A sudden bang on the door. Just like every morning, but the boy had already been awake. The door to his closet opened, and he stepped out, warily eyeing the hands of his giraffe-necked aunt.

"Go, boy," she said, "the bacon's about to burn."

He sighed, but inwardly, for he didn't want to imagine what would happen if that were audible. Once he reached the stove, he continued his aunt's cooking, being careful not to burn the bacon or spill any eggs. He groaned then, remembering of course what day it was. His cousin's birthday, his most hated day of the year.

"Boy!" came a loud yell from the kitchen table, and the boy shrank back in fear. "Look at this bacon! It's disgusting! I wanted everything perfect for the little tyke's birthday, and you go and ruin everything with your...your...your freakishness!"

The boy waited and knew what was coming, and didn't bother to dodge the hand that came and knocked him to the ground. The boy heard laughter from the kitchen, and knew his cousin, or as he thought of him, his whale, had come down the stairs. But he said nothing, just waited until the hand didn't come back for more, stood up with difficulty, and continued cooking the bacon. He had learned from an early age that talking back just meant more beatings, and so he stayed quiet, seething with a silent, cold fury.

One day,the boy thought, one day, they'll get it all back.

He finished his cooking, deposited the food on the table, and begged silently that he would be sent to his room, and for once, was given mercy. His room, of course, was a cupboard under the stairs, but it didn't bother him so much anymore. He opened the door, and lay down on the mattress in the cupboard, the only thing there besides spiders, dust, and a few stolen action figures and paperbacks, kept secret because his relatives refused to step foot in the closet. He laughed quietly to himself, eating the bacon he had masterfully concealed in his hands and pockets, and imagining the different ways his aunt, uncle, and cousin would meet an unfortunate, very accidental end. He could make strange things happen, the boy, and he knew it, too. He had controlled these things since he was six, made these little accidents so insignificant that his relatives hadn't even punished him for it. His cousin had accidentally tripped once, of course, nothing to do with this boy. When he was allowed outside, no one recognized him, which had, of course, nothing to do with the fact that his cousin enjoyed hunting him, only to beat him to a pulp. He was always warm, despite his cold, lonely cupboard, even in the winters. And his favorite of all, his bright, shockingly green eyes could pulse with an almost palpable hatred, a shine that made them appear so intensely bright that it instilled fear in the other children at the park. But of course, none knew his name, or his true appearance, the boy with jet black hair that never stood straight and emerald eyes, the boy who was skinny as a stick from years of malnutrition, the boy with a lightning bolt scar on his forehead. The boy whose name was Harry Potter.

"Boy, get the post!" Harry was snapped from his daydreams by the yell of his uncle, Vernon.

Harry went to get the post, and found three letters awaiting him, and idly looked at the names on the envelopes. He almost gasped when he saw the letter in green ink to one "Mr. H. Potter" who lived in "The Cupboard under the Stairs" at "4 Privet Drive". But he knew better than that, and threw the letter in his cupboard on the way to the kitchen. He handed Uncle Vernon the remaining post, and nothing seemed out of place. Of course, now that the Dursleys – his relatives – had finished eating, he was expected to clean up. And so he did, scrubbing the pots and pans, clearing the table, and when they weren't looking, allowing a plate or a stray fork to clean itself with his abilities. He listened as Dudley whined about receiving too few presents, as was usual, and watched him open them eagerly. Harry waited impatiently, and after what seemed like days, he went back to his cupboard, and closed the door, pulling a paperback out from behind the mattress. He read until he was certain the Dursleys were all asleep, and then pulled out the letter.

Harry carefully used his fingers to break the red wax seal, and unfolded the contents. He read through the letter, his face becoming more incredulous with each line.

A school for people like me? Well, they must at least be real wizards to know I exist, he thought. He grabbed a pen and paper he kept for writing in his spare time, and wrote back a quick reply, happily accepting the offer, but stating he did not know where to get the supplies. He slept happily that night for the first time in many years.

The next morning's response was very prompt, and most certainly did not come with the mail. Harry found it on his stomach when he woke up, which, due to old habits, was very early. He eagerly tore it open, and found that one Albus Dumbledore had promised to send a representative to help him obtain his supplies that day. So when there was a knock on the door during breakfast, Harry swiftly stood up and answered it, much to the confusion of his relatives, and came face to face with a man who looked very disheveled, as though he had just been in a fight. Startled, he took a step back. Uncle Vernon, who had by now come into the hallway, looked at the man and immediately burst into screams.

