Hello - this is my new story, though it's been ages since I've published anything like this. I have outlines for both the first and second books, and have challenged myself to stay within the chapter titles JK Rowling has already given us. Not sure how long this will last though because the second book will diverge more than this one will. Still, hope you enjoy!

Harry never wanted to be Bad. He wanted to be Good, like Dudley was. Dudley was always Good, even though he never did the chores or got good grades. Even when he was mean to people at school and got detentions, he was still Good. Though the last detention didn't really count because the teachers hadn't realised that hitting Harry wasn't Bad, because they didn't know that Harry was a Freak, and freaks got what they deserved.

He curled up more in his cupboard, holding his legs to his chest as he felt the special warmth run through his body, healing his injuries in time for school tomorrow. He'd done something really, really bad today. He'd done his freaky thing to pour the bleach into the bucket, because the last time he did it with his hands he'd spilt it and it had hurt his skin. But Aunt Petunia has seen him, and she'd been really, really angry because he wasn't supposed to do that. And Uncle Vernon got told and he had been punished.

He needed to stop doing the freaky thing. He had to stop it and then he could be Good just like Dudley. Maybe then he could have friends, and bacon for breakfast and do well on his homework without being accused of cheating. He sniffed, tears escaping from his eyes and mixing with the blood on his cheeks – he had to make it stop. He wouldn't be a freak anymore! He wouldn't!

The warmth in his chest got hotter, and hotter until it seemed to explode in him and Harry suddenly felt tired, like he'd been running away from Dudley's friends again. He was panting like it as well.

"Hello Harry" said a voice, and Harry sat bolt upright, looking around his cupboard. He saw a blurry shape in front of him, and reached for the new glasses his teacher had made the Dursley's buy him. The figure sharpened into a boy – a big boy. Perhaps in Year 3, or maybe even in Middle School. The boy had pale skin, and dark hair, and looked almost... posh. Like he came from one of the rich families the Dursley's liked so much

"Who are you?" Harry asked, keeping his voice low in fear of waking the Dursleys "And why are you in my cupboard?"

The boy looked confused for a moment, looking around at the place as though unsure as to how he'd gotten there "I'm not entirely certain" he said, each word clipped and precise. He sounded older than he looked "I do believe I am here to be your friend"

Harry was silent for a moment, squinting his eyes suspiciously. He couldn't have friends because he was a Freak... but the boy was in /his/ cupboard, and Harry really, really wanted someone that he could play with "Ok" he said, smiling "My name is Harry Potter and I'm 4 years old. What's your name?" He yawned at the end of that sentence, and he hunched down a little embarrassed. He didn't want to seem like a baby in front of this big boy. What if he decided he didn't want to be friends anymore?

The big boy chuckled softly, and Harry cringed away further "It is good to meet you Harry Potter. Now I do believe it is time for you to go to sleep. It's ok – I'll be here in the morning"

Harry wanted to protest that – he'd dreamt himself up many friends before and none of them lasted into the morning. But he was very, very tired and he knew he had to be up early to cook Dudley's birthday breakfast, so he slowly lay back down, yawning again.

He'd curled up onto his side, and felt hot fingers removing his glasses. He was just on the edge of sleep when he realised his question hadn't been answered.

"Wait... what's your name?"

The reply came after a long moment of silence "Tom. I think my name is Tom"

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