so much in common," a boy a few years younger than her, around eight years old, teased maliciously. Stephanie glowered at him and he rolled his eyes.

The boy was led into the recreation room several minutes later by one of the caretakers, who rested her hand gently on his shoulder.

"Children, this is Harry, he hasn't been in the foster system for several years so please be kind to him," she begged, giving several significant children warning looks. She left the room and the children immediately swarmed the dark haired boy. He looked incredibly nervous, his fat sweater swallowing his tiny form.

Questions were asked, accusations thrown, assumptions were made, and it was soon determined that the boy was, well, odd.

"How many times have you been adopted?" one kid asked, and Harry gave his first, very quiet, response.

"Four times."

A dead silence fell over the room.

The girl looked up from her book.

"They didn't want you all four bloody times?" William asked in disbelief and color flooded the boy's cheeks in embarrassment. All was still. Quiet.

"Well, what's wrong with you then?" William demanded and Harry's green eyes widened.

"What?" he asked, sounding hurt.

"Are you mental? Slow?"

"He might be retarded!"

"My cousin is retarded!"

"You haven't got a cousin you duff!"

"I do too!"

William began to argue with one of the other boys for several minutes before turning to Harry once more. If the boy had been nervous upon his entrance, he was terrified now. He seemed to flinch whenever anyone stepped too close and tugged on his sleeves vigorously. The girl with the book was watching the boy curiously. The boys began yelling once more, this time at Harry. He started to shake and looked like he was going to cry. One boy said something particularly cruel about Harry's inability to keep a family and the air seemed to warm around the small boy.

He flinched.

The large cabinet on the wall burst into flames.

The children all began to scream. Chaos ensued and suddenly someone exclaimed that Harry had done it. They all turned to Harry, and as they did so, the flames seemed to swallow themselves and disappear, leaving the cabinet exactly as it once was.

All the children gasped and backed away from Harry immediately. They shrieked words like freak and demon. Harry, small, young, and confused, began to cry.

An adult rushed into the room and asked what was the matter. The children remained silent, staring at Harry. The caregiver looked at Harry in confusion and began to question the group of silent children further, but no one spoke. The caregiver sighed in frustration and asked Harry to follow her ou of the room.

As soon as they left the children began to talk in hushed voices, a few approached the cabinet slowly and touched it. It wasn't harmed at all. It wasn't even warm. They began to argue about what had happened and Harry was suddenly accused of all sorts of satanic worship and occult activity.

No one noticed Stephanie close her book and stare at the cabinet in utter fascination, or when she reached into her pocket to touch the comforting paper that crinkled there. No one but her knew that she would be leaving the orphanage in a month, and that she had a small letter written in green ink to thank for it.

September 1, 1988

"It's only till the summer Harry," Stephanie said softly, knowing even as she said it that in the orphanage that would feel like an eternity. Harry's wide green eyes stared at her blankly. She was leaving. He would be alone. How would he control his… powers… while she was gone?

"And… and when I come back I can show you all the cool stuff I learn and I'll have lots of stories for you… and in a few years… you'll get your letter too and you can come with me," she said, trying to be comforting. Something seemed to snap in the little dark haired boy because he suddenly stood.

"Leave!" he demanded, his voice like ice. Stephanie tensed as if he had slapped her. Her bottom lip trembled.

"Harry I would take you with me if I could, you know I would," she mumbled solemnly.

"But you can't," he deadpanned, and she shivered at the coldness that seemed to settle in the room.

"Harry," she tried, but he glared.

"Go."

She left.

He stood alone.

Staring at the brick wall.

Alone.

Abandoned.

Unwanted.

"Hey freak, your girlfriend just left," snarled a male voice from behind him. Harry turned slowly. His eyes flashed green, a deadly, unearthly green, and the boy who had spoken paled. He was a few years older than Harry. Maybe ten or eleven. But age was irrelevant.

He collapsed on the ground, clutching his throat, gasping, fighting for air. He couldn't scream, he couldn't fight. His terrified brown eyes stared into Harry's luminous emeralds and his pupils dilated as if he was making eye contact with the devil himself. Twenty seconds. His legs flailed as his hands grasped at his throat desperately. Thirty seconds. His movements became weaker. Forty seconds, he had stilled, his mouth still gasping, making small rasping sounds as he searched for his breath. A minute. Dead.

June 16th, 1989

"Harry?" a female voice said gently, "I'm back."

Harry looked up from his book. Stephanie stood in the doorway. She looked good. Her pearly skin looked softer, her brown hair silky, and she carried a trunk. She was also wearing a button down shirt and a black pleated skirt.

"Really?" he asked in a sarcastic voice, his eyes frozen on her trunk.

"Harry I know you probably won't forgive me but I am sorry for leaving you here. I came back didn't I?" she pleaded and Harry sighed dramatically.

"Tell me about Hogwarts then," he said softly, obviously disappointed in himself for his resignation. She smiled in relief and sat down beside him on the bed.

