It was no different than any other time. Actually, it was, but not because it hurt more, nor did it have more damage. But because this time was so close to the last time; too close. It was different because his body no longer healed completely, knowing it would only make the next time come much faster; that his uncle liked to see the 'work' he inflicted on him.

No. This time was different for another reason too. Harry was laying partway on his side and on his back, the same position he had been thrown into earlier that evening; not that it couldn't be morning by now, but still, he hadn't moved, not an inch. He knew there was something different… but he couldn't remember what… it was getting colder. Maybe that was it? No… Perhaps the laughter? Of course not! No… it was…

"Hurts." he couldn't think, breathing hurt, thinking hurt. He didn't whimper, cry, blink. His eyes closed in the dark of his cupboard, only one thought echoing through his mind. "Hurts…"

"I can help you."

"Help…?" Harry opened his eyes, expecting to see someone, the voice had sounded so close, as if beside him. He knew his cupboard was too small to fit much more than his thin mattress, blanket, himself. There was no way for someone else to be here. Not unless it were a spider. He had seen plenty of them, he liked them.

"Yes. I can help you. Stop the pain."

A tiny smile formed on his lips, in his delirium of pain Harry noted that it was odd, he couldn't remember how smiling felt, but he remembered how. If he hadn't been so cold, so tired, maybe he would laugh. He knew this trick. His uncle liked it, the whole 'I'll be nice today… but tomorrow, we'll have fun!' game. Harry could only whisper a soft reply this time,"…Why?"

"Because I can… Not for long… But I can. I can save you… I can save us…"

Harry could barely think, everything seemed muffled beyond the voice. He wasn't cold anymore. Wasn't in pain. Why did he need help? He was fine…

A final thought flitted across his mind, a simple thought that saved both his life and the voice's.

"I'd like someone to help me… just once… like Aunt Pet'un'a does to Dud'ey… It's be…nice…"

"You can sleep then, Child. I will help."

It was almost three days later when a knock woke Harry. He had been drifting from a feeling of… difference. He had a feeling that something was different but no idea what it could be. He remembered his dream, the voice. With a sad sort of feeling, it's not everyday that he dreamed of anything. He was usually far too exhausted, or some days. Any he had were short lived and forgotten upon waking. Unbeknownst to Harry, in the three days he was asleep his body had undergone drastic changes though none visible; not at the moment. Harry sat up and said in a voice made soft by age and rough by disuse, "Aunt Pet'un'a?"

His door was opened and a thin face entered his line of sight, a sigh escaped her thin mouth… it was almost a relieved sigh. This confused Harry, she never looked relieved when it came to him… But no. Her face certainly looked a kind of happy to see him, a relieved face, though when she spoke there was no telling of any relief, "You have chores to do, boy."

Her voice was softer than Harry remembered it, though; it was nice. Harry left his cupboard, the vague sense of 'different' being left behind as he stood and walked out to begin his chores, the feeling was replaced by a beating, burning sensation, a feeling he hadn't felt before. Survival. Not just living, this was different. This was a desire to live. Even if Harry had no idea what the feeling was, he liked it, he knew it meant something.

Harry barely fit in his cupboard now, he remembered a few years ago a vague dream and a voice, a feeling different from all others. He had that feeling still, never having gone. To Harry, it was a gift from whatever dream he had had. Things hadn't changed since then. He was still beaten, still hurt by his Uncle and Cousin. Though now he could wake up with no pain though the marks were still there. He had even, a year or so ago, regrown his hair after it had been hacked off by his aunt. Since the dream, Harry had discovered a talent he had hidden ever since. He could change his appearance, he could heal himself, he could talk with the garden snakes, he could wish for something, and if he wished hard enough, it was his. He knew of this talent, what he called a talent, only because of it happening and then a voice whispering in a dream, a true dream, where he was singing from rooftops, making the same thing he had done using his talent happen dozens of times, and that voice would whisper, 'you can do this… really do this, if you want'.

Harry had begun using his Talent whenever he could, namely, he would be told to do hi chores, and when left alone to do them, he would wish to have them complete and before his eyes they would be done in seconds. He had even, just once, decided he wanted to look like his cousin, to see if he would get treated like him, and it had happened. He had looked like his cousin. When he started school, he learned to read. Just this past year, his fifth year, he had read a sad story of a girl who grew wings and flew away, only to lose her family when she lost her way and it ended with her becoming a pretty swan, but she was alone. It reminded him of his own life, only what he hoped was that his story, since he started alone, would end with a family.

Hogwarts was a surprise, meeting his first friend was even more so. He wasn't sure how they became friends. One minute he had been told he was a wizard by a giant man with a grizzly beard, his world flipped, and what seemed like the next, he was on a train and stepping into a great hall, floating candles and a starry sky above him. The past few weeks had passed in such a blur Harry hadn't even had time to question anything. It wasn't until he had sat upon the little stool in the silent hall when the hat placed upon his head had began talking to him that time seemed to slow back to it's typical routine. The tiny stool, the large hat, they coupled together to make the small boy of eleven feel as though he were drawfed in his cousins clothes at home only years younger, swimming to get to the surface, the air. It was a scary feeling. The hat spoke, reminding the little boy of a far-away voice from a barely recalled dream.

"Well, well. Not just 'Harry' are you? No… You are much more!"

"No? I'm Harry. I… I'm just me."

"And more, little Morphmagi! You have a very good grip on your magic, Harry."

"I know. But I'm still just Harry, Harry Potter."

"If you wish to be, little 'just Harry', you will find out anyway. I can see only one place fit for someone who has survived your life… Better be-"

As his house was hollered into the great Hall by the little hat, who was lifted of his head by the older lady who performed the ceremony, the house of red and gold began cheering loudly while the other houses clapped politely, except for the house of the pointy-faced blonde who Harry had met twice now, but they hadn't clapped for anyone not going to the green house yet. Shifting his eyes to his new house's table, seeing a group with one sour looking and two identical looking red-head's gave Harry a brilliant idea, since his house colours were a scarlet and golden hue, he copied the deep red into his hair and added a golden bit on each tip, changing the entirety of his head of hair as he walked toward his table smiling at his house. He felt his hair spike upward just a bit, to diplay the bright red and sparkling gold to the Hall.

Now; two things immediately resulted from this display of power and control. One; utter silence. Two; one of those two red-headed twins suddenly began grinning and called out "Nice hair, Harry!". He vaguely remembered the red-heads as being the brothers to Ron, the boy he had befriended on the train and the family who had helped him onto the platform. As he sat next to Toad-boy-Neville, Harry looked to the shocked faces of the staff table and the old lady performing the ceremony of Sorting, blinking confusedly.

After a beat, in which the teacher at the front with the hat (along with most of the staff) smiled through their shock and the sorting continued. Harry soon had supper with Ron, both Gryffindor Lions, before being escorted up to their dorms. When he slid into bed that night his last thought was a relieved sigh echoing through his mind:

'Maybe this House will be a home…'

AUTHORS NOTE:

I really should be working on Scarves… Or another story. But this has been bugging me and it is written. Please read, review and enjoy.

As a quick note, This story will be entirely AU. There will be the basic line of the book/books but there will be giant differences. After all; Harry's no where near the idiot he was in Canon, he has some knowledge, he wants to learn. Also, do not expect Ron to be involved for long. He's annoying. And lazy.

Disclaimer, I obviously do not own,

This is just the set-up, the prologue, if you will. It will be the shortest chapter.