In ignorance it was believed that only humans could, and would evolve until a young magician abused by his human family proved differently, as he gained a magical mutation. To control symbology. Using his power as a conduit for psychic control, and destruction of minds, along with power over mana (magic) in its purist forms. Swearing to use his powers to protect the weak.

Crossover - Harry Potter & X-Men: Evolution - Rated: T - English - Fantasy/Sci-fi - Chapters: 1 - Words: 3,911 - Reviews: 28 - Updated: 8/16/2014 - Published: 8/16/2014 - [Harry P., Rogue/Anna Marie] [Daphne G., Scarlet Witch/Wanda M.]

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"Get out here boy!" He bellowed from the hallway. He was furious, and stinking drunk. He stunk of alcohol as he usually did. He looked angrier than Harry had seen him in a long while as he tore the door open to glare in a raging temper at the small annoyance of a child hidden within the confines of the small space with barely any rags to sleep on.

Harry Potter was a small boy with a mess of black hair and stunning emerald coloured eyes. He was the man's nephew, not by blood, but his Aunt Petunia never cared about him any more than his Uncle Vernon Dursley, if anything, she hated him more because she had hated her sister, Lily, Harry's mother. It never crossed her mind that if the rolls had been reversed that Dudley, her son would have been treated right. It never crossed her mind since the death of Lily and her husband James that she should take good care of Harry, and so she did the opposite.

Therefore, treating him right was furthest thing from her mind, and certainly her husbands; if he had a mind of his own. After all Lily and James had been 'freaks', and therefore, Harry must be a freak too. He was, odd things happened; he healed what should have taken weeks or months in hours or days, and strange things generally happened around him, so they tried to beat it out of him, but that wasn't working. It never did cross their minds that if they stopped trying to beat it out of him it wouldn't happen in the first place because it was defending him as best it could. But the Dursley's weren't very bright.

It was Harry's birthday again. He didn't like his birthday. His uncle got drunk on Harry's birthday, and gave him a birthday present. Well, he called it that, but what he meant was a birthday beating. It was to teach him a lesson in being a scrounger, and how everyone, Dursley's especially hated scroungers. Even though the Dursley's forced Harry to do every single chore his small size could manage, alone! They still called him a good for nothing scrounger who eats their food for free when he had earned his fill he still had to live off scrapes and he wanted to hurt them for their greed.

Harry had to wear old clothes that never could fit him properly, so he looked as if he was drowning in them. They once belonged to the Dursley's spoilt and massive son, Dudley. He was only a month older than Harry, but already eight sizes larger. Harry had to use string and tap to keep his trousers from falling down, and he refused point blank to touch any of that boy's underwear.

Vernon Dursley was a larger than fat, bloated man. He stood red-faced with rage, glaring hatefully at his freak nephew. He was holding a thick leather belt and sneering down at the innocent young boy. Vernon grabbed his skinny good for nothing house parasite by the arm, dragging him clear from his cupboard viciously yanking him and nearly throwing him into the wall while he yelped, whimpered and started to cry, which was natural for a small child.

Vernon's belt arm came up, and then with a vicious grin the belt slammed into Harry's face. The young boy cried out weakly as he fell to the floor. Vernon Dursley maliciously beat his nephew repeatedly with his belt, and occasionally kicking him as he curled up crying on the floor, blood leaking from his split lips. However, unnoticed by either of them was the faint markings on Harry's skin of a yellow so pale they would have been near impossible for Vernon to see as he stood so high above his nephew, even if he wasn't busy enjoying himself.

Harry was all cried out, limp and seemingly lifeless by the time he was thrown back into his cupboard. He was bruised all over and bleeding but for his first ever birthday, his pain felt numb, and he was sure nothing was broken, or at least fully broken. He knew he was different. They called him a freak because he was different, but some day he knew he would know why he was a freak, and the Dursley's would pay.

He could taste the copper from his blood and felt dizzy, tired, and drained. However, no matter the heroes he had heard his cousin praise from the picture box, no hero came to rescue him. Though, in all fairness his aunt and uncle hated these 'freaks' that popped up from time to time saving lives as much as they hated him. He didn't know who they were or why they did what they did, but he knew they were much better people than the Dursley's could ever hope to be.

