A.N.: The initial response to this fanfic has been a delight and I hope it will only keep getting better! Also, do hang around for the post-chapter author notes. ;3
Disclaimer: Regrettably, I still don't own Harry Potter and Doctor Who.
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Chapter 1
Place & Time: Little Winging, Surrey, England; 22nd of June, 2001.
There was something indescribably… pitiful about his relatives, Harry mused as he observed his cousin mindlessly watch television and once again found him disappointingly lacking in the mental department. How they could share blood in even the remotest of ways was a mystery to the ten-year-old. Oh, he'd never had particularly high expectations of his relatives. His uncle was as boring, simple-minded, and boorish as was possible (and Harry thanked whatever deities there were that there was no direct relation between them), but his aunt and cousin continuously failed to measure up to the standards he held for the two people with whom he actually shared a familial connection.
Intelligence, clearly, was a trait that wasn't a common occurrence on his mother's side of the family.
Granted, he had no knowledge of what his mother had been capable of, what with her having been killed in a car crash before he'd had a chance to get to know her, but the genetic sample he had at his disposal – constituting of his aunt, cousin, and what information he had been able to get out of Petunia regarding his maternal grandparents and great-grandparents – spoke rather in favour of that supposition.
All of this, however, didn't change anything about his current situation: namely, that he was surrounded by, by… by idiotic fools. 'Fools', the young boy considered, was a fairly apt description of his relatives: they were mired so profoundly in their own view of 'normality' that if anything deviating from it were to occur their reaction would be more reminiscent of ostriches than of people living in the 21st century. Harry scoffed as he continued to reflect upon his relatives' almost medieval worldview. They would stubbornly maintain their deafness to the truth even if someone were to shove proof right into their face!
A modicum of intelligence was not the only thing they consistently failed to demonstrate, either.
Relatives or not, his aunt, uncle, and cousin had never once shown him even an ounce of affection, never mind actual love. His mouth twisted into a faint scowl and emerald green eyes glowered darkly at Petunia while she puttered about the kitchen retrieving the pans needed for the 'special' dinner she had in mind for her 'precious Duddykins' – tomorrow was his obese cousin's twelfth birthday and she intended to start celebrating it a night early; something which had earned an eye-roll from the ten-year-old when his aunt had first informed him of it and brusquely ordered him to help her.
Oh, she was sooo unsuspecting of the thoughts going through his mind: of the contempt she and her husband invited with their ridiculous fawning over their son, of the desire to return in kind their deplorable treatment of him, of his daydreams of leaving this hellish house and bidding his relatives adieu forevermore. Harry quickly schooled his expression into a carefully neutral one when he noticed his aunt start turning around, calmly continuing with his task of slicing and dicing the vegetables even though he could feel her stare all but boring into him.
The already awkward silence in the kitchen gained an almost palpable presence as the tension between aunt and nephew sharpened with Petunia's focused attention upon the ten-year-old, the sound of Harry's knife hitting the chopping board the only noise in the room.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Pause.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Pause.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
Pause.
Petunia's eyes narrowed. It was that rhythm again. Always, always that rhythm of four. For as long as she could remember, that rhythm had been a constant in the boy's life – even when he had been a toddler he had been tapping it out with his pudgy little fingers: tapping it out against his basket, tapping it out against his thigh, tapping it out against any kind of surface. To her mind it had been, and still was, further proof of his unnaturalness.
And what an unnatural child he was!
Quiet, far too quiet, rarely speaking, instead always watching, observing, a calculating kind of intelligence in the boy's verdant gaze which never failed to make her do a double-take upon seeing such a look on someone so young. It was unnatural, freakish, and only made Petunia want to keep her sister's son as far away as possible from her wonderfully normal Dudley. The only upside – if anything regarding her abnormal nephew could even remotely be considered 'positive' – was that in all the years he had lived with them he hadn't once had any of the freakish incidents she remembered from Lily's childhood years.
Regardless whether he possessed that ability or not, however, Harry James Potter was a freak and she refused to allow his freakishness to ruin her and her family's lives. It was already bad enough that his appearance alone had garnered questions from the neighbours over the years: what had initially been downy baby hair the colour of a raven's wing had lightened little by little with every passing year until it was now a dark brown, the sun sometimes revealing reddish highlights when it shone upon it, and wild to the point it was now a windswept and spiky mess; Lily's emerald green eyes stared at her with an intensity which froze her to the spot and regularly made her feel as if she was being judged and found woefully lacking; most disconcerting of all, though, was his smile – on the rare occasion when she had caught that expression on his face there had been something unsettling to the turn of the corners of his mouth.
No, Harry James Potter was unnatural.
Thump-thump-thump-thump.
"Enough, boy!" That sound was going to drive her crazy if she listened to it any longer. Her nephew put down the knife and tuned to her with a mixed look of boredom and contempt, giving her the impression she was nothing but an insect in his eyes; as if she were somehow lesser than him. How could such an expression find its way onto the face of a child? It was a look she had more than once been on the receiving end of and it never failed to rub her wrong. Her glare sharpened in response and she pushed her shoulders back in an attempt to make herself appear more intimidating. Not that it seemed to have any kind of effect on the wretched boy, she noted as a gleam of amusement entered his gaze – like he was silently laughing at her for trying to cow him into submission, her efforts nothing more than a passing entertainment. The insolence! With a faint growl to her voice, Petunia all but barked out her next order. "Go up to your room and don't come down until I call you!"
Out of sight, out of mind, as the saying went – and the last thing Petunia wanted on her mind was her freak of a nephew.
