Quick Author's note: I've received a lot of PM's about my other stories being abandoned and I have to say honestly, yes - they are abandoned. Those are years old and I'm just not connected to them anymore. On to this story: I own nothing, obviously, and this story is already finished in its unedited form. I don't have a beta so please overlook any errors, I do try and correct them when I find them but after so much searching you can get quite blind to them. If you point them out I'll be sure to go back and fix them. Other warnings: This story will be slash and its kinda HP/LV but also kinda HP/TMR. Basically, Voldemort won't look reptilian. Hmm, oh yes, this will be a Dark!Harry - but I think you'll like him, he's kinda playful. Well, that's about all. Thanks for reading - I hope you enjoy it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

"We can easily forgive a child who is afraid of the dark.

The real tragedy of life is when men are afraid of the light." - Plato

Chapter One:

There was a long list of words that could describe the Dursleys. New words that Harry had learned just label them as they labeled him – ungrateful, vagabond, and their favorite: freak. Words were powerful – they clawed at Harry from deep inside his ribcage even when he tried to tell himself he didn't care. But he did care, he hated how they threw words at him and each one hurt just as much as a physical blow to the head with a hot frying pan.

But now he had weapons too, even if he couldn't use them verbosely. But just knowing them gave Harry some comfort. His uncle Vernon was nepotistic as he beamed brightly at his mindless meat sack of a son dressed in a brand new, hand-tailored Smelting's uniform complete with a wide, flat boater cap and a long smacking stick that was supposed to build character. And he was xenophobic when his gaze turned to Harry and his smile turned down into the beginnings of a sneer.

"Go help Petunia boy," he commanded with such annoyance that there was no question as to which boy the order pertained to.

Harry quietly made his way into the kitchen with a frown, comforting himself with more words. Number four, Private Drive, was not the loving white-collar family home that the Dursleys tried so hard to portray. Darkness, evil even, lived in this philistine house and much to the Dursley's dismay, it was not their orphaned nephew who they kept locked in a cupboard.

But now Harry was older, he was eleven today and was no longer the scared, frightened child he had been. He was smarter now, with new words to hurl right back and a new perspective on life. Childhood was no longer the mystical world that would never end – one day, seven years from this exact moment, Harry would leave Private Drive and he would never look back.

In order to be able to do that, however, meant making sacrifices. Like accepting that he was to be enrolled in the local public school while his cousin was sent off to a fancy boarding school. Harry knew he needed to bear his anger in silence, lest he make his situation worse by making Petunia change her mind and decide that homeschooling was best for her 'troubled' nephew.

Stonewall High would have to be good enough and Harry would have to work twice as hard but, in the end, if he pushed himself he could take his grades and get a scholarship to a college far, far away from Surrey and his rotten family. In a few years he'd have to get a job and start saving but until then, Harry knew his only job was to bear the pain in silence and do as well as he could in school so that one day, future him could look back on all the hard work and sacrifices he'd sowed and reap the rewards.

One day, everyone in England would know the name Harry Potter and his family would taste ashes in their mouth when he attained the wealth and recognition that they coveted so dearly.

But for now, he had to bear his awful family in silence and comfort himself silently the only way he could – by hating them as they hated him.

"Get to peeling the potatoes," Harry was greeted by Petunia's shrill command.

She was standing over the sink with a long wooden spoon that Harry had been beaten with often as a child in one hand. In her other hand was a glass of red wine and on the window sill where the window had been cracked open, was a cigarette that was only half smoked and still burning.

As Harry grabbed the rubbish bin and set to work on peeling potatoes, Petunia set down her wine and picked the cigarette up between two nimble fingers.

There were lots of secrets in Private Drive – Harry was not the only one that had them and his wasn't even a secret, everyone knew Harry was special – or a freak if you listened to the Dursleys. Petunia smoked when she knew her family wasn't looking. Vernon had had several scarlet collar affairs whenever Petunia had gone to visit her mother – Harry's grandmother whom he'd never gotten the chance to meet – and he still did whenever Petunia was away now that her mother was dead.

Dudley was still too young for any juicy secrets. There were the little boys that Dudley beat up on with his little gang of future delinquents and the odd cigarette he'd smoke that Pierce – his best friend – had nicked from his father. But nothing interesting, nothing Harry could use to his advantage yet.

"What is that?" Harry asked after a few minutes of quiet classical music playing on the radio. He gestured to the sink with the potato peeler when his aunt gave him a sharp look that told him he'd disturbed whatever private moment she'd been having.

"I'm dying some of Dudley's old clothes gray for you," she told him with a glint of something triumphant in her tone as if she were retaliating for disturbing her train of thought. "Stonewall has a dress code."

