A/N: I'd like to say, read up to the tenth or eleventh chapter. Things start to get better, especially the writing from there. As for the new viewers, I'm currently revising the old chapters so there might be a few discrepancies.

Update: I'm taking a break.

It was Loneliness, an old friend of his, that came knocking on the door in his mind. He had barred that door, the thing inside him banging against the cage that he had set up. Harry sighed, wanting to drown out the muffled goodbyes of the people outside. He felt a lance pierce his heart before a short blip of joy flitted across his face. He took out his wand, relishing the fresh taste that he 'felt' as he wielded the only source of freedom in his hands.

He closed his eyes and let the magic flow from his hands into the wand, opening something much like a conduit, releasing a valve. He wove the magic into a ward that covered the room, a ward that would be immediately dispelled the moment someone opened the door. And that likely wasn't going to happen. After, who'd know that the famous Harry Fucking Potter was on the train?

Harry sighed, shivers going up his spine as he finished the wand, shutting the conduit, the valve. That was always a pleasurable experience, finishing a ward. The stick of wood, hair, and feathers was the thing that offered him an escape from the vile closet that he stayed in. His warm, silky clothes were a stark contrast from the clothes filled dried piss. The smell of cookies and a warm, homely kitchen being a welcome difference from the stench of shit and the Dursleys'. Harry shuddered at the mere thought of them, feeling a sledgehammer banging against his mind, the glass cracking. That was when he let the memories come in a flooding torrent, seeping out of the floodgates that he'd set up.

Harry sighed and sat in the comfortable train seat, letting the memory wash over him.

A Memory

The wand was the last thing on the list. He had been able to rid himself of Hagrid's presence and though Hagrid was quite intriguing, the things that Harry wanted to know couldn't be found with the half-giant. He spoke a lot and was completely unable to keep a secret while he also seemed to have a penchant for creatures. Perhaps could be useful when fighting a dragon. Who knows? With everything else in tow, he made his way towards Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands, or at least that was what he thought the sign said. He had imagined that the shop would be more impressive, being a key component of society. But it wasn't. It was a rather drab building, slanting rather comically. The paint was peeling off while there were visible cracks in the walls. And yet, it still stood. Perhaps because of magic.

Hedwig hooted indignantly at the way that the cart bumped along the cobblestone path, but there wasn't much that could be done about that. Harry entered the shabby shop, coughing as he quickly discovered that there was a lot of wood dust in the air. Casting his gaze across the shop, he saw rows and rows of boxes filled to the brim with wands of all sizes and shapes. There were rather exquisite wands as well as rather plain looking ones. In one box, there were pieces of wands, something that caused Harry to instinctively shudder in fear. He could feel the magic dying.

"Ah, Mister Potter," a soft voice came from the shelves that lay behind the counter. Out walked a kindly man who Harry assumed to be Ollivander. Somehow, Harry knew the man had an obsession with wands. He was wary of the way that the man suddenly started listing wands. The Wizard, not man, seemed senile, distanced from reality.

Harry sighed, Ollivander visibly reacting to the soft interruption.

"I'm sorry if I bother a celebrity such as you, Mister Potter," Ollivander said, his voice incredulous. It was obvious that Harry had somehow managed to offend the wandmaker. Immediately and instinctively, he attempted to console the Wizard, not man.

"Ollivander, sir," Harry asked as the Wizard glared at him, "I didn't mean anything. It's just that my…guardians would be a bit annoyed if I came back to, well, my home rather late."

"I'm sure, Mister Potter, that you won't spend far too much time here," Ollivander said, his eyes narrowed. "Would you prefer a premade wand or custom one?"

"Custom," Harry immediately said. That was what seemed like the best choice.

Ollivander nodded and swiftly moved to a shelf, taking out a series of boxes. "In order to make this process extremely quick, I'll ask you to wave your hand over these and tell me which one seems to respond." He didn't open the boxes, laying them out in a grid on the counter.

Harry mentally shrugged and waved his hands, feeling two boxes seem to hum with this warm current of energy. It was like when he was cooking, some sense of satisfaction filling him. He pointed to one.

"Ah, a phoenix feather. I'd say that this is a rather uncommon core, but not far too uncommon," Ollivander moved to take the boxes away when Harry interrupted him.

"Sir?" He asked, "There was another one that responded."

"Another one? What? I think that you're lying." Ollivander responded immediately, his eyes giving him away, holding a spark of curiosity as if Harry were simply proving him wrong.

Harry shook his head. "I'm not, Mr. Ollivander." He pointed to the other one, remembering it by the odd notch in the mahogany cover. "That was the other one that responded."

"A thestral hair?" Ollivander seemed to query. Harry nodded. "No, I wasn't talking to you, Mister Potter," the Wizard seemed to spit halfheartedly.

The Wizard stood there in the same position for a bit, the two boxes in his hand when he suddenly moved, muttering, "I'll have to get a move on." He set the two boxes aside and put the others away. He brought out a set of slimmer boxes. "Do the same thing, if you please."

Harry nodded and waved his hands mere centimeters from the covers, feeling only one box seem to sing this time. He pointed to it and said, "That one."

"Ebony," Ollivander muttered and then raised his voice. "I think that you can do some rather…peculiar things with this wand. I also believe that I'll have a wonderful time making this."

He then quickly moved into the labyrinth of shelves that resided behind the counter. Harry decided to simply sit down, take a short nap. But no, something had other plans.

Not even five minutes after settling down, Harry felt a surge of magic, almost like a wave. And the odd thing was that he felt himself responding, like those call and respond songs he heard about. His entire body seemed to sing, filled to the brim with an energy that he couldn't begin to describe. All that could be said about it was that the feeling was absolutely heavenly, much like floating on clouds.

