Hello dear readers! This be ye olde tale of Harry the potter. This is AU. It is set in the magical world and quite a long time ago with many of your favorite characters. I do not consider this story slash since there are no sexual relationships. If your are looking for overtones of slash, UST, and Severitus you will find them aplenty. Mainly it is a story about love as well as a tale about good and evil.

This is a work in progress. The basic idea started like a sweet little lump of clay when in a review firewall at AFF reminded me of a Vincent Price film that I saw when a wee impressionable creature. It has since developed into my ode to a knarled urn. firewall I dedicate this urn to you. I am now writing furiously to clear my head of this so that I might be fit to continue working on my other projects. Any help of any sort from anywhere is manna.

The Potter's Tale

Prologue

Harry never knew what happened to his parents. He only knew what his Uncle Vernon had told him. According to his uncle, Harry was left on his step by his parents because they couldn't be bothered to raise him. According to his uncle, Vernon had paid the Widow Figg good money to look after Harry when he was little. Harry doubted any of it was true. His uncle never spent good money on anything for Harry. Harry would not have the clothes on his back if the widow had not given them to him. He could sooner believe the Widow Figg paid Uncle Vernon for the privilege. His earliest memories were of her giving Uncle Vernon bread which she sold and traded in payment for Harry's errands for her. Harry's errands that day had consisted of getting read to for hours. She had fed him peas porridge and bread, too, as much of both as he wanted. Even at that age Harry knew better than to tell his uncle anything other than that he had worked hard all day.

Harry did not know for sure but didn't think that the Widow Figg was a witch, not exactly. He knew she thought that he was a witch though. Harry was certain about that. She first warned Harry about witch-finders long before anyone else in the village ever saw one of those frightening keen eyed men, long before the incident. She was the one who had told him to memorize certain Bible verses. Just in case, she had said. Harry liked to read and liked reading the Bible, though not as much as some of the other books that the Widow Figg owned. Vernon had been angry when he caught Harry with Vernon's Family Bible late one night and had beaten him soundly for it. Harry was more careful after that.

Sadly for Harry, it was not long before he was deemed old enough to be of use in his uncle's trade. The last time he sent Harry to the widow Vernon told him, "You learn to bake that bread she makes while you are there, boy. I'll not feed an ugly, stupid boy who can't earn his keep."

Harry asked the Widow to teach him and learned how to bake the bread, not that Vernon saw fit to feed Harry any of it on most days.

Uncle Vernon was a potter and not a very good one. He was lazy and liked to eat too much and drink mead until he passed out. Harry thought the man was cruel to him because Harry reminded him of what had happened to his wife and their son, who would be about Harry's age had Aunt Petunia and the baby survived child-birth. Because of what had happened, which his uncle talked and cried about sometimes when he was very drunk, Harry found he could not hate his uncle no matter how cruelly he treated Harry.

Harry did not learn most of what he knew from his uncle though that was what the village naturally assumed. What Harry did not learn about the world from the Widow Figg, he learned from the clay. As a result, most of what he knew about being a potter was far beyond Vernon's limited knowledge of the subject. The clay guided and shaped Harry. It called to him from where ever it was in the earth. It modelled him as a craftsman by teaching him how it wanted to be treated. Harry listened and tried his best to give the clay its perfect care. By the time he was eleven, Harry was the most talented potter within many miles. People from other villages travelled days to buy his beautiful, lightweight but sturdy pieces, all signed on the bottom with his uncle's mark.

Even Vernon eventually recognized Harry's work was something extraordinary. Several times a year he loaded up a wagon with Harry's wares and set off for a week or so. Before he left, he always warned Harry not to slack while he was gone. When he came back with an empty wagon, Vernon seemed happier than usual and did not beat him for a while. Harry never asked where Vernon went. Harry didn't care.

Harry caused something of conundrum for Vernon. Harry was the source of his wealth but was also an embarrassment to him personally. The boy walked around covered head to foot in clay all day always mumbling and laughing to himself. He even talked to the bloody clay! Sometimes he laughed like the clay was joking with him.

Vernon hated Harry. Not just because this was the boy who lived while his boy didn't. He hated the very sight of him. He hated him because Harry lived in his own world, happy enough to ignore his uncle. Vernon liked to be important especially in his own house. If he had to beat the boy to get the boy to take notice of him, so be it. Eventually the boy ignored him even when he beat him. The boy was odd, Vernon decided, just like Petunia's sister whom he had heard was odd from Petunia though he had never met the woman. Vernon thought about the problems Harry posed and decided upon a perfect solution. Harry dug clay late at night till early morning when most of the villagers were asleep. During the day, he kept Harry locked up to work. If they never saw him, Vernon reasoned, the villagers would soon forget that the boy existed.

-Thank you for reading! All reviews even flames are welcome! Next up, Vernon's Worst Day