A dress code, not a uniform. Another way for her to shove his second-class status in his face. Harry didn't let it show but anger blistered just under his skin and he turned it upon a potato with the blade in his hands. It didn't matter, he told himself, clothes were just vanity and it wasn't forever – seven years, yes, but eventually he would be free.

Only two thousand five hundred and fifty-five days.

Harry was gouging out brown spots with the end of his potato peeler, pretending they were his aunt's eyes, when the doorbell rang. Harry's head shot up in surprise because he hadn't been aware of any visitors coming and when he looked to Petunia, she looked just as surprised as he was. Quickly she dipped the cigarette into the water where his clothes sat dying in gray, murky water and then flicked it out the window with her thumb and pointer finger – into the garden below where Harry knew he'd have to find it later and toss it properly before Vernon saw.

"Keep peeling," Petunia commanded as she flicked a wisp of strawberry blonde hair out of her eyes and straightened her apron.

Before she could leave though, Vernon was shouting and the front door slammed with such ferocity that they both heard the glass shattering. Petunia raced from the kitchen, only stopping for a half-second to grab a large knife from a wooden block on the counter, and then she swung open the kitchen door and disappeared. Harry sat still for the space of a breath and then he heard Dudley's terrified falsetto scream and then he too was jumping up and running into the hall because surely robbers wouldn't ring the bell.

"He'll not be going," Vernon growled at a tall, raven-haired man with a large hook nose and curious black robes that stood on the front porch. "I suggest you leave now or –"

"Or you'll what?" the oddly dressed man drawled with a sarcastic sneer, completely unafraid of the large, hulking Dursley.

Harry could only see the back of Vernon's large round frame now as the man moved threateningly, but he'd have been willing to bet that Vernon's forehead vein was throbbing as it so often did whenever he was truly enraged. "I demand you leave at once."

"Petunia, if you'd be so kind as to make him heel," the man spoke with cold familiarity to his aunt and Harry felt his jaw drop open in surprise, "before I do it for you."

Petunia's face was ashen and as gray as the water Harry's new school clothes sat in. "Vernon," she spoke softly, fearfully, with wide eyes as her son tried to hide his immense size behind her thin, willowy frame. "Maybe we should –"

"NO!" Vernon roared, turning to look at her with a purple face. For a brief moment, Harry and the stranger with obsidian eyes locked gazes and Harry didn't know who was more surprised, him or the curious stranger, when Vernon turned on the man on the stoop and swung his fist.

Vernon's large, meaty fist missed by inches when the man in black stepped back neatly and avoided the blow. This enraged Vernon further and he shouted through the broken front door, "When we took him in we swore we'd stamp out the freakishness."

All Harry's life, he'd been called a freak more times than he could count – at least five times a day ever since he could remember – because weird things always seemed to happen around him. Unexplainable things – like appearing on rooftops and jumping from trees without a single bruise. One-time Petunia had sheared off all his hair except for his fringe – to hide his hideous scar that Harry rather liked – and the next morning he had found all his hair had grown back overnight.

The instances were too numbered and varied for Harry to remember them all but he had always assumed it was because he was a freak – that he was special. Now he had to wonder – were there other freaks? Were there other people who could talk to snakes and make glass disappear?

Harry got his answer when the pale, obsidian eyed man pulled a long, thin stick of black wood from his sleeve in a move so fast that Harry could barely comprehend. With no more than a flick of his stick the front door and all the broken glass on the floor vanished and the man stepped forward, now nose to nose with a shrinking Vernon.

"Fortunately for me," the strange man's deep, velvety voice purred dangerously, "you are irrelevant in this matter."

With another flick of the black wood, a red bolt of light erupted from the end and hit Vernon square in the chest. Petunia and Dudley shrieked loudly as Harry's uncle fell back and landed on the floor with a thundering crunch.

"Wicked," Harry breathed in awe as the man sheathed the stick back in his sleeve. "Can you teach me to do that?"

Petunia shot him a dark look that promised retribution but Harry was enraptured by the tall, dark man in front of him. "Daddy's dead, isn't he?" Dudley wailed loudly and large tears began to streak down his fat face and over his double chin.

The stranger ignored Dudley's wailing and looked at Harry with eyes that he swore could look into his soul. "I daresay if you accept your spot at Hogwarts, you'll learn much more than that."

"Hogwarts?" Harry asked, feeling almost foolish as he tried out the nonsensical word.

With a great heaving sigh, the man turned to Petunia and she sputtered incoherently, "I – I-"

"Turned out as hateful as I always knew you to be, 'Tuney." Petunia blanched and vindication rose up in Harry's ribcage like a flame being kindled into an inferno.