He felt something clawing at his heart, as if there was this hunger in his soul. He felt like a man in the desert, looking desperately for water. Moments later, Ollivander came out of the depths of his workshop.

"I would like to say, before giving you this wand, that this was rather…unexpected of anyone actually. I do hope that you'll do something wondrous with that wand," Ollivander admitted. "Hopefully you won't waste it's abilities." He sighed. "That'll be seven Galleons."

Harry dug into his bag and took out seven cold gold coins. The wandmaker snatched the coins out of Harry's hand, replacing them with a long, twisting wand. It was odd, seeing to make Harry's mind drown in euphoria. It was as if he'd been made whole. He felt as if he'd just gained a new skill, as if he'd become something different. He felt like Cinderella, getting the Prince, not that he wanted a Prince.

He said his thanks and ran off, not wanting his Uncle to get mad. There'd be terrible consequences.

-End of the Memory—

Harry felt himself being jerked from the memory by the opening of the door. There were two girls, one blonde haired another brown haired. The blonde had this allure about her, causing Harry to suddenly feel hot. But with his 'training,' he kept himself from showing anything.

"What d'you want?" Harry found himself asking in a soft somewhat accusing tone. He mentally bashed himself. What the absolute hell was going on with him?

"What do we want?" The blonde asked. "Oh, we just opened a door to a carriage that is mostly empty? What do you…"

The brunette's eyes widened, nudging her friend, causing the blonde's voice trailed off. "You're Harry Potter."

"I am?" Harry asked, putting the book next to him and started touching himself. He ran his fingers throught his hair, feeling his chest, letting an expression of surprise grow on his face. Why the absolute hell did he have to be this famous celebrity? "Dear God, I am. Well, I'll ask again, why are you here and who are you?"

The blonde gave him a steady stare instead, seeming glare at him. An odd reaction. The brunette, on the other hand, was silent for a bit before realizing that her friend wasn't going to say a thing.

She then said, "We just want to sit here. I'm Tracey Davis," she pointed at herself, "and she's Daphne," and she pointed at her friend.

"Well, it's nice to meet you two," Harry said, coming up to them and stretching his hand out. Tracey immediately shook his hand, Daphne doing so only after she saw her friend do it. "Yeah, I'm guessing that the carriages are all full?"

Tracey nodded. Her friend still said nothing.

"Then go ahead, I don't really care." Harry said as he smiled, the lie passing through his teeth. He turned, sat down, and opened his book. "I'm starting to think that I have this large neon sign on my forehead," He then muttered, knowing that they could hear.

"Neon sign?" Daphne asked, causing him to look up from his book. They were sitting next to each other on the opposite side of the carriage. "What's that?"

"You don't know what a neon sign is?" Harry asked, an incredulous tone creeping into his voice. How could anyone not know what a neon sign is? "It's this thing that Muggles use to advertise their stuff. It's actually-"

"Muggles," Daphne muttered with distaste. "Great! Harry Potter's been influenced by Muggles."

"And what's wrong about that?" Harry challenged, snapping his book shut. He couldn't stand people like this.

"Everything," Daphne said. Tracey looked uncomfortable, but something, someone, was telling him that this was a repeated conversation between the two.

Harry scoffed. "Everything? Look around you! This train was based on Muggle inventions! Don't put those down who're giving you ideas."

"Shut up," Daphne said, taking her wand out. "I will hex you, even if you are Harry Potter."

"Oh, and I defeated Voldemort," Harry uttered, remembering Hagrid's distaste of the name. Perhaps it was something ingrained into her mind. After all, the war was still fairly recent. He took his wand out, just in case it didn't work.

But instead of answering, Harry found a spell flying at him. Quickly he uttered the first spell that had come to mind. It was a spell that he'd practiced with a pencil, having thought that it was useful. He knew other spells, but they were rather basic in nature and took him only a good thirty minutes each to learn. Though that didn't justify the fact that he could cast them on the first try with a wand in hand. Could he have an aptitude for it?

"Protego!" He intoned, stopping the red bolt of magic dead in its tracks. It was an invisible shield that caused the spell to suddenly fizzle out of existence.

The two Witches looked at him in shock. Tracey then asked, "How did you do that?"

The moment that she asked that, the door burst open, causing Harry to quickly put his wand down. Apparently, the Protego was something that would be sustained as long as the user 'added' magic to the spell. The shield was dispelled, making it seem as if the girls were staring at him for no particular reason. Brilliant.

A dark-skinned boy came through the door. Having hawk like facial features, he looked at the scene in front of him with those eyes that were so alive.

"Greengrass. Tracey," He greeted. "What's your name?"

"Harold," Harry immediately responded. Better for no one else to know. It didn't seem like the other girls would say anything.

"Well, Harold, can I sit here?"

Harry nodded. "Sure. I guess that you know these two girls." A statement not a question.

"Obviously," the boy said, using his hands to ask if he could sit next to Harry. When the latter didn't move, the boy sat across of Harry. "I'm Zabini. Blaise Zabini."

Harry shook Zabini's outstretched hand. "If I may ask, why were they staring at you? I mean, I know that they both have a thing for boys, not me though, but I would personally like to think that they'd be a bit more…discreet."

Harry shrugged. "Who knows? I just managed to get out of the way of a spell Daphne had cast." He had this coy smirk on his face, knowing full well that Greengrass didn't like that. Oh well, what was he going to do?

"Shut it, Har-old," Greengrass said through gritted teeth. "It was only luck."

"You want to bet?" Harry challenged, momentarily forgetting Zabini.

Greengrass rose her wand. "Sure."

Blaise coughed, a hand coming up to hide the smirk on his face. There was something off about this kid, but there'd be a brilliant show to watch, him and Greengrass. A perfect match, albeit a violent one. He looked on in interest, the train starting to move.