Harry sat dejectedly by the back door of the lunch room, near the dumpsters. A janitor walked out, but didn't react to the little boy other than giving him a nod. You see the staff was rather use to the dark haired boy hanging about. He had been doing it since he found the hiding spot back in his second year of school and came back every day since then. He liked it, other than the smell, the people were nice and sometimes they fed him. One old man would take his breaks with Harry on an occasion, he would even teach him a bunch of really cool songs.

The little out cast loved music. Music was his savior, it kept him going through tough times, it gave him a realse, and most of all it was his only source of joy.

Last summer Harry discovered musical theater, he sat out side the Drama Club's window when they were rehearsing musicals. He sat near the vent outside the school that led to the middle school chior room. The raven haired boy found music where ever he could. He did all could; from sneaking into music stores to salvaging old radio parts to make one of his own.

When he couldn't get music, he read. A lot.

When ever the music teacher wouldn't let him in to have a lesson or practice on one of her instruments, he'd go to the library. Books were his second love. Not non-fiction so much, though he read those too, the little boy loved stories! Stories of for away planets, magical kingdoms, and quirky young souls braving the modern world. They were his heros and his friends. He learned more from them than he ever did in class. Harry learned about ancient civilizations, sciene and technology, new words, and lessons. Lessons on how to deal with his life, his pain. He learned he was not alone, and that gave him strength.

Harry became very good with a few of the instruments the music teacher would take the time to help him with. He could play the violin as well as her at the age of nine, play music she struggled with on the piano by his tenth birthday, and the summer before he turned eleven he was composing his own music on the guitar.

The raven haired boy rushed through his chores so that he could sneak out to concerts and performances. He even managed to get into some open house dance lessons the near by studio hosted every three months. He wished he could go to more but he knew the Dursleys would never pay for him.

The Dursleys were a sensitive subject with him. They did everything to make his life hell, but without them he knew he wouldn't have the drive he did. It was that drive that would get him away one day; in thier wish to beat him down, they had given him the means to rise above the injustices life had delt him or ever would deal him.

As long as he kept his sights on all that made him HIM; music and words. He would make it.