His anger at the Dursley's could only be surpassed by his anger for this 'Old Man'. His aunt had ranted and raved many times about how much she hated this 'freak' for dumping Harry on their doorstep and forcing them to take him in. Harry was quick to realise they were afraid of this 'Old Man', and he was also to blame for Harry's hell, laughing behind his back no doubt.

This 'Old Man'. Harry knew he should look out for him. This 'Old Man' deserved his hate, and Harry wouldn't forgive anyone who would love to see a child of any kind tormented and beaten by these monsters. He knew the old man knew how he was going to be treated. They had admitted that they wouldn't be watched, whoever these 'they' were, Harry suspected they bowed before the evil old man the way his aunt said things, and Harry couldn't doubt her as he always knew when someone was lying, it was a gift.

Harry knew his damage would be gone in a few days if his aunt, uncle and cousin left him for long enough to heal, not that they would if they had an 'excuse' to take out their bad lives on him. He wondered why he wanted to live so much. He certainly didn't get fed enough to at least say he was healthy. He was always hungry, and thirsty, and smelt bad a lot too, like blood and sweat.

He lay quietly on his rags healing, he could feel it, and thinking, well, that was all he ever had to do, wincing as he rolled over. He grit his teeth in frustration and anger. Someday he would be stronger. He could feel it coercing through his blood and for the first time he saw it. His vision suddenly came into sharp focus, and he could see unlike anything he had ever imagined before.

At five, even for a genius five-year-old boy, he could be considered smart, so he knew his eyes had been bad, very bad. His sight had been an annoyance, and other than pretending to be stupid as not to do better than his cousin he couldn't see the white board as he was forced to sit at the back of class 'out of the teachers way'. It was just as well as it was tiring and very hard to do worse than Dudley, and he preferred not to be beaten up by his uncle for 'cheating'.

Harry frowned and his little emerald eyes stared at his skin. It was dark in his cupboard prison, but he could see as clear as if it was day inside. That was when he saw them for the first time. They were colours of light beyond what he understood. They blended into the world in strands and waves. They each held some kind of pattern, symbols, and strange letters he had never seen before.

He blinked his eyes a few times, confused, and everything went dark. He lay back, baffled, but shrugged it off as his imagination. He was just going mad, but then, maybe he had already gone mad, and maybe this was his punishment. Maybe he had never been sane, or at least not in his memory because he had been tortured insane, and couldn't do anything about that.

Frowning he realised that the scar on his forehead stung, and touching it he was surprised that it was bleeding whereas it wasn't before. That was weird, but what was more was the strange clumpy texture, and the odd smell and feeling. It felt like something had shrivelled up and died. It was like that time he watched his uncle snapped the neck of the baby bird he had rescued from a mean cat. He wiped the gunk away on some of his rags before he let his eyes drift shut and passed out.

The scar would be completely gone in the morning, and Harry ended up with another beating as if it was his fault the scar the 'Old Man' said was important to the freaks was gone. He did wonder about that, and how or why a scar on an abused child could be important, and if it was so why not protect Harry and not enjoy his pain. He would have to think on that more while he was beating the old man to death, maybe ask him.

He didn't find it odd, or question the morality of his thoughts, and wouldn't for years, but to him life was a fleeting toy. He didn't feel that someone who made others suffer deserved to have him think twice about killing them. He honestly didn't care about the lives of people who would harm the defenceless and innocent as these people had.

When Harry had to learn to be so quiet that his 'family' couldn't hear him, even while doing household chores he heard a lot of secrets. The Dursley's were by no means good to anyone else either, behind their backs at least. They said that Harry's parents were drunkards and died in a car crash, which he knew was not true, but finding out they were murdered by some freak was a shock.

Hearing about his parent's murder was startling, and more so that he got away after trying to kill Harry. That added another person to Harry's growing list of vengeance. The Dursley's didn't know much about him, except he was a seriously dark freak.

Harry was coming to believe that freak was there word to mean something else entirely. He was certain there was much more to it than that. He hoped that someday soon they would mess up, just for a moment while he was within hearing range, and then he would know who he had to face. He was supposedly a hero to these freaks, and he wondered what that meant.