"I will not have him leaving with you, you freak! You left him here when he was a baby, and that means to me you'll never come back!"

"He must come with us now, it's time for him to go to Hogwarts. I'm afraid I must take him, and if you won't let me then I will have to make you let me," the stranger calmly replied.

Uncle Vernon turned purple and bellowed, "HE WILL NOT LEAVE THIS HOUSE!"

The stranger sighed, and pulling out a narrow piece of wood, said, "The hard way, then." He waved the wood, and Uncle Vernon fell over, unconscious. Harry wondered why he would need the wood, when he himself had done something similar with just his thoughts and a hand motion.

"Come with me," the stranger said, "I'll explain everything on the way. Grab onto my arm."

Harry did as he was told, and felt the uncomfortable feeling of being stretched and squeezed through a narrow tube. When his feet hit solid ground again, he saw a multitude of people with funny hats and robes. A long street with storefronts all along it was in front of him, disorienting him with its variety of colors and its noise.

"Who are you?" Harry now demanded.

"Remus Lupin," the stranger replied. "Dumbledore sent me to help you. Come, let's head to Ollivander's first, that's where you'll get your wand."

"My...wand?"

"You're a wizard, your relatives told you that, didn't they?" Lupin asked.

"No..." Harry replied cautiously, and it wasn't even a lie, as he himself had discovered it.

"Merlin's beard, Harry, then I have much to show you and much to tell you. You'll be going to Hogwarts next year, where they teach you to control your magic. You might have noticed strange things happening around you before this, which we call accidental magic. This is Diagon Alley, where you can get everything you need. Up there is Gringotts, the wizarding bank, but we've already withdrawn money for you."

"I have an account?" Harry asked curiously.

"Your family is one of the oldest wizarding families in Britain, Harry," Lupin responded.

"Why hasn't anyone told me this before? My parents?"

"The wizarding world thought you dead, Harry, and Dumbledore found out otherwise when you sent that letter back. It came as a complete shock to all of us. Your parents live at Potter Manor with your brother, Jason. He's a bit of a celebrity here, as he vanquished the Dark Lord when he was one...that's when you died, or well, when everyone thought you did. You just vanished, no trace."

"Ah."

Harry walked along in silence, pondering this furiously. He couldn't have just vanished, could he? And he wouldn't have known his relatives, that's for certain, so he wouldn't even have accidentally gone there. There was a lot wrong with the story, he decided, and he had to find out what. For now, though, he'd play the young not-quite-orphan to glean as much information as he could.

"And the Dark Lord you mentioned, who's that?" Harry asked.

"His name was...his name...well, we don't speak it, just say 'You-Know-Who' if you must, but he called himself Lord...Lord Voldemort," Lupin answered. "He did terrible things, recruited witches and wizards alike and killed many a Muggle and Muggle-born."

"Muggle? Muggle-born?" Harry prompted.

"Oh, sorry, a Muggle is a non-magical person, a Muggle-born is a witch or wizard born to Muggles. The purebloods, that is, people of entirely wizard heritage, well, they don't like the Muggle-borns so much, and most of them were only too happy when You-Know-Who came around."

"So what happened to them?"

"Well, most of them got off, claimed they were controlled at the time by You-Know-Who himself."

They'd reached a more rickety looking storefront, a sign in front of which read "Ollivander's". Lupin gestured Harry in, and Harry obediently walked inside. A frail old man stood behind the counter, watching him

"Mr. Potter, what a surprise! Your brother was in here just a day ago getting his wand, too," the man, who Harry assumed was Ollivander, said. "Let's see what we have for you today."

And so began an hour long search through many a box, Ollivander pulling down a box and handing it to Harry, who then waved it to various effects, most of which involved explosions, smashing glass, or both. After this hour of one disaster after another, Ollivander handed Harry a wand with a strange gleam, an almost hopeful gleam, in his eye, as though he were expecting something grand.

"Eleven inches. Holly and phoenix feather," Ollivander told Harry, as he had done for all the previous wands.

Harry gave it a wave, but the result was no different as the first few wands. Harry sighed, and consigned himself to another few hours of this wand testing. Soon enough though, Ollivander gave Harry a wand from somewhere in the back of his shop which immediately felt warm in his hand, and sent a surge of power pulsing up his arm and through his chest. Harry gave it a wave, and sparks of every color came pouring out of it. Ollivander looked surprised, the first true emotion Harry had seen on the frail old man's face.

