Harry Potter was a small boy for his age being inches shorter then his other classmates. He was also a very beautiful child. He had black hair that was messy, but when it reached his shoulders it hung nicely, spiking at the bottom slightly as if trying to fight gravity and half winning. He also had a lithe build with a 'delicate' face, high cheek bones, and pale skin. He also had large stunning emerald eyes that seemed to be precious stones that 'popped' against his complexion. He was someone you would notice, but at the same time, if he didn't want to be seen he would be able to slip into the shadows.

He was also a silent child. He was very quiet spoken, but if he did speak his voice could ensnare you. He was silent when he walked too, but his movements were full of natural grace. He was also built for speed as well as grace. He could move like a shadow across even an open field. He could run fast and as surefooted as a deer. His body was also made for fluid movement, like dodging the worst of hits and kick.

Harry was also intelligent. If you looking into his stunning orbs you could see the brilliance and cunning shinning behind the never ending green. You would also note his intelligence just by watching him. Harry never seemed bored of anything as he would just sit by and observe the world when there was nothing for him to do. Some would take it as lazy until they saw a deep peace and understanding as he observed the world around him. When Harry read the few books he could he always seemed to have a deep understanding of them. Knowing every hidden message and almost knowing what the author felt as they wrote the book also showed his observation skills. Today though was Harry Potter's first day of grade one, he was seven.


Harry sat on one of the many small chairs regally. His back was straight, though he didn't hold himself arrogantly, just politely, calmly. He looked like the example of the perfect silent child sitting in the room filled with children who were crying for their parents, making noise, yelling, or running around. He seemed like an angel to the teacher who was already sighing in exhaustion five minutes after class had started. When she finally had all the kids settled well enough she started to introduce herself and talk cheerfully with them. After an hour of playing small games and some writing practice the teacher, Mrs. Engle, got the children to sit in front of easels and at the tables.

"Now children we're going to have an art period. Today you'll be either painting or coloring."

There were some cheers and giggles as she set all the stuff in reach of the children. She moved to keep an eye on the ones who were painting to make sure they didn't swallow the stuff or slosh it around. She half heartedly watched as she sat in a chair and gazed around the room keeping her eyes more on the rowdy student. Her eyes though, slowly drifted to the child at the back of the room in the art section. Harry Potter. He was probably the quietest and politest first grader she had ever taught. He almost seemed too quiet for his age. She frowned. Maybe he wasn't feeling well? She stood and headed over to him.

It took her five minutes to reach him as kids called her over to help of look at their pictures. She gave them praise about their finger paintings before finally reaching Harry. He sat with the easel back to her seeming focused on the picture. He had turned it so no one could see. She saw he wanted privacy. Many kids liked to keep their pictures secret till they finished for some reason. Instead she smiled over the easel at the child. He looked up at her. His head tilted slightly in question making the left side of his bangs slid over his face slightly. Mrs. Engle thought it made him look utterly cute.

"Are you feeling okay Harry?" she asked.

He gave a small nod as if confused as to why she had asked.

"You're just so quiet."

He frowned as if understanding.

"I'm fine." He answered in a musical voice.

Mrs. Engle decided he had the voice to sing when he got older. She just smiled softly.

"Okay then. Can I see what you're drawing?"

He frowned a moment then nodded. She stepped around the easel expecting to see a finger paining or some splats of color. What she saw made her freeze, mouth open in absolute shock. She stared for a few good minutes and she noticed the child beside her didn't even blink at her, just returned to painting. The painting was beautiful. It was a large rose blossom with dew on the ends of the petals that seemed red on the pink petals. It had all the dimensions almost perfect and even had the petals weighing down with the dew, even the almost red trails the dew left behind. Even the color blend was perfect. It looked like something an artist would paint. Not a seven year old child. She barely noted Harry gently setting his brush down to look it over.

"T-that's amazing Harry." She stuttered unfreezing finally.

"Thank you." He answered before taking the picture and moving to hang it from the drying line.

She noted with surprise that he nimbly clipped the painting up. Usually children couldn't use the clip properly and the pictures hung wonky or scrunched. He had hung it like you would a shirt from a laundry line. She stared at the picture a few more minutes. Absolutely amazing. She sat still stunned and absently answered the children's questions as she stared at the beautiful picture. She never noticed the dew wasn't dew, but blood.