Harry merely raised an eyebrow before he made his way out of the kitchen and into the hallway, pausing for a second at the bottom of the stairs leading to the upper floor to throw a hateful glare at the cupboard beneath them. His former bedroom. The ten-year-old praised the day he had discovered the concept of blackmail three years ago. Oh, he'd not dared ask for more than receiving Dudley's second bedroom as his own and being given more food – he'd only be able to push so far before his aunt and uncle would retaliate – but it had been enough to make his living conditions moderately more tolerable. The memory of leaving the Dursleys no choice but to obey his demands brought a smug smile to his face and it was with a small skip to his step that he ascended the stairs and went to his bedroom.
Contrary to what his aunt and uncle believed, Harry wasn't unaware of the reason behind their severe dislike of him. The 'freakishness' his aunt repeatedly accused him of, the adult Dursleys' obsession with normality, and their avoidance of anything that could even remotely spark imagination – those had been facts of life for Harry since his first conscious memory. However, it hadn't been until two years ago when his uncle had decided to lock him in his cupboard for three days for failing to complete his weekend list of chores that the young boy had discovered what exactly made his relatives so wary of him. Part of his punishment had been a beating 'to teach him discipline', the memory of which still made him flinch. Over the course of those three days spent in isolation he had felt and watched his body heal far faster than it should have been able to, a peculiar sensation running just underneath his skin.
Finally, an answer! There was some kind of energy or power inside him which allowed him to do things that, by all accounts, shouldn't be possible – and his relatives were terrified of it. Harry smirked as he reached the top of the stairs. Needless to say, after that revelation he had set about attempting to gain control over it. After all, what use was having such a power at his disposal, if he didn't use it? Admittedly, that had turned out to be easier said than done, but after much trial and error he had been able to come to the conclusion that the key to achieving the results he wanted was intent and imagination.
Life with his relatives after that breakthrough had become decidedly more bearable, not only inside of Privet Drive n°4, but also outside of it: school had long been a safe haven for Harry and no longer having to dumb himself down to appease his relatives had been a welcome development. Ah, the beauty of the greater level of freedom that had come with gaining some power over them! He paused in front of his bedroom door, hand poised over the handle as he momentarily stared into the distance with a wistful expression on his face while his mind turned towards some of his daydreams of messing with the Dursleys and making them realize that he wasn't someone to be mistreated. Quite the opposite, in fact… no! The ten-year-old shook his head as if to physically stop himself from pursuing that particular line of thinking any further. No, he did try to avoid overusing his ability lest he rouse their suspicion that not all was at it seemed.
Even though sometimes the temptation to demonstrate who had the real power in this household was so enticing…
Once inside his bedroom, Harry moved over to his bedside table and picked up the book he had started reading the day before, the reassuring weight of the tome on advanced physics in his hand calming him down. Having something meaningful to direct his attention towards never failed to soothe him – there was nothing more pleasant for him than learning something new and expanding his understanding of the world around him. Indeed, Harry had spent many hours, first in the school and then in the local library, enjoying a wide selection of literature throughout his search for answers to the mystery of his power. Although he had yet to find any (beyond the fantasy fiction section, at any rate), his research had resulted in him educating himself beyond what he was being taught in primary.
Honestly, why did so few people realize what a treasure trove a well-stocked library was? An excited grin found its way onto Harry's face. All that knowledge right at one's fingertips – beautiful! History, Math, the various Sciences, Fiction… Everything imaginable made readily available to those seeking the enlightenment offered. The fools of the world, like the Dursleys, wouldn't deign to give libraries even a first glance, never mind a second one, instead preferring to live their lives in 'blissful' ignorance.
Their loss.
Taking a seat on his bed and finding as comfortable a position on the rickety old furniture as was possible, Harry pulled one knee up to his chest and stretched the other one out in front of him, the book precariously balanced on it. Yet, still, he made no move to read it, his thoughts drifting back to his supposed family. He tried to ignore the twinge in his heart this caused. Back when he had still had to call the cupboard under the stairs his room he had spent many nights dreaming, hoping, desperately praying for some hitherto unknown relative to show up and take him away from the Dursleys. Surely anyone else would be better than people who had made fear his sole constant companion?
Much had changed since those days of naive optimism, but his yearning for even an ounce of affection stubbornly remained, buried deep in his heart though it now was. He wished that he didn't have to live with such despicable examples of humanity, but apparently such was his lot in life – he'd just have to bear with it until he reached his majority. A sigh escaped his lips. Well, at least he would have his mind to keep him occupied throughout the years of imprisonment in Chateau Durzcatraz ahead of him. As Harry finally started reading the text before him he subconsciously lifted his free hand to his chest and brushed his fingers over the object hidden beneath the fabric of his ratty T-shirt. Who knows? Maybe for once something good would happen and his life wouldn't be doomed to the bleak future he was imagining…
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A.N. Introducing Harry: intelligent, curious, aware of himself and his magic (even if he doesn't know it as such yet) and more than a little keen to get away from his relatives. How will this Harry react when he enters the wizarding world? What will he find there when he does? Find out in the next chapter! ;3
Master: *mumbles, arms crossed*
Lady A: *grows concerned* What has put you in such a fine mood?
Master: No mention.
Lady A: *frowns, confused* I'm sorry?
Master: *nods* Yes, you should be. Not a single mention of me this entire chapter! And after I started giving you those lessons, too… *huffs* Betrayal, that's what it is.
Lady A: *discreetly rolls her eyes* You will make a reappearance, you know that. *grumbles* Snooping around and reading my story notes… *clears throat* Patience, Master – you are central to this story, after all.
Master: As I should be. *grins, appeased* And I like it when you use my name.
Lady A: *smiles wryly* Of course you do. *turns to readers* I will try to keep updates to once every one to two weeks – it will depend on how much work I have. Have I mentioned that reviews are fantastic motivation? Dear readers, this writer here has been positively starving, so, please, send some reviews rolling in! *smiles and waves goodbye *