"This wand...this wand was made by an American, a gift to me to sell, it has been at the back of my shop for years," the old wandmaker explained. "I've never seen a wizard able to use it. Its core is White River Monster spine, of all the things to use, makes for very powerful and very elegant spellwork."

Harry couldn't shake the feeling that Ollivander sounded almost...disappointed. Almost as though he had been expecting something with that phoenix feather wand. Harry shook his head, and all but ran out of the shop after Lupin payed, wanting to get as far from Ollivander as he could.

"What about books?" Harry asked Lupin as he left the shop. "The list said something about books, and I'd love to see the bookstore."

And so it was that they headed to Flourish and Blotts for Harry's school books, but upon entering, he knew he would need more time. He browsed the shelves, occasionally asking Lupin about a book or subject. Lupin, as it turned out, was quite studious himself, and Harry left the store with quite a few more books than just his school books. Afterwards, they stopped at many a store, getting the rest of his supplies, until there were only two stops left. The first – Madam Malkin's, to get Harry's school uniform. As they entered, a bell chimed, and a woman appeared.

"Hogwarts, dear?" asked the witch, without looking at Harry.

"Yes," he replied hesitantly.

The witch looked at him then, and saw the state of his clothes, which were just Dudley's old rags, at least three sizes too big for him.

"No, no, you need new clothes, a new wardrobe altogether," the witch said matter-of-factly. "And you won't have to pay a cent for it, just look at those clothes," she trailed off, muttering incoherently. Much like in the wand shop, Harry now spent an hour trying on clothes of all sorts, until he had a decent wardrobe that he liked, complete with Hogwarts robes. He thanked the witch very much, and left with Lupin to purchase an owl for mail. Harry realized then that that explained the post being delivered at odd times, and decided it would be very useful to have one for himself indeed. He entered the shop in awe, looking around at all the animals. Harry was overwhelmed by the sounds of the owls hooting, the cats purring, and the snakes...talking. Not hissing, talking, and more specifically, loudly complaining about hunger or the need to move around the shop. Harry assumed it was just another wizard thing, as Lupin didn't seem to mind the talking snakes, but Harry wondered then why the snakes were kept in cages and not fed when asked, as they did seem very hungry. He shrugged, and went about looking at the owls, trying to find one he liked. All of the owls hooted excitedly at seeing Harry, but he soon noticed an eagle owl sitting on a perch silently, looking almost as though it were trying to sleep.

"Hey there," Harry murmured to it. Its head perked up, and the owl hooted indignantly at being woken up, but shifted onto Harry's shoulder nonetheless.

"This one," Harry told Lupin, who then relayed it to the shop owner.

Harry left the shop with the owl in a cage in hand, deciding to name her Hestia, after a goddess he had read about once in the library, where he frequently hid from his cousin and his friends.

"Just one more thing..." Harry said quietly. "Where do I go now?"

"You'll be spending the rest of your time at Potter Manor, with your parents and your brother," Lupin replied. "They're all very excited to meet you."

So excited they didn't come themselves, thought Harry sullenly and resentfully.

He nevertheless grabbed onto Lupin's arm, and was transported via the funny tube feeling, which Lupin said was Apparition, to a large, expansive lawn. He looked up, and saw a path ahead of him, leading to the largest house he had ever seen. The house was three stories tall, and must have had at least ten rooms extending on either side on each floor from a central entrance, judging from the windows. Lupin and Harry silently walked up the path. Lupin knocked on the door, which was promptly answered by a diminutive elf.

"Master Lupin sir!" she squeaked, scrutinizing Harry, and seemingly not recognizing him. Harry hadn't expected her to recognize him, as after all, he currently had brown hair and blue eyes, not his usual black hair and green eyes, which he presumed were inherited from his parents. His presumption was proven correct almost immediately when a man appeared next to the elf in the doorway. Harry almost took a small step back in shock, as the man was a spitting image of himself, except with brown eyes instead of green, and twenty years older. His father, he guessed.

"Come on in, Remus, come on in, and this is...?" the man said.

