Disclaimer: Story is my idea, Characters and whatnot are J.K. Rowling's. But you knew this already, didn't you?
"Hardships often prepare ordinary people for an extraordinary Destiny."
Black Frost: Chapter 1
The Beginning of the Beginning
That's all the boy really knew.
What he wouldn't give for some light.
Light was pure and kind and loving.
Light would save him, he was sure of it.
Be careful what you wish for.
The cupboard door that was the boy's barrier to that fantastic light finally opened, revealing a whale of a man with a stern expression on his face.
"Now I don't want any more funny business from you boy. You got that?!" the portly man yelled.
All the poor boy could do was nod his head, as he had been starved for five days, only given water at night by his Aunt as she did not want him to die in their house.
Most people would think that she was trying to help, but she only did it for herself, as it would be improper for her to have a dead child in her home.
When the man got the confirmation that he needed, he shoved a packet of paper into the boy's face, waving it in front of him to gain his attention, although it had never been lost in the first place.
"This is a list of your chores around the house, and if you don't complete these before the weekend is up, you'll be in there for a week, ya hear?!"
Again, the boy could only nod, before he mechanically began to get up in order to start a list of chores as long as he was tall.
Good for nothing brat, the older man growled as he walked away to go to work, fantasies of beating his fellow employees for the number of sold drills for the month.
A shadow of a boy, no older than five, crawled out of a cupboard under the stairs to begin his duties, already trained and conditioned to follow orders or suffer the consequences.
Before he started his work, he ate the food that the Dursley's left out for him, a simple slice of bread and a glass of water. After inhaling the meager amount of food, he went outside to start the day.
His first duty was to pull the weeds in the garden by hand because the Dursley's apparently did not trust him enough to handle any tool to ease the burden of his task.
Getting on his hands and knees, the young boy droned through his work, trying not to think about the fact that this treatment was torture, or the reasoning behind the torture in the first place.
He tried not to think about the reason for why his own family did not love him as he scrubbed the already spotless stove once again.
He tried not to think about the beatings that he would get at night from a drunken Vernon as he organized the already perfect living room.
He tried not to think about that night when Vernon got really drunk and…
Almost as if a dam had burst, tears began to fall from the young boy's eyes, soaking the ground as he painted the already clean white fence white again.
Why do they do this to me? Why?
Late April, 1986
Why? Why does he do this to me?
The young boy once again found himself running for his life and away from his over-weight cousin and his pack of goons as they chased him throughout the schoolyard. They were currently playing "Harry Hunting," a game that they came up with where they would chase Harry around, and once they caught him, beat him up and insult him.
Needless to say, Harry hated "Harry Hunting."
I have to hide, I have to hide, I have to hide, he repeated, looking around frantically for an escape from this hell.
Turning around the corner of the large school building, the boy suddenly felt a surge of power inside of him before feeling as if he were being squeezed through a small tube. After a moment of the uncomfortable sensation, and a loud 'CRACK!,' Harry found himself sitting on top of the school roof, many yards away from his demented cousin and his friends.
"No. Freaking. Way," he gasped aloud, fearful for a moment that he was going crazy.
I am in so much trouble.
The Day After, 1986
After his debacle the day before, Harry went straight to the one place that he could call his refuge; the library.
Scanning through all of the numerous books in the familiar building, he finally stumbled upon the one that he had been searching for: 'Teleportation: Is it Possible?' by Peter Wayne.
Flipping through the book, he found a list of theories, some dating as far back as the time of the Egyptians. For once in Harry's life, the dull and robotic look that normally accompanied his face was gone, replacing it with a vibrant smile and a merry gleam in his eyes.
This is it, he thought, This is my ticket out of here. With some practice and a couple of years, I'll be out of this hell hole.
And so, the boy spent weeks practicing, trying desperately to recreate the circumstances that allowed him to teleport before, but to no avail.
Harry intentionally put himself by Dudley's gang, hoping for them to chase him again, and they did. But it still didn't work.
Dudley still found him and beat him, and he was no closer to achieving his goal.
After trying for the billionth time, the boy let out an irritated sigh, falling to the ground in exhaustion.
Tears began to stain the ground as Harry wept once again for his cursed life.
Am I ever going to get a break? he asked himself, before looking up to see Dudley and his gang grinning at him from a couple meters away.
Harry sighed again and picked himself up; giving the boys a hate filled glare that seemed to scare the more weak willed ones. I guess not.
Without warning, he turned and ran away from the other children, determined not to get caught by them. Anger and hate filled up within him, and when the boy finally turned around the exact same corner that he had before, he once again felt the uncomfortable squeezing and heard the loud 'CRACK!' before being deposited across the street and landing in some bushes.
Panting, and feeling extremely exhausted, Harry's body sagged to the ground as he was unable to move on. Even so, he still found that he could smile, for he had finally, finally done it.
I guess now I know what fuels it… Emotion.
After practicing for months on end and at any time that he could away from prying eyes, Harry had finally managed to learn how to travel short distances on a whim, with the only thing announcing his arrival being a soft 'POP!' instead of a loud cracking noise.
Although he knew that he would not be able to get any more silent at this stage, it still infuriated him to no end.
However, he was still content with his new ability because he could freaking teleport! How cool was that?!
Now, every time that the rotten Dursleys locked him in that foul cupboard, he just popped away at night to enjoy the fresh air and the feeling of freedom.
With the combination of Vernon and Dudley's snores, he was certain that no one could hear him exit and enter back into the house, but in order to be safe, he only did this at around 4:00 am so that he could be even more certain that he wouldn't be detected.
One night during winter break, the young boy decided to see if he could push his powers even further and go a larger distance. Sitting cross-legged on his poor excuse for a mattress, Harry closed his eyes and concentrated on the one place that he would always want to go to, his sanctuary.