The worst thing Harry discovered about his present situation was that the Dursley's were being paid large sums of money to keep him 'alive' and well enough to join these freaks. He took that to mean what he was sure it did. The freaks wanted him to see them as his saviours. Then he would do their bidding, but it was too late, he would find out the truth, he had too, and then they would die, no matter how long it took him.

It was several weeks later and school had started again. The teachers as usual were the same. It was like magic hid the things that Dudley did and forced them to blame Harry for everything no matter the evidence to prove otherwise. The teachers only smiled when Harry fled from Dudley and his cohort of bullies. They cornered him down an alley between school buildings.

Dudley went in to punch Harry when he closed his eyes tight and wished to be far away as he really hated the way they taunted him as if he could fight back if he wanted to without a larger beating from his uncle. However, the beating never arrived and little Harry carefully pealed his eyes open. He didn't know where he was for a moment, but it was certainly far away. It was dark and creepy. It was cold and foreboding. It was the cupboard under the stairs. He had felt safe within the cold darkness of his prison enough that he fled their even with 'freakiness', but he now understood, he had power, and he had to figure out what it was.

The beating Harry had received for that was beyond anything, but he felt numb, and he felt that the bruises and fractures were finally worth it. He spent three days to heal and recover from that attack, and he watched the strange pale green markings, odd numbers and letters as they slid through his skin, muscle, and bone. He watched as the strange light knitted everything back together and seemed to keep his hunger pains at bay.

Harry was back at school the next Monday with a headache as he listened. He could hear every word throughout the playground. The voices were too loud and jumbled, but as he concentrated he could zero in on certain people, teachers complaining about their students, students complaining about their teachers and then more. He heard weird things from older kids and adults alike.

His eyes flickered to his right, and he could see further than he would have thought possible as he zeroed in on a voice that was unfamiliar because he knew all of the men that taught at the school and he wasn't one of them, but he never moved his lips.

The man was scruffy and pudgy. He had balding brown hair, which was a surprise to Harry as the man wore a blue baseball cap, so how did he know that. He wore blue jog bottoms and a grey hoody. His trainers were caked in mud, and there was a small red van with paint chipped off showing the grey primer underneath. The engine was not on but Harry could see inside the car and the doors were unlocked with the key in the ignition.

'Yes, which one this time?' the man asked himself, licking his lips, but other than that Harry frowned further as the man didn't say that, but at the same time he was certain he did. 'Yes, that little blonde is cute!' the man commented and Harry's eyes seemed to follow his thought as he watched an older girl wearing a white summer dress as it was a nice hot day, she was nine, and her name was April, yet Harry had never known that, and that confused him as he looked back towards the man.

Harry stepped back with wide eyes as he got flashes and images as he stared deeper within the man. He was horrid, rotten, worse than his uncle if that could be believed. He was a killer, not just that, but he was a child killer. He had killed before and he would kill again. Harry knew he would get nothing from saving April, but if he didn't he would be no better than the Dursley's, or the old man, and he would never sink as to be so low.

Harry felt sick as he saw some of the images, and he would never be able to live with himself if April ended up like that before she was brutally murdered. He would think of her and his other victims day and night. He needed to do something. He thought of the teachers but they would never believe him and after her kidnapping he would get the blame.

The man made his move as the girl and her friends neared the fence where he had parked his van. Harry could hear the man call them over, smiling, offering sweets. The girls were stupid. They took what the man called bait, and it took less than a second for April to be in his grasp. He covered her mouth so she couldn't scream and her friends were too shocked.

However, when the man turned to his car, holding April he was much more shocked to see little Harry standing in his way than Harry was as he had jumped like that before. He had closed his eyes tight and wished to stop the man, so that he could save April, and be someone's hero whereas no one would be his, even if she would never appreciate it he knew he could be her hero.

"Oh, so you want to come too do you?" the man asked, not seeing the symbols of gold in Harry's eyes as he was angry, and for the first time he knew he could let his anger out, "might be fun to tape-."

