Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Prologue

The tension was high at Privet Drive when Harry arrived home for the summer holidays, on the second day it finally exploded.

Vernon had only been speaking to him if it was to give him an order, while Dudley avoided him like the pox. On the odd chance that they did pass each other in the hall or by the bathroom, Dudley would immediately cover his mouth and run.

Apparently Petunia had also not forgotten or forgiven Harry for indirectly causing Dudley to eat the Ton Tongue Toffee the year before. Even though it was Fred and George who had been the ones to drop it, Harry was held responsible because they were his freaky friends.

It was Wednesday, and Harry was just sitting down to his second dinner at Privet Drive when Petunia had finally cracked. She had been acting peculiarly all day. Not once had she ordered him to do a single job, and she had even allowed him to keep his trunk in his room with him.

Needless to say Harry was very suspicious as to what was going on. His aunt had cooked dinner herself, and served him a rather large pile of rice, and a very small amount of everything else.

That was when Harry knew something was amiss, but could only hazard a few guesses as to what it was.

He didn't think that his aunt would try to murder him, but it would explain why she wasn't giving anyone else rice besides himself.

Petunia only confirmed his fears that something was not right as she kept watching him almost expectantly every time he picked up his fork. When Harry had made a move to leave, she had grabbed his wrist and yelled at him that he wasn't excused until he finished his rice.

That was icing on the cake. Never once, in his fourteen years of existence had Petunia ever forced or even urged him to eat, anything. Harry, noting the odd gleam in her eyes, said he had to go to the bathroom but would be back to finish his food afterwards.

Having no intentions of going to the bathroom, Harry dashed to his cupboard where, using the pickpocket he had received from Fred and George, he picked the lock open. While he was working, a voice kept nagging at the back of his head.

His aunt had just tried to poison him! Harry knew that she wasn't fond of him, but poison! Harry shook his head in wonder as the lock finally gave away.

Thanking Merlin that the hinges hadn't squeaked as he open the wooden door, Harry hurriedly reached inside. After grabbing his wand and firebolt, Harry cautiously made for the door. He had to get out before his relatives realized that he was not coming back.

He was only three feet away when suddenly Harry was thrown back as the door exploded. The force caused Harry to land in a heap against the far wall as bits of the door and dust settled around him.

What was that! Shaking his head in an effort to clear his vision, Harry readjusted his glasses, which had fallen from the bridge of his nose as his back had made contact with the hard wall.

"WHAT-DID YOU DO BOY!" Harry heard Vernon bellow as three blurry heads popped out of the kitchen and into Harry's view. Just as the three blobs started to take shape into the familiar faces of the Durselys, another figure blocked everything as it moved barley two inches from his very face.

Startled that someone was in the house, and even more shocked that they were so close to him, practically breathing in the air that was coming shakily out of his mouth.

"Are you alright?" Asked a feminine voice impatiently. Harry was so relieved that it wasn't a masked Death Eater or Voldemort in front of him that he only managed a weak nod in response. The face immediately moved away when he answered and stood, the person became recognizable. There, standing over Harry gripping her wand was Mrs. Figg.

Harry managed to hide his shock as his neighbor rounded on his family. He wasn't able to see her face, but he was certainly able to see the Dursley's. Dudley squeaked and duck back inside the safety of the kitchen quickly followed by his mother.

Only Vernon seemed to be able to stand up to the extremely irate witch. "Get out." He growled fiercely, though his eyes betrayed what he was really feeling inside. Fear.

Mrs. Figg took another step closer to Vernon. "Not without Harry." Vernon's show off bravado was pushed to his limits at Figg's last statement as he ran back inside to join his wife and son.

Harry was beginning to stand when he heard Vernon's shout from the kitchen. "Take the boy but don't expect us to take him back…ever!"

"Not a problem." Figg replied icily as she repaired the house back to its state as of ten minutes ago. Harry was fully on his feet again and was busy dusting himself off when Mrs. Figg whirled on him. "Is your head alright?" She said indicating the red gash that went from the right side of his forehead to the top of his cheekbone.

Harry was still too stunned too speak, but the pain in his head forced him too realize that he was indeed bleeding. Apparently Figg was getting impatient for an answer because she promptly began to tap her foot…loudly.

Harry raised his head and met her eyes. "Yes I'm fine, just a scratch." Figg looked unconvinced, but she didn't argue as she summoned his magical things.

"Where's the rest of you're things? You do have a trunk don't you?" Harry pointed his finger dumbly towards the stairs, indicating that it was upstairs.

With a flick of her wand, Harry's trunk appeared next his other things. "As you can tell I am a witch Harry, I have been watching after you ever since you came to Privet Drive." Harry, having already realized this, said nothing.

"The protection charms over you sent off the alarms in my house when your life was endangered. I immediately assumed that Death Eaters were attacking. Imagine my shock when I found none. Care to explain?"

In response Harry gave her a look that clearly said 'I don't want to talk about it.' "Where are you taking me?"

Figg returned the favor and didn't answer. Harry had no choice but to follow her out the door as she and his trunk left.

Harry was going to suggest taking the Knight Bus to the Leaky Cauldron; he could spend the rest of the summer there. But Arabella apparently had other plans because she was in the middle of taking a note off a very familiar bird's leg. It was a Phoenix, Fawkes to be exact.

Harry stood there, dumbstruck for the second time that night as his old neighbor read the small piece of parchment hurriedly.

It must have been a short letter because it took her only a few moments for her head to snap back up and notice Harry. "I'm taking you to Hogwarts where Dumbledore intends for you to spend the rest of the summer." Harry had to follow her and his floating school things as she started to walk briskly towards her house. "We can floo there from my house, but we must hurry though because I was only able to get the network open for the next ten minutes. Dumbledore isn't expecting you so soon though. I told him I'd take you in the morning."

"But since I could only get our fireplaces connected for only the next, -" she paused to read her watch, "- nine minutes, you'll have to go now."

Harry couldn't help the smile that was slowly lighting up his face. The WHOLE summer at Hogwarts! It was almost too good to be true. He could play Quidditch, eat until he became as fat as Dudley and he could even do his homework during the day, not that he was particularly looking forward to that bonus.

Mrs. Figg already had a roaring fire going by the time he reached the fireplace. Harry mumbled thanks before throwing the powder in and shouting, "HOGWARTS"

Harry came out surprisingly on his feet and with his clothes relatively intact. He looked to his feet to make she he hadn't lost his trunk which now held his wand, firebolt, and school supplies. Happy that he had actually had a pleasant experience with flooing, Harry looked up to see where he was.

He was in Dumbledore's office, and so were three other people. One of which was Dumbledore, who he had seen hundreds of times since his first year. The other two were also familiar, though he had never actually seen them in person; only in old photos.

All of those had been taken prior to October 31, 1985. Yes, standing there were Lily and James Potter. They had clearly aged in the last fourteen years or so, but there was no mistaking the same emerald eyes that he saw every morning when he looked into the mirror, just as there was no mistaking the same jet black hair, nose, chin, forehead-hell bloody same face he saw looking back at him whenever he looked at his own reflection.

But it couldn't be, James and Lily Potter were dead. Weren't they?

AN: I know this is short but it IS a prologue, let me know if I should stop, or review to keep me going. Suggestions welcome.