Peeking his eyes open, he found that he was still in his room, but also saw that his toy soldiers that he always played with began to magically float.
Huh… I think I'll store that one for later.
Closing his eyes again, he tried his old method when he was first starting out, focusing on all of the anger and hate that he felt for the Dursleys and this cruel world, and how the only place that would save him would be his sanctuary.
What he found this time however, would be another one.
Instead of teleporting to the library, or even going halfway, the young boy found himself in another place entirely.
Snow and ice as far as the eye could see surrounded him, and it seemed as if it would consume him except for one thing.
This was his ice. His snow.
This was his soul.
Somehow, the boy knew this, but could not think of a single reason as to why this would be.
Deciding to explore a bit, he chose a direction at random, thinking that it would lead him to something, when another something impeded his progress.
Where there had once been vast amounts of snow and ice, there was now a giant sphere blocking his view that could only be described as pure evil.
The giant ball of nothingness was inky black and smelled of disease and death.
As soon as the smell assaulted the boy's nose, he quickly covered it and turned away in disgust.
THAT'S in my soul?! he thought, outraged that something as vile as that would take refuge in his heart.
I will find a way to get you out, mark my words, he declared, glaring at the abomination before him.
Filled with resolve, blue energy began to surround Harry, until suddenly, he felt a very familiar tug, and landed flat on his face inside of his other sanctuary.
"Damn," he croaked aloud, feeling just like he had when he first learned to teleport as he rolled over onto his back.
Dragging himself off the floor, Harry surveyed his surroundings, making sure that he didn't accidently alert anybody.
Wait… is the librarian even here at this time?
Shaking his head at his foolishness, he spun on his heel and made short trips back to the Dursley's house, not even willing to call that place a home.
Dropping down onto his makeshift bed, the young boy panted in exhaustion from the multitude of trips that he made in one setting.
I've got to do that more often if I want to get stronger, he chided himself, before falling asleep to the image of him leaving his rotten relatives for good.
Over the course of the next year Harry Potter, now seven, split his time between learning how to teleport longer distances and learning how to develop his new power; telekinesis.
By January, he was able to finally levitate an object again, but that object was a feather from his pillow, an even that was a struggle for him.
This is a lot harder than I thought it would be…
By February, he was able to lift up his toy soldiers again. In order to practice this, he would levitate his soldiers and have them fight one another, which would have kept him entertained for hours if it wasn't for the Dursleys and their stupid chores.
I will never let what happened that day happen again. Never.
By March, he could easily lift both feathers and toy soldiers at the exact same time, not even really having to think about it, except when he was using more than three of both.
I wonder if I could make these things come alive…
Once December rolled around, Harry, now eight, had moved on up to his feather-filled pillow and sheet, being able to lift both at the same time and make them move around his cramped cupboard.
One day during winter break, Dudley had tried to sabotage Harry when he was making eggs, as he had not been able to pick on him at school any longer. Each time that he tried, Harry would always disappear.
As the whale of a boy walked by the stove, he "accidently" crashed into Harry, making the boy lose his grip on the pan and have it fall to the ground.
Thinking quickly, Harry barely slowed it's descent with his telekinesis and caught it midair, surprising Dudley and his Aunt and Uncle, who were watching the whole thing with crude smiles.
"What was that freakishness boy?!" Vernon roared, already getting up and preparing to whip him until he screamed for mercy.
"I just have good reflexes," the scrawny boy mumbled, already setting the eggs on the breakfast plates to serve to his horrid relatives.
Vernon stared at the boy, and Harry found himself staring right back. This lasted for several tense seconds before Vernon felt a weird pressure in the back of his head, while Harry began to hear a loud shouting voice that resembled Vernon's but sounded sickly and, dare he say it, even more horrible.
Good for nothing nasty little brat! I should kill him… I should…
Harry quickly looked away, not willing to know what his slob of an uncle thought of him.
The strange pressure went away from Vernon's head, and he was about to spout off some more nonsense when, as luck would have it, the mail carrier had come to deliver a package. Vernon began to put the "idiotic boy and his antics" out of his mind, focusing on the toy that he had bought for himself. A disgusting smile appeared on the man's face as he walked out of the kitchen, while Petunia sat there giving Harry a calculated look, or at least, as calculated a look as the abnormally skinny hag could muster.
Deciding that his presence was no longer needed, the young boy left the kitchen and went back into his cupboard.
I hope that these people rot in Hell… And what the hell was that?! I can read minds too?
Giddy with excitement, the boy quickly began to work out a plan for how he would develop this new skill.
I'll have to use it on the kids at school. I don't exactly want to know what these idiots think of me. Yes, that'll work.
Chuckling a bit at himself, Harry sank back down into his bed, levitating his sheet over himself with a flick of his wrist.
Thoughts of gaining more power to escape his torment stayed with him the entire day.
Sooooo how'd you like it? Good? Bad? Not enough info for an impression?
That's all cool.
I created this so because the idea would literally not get out of my head. I kind of hit a slump with Fallen Angel, and just was not motivated to write it, so that is why you're getting this because I actually feel motivated to write this.
I mean, the fact that I said that I would write this on Friday or Sunday, and then writing it on Thursday is proof enough.
Updates for this might be a bit slower, so once or twice a week with about 2,000+ words per chapter. This is so that I don't kill myself over this like I did last time.
I hope to make this story just as great as 'Strikes' if not better, so call me out if I'm not doing a good job.
Reviews are very welcome, Follows duly appreciated, and Favorites expected (just kidding)
Have a great day guys! And thanks for reading. Any questions just ask. I'll answer. I might even give the plot away if you want.
Holy shit, lucky you guys. I had time to revise, so you get this today! Luckkyyy