AN: This story owes much of its inception to two of my favorite authors, Nemesis13 and theaceoffire. A brief shout out to the both of them for their amazing stories. Without further ado,

Obligatory disclaimer: I do NOT own Harry Potter. I'd have written the entire thing differently if I did.

Chapter 1- Of Beatings and Butterflies

Often times the smallest of actions can have the greatest of consequences, and a single drop of water will cause ripples in the waters of life; ripples which in turn bring change in giant waves.

Such a ripple could be caused by an old man in horridly colorful robes disliking the number fourteen, as that was the age his young sister died at. Thusly, when his deluminator winked out fourteen lamp posts on a quiet street in Surrey, he felt compelled to do one more.

Down the street, Mr. and Mrs. Bent were just laying down to bed, after staying up rather late watching the telly together. As Mr. Bent climbed into bed, the fifteenth and last lamp post on the street winked out, and along with it the little remaining light filtering in through the window disappeared. Suddenly robbed of vision, Mr. Bent caught his foot on the edge of the bed frame, sending him sprawling onto the bed. His forehead bounced off of his wife's thigh, leaving a small bruise. After Mr. Bent spent time diligently kissing it to make it feel better, the Bents stayed up for several more hours than they had planned to that night.

Approximately nine months later, young Andrew Bent was born, and the local school would have one more student to enroll in the upcoming years. He led an average childhood, and nothing of note happened until one day in first grade, where he found himself at the end of the lunch line in front of a thin, black haired boy. The boy seemed anxious, constantly glancing around with his eyes while keeping his head lowered. Andrew had just grabbed his tray, leaving the boy with messy black hair as the last one to get his food. The other boy had just picked up the last tray of food when a large boy who could only be described as a baby whale marched up and stole his food before shoving him to the ground, claiming he was a growing boy and needed it more than a freak like him did. Andrew watched as the boy picked himself up and walked out of the cafeteria.

The boy, having left the cafeteria behind, headed down the hall towards his classroom, as he now had nothing to do during lunch since he had no food to eat. He was about to walk past the library when he suddenly decided to go in and find a book to read. He honestly hadn't had access to many before, and decided that he shouldn't waste the opportunity given to him by his obese cousin. The end of lunch saw the boy leaving the library without a book, though he had remembered where it was on the shelf so he could finish it later. The next few years saw the boy in the library often, using it to escape from the sight of his cousin and his gang. He read anything he could find, from history and literature to mathematics and fantasy stories. He simply read because he had nothing better to do. While he had no clear favorite topic, he did seem to read more books about science and the solar system than he did any other subject.

As for Andrew, he rarely saw the scrawny kid outside of the bus ride to and from school. He had been surprised that the kid rode the same bus, but considering how he seemed to blend into the background unless the miniature whale was nearby, he could see why he had never noticed him before. During his summer after fourth grade, his father took him to the zoo, and he happened to spot the self-same whale and messy haired boy while he was there. His father ended up talking to the father of the whale/child, and it turned out that they were acquaintances of the same people in Mr. Bent's line of work and lived just down the street from one another. The next month saw them spending a few nights every week at the local pub discussing business and life in general.

One night at the end of July, the father of the whale/child, who himself looked even more like a whale, had one too many drinks with his friend Mr. Bent. After being driven home and thanking the man profusely, he stumbled his way up to his house's front stoop. After slamming the door and causing a ruckus as he took off his boots, he called his freak of a nephew to come clean up the mud on the hall floor. As he hung his keys by the door, he realized that his company car was still at the pub, and he would need his wife to drop him off to get it tomorrow. He was suddenly furious to have to waste the time doing so, and his usual target for his frustrations was right in front of him. His alcohol addled mind never registered when it was that the small form in front of him had stopped crying out, only that it was now simply whimpering and moaning piteously. When his rage was spent, he roughly grabbed the limp body by the neck and threw it into the cupboard under the stairs, where the broken and bloodied boy landed on his bed in a heap.

If Vernon hadn't been drunk, he would never have beaten his nephew as badly as he had just done. If he hadn't met his recent friend Mr. Bent then he wouldn't have been drunk that night. If Andrew hadn't been born as a result of a bruised thigh because of a lamp-post going out, a messy haired boy would not have spent his childhood in the library. Nor would Andrew's father have met Mr. Dursley. If a man in horribly colored robes didn't fear the number fourteen, none of those events would have come to pass. But unfortunately for the bearded old man and a great many other people, he was indeed afraid of that number, and the events did occur.