Harry didn't know what he did, or what came over him when he rose his right hand out, and golden light lit up with white patterns and writing of words and letters, numbers and symbols that made no sense, crawling along his hand and under his sleeve on his arm, up the right side of his neck and face. His hair flared up into bright golden white light.

The man staggered back in shock and horror while his nose and ears started to bleed, "y-you're bad… horrid," Harry mumbled in fear before he closed his hand and blood leaked from the man's eyes to go with his nose and ears as he dropped to his knees, wide eyed with terror and a pain Harry knew he would never want to experience.

April fell to the floor and scrambled away as the man collapsed to the ground, twitching and drooling before Harry passed out from exhaustion. His head felt like it was on fire, and the golden light and white markings splashed away to nothing.

On the other side of the Atlantic Ocean Charles Xavier cried out in pain as he pulled off a stylish silver helmet from his bald head. He was gasping for breath and sweating while it took his usually calm blue eyes a few moments to focus back on his present location. He was wearing a cream coloured suit without a tie and with the top few buttons left undone. He was in a large sphere chamber on a bridge in the centre with silver tiles surfacing the sphere.

"Professor, are you okay?" Jean Grey asked in worry as she stood next to where he sat in his wheelchair as he had been paralysed at a young age. She was a beauty at just fourteen years of age. She wore blue jeans and a red tee shirt. She had long crimson red hair to her waist and gentle green eyes that were worried about her teacher and mentor.

"Yes, Jean, thank you, I think I'll be okay!" he said, calming his breathing, "but that boy… I must find him, and soon before anything else-."

"Professor?" she asked, worried.

He nodded his head and offered her a comforting smile before he looked away with a grim frown. "I found a small boy of five or six. His abilities have awoken so soon. He's psychic, and gifted too, when he is older he'll be a force to be cautious of. He just shattered a man's mind, and that is what he did while a child. If he learned to harness this power for someone who does not care for his well-being or that of others while he is an adult…" He left the rest to her imagination while she looked horrified.

"Oh no, but what about the man, could you fix him?" she asked uncertainly.

He shook his head, frowning, "no I could not, and you should not show him too much pity as the young boy, Harry if I'm not mistaken, stopped him from kidnapping a nine year old girl," he said which caused her to gasp in horror as he didn't believe in sugar coating such important details as they could get his students and friends hurt, and he would rather worry them with the truth rather than having their minds wonder, worry, panic, or everything and more, getting aggravated that they got hurt searching for the truth themselves. "I had detected the boy when he… I'm not sure whether he heard people's voices or their present thoughts while they spoke, most likely the latter-."

"So… are we going to try and find him?" she asked in concern. "He has to be a good kid if he saved someone, right?"

"I'm not sure he understands the concept of right and wrong the same way we do," he said calmly, "but we need to find him soon before he kills his family in another outburst."

"But why would he-?" she trailed off as he gave her a look. It may be different, but her mother and father didn't want her after they knew what she could do, but looking at the Professor she knew this kid had it a lot worse than she ever had, and she didn't need her mind reading power to see that, and that made her want to find the boy and hug him tightly.

She was a psychic too, so they had that in common. So their powers were likely different in different ways, she could help him like the Professor helped her. It would be nice she reasoned, like having a little brother as she didn't know any other mind readers to adopt as her little brother or sister.

"His parents are dead," Xavier said, bringing her mood down a little. "He lives with his aunt, uncle, and cousin somewhere within a county outside of London in England, but I couldn't say where as at the time I was concentrating on him more, and trying to find him again could be trouble if he senses me and freaks out. He is just a scared child, and he needs our help."

"Right, so let's get on it!" she agreed, determined and pumping her right fist in the air, already planning what she could do to make him happy. Maybe she could take him to the park, and cinema, and out for fast food, and maybe Scott would tag along too. She hoped they both got along if Harry was going to be her new little brother, but of course they would.

Xavier smiled slightly as if he knew what she was thinking even without having a peek, "it just looks like we'll have to try this the old fashioned way," he said, which brought her down a bit.

"I think I'll be able to sense him if we get close enough," Jean said with a reassuring smile.

He nodded his reply, "yes, I was thinking the same of myself, so we'll leave Logan here, and you me, Storm and Scott should go-."

"Right - let's go!"