"It was absolutely wonderful!" she exclaimed, settling the trunk in front of them and clicking the latches open.

"Look what I got there!" she announced, holding up her wand for Harry to see and he stared in bewilderment.

"A stick?" he asked, not impressed.

"No! It's a wand, my wand actually, it's so I can do spells!" she explained. Harry's eyebrows scrunched together.

"What kind of spells?" he asked, confused.

"Like levitate things, make them float… Of course I can only do it to small things, like feathers and pencils…"

"Why do you need a wand for that?" Harry asked.

"Well I can't exactly do it without a wand, now can I?" she said a flustered voice.

"I can," Harry said. Stephanie began to respond but she paused. His words sunk in and she stared in confusion.

He looked down at the book in his lap and squinted at it for several moments. Stephanie let out a small gasp as she felt something wonderful tickle her skin. It was his magic, released into the air, flowing invisibly toward the book, but a small amount escaped his control and brushed against Stephanie. The book began to lift slowly into the air, up, past their eye level, and nearly to the ceiling. Stephanie's jaw dropped.

"How-" she began but couldn't even finish her sentence before she remembered something, "how are you doing magic?! You're underage, the ministry is going to come arrest you!"

Harry didn't know who the ministry was, but he had been doing magic since Stephanie had left and no one had come to arrest him. He shrugged.

"Maybe they don't have you registered…" she muttered to herself, fingering the blue and bronze tie that was neatly folded in the corner of her trunk.

Harry nodded silently a before lowering the book back into his hands. He ran his hand along the spine lovingly.

"So what else is in there?"

June 10, 1991

"Ah Miss Jacobs, what is it that you wanted to speak with me about?" Professor Dumbledore inquired with a twinkle in his eye. Stephanie looked down at her feet nervously.

"Well, Professor, I have a friend, back at the orphanage, who is magical…" Stephanie muttered nervously, she practically worshipped the headmaster. Dumbledore's blue eyes lit up in interest.

"Really?"

"Yes, and umm, we were concerned because he turns eleven in July and since he isn't well, known to the wizarding world, we were worried he won't get invited to attend here next year," she explained, her palms sweating.

"Of course, I understand your concern, Hogwarts is, of course, open to all magical children, regardless of where they come from," he assured her, placing his palms on his desk.

"Really?" she asked, delighted.

"Yes. I will come visit your orphanage over the summer holidays and meet your friend," he informed her, and she smiled widely.

June 25, 1991

"Stephanie, Harry… you have a visitor," the matron said, peering into the small room that the two shared. Harry sat on his bed reading a second year spellbook while Stephanie lay with her bum up against the wall and her legs sticking upward along the wall, as if she were pretending to sit on the wall.

Professor Dumbledore stepped inside the room and Stephanie quickly dropped her legs from the wall and sat up straight. He smiled mildly at her actions.

"Professor!" she let out breathlessly and Harry rolled his eyes.

"Stephanie…" Dumbledore nodded politely at the ravenclaw, and turned to Harry. Harry rose from the bed.

"Hello sir, I'm Harry," he greeted him gracefully, extending his hand for a handshake. Dumbledore's eyes widened at the boy's skillful charisma. Their eyes met and Dumbledore felt as if he had seen those eyes before. Dumbledore's eyes widened to a comical size. HARRY. HARRY BLOODY POTTER.

"Harry?" Dumbledore said in a contemplative voice and Harry looked at him as if he were wondering if he was touched in the head. "Harry Potter," he finished firmly, looking the boy up and down. His skinny frame, wide, round glasses, his mother's eyes, his father's unruly dark hair, and lastly… Dumbledore stepped forward and pushed Harry's hair up off his forehead, ignoring Harry's indignant protest and letting out a broken sigh of triumph at the tiny lightning scar etched on his forehead.

He stepped away and Harry was glaring darkly at the professor; he did not like to be touched. However, the wizard's next words shocked him enough to forget about the unwanted contact.

"Harry Potter, the boy who lived, is alive."

AN- I'm new at this fanfiction thing so bear with me... The first two chapter will run through Harry's first, second, and third years. I find it particularly unbearable when a fic elaborates on his preteen and child years for over a few chapters so I'm summarizing the basics, and leaving a little mystery to be implied. The pairing will be Harry and Tom Riddle, and if that makes you uncomfortable please do not leave me a hateful review about it. I apologize but that is the ship this fic will be based on. The next chapter will begin with Harry's sorting... I am attempting to make Harry dark and a bit cold without removing all of the passion and sarcasm from him completely because I do want him to be somewhat canon in personality... just a bit twisted. To clarify why Dumbledore believed he was dead, it was what Harry's aunt told him. She lied and pretended he had died at around one year old when he contacted her. Anyway please follow and review, I'll try to have the next chapter up within a week but since I have school I can't exactly swear on it.