The whip hit his back with a sharp crack. Harry barely flinched, eyes a dulled green as he lay on the ground almost motionless, the belt tying his hands and tied to the bed post didn't jerk once. The whip hit again and Harry felt drops of blood run down his back. So he was bleeding again. It had taken two hits. He felt hit after hit fall until he no longer could tell pain from reality and the bed from blood. His back was burning and splatters of blood flew back with the whip. Finally it stopped and he was still silent. He hadn't opened his mouth once.

"That'll teach you to pass the grade with better marks then Dudley, cheating freak." Vernon hissed above him.

Then he grabbed violently, the belt untied from the bed post but still keeping his wrists tied together. He was dragged across the floor leaving a trail of smeared blood behind. Then he was picked up by the belt, dangling from his wrists as Vernon roughly carried him down the stairs. He was thrown into his cupboard with force, feeling his back light with even more pain as he hit the wood, arching away with the force. He fell limp to the floor as he heard the door slam shut. His green eyes stayed open, staring at nothing. If this was what was considered a family, what would his enemies be like?


Harry stared at all the instruments on the wall his hands itching to run over them. His second grade teacher was also the music teacher and she had quite a large collection of instruments. She had told each kid to pick on to practice on in today's lessons. She had steered the other kids to a cabinet with non-expensive, easy, and durable instruments like the recorder. Harry and drifted to her wall of other ones though. She hadn't said they couldn't pick one from this wall. He gently unhooked the violin in front of him and explored the cherry colored wood with his long graceful fingers. He gently grabbed the bow also and brought the violin to his chin. He ran the bow along it finding which notes were where.

He returned to the circle and sat down listening attentively to the teacher who was attempting to teach them how to read sheet music. She gave them five minutes after wards to try their instruments. The room was filled with off key notes making a loud ruckus. Harry slid over to the teacher and she smiled down at him. He quietly asked if she could teach him more on sheet music. She seemed happy to teach someone who wanted to learn and began to babble about it not even noticing that most of what she said no grade two would understand.

After lessons ended and the recess bell rang she gave the kids permission to go play or stay and practice. The kids gave cheers and most ran off to play outside only a few staying for a few minutes. Finally only Harry was left. The teacher told him she was going to supervise but she trusted him alone in here. When she was gone Harry found a music book for the violin and flipped it open. He moved the bow to the violin and drew it across, soon making a haunting tune flutter through the room. The teacher returned after recess to find him playing a high level song. She immediately came to the conclusion he had already had lessons, not knowing it was his first time even touching an instrument. Never noticing how lacking of real emotion the tune was.


Harry's whole body shook. He tried to keep it under control but it shook no matter what he did. He looked down at the blood dripping to the floor and felt grateful Vernon never touched his hands. Vernon never touched his hands or his face in the beatings as they could easily be seen to easily. He had covered the rest of his body. He leaned against the wall of the cupboard tensely willing his body to stop its shaking from the latest beating. Slowly but surely his body stopped shaking and the pain seemed to wash away as something ran through him in a relaxing way, like a bolt of energy calming him. He drifted off on the blood stained floor.


Harry rolled the words over his tongue then said them aloud. The teacher clapped in a delighted way looking almost like a child with the silly grin on his face. The man was his third grade teacher, and had German heritage. The man had taught the class a few German words for fun and when he had found Harry had a knack for getting it he had started to give him private lessons at lunch and recess. Harry had got the whole language down in five months. Then one of the first grade teachers (not his old one), who knew French, had started to teach him. He had it down in months also. He found languages came to him just as easily as music and art.

He watched as the man hopped around 'hooraying'. He could now speak fluently in German and French. The German teacher had also started him in polish but the man didn't know more then a few words. Harry promised himself to get some language books and learn more on his own. The man never really noticed he had never shown any pride or happiness at learning the languages.


Harry held the flipper in his long delicate fingers and shuffled the sausages around the pan. He heard a timer go and slid from his stool to get the oven mitts, pulling a pan from the oven containing a casserole. Harry quickly set it on the counter and moved to set the table after shuffling the sausages. As soon as the table was set he started to move food to it. He was walking over with the last plate when Dudley entered the room. The chubby boy sneered at him and move to his seat. Harry was almost at the table when a chubby foot caught his own and he tumbled to the ground, dropping the plate of buns. The buns rolled every which way as the plate shattered. Harry felt shards of the glass cut his arms and face as it shattered. Petunia was in the kitchen in an instant.

