Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, it belongs to J.K. Rowling.

Rating: PG-Possibly R (Depends) Will Contain mentions of Abuse/Neglect and Violence.

Pairings: Harry/Tonks (Note, can be changed if enough Reviews ask it to)

Summary: Our story begins when Harry is a little boy, around 4 or 5, and is being beaten rather savagely by his uncle. Nearing a panicked state, Harry uses accidental magic on his Uncle to make him stop. And that, is when everything that would have been canon changes in the Harry Potter Universe….


If one should ever visit the Dursley Household, they would find a clean, happy place. Several pictures would adorn the wall, showing many adorable or happy photos of Dudley Dursley, his parents behind with proud visages and beaming smiles. No one ever knew about the skeleton in their closets, the fourth occupant of Number 12 Privet Drive, Little Whinging Surrey. No one would ever think to look in the cupboard under the stairs, or strain their ears to hear the faint sound of someone breathing quietly in misery.

No, Harry Potter was a child who was hidden from existence, just as Albus Dumbledore wanted him to be. Thin, Malnourished, Poor eyesight, Emotionally/Physically Damaged, and well on his way to becoming a premier chef, Harry was slowly dying at the miserable hellhole. Regularly beat, often gardening, cooking, or cleaning, and shoved away in his small room when not needed, Harry was miserable. He often prayed for someone or even something to come and rescue him, to show him the love that Vernon and Petunia never hesitated to show Dudley. To have someone look at him and call him Harry with a smile on their face, instead of being yelled at with the titles "BOY" and "Freak". For someone to tell him they loved him, instead of being told he was worthless, just like his drunk of a father and whore of a mother. Sometimes, it got so bad that Harry found himself contemplating suicide, at a mere 4 years old.

Harry was contemplating such a subject right now when the front door opened and he heard Uncle Vernon reenter the house after work. Kissing his wife, hugging his son, the aforementioned man turned to find the blemish on his perfect household. Glowering, he yelled, "BOY! Make dinner!"

Sighing mentally, he meekly replied, "Yes, Uncle Vernon," and got around to the kitchen to get out some soup and some bread and cheese. Grabbing a pot and a griddle, turning on the stove, and preparing chicken noodle soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, Harry's stomach rumbled at the scent of food, which he had been deprived of for a good 26 hours now. Asserting immense will power over his instinct to eat the food he was preparing, he finished the grilled cheese sandwiches and began stirring the soup. Just as he lifted the soup off the stove with a ladle to serve it, Dudley entered the room and purposely bumped into Harry.

To Harry's horror, he dropped the soup in abject shock and was covered from head to toe in scalding liquid, noodles, and meat. Whimpering in pain, he only noticed too late Vernon's expression of rage as he picked Harry off the ground and threw him into the wall. Upon the impact, Harry's body tensed, his muscles protested, his bones cracked slightly with micro fractures, and his vision became fuzzy as his glasses flew off. Oxygen starved from losing all the air in his lungs, he tried to breathe and succeeded partially with a small bit of air making its way to his lungs. Then he started coughing. By now, Vernon had made his way over to him. Flipping Harry onto his back, he took off his belt and raised it in his right hand as one would a whip. And to the uncaring gazes of his aunt and cousin, his Uncle Vernon grinned before swiping his hand through the air, the belt following through his motion as an extension of his arm. The heavy leather bit into the child's backside with force, making said child cry out in agony. It went on this way for a good few minutes, starting with 3, then 4, beginning to reach 5, when Harry finally began begging.

"Please, just stop!"

"Shut up you FREAK!"

"Stop, just stop it!"

"I…Said…Shut…Up!" Each word was accompanied with a slash. With a heave of exertion, he slammed Harry right side up again, taking pleasure in the tears running down Harry's face that held an agonized expression. Raising the whip one more time, aiming for his head, Vernon was not prepared for what happened next.

Just as the whip was ascending, Harry yelled out with all his strength, accompanied by thrusting his hands out in front of him as if to shield himself. "STOP," which was followed by a force of immense power propelling Vernon out the door of the kitchen and into the backyard, bringing Petunia and Dudley with him as he crashed into them. Stunned, he waited a few moments before trying to get up. What he didn't see was that while simultaneously throwing the Dursley's outside of their house, he levitated the fridge, the oven, the table, the chairs, and the couches in the living room, and they all followed the Dursley's outside and pummeled into them, leaving all of them unconscious, with many broken/shattered bones, Dudley with brain damage, Vernon unable to sire children anymore, and Petunia dead. With the only family of Harry's left deceased, the blood wards set up by Albus Dumbledore collapsed, returning all of the power they had been draining back to Harry, healing his wounds, scars, malnourishment, and eyesight. All in all, he looked the way a 4 year old should look, but with a slightly more mature visage. As Harry felt the power flow back into him, he unconsciously followed it into his body where he found his magical core, swirling and writhing with untamed power. Looking closely, he related the feeling of it to a thunderstorm, with enormous storm clouds, large bolts of lightning, and tempest winds. Instinctively grasping it, he began wishing to go to a better place, to a place he would be loved. And with a loud crack, Harry Potter disappeared from Number 12 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.