AN: Hello everybody, Lord Sweater here. Glad to see your reading my story. Now, forewarning to all, this world will be extremely AU. Almost from the beginning. I will be taking the basic plot line from CANON up until a certain point but many things will change. So please don't send my emails saying this is wrong, and that is different and the other thing is not correct. My world, people. My rules. So, with that out of the way, a few clarifications for those that will probably ask. This is going to be a Darker Harry, a slightly more powerful Harry but it won't be an evil Harry. And, from the summary, it was also be a Slytherin Harry. So, please, without furtherado, enjoy this work of fiction.

Chapter One: A Brave New World

The night was peaceful. A cloudless sky broadly boasted an impressive array of hundreds of thousands stars, winking down on the world below. A soft autumn breeze ghosted over the ground with just a hint of the oncoming winter. Not an ominous or uncomfortable breeze, but a pleasant one with just enough chill to make your back tingle and rouse the goosebumps on your arms and legs. In all respects, the night seemed normal. In a small neighborhood in Surrey, families slept peacefully in their beds, blissfully unaware that all their lives had just hung in the balance. That the future and the fate of the world had just rested on the shoulders of a year old boy. Indeed, this night above all others, was far from normal.

As evidence to that fact, a strange figure walked down the dark streets of that same neighborhood in Surrey. To say that the man looked strange was an understatement. His hair was long and white. A large, sweeping and equally white beard adorned his chin. Half-mooned spectacles rested on his nose. But the strangest part of the man were his clothes. He was wearing long robes that went all the way to his feet and billowed around as he walked down the street. On top of that, the colors that were splashed the expanse of the fabric clashed so significantly and horrifyingly that the scheme seemed to have been chosen by a blind man. Yet, despite his odd appearance, the elderly man walked with an air of confidence. Briskly making his way down the street, he finally stopped at an insignificant looking house, a simple two story house, painted all white, not standing out in any way.

Suddenly, a small tabby cat sitting near the driveway caught the old man's attention. "Minerva?" he called out to it, "I did not realize you would be here." The cat looked sharply at the man before quickly transforming into a stern-looking, gray haired woman, a fact that didn't seem to faze or even surprise the man in any way. "How did you know it was me?" She enquired with a look of mild frustration. The man chuckled, "My dear, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly." The woman, Minerva, frowned, "Where is the boy, Albus?" "Hagrid is bringing him." Minerva nodded, looked off in the distance. "It's a pity we could not be there on time. Now the poor boy will grow up alone." Albus turned to look at the house. "Hopefully not alone. He still has some family." Minerva looked incredulously at the elderly man. "What? These people? They may be family, but I still fear for the boy. I watched them for a few hours before night fell and they seem like the worst sort. I have voiced my disagreement for this decision before. Are you still entrenched in this?" Albus nodded sadly. "I am, Minerva. I have the same worries that you have, but we have little choice. The boy must grow up away from our world. Far from the fame and the attention he is sure to receive. And there is no denying that he will be safest here."

Just then a roaring could be heard from above them. They both looked up in time to see an enormous man soar down out of the darkness riding a flying motorcycle. When the large vehicle came to a rest on the street, he dismounted and made his way towards the other two, holding a small bundle against his chest. "Hagrid," Albus said in greeting, "I'm glad you able to make it here safely." Albus reached out his hands. "Give me the boy, Hagrid." With tears openly streaming down the giant man's face, he nodded and handed the boy over to Albus. Albus then took him up to the front steps and laid him on the stoop, near the front door. "May fate watch over you, my dear boy." Albus said in parting. "For it must know that your life will be far from easy." With that, he disappeared, straight into thin air. With a sigh, one last sad look at the boy and one last glare at the house, Minerva turned on her heel and disappeared as well. Hagrid, still weeping, mounted his motorcycle and soared back into the night sky.

TEN YEARS LATER

The same house that had once held the acute attention of those three strange people those long ten years ago, hadn't changed much in the time that had passed. It was still a bland off-white color. The same box cars were parked in its driveway. The lawn and its gardens were still manicured to perfection. As a whole, the house was still as uninteresting in every way as it was the day it had been built. The people that owned the house were as normal as they come. The husband and wife had boring jobs with mediocre pay. Their son had average grades from a local, run-of-the-mill school. In fact, the only abnormal thing about them was their size, each of them easily weighing over 250 pounds. However this, too (however unfortunate it is) was becoming the norm for the families in Surrey. However, all this said, there was one resident in this house that was far from normal.

