DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANYTHING, FOR THE MOST PART THE CHARACTERS BELONG TO JKROWLING WITH A FEW OF MY OWN CREATIONS ADDED TO THE MIX. I DO NOT OWN THE WORLD THEY ARE IN THEY ARE THE CREATION OF SOMEONE GREATER THAN ME AT WRITING.

The Lost Potter and the Philosophers Stone - Chapter One

"I thought that we'd knocked that rubbish out of you! There is no such thing as magic and you will do better to remember that unless you want to be sent to a freak show!"

Harry Potter was roughly shoved into his bedroom at number four Privet Drive, black hair messy as ever, emerald green eyes seeing luminously into the darkness of the room he had so "kindly" been supplied by his relatives. His face was covered in small, browning bruises that would fade by the time anyone really important saw him. A lightning-bolt scar on his forehead stood out an angry red against the pale white of the unbruised skin on his forehead.

His uncle's yells rebounded off the pealing red walls, they seemed to go on for hours but the yells themselves really only lasted a minute. None of this was the fault of young Mr Potter; the eleven year old boy had only asked his cousin, Dudley Dursley (obese, spoilt, with a personality that an ape would be hard pressed to meet), what the magic word was at the dinner table at least an hour prior.

"You're lucky that me and Petunia were happy to take you in after your parents left you outside on the street, not even them with all their abnormalities couldn't stand to keep you! If we'd had any sense we'd have sent you to an orphanage where you belong!"

Harry couldn't have predicted the outrage that had followed. His aunt had swung the heated frying pan at the back of his head (though he had ducked just in time for the frying pan to go over his head, it had still singed the tip of his head causing it to give out a slight smoky smell even an hour later).Uncle Vernon had started to yell, flushing red and swelling to the alarming size that he always seemed to reach when he was annoyed by anyone ('anyone' in this case was Harry).

"Lord knows we should have sent you to an insane asylem when we first laid eyes on you. The son of two freaks can't be expected to grow up nice and normal live every other child, the child of two unloving parents can't be expected to fit in with everyone who has parents who actually love them! We took you in because you looked so pitiful out there that, out of the kindness of our hearts we took you in! And how do you repay us?"

Idly, Harry noticed that his uncle had started spitting as he ranted. For as long as Harry could remember, the Dursleys had always seemed to dislike him to the fullest extent. His Aunt had been the kindest to him, occasionally shortening the time that he had to spend in his room when he was being punished, she was in fact the one that gave him his room when she realised that the cupboard was getting too small for him. She however, always sneered down her nose at him when in his company, looking at him with a watchful eyes as her husband and her son ripped into Harry at any opportunity. Nobody outside of the family had guessed anything was off, all scars were covered bar the one shaped like a lightning bolt on his forehead which his Aunt complained "made people stare at him".

And then we raise you to the best of our abilities, giving you everything that people at an orphanage can only dream of. We gave you our food, our water, even giving you a room in our house and you still let us down as soon as you can!"

All the bruises that Vernon and Dudley Dursley had inflicted on him were on his chest and were cleverly (though Harry doubted he could say that about any other action that Dusleys had ever done while he was living with them) hidden by his clothing. Once, one of his teachers had suspected something during a swimming lesson that Harry had been excused from "for health reasons" but the Dursleys had somehow stopped all lines of enquiries.

What the teacher had done, however, was stop the hitting that had started off about three years after he had been abandoned on the Dursleys' doorstep when he was one year old. When he was tiny the abuse was smaller than hitting, the Dursleys (out of some well hidden sense of right and wrong) hadn't hit him then, they had settled for not changing his diaper for days, spitting at him if he asked questions and throwing objects at him if he dared to leave a mark on the doors or walls of Number Four.

"Your parents didn't even want you! What does that make…?"

Harry had never known his parents. Vague memories that pushed themselves in a fuzzy state were all the comfort he had on long nights locked in his room but they never had come in sharp focus or with sound. Memories of a red headed woman crying over him with a man with black hair comforting her sometimes came to him when he was asleep along with whispered promises of safety, but most common in his dreams, something that stayed with him even when all the other memories (if that was even what they were) had faded away from his mind, was a flash of green light and a pair of cold, snakelike eyes.

"If I see you outside of this room any time before Christmas, I'll make sure you live to regret it!" Uncle Vernon finished at a deafening roar and he slammed the door behind him as he left. A key turned the lock, and Harry was alone. The first thing he did was to go to the window after he was sure his uncle wasn't going to come back, the streetlamp outside of the house flickered slightly as he looked out over the street and observed one of Mrs Figg's cats as it made its way back to its house.

'I'm not a freak' Harry thought to himself as the cat entered the house across the street. He glanced down at where the cat had been not a moment before, holding onto the curtains, preparing to go to bed 'but they don't see that do they?' He was just about to head away from the window when he noticed something on the corner of the street 'Hello.' There was a man with half-moon spectacles standing at the end of the street. He had long robes which reached the street, in the dim light Harry couldn't quite tell what the color was. The stranger had long white hair which was held in by a belt on his waist. Harry's gaze met the gaze of the stranger, even from where he stood on the second floor of the building he could see the look on the man's face, disappointment and shame.