Somehow, Petunia had known all about whatever Hogwarts was and the freakishness he was always being punished for – and also the man. They spoke with familiarity and yet, the man seemed to dislike Petunia as much as Harry did. Not to mention, he had thrown Vernon on his arse and may or may not have killed him – which Harry wouldn't have minded but he doubted the obese man was actually dead because his Aunt had yet to break into hysterics.

"Come along Potter," the man said, not looking at Harry. He was staring down Petunia as if daring her to contradict him. "My time is valuable and I'll not waste more of it in this abhorrent place."

Harry looked from Petunia to the man clad in black. He didn't know his name or what Hogwarts was but the man clearly detested the Dursleys as much as Harry did and anyone who could see the Dursleys for the awful monsters they were was okay in Harry's book.

So, despite everything common sense had ever told him, Harry followed behind the man as he whirled around and began to walk towards the curb in long strides. He didn't even look back at Dudley or Petunia, instead – as they came to a halt at the street - Harry looked up to his rescuer and wondered if it would be okay to ask the hundreds of questions that were bubbling up like carbonation in the fizzy drinks Dudley loved.

"Sir," Harry asked softly, apprehensive of making a nuisance of himself and losing favor with the man. "Who are you?"

The man, who was checking a pocket watch that Harry could see had no numbers, but rather planets in their places. "I'll explain Mr. Potter, but first if you would step back please."

Obliging the request, Harry stepped back away from the curb and watched as the man pulled his stick from his sleeve and raised it in the air. For a moment, nothing happened, but the man seemed satisfied nonetheless and returned the black stick back in his sleeve.

Before Harry could ask what had happened or what was going to happen, a loud crack of thunder boomed and Harry stumbled back in surprise when a huge, bright purple triple-deck bus appeared out of thin air. "Whoa," Harry whispered in awe as the doors opened and pimply faced boy poked his head out.

"Welcome to the Knight Bus," the young man greeted with a smile and a thick cockney accent. "I'm Stan and this is Ernie," he jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at a man even older than Harry's new companion who smiled, showing off three missing teeth. "Where might you two be headed?"

Harry looked to his dark cloaked companion and noted the distasteful sneer on the man's lips. "The Leaky Cauldron."

"Ah," Stan flashed an easy, carefree grin. "O'course, it is that time of year, Professor. Eleven sickles per seat – thirteen if you'd like cocoa."

Harry watched as his companion pulled out a black velvet drawstring purse and fished out a shiny gold coin and five small silver ones. He dropped them into Stan's hand, careful to not touch his chocolate smudged fingers, and then returned the purse to his pocket.

Stan moved, reentering the bus with a loud call of, "Leaky Cauldron, Ern!"

The man, the professor as Stan had called him, motioned to Harry to board first. So, Harry stepped up and into the bus feeling as though he were stepping into a whole other world. There laughing shrunken heads tied by their hair to the rearview mirror and Ernie gave him a gapped smile as he boarded. Inside was impossibly bigger than the narrow frame Harry had seen out on the curb.

The front half of the bus were seats with straps of leather hanging from the ceiling to hold on to, but the back half held beds and a flight of stairs much too large to fit inside the narrow shell of the bus. "It – it's like magic," Harry breathed in awe to the professor who stood behind him.

"Very good Mr. Potter," the professor drawled with sarcasm as they chose seats near the front. "Now can you infer what Hogwarts is?"

He could. Harry was reeling over magic but he hadn't lost his wits. The man had come about Hogwarts and had been called a professor. "A school," Harry breathed with wonder. "A magic school."

"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry," the professor informed him and Harry only had to look around at beds that fit in busses that appeared out of thin air to know it was true.

Harry was just about to ask one of the many questions building up inside of him when the bus lurched forward with such force that Harry would have gone sailing backward if not for the strong arm of his professor bracing him. The bus moved so fast that the world outside was almost a blur. They raced through traffic two or three times the speed of any muggle car and never bothered to stop for traffic lights as they squeezed into impossibly tight spaces and lurched over traffic.

In and out they weaved with gut-wrenching split second turns and all the while, Harry was jolted and banged around but he'd never been happier in all his life. The ride was like a roller coaster that Dudley boasted about riding and the adrenaline that pumped through Harry like electricity was addicting.

The ride ended far too soon for Harry but when he looked up to the professor, the man was tight-lipped and looked a little green. His smile waned and he tried not to show how delighted he was as Stan called out, "Leaky Cauldron!"

The professor exited the bus quickly as the drivers wished them well and Harry followed suit, stepping out into the warm summer air. He looked around, eagerly anticipating more magic to jump out and surprise him but what he found was a magic subtler than a giant purple bus springing into existence.