On the upper floor of the house, inside the smallest bedroom, sat a boy. He was about 5' 2" and had raven black hair that ran a little ways past his shoulders that he normally kept in a loose ponytail. He had an athletic build, which was a jarring surprise to any who saw him, considering the obesity of those he lived with, with his slowly developing muscles already being tuned into shape. Being eleven, the boy did not have many muscles to speak of, still it was obvious that he took care of his body and exercised frequently. But probably the most striking feature on the boy was his eyes. A massive contrast to his dark hair and tanned skin, they shone from under his lashes and bright and vibrant green. To those who passed by him, while his gaze was not hostile, it was not exactly friendly and it made them shudder to the bone. It was a calculating gaze, as if appraising them for their worth and what usefulness they may serve. The boy's name, was Harry Potter.

Harry had known for a long time that he was different, and he knew that his so called "relatives" knew as well. Why else would they treat him differently? It started out small, making things float, or making them vanish. Then came the bigger things. He learned he could speak to snakes. He once teleported to escape his cousin, Dudley, and his friends. He even caused his uncle to fly backwards and into a wall. His relatives, the Dursley's, called him a freak, and for a while he believed them. He WASN'T normal. And normal was good, right?

But eventually, his opinion began to change. The Dursley's hated him. That was undeniable. But it wasn't out of disgust. It was out of jealousy and most of all, fear. The Dursley's feared him. And, after all, why shouldn't they? These…powers, they made him abnormal, but in a good way. These were things that no one else could do. Didn't this make him above them? A higher step up in the evolution chain? So years ago, Harry had embraced his powers and tried to cultivate them. He quickly realized that accessing his "magic", as he liked to call it, took a careful combination of emotion and willpower. Still, even after that, his progress was slow and barely noticeable. He could feel his "magic" in him, but he couldn't direct it. He could barely control it. It took him years to master simple things such as levitation and "pushing". But the day that he did, he knew that his life was going to change drastically. He had not only proven that these powers existed, but that they could be learned and cultivated. His only limit was his imagination. He was nine years old. On that day, many things changed in the Dursley household. Up until that point, Harry's life had been nothing more than that of a slave. He slept in a cupboard under the stairs. He was forced to do all the chores in the house and was only fed scraps from the table. Now, three years later, Harry had a room of his own. He didn't have to do any of the chores and his relatives seemed quite content to simply forget he existed when they were delivering food to his door. It had taken a bit of…convincing on Harry's part, but they had all adjusted to the change quite nicely. Indeed, Harry hardly came out of his room, except for the odd bathroom break and to attend to the only chore he still did, and willingly, too. Though he did not know why, Harry had an affinity for things that grew and he was drawn to them. Thus, he could often be found tending the gardens and lawn of the Dursley residence on a daily basis. Harry was, as one of his favorite authors' put it, quite content to ignore and be ignored by the rest of the world. Unfortunately, it would seem that fate had other plans.

It was a particularly dreary day in Surrey, not that Harry paid it any heed, in fact he rather liked rainy weather, and Harry was sitting in his room, as he was usually, practicing his "magic". When, all of a sudden, a knock came at the front door. Harry's ears peaked at this in interest. It wasn't often that the Dursley's received visitors as they weren't the most, welcoming people. However, the brief lapse in his concentration was enough for the book he was levitating, to abruptly fall to the floor with a crash. Harry cursed quietly before bringing the book back up to eye level. It wasn't long before he heard his walrus of an uncle lumber down the hallway, a floor below him, and answer the door. After a brief spat of muted conversation, suddenly the whole house shook with his uncle's bellowing. "BOY! GET DOWN HERE! SOMEONE AT THE DOOR FOR YOU!" Harry slightly lifted an eyebrow but this time did not lose concentration and slowly lowered the book to the ground. This was most unusual. Some came to see him? Not many people knew he existed, the Dursleys made sure of that. Nevertheless, he made his way downstairs and to the front door.

The sight that greeted Harry when he reached his destination was, at best, confusing. Standing in the doorway was an elderly man with long white hair and a long flowing beard, wearing a strange bright blue robe with gold trimmings. Harry said nothing, but looked at the man expectantly. "Ah, you must be Harry Potter. You have grown much since last I saw you. Now, Harry, perhaps there is a place where we could go sit down. There is much we have to talk about." Harry nodded silently and led him into the sitting room.

Twenty minutes later, Albus Dumbledore, for this was the same wizard that dropped Harry off at this house ten years before, had finished his well-practiced speech that he gave to muggleborns or, in this case, muggle-raised, and Harry sat across for him with a pondering look on his face. "I know this is hard to swallow, my boy, but I assure you magic is real and…" Harry interrupted him, waving his hand in a dismissive gesture. "I know magic is real, Mr. Dumbledore. I have for years now." "And how is that, Harry?" Albus asked in shock. "I can feel it." Harry responded, looking back at the elderly man in front of him. "I can feel it streaming through me, as if my very blood was cackling with energy. But I have other questions. I can feel the magic, but I can barely direct it. I feel like I have no control. Is it because I'm so young?" Dumbledore smiled down at the young man. "Ah, the answer to that, Harry, is quite simple." As he said this, he withdrew a small, thin stick from the depths of his robes. "This, my boy, is a wand. Most witches and wizards use wands to help focus their magic." Then, with a light twirl of his fingers, a butterfly sprouted from the top of his wand and started to fly about the room.

Putting his wand away, Dumbledore turned his attention back to the young man sitting in front of him. "Harry," Dumbledore began, "you said that you could BARELY direct your magic. Does this mean that you have developed some kind of control over it?" Harry nodded before stretching out his hand. After a few long moments, the candle sitting near the center of the coffee table slowly lifted into the air. Dumbledore's eyes widened in surprise. "That, my dear boy, is wandless magic. And it's no wonder you are having problems. Most do not even attempt to begin it till their sixth or seventh year at Hogwarts." Lowering the candle back to the table top, Harry looked back at Dumbledore. "Hogwarts? That is that magical school that you spoke about earlier? The one you're the headmaster of?" Dumbledore nodded. "Then, I accept your invitation to attend. Like you said, it should help me learn about magic and about this world that I never even knew about." Dumbledore gave him a bright smile before, handing him a slip of paper. "I'm glad to hear that, my dear boy. Here is a list of things that you will need: from various school supplies to robes. If you like, I will return in a few days and take you to Diagon Alley, a wizarding mall, so to speak, and I can help you buy them."

Giving the list a brief glance, Harry responded without looking up. "If it's all the same to you, Mr. Dumbledore, I'd prefer to go on my own. I only request that you tell me where I can find this 'Diagon Alley' ". Dumbledore's eyes narrowed in concern. "Are you sure Harry? You are new to this world and my advice could prove invaluable." "Of course, I realize that, sir. But still, this is something I feel I need to do myself." Dumbledore nodded slowly. "Of course, my boy, of course. Whatever makes you most comfortable. You can find the alley behind a pub called The Leaky Cauldron on the corner of Westminster St. and Brockhurst Ave. in London. Just ask Tom, he's the bartender, and he'll tell you how to get in." Harry nodded his understanding. "And what of money? I have none to speak of, and I assume that all these supplies will cost pence or two, not to mention tuition to this school."

Dumbledore gave him his famous grandfatherly smile. "No worries there, my boy." He said, "We magicals have our own currency: gold pieces we call Galleons. If you visit the wizarding bank, Gringotts, in Diagon Alley, I think you'll find your parents didn't leave you penniless." With that, Dumbledore began to rise. "Well, if that is all, Harry, I have other appointments today and I must be off. I look forward to seeing you come the beginning of the school year." Harry stayed him with a hand. "Actually, Mr. Dumbledore, I have one last question." Albus retook his seat and nodded for Harry to continue. "When you first saw me," Harry began somewhat hesitantly, "you said I had grown. Did you know me before, I came here? Did you know my parents? My relatives told me they died in a car crash, but now, after everything you just told me, I feel like there might be more to the story." Dumbledore looked down at the boy in front of him with eyes filled with sorrow. "You're right, my boy. I did know your parents. And no, they did not die in a car accident. They were murdered. They were killed by an evil wizard who, at the time, went by the name Lord Voldemort. He invaded your home in the dead of the night. Killed both your parents and then tried to kill you." Dumbledore stopped here and looked down at the table. "I didn't want to tell you this, but I suppose you'll figure it out anyway when you go to Diagon later. You're somewhat of a stigma in the wizarding world, Harry. You are famous. On that night that your parents died, Voldemort cast a curse at you that no one has ever survived. No one that is, until you. You survived, with not a mark on your skin except for that scar on your forehead. In fact, not only did you survive, when aurors, our version of police, arrived at the scene. Voldemort was gone. Vanquished, some say. All that was left of him was his robes and pile of ash. He has not been seen since. People hailed you. Applauded you. They named you The-boy-who-lived. That is why I hid you away in this corner of the world. So you could grow up with some semblance to a normal childhood away from all the fame. I thought it was best."

Harry nodded, deep in thought. "So it was you who decided that I grow up with the Dursleys?" Dumbledore nodded. "Thank you, sir. That is all I need to know. Now, as you said, you have a busy day ahead of you." The headmaster, slightly shocked at the dismissal, nodded and left, wondering what the boy's last statement could have meant.

Harry stood in his room, watching the headmaster depart from his window and pondered all that he had heard. He did not know if he could trust the old man just yet. It was him, after all, that abandoned him to this hell hole. But he knew that he couldn't pass judgment on that alone. Still, one thing was for certain. He wanted to enter this new world free from all influence, especially if he was as important and famous as the headmaster had said. He needed to form his own opinions, and that would start with Diagon Alley.

AN: Hello again. Thank you all for reading and actually getting through the whole chapter. Congrats, you get a cookie. All joking aside, please review, whether with praise or criticism. I appreciate both and, hey, if your idea is good enough, it might just find its way into the story. Until next time folks.

Lord Sweater, Out.