"How Dare You Ruin My Plate!?" She shrieked at him grabbing his hair and yanking him up.

He let an emotionless mask slip on and looked up at her through the blood dripping into one eye. She smacked him with all her might a few times before she threw him to the ground at Vernon's feet. Vernon looked at him with narrowed eyes and dragged him over to the cupboard throwing him in. He sat in the cupboard for an hour before it opened again. Harry was ready for a beating and was slightly surprised to have a glass of juice slid to him instead.

"Drink it or you won't eat for a week." Vernon snarled at him.

The door shut again and Harry studied the glass. Finally he reached for it and with a soft sigh drank it. It had an odd bitter taste to it. He was barely finished when he dropped the glass from numb fingers. It cracked against the wood as he reeled back. Poison? He wondered faintly as his whole world tilted. He leaned over and threw up in the corner, immediately feeling slightly better. He shook silently and threw up a few more times. Then he collapsed. Suddenly he felt more energized, refreshed, better as he felt his eyes clothes.


Harry gazed at the shelves upon shelves if books. For fourth grade they had to do small research projects and more home reading. His aunt had taken Saturday to bring him and Dudley to the library. Well more Dudley but with no one home she had opted to bring him. Harry had been here numerous times before though. He had come every time his relatives had locked him out for the day when they had guests of just wanted to be alone and have 'family' time. He had walked the few blocks to the library every time. Harry slipped away from his aunt and cousin and went towards the stairs that led upstairs. He knew his aunt would probably slip away when he wasn't looking and go home as if hoping he wouldn't make it back himself. He just shook his head and moved to the science and physiology books. He always made it back, never concerned when she left him.


He, for once, fought against the hands. One set of meaty hands held him down, and teeth ripped into one leg. Another set of large hands pried his mouth open and forced something inside. He frantically fought back as he knew what would happen if he swallowed. He wouldn't let them kill him! Not them! He heard laughter above him. They weren't very quick though and before they could clamp a hand over his mouth he spit the liquid out. He heard growls as a sharp slap hit his face. His mouth felt like it was on fire. Something was rubbed into the wounds on his stomach and for once he screamed. He had taken one of the worst beatings ever today and now they were pouring something in the wounds. This was salt in his wounds, literally. He screamed until he couldn't breathe, until darkness finally claimed him.


Harry idly pulled another weed from the garden, shifting the dirt so it looked nice again afterwards before moving to the next weed. He wiped at his brow with his opposite hand wincing slightly as he felt his back muscles ache. He closed his eyes and rested for a split second before his aunt's screech made him continue. He hadn't had water all day and no food since last night. His looked at his hand as he felt it grow wet. His last nail was now bleeding. They were already torn from the dirt and chores but now they were bleeding. He just pulled the last weed out.

As he stood water from a hose hit him. He heard Dudley giggle and wondered how stupid his cousin was. His cousin seemed to think he was annoying Harry by washing the sweat and dirt from him. Harry acted like he was annoyed and drank as much water as he could while scrubbing his hands. When Dudley got bored and returned to running through the water and pool Harry moved to the porch. His aunt gave him a disapproving frown from her lawn chair and tossed him a half full water bottle and a couple pieces of bread. He grabbed them and sat behind the shed in the shade and out of sight.

When he was finished he just rested a moment. After a minute he found the fence across from him uninteresting and started to idly snap his fingers. He watched the flame that lit up every time he did so. He had been able to do this since he could remember. Control fire that was. He snapped his fingers again and left the flame to grow over his hand as it greedily sucked up oxygen and burned above his hand. The heat didn't even faze him. Not that he felt it much. He tossed the fire ball to his second hand before making a few more. He started to juggle them around changing them between red, orange, blue and white.

After a moment he took a blue fire ball and made the rest vanish. He moulded the fire like you would clay, making a small blue dragon before making it twirl around his arm. He quickly smothered the flame as he heard his aunt calling him. He had to start dinner now or Vernon would be mad. He didn't need another beating this week. He would have to get an excuse for Gym then to hide the welts and bruises. It would be tiresome to get a good excuse.


End of Chapter 1.