"Your son, James, this is Harry Potter," Lupin replied. So they hadn't been expecting him then, Harry realized, though Lupin had said otherwise. Or perhaps they were expecting a boy with more similarities to the parents, not a quiet, brown-haired, blue-eyed boy. Now James stepped back in shock, looking as though he had been burned. Harry caught the quick look of surprise, as well as a flash of something else in his eyes. Anger? Disgust? Whatever it was, Harry thought, it hadn't been anything positive, and Harry immediately became more wary of the man. The man, James, as Lupin had called him, ushered them in, and seated them in a grand parlor, furnished with many cushy armchairs and a few sofas. A woman came in from another room nearby. The first thing Harry noticed was her eyes. Just like his, a startling emerald green. Other than her eyes, she looked nothing like Harry, with red hair and different facial features. She sat down on an armchair across from Harry, and gently introduced herself as Lily Potter. His mother.

"Jason!" yelled James up a nearby staircase. "Come down to the parlor!"

Soon after, Harry cringed as he heard the stairs thumping, a sound that reminded him of his cousin making his way downstairs, a sound that always meant trouble. As he came to a stop in front of Harry, he looked curiously at Harry. Harry looked back at Jason, his brother, he reminded himself, and wondered why he also looked almost identical to Harry, once again bar his eyes. Jason was the spitting image of his father.

"Who are you?" Jason asked, a rather rude undertone to his voice.

"Harry. Harry Potter." replied Harry coolly.

"Harry...my brother Harry? But you look nothing like anyone in the family! And besides, he's been dead for years!"

"I noticed," Harry remarked dryly.

"Dumbledore received a reply from him about Hogwarts," Lupin cut in quickly. "He checked the enrollment book afterwards and everything, and that is enchanted with strong magic. I believe he performed a few identity spells on the house as well, and he is who he says he is."

They talked for a little while longer, James looking uncomfortable, Lily with tears in her eyes, and Jason looking rather disgruntled, until Lupin left. Lily then quickly informed Harry that they always had spare rooms set up, and that she would show him around and he could choose one. In the end, he picked a room decorated in mild shades with a very simple, albeit large, bed and furniture. Looking out the window, he saw six goalposts with rings in the yard, and resolved to ask what they were used for. He collapsed on the bed, not realizing how tired he was, and the next thing he heard was the squeaky elf telling Harry to get up for dinner. He walked down the hall, and down the stairs, and headed toward the large kitchen of the expansive manor. He sat down at the table at a place left for him.

"What are those rings in the field?" he asked.

"Quidditch goals," replied Jason, who then promptly launched into an explanation as to how Quidditch worked. Harry tried his best to follow, and at the end of the explanation, thought he had a good grip on how it worked. For the most part after that, he stayed silent, listening to their conversation, paying particular attention when the topic of Hogwarts came up. The house system was explained to Harry, and it wasn't lost to him that they harbored a deep hatred for Slytherin. The house of snakes, they called it, though Lily reluctantly told him it was the house of cunning and ambition. She seemed a little more open-minded than the rest, but all in all, Harry could tell she was simply more subtle about her hatred of the house. Jason was hoping for Gryffindor, of course, though with as much brainwashing as he had had, Harry was not surprised at all to hear it. It certainly explained the red and gold everywhere though. After dinner, James suggested that Jason show Harry the Quidditch ground and the brooms, and Harry found that flying a broom was actually much easier than he had initially thought; even Jason seemed surprised by his innate skill, and Harry had heard much over dinner of Jason's flying ability.

He had learned much over dinner, he realized. His brother was praised in the world as "The Boy Who Lived", while Harry himself was thought dead, and most had not even known of his existence in the first place. James and Lily had told him that they had thought him dead, but that didn't explain how he'd ended up at the Dursleys. His parents had also told him they'd cut all contact with the Dursleys after the twins were born, which meant Harry had never seen their home. That, in turn, Harry reasoned, meant he could not have accidentally vanished himself away. Someone had taken him there, of that he was sure, and even more certain was he of the fact that it had been a witch or wizard.

The attack of Lord Voldemort they had told him of explained his nightmares, too. The scream of a woman, the begging: Lily Potter. The flashes of red as his parents were stunned. And the flash of green coming towards him that never hit. A curse of some kind, he reasoned, meant to kill him, as it would seem by their explanation.

He and Jason walked in silence back to the house, put their brooms away, and headed upstairs to their respective bedrooms. Harry flopped himself onto his bed. His bed. Harry had never dared to dream that one day, he might be able to call a proper bed his. He stared at the ceiling, wondering, trying to fit the pieces of the puzzle of his life together, but eventually, he fell asleep trying.