Harry raised a hand, not wanting to be considered rude, the man nodded and continued to stare. 'How late is it?' Harry wasn't sure, he looked at the newly mended alarm clock on his bedside table, was it really ten in the evening? The Dursleys would be heading to bed soon. He looked back at the stranger, but he was gone. He looked up and down the street but there was nowhere that the person could have gone to.

Laying down on the sagging bed, which sagged more as he lay down on it, Harry looked at the aged ceiling, contemplating the way that the white paint was flecked here and there from when the effort of holding itself to the wall had become too much for it. Harry closed his emerald green eyes, turned over under the blanket and slipped into an uneasy sleep. 'Perhaps I'll be better tomorrow.'

XXXOXXX

The inhabitants of Godric's Hollow hid from the storm inside their houses. Even though it was Halloween, there were no children out, the storm blew so hard that even the bravest child gave up all their ideas of trick or treating and replaced them with thoughts of warm fires and hot chocolates. The wind, the rain and a tall snakelike man were the only occupants of the streets.

Tom Marvolo Riddle, more commonly known as Voldemort, walked down the empty streets, a small, cruel, smile playing on his lips and the thin slants of his eyes searched quickly through each of the houses. Looking for witnesses that couldn't walk free.

Soon enough, he reached the Potter's house. Lucky really, that his spy had been trusted enough to be the secret keeper. Opening the gate to the house Tom's smile faded a little as he looked in through the windows. Sitting on a sofa was a brown headed man holding a red headed boy, this wouldn't have been an issue, if there hadn't been another in the house. An older blonde woman, clearly not Lily Potter, was standing while holding a black haired child in her arms, Harry Potter.

As if alerted by his thoughts the man looked up at him. Tom saw his face and within an instant knew who he was, Anthony Goldstein, brother of one of the ministry's minor managers but one of the top aurors the ministry had ever seen. James Potter's backup in case anything happened while on a case and Hestia Jones' auror partner, he was number ten on the list of people Tom wanted dead.

Anthony turned to the window. Tom watched with enjoyment as his eyes widened and a look of pure shock took up his features. "Mum! Take the boys and run," he handed the red head to the lady and continued, "I'll hold him off." Anthony gave her a quick kiss as Tom approached the house.

Mary Goldstein ran up the stairs, no doubt to a portkey. It was a fruitless effort; Tom had already had his Death Eaters block portkey travel; there was no getting out of the house other than through the front door. The door he was behind.

Tom turned the cold door handle, quietly entering the room. "You're not welcome here," Anthony said. "You can't be here."

"But I am here, pity really that you have to die so quickly. I would have enjoyed torturing you to an inch of your life and then offering you a place on my side. I'd even let you keep your lovely muggleborn mother as a token of good faith. But alas," Tom said, "Those plans cannot happen. You're keeping me from my prey. Move aside and I shall spare you. They are not even your children."

The man looked at Tom, resolute in his decision. Steadfast.

"No."

"Avada Kedavra!" The man fell dead to the floor, landing harshly on the wooden floor of the entrance way.

Tom moved up the stairs, not bothering to check on the fallen man. He was dead; there was no point.

From a room across the hall came frantic breaths and scratching fingers. Mary Goldstein had clearly just found the little trap the Death Eaters had set up with the portkey. Looking up at him with tear stained eyes, she placed the boys in one of the two cribs and moved to block them.

"Dying for them won't show that you are a good cousin Mary. In fact, I think Lily would rather you were alive; she can have other yourself can remarry. I know there are people out there who want you to themselves. I myself," he moved closer, "Find you to be... Beautiful. Dying would be such a waste."

If his speech had any effect on her, it was that her wrinkled hands gripped tighter to her wand. She looked him in the eyes and, with a sad expression, replied "What happened to you Tom. When we started Hogwarts together, you might have done things that people see as cruel. But you changed, in third year, third year Tom, you were the best person at changed in you Tom? Why did you become the thing that you hated?"

Tom looked at her. Saw the tears in her eyes "I never will give up on you, Tom. I did love you, back then; we had everything."

Tom spoke "You would have me give up everything I have built to be with a mudblood whore? The same woman who once supported everything that I stand for."

"You know that you once would have," she responded, not flinching at the insult as many others would have "And I know I did, I've changed Tom. You can still change and go back to how things should have been."

He pulled himself away from her eyes "I won't."

"And nor will I ever let you harm these boys. Not while I still breathe."

"That can be arranged." A flash of green light later, and Mary Goldstein fell to the floor taking with her the last vestiges of Tom's heart. Looking, almost with pity, at the fallen woman, Voldemort slowly made his way to the two boys. Only looking at them when he reached the cot.

Both had black hair, they were very nearly identical except one of them had bright green eyes and the other had brown eyes. It was by these that Voldemort could tell them apart; his death eater had told him which boy the target was as to make the later job easier on all others involved.

Harry Potter had pushed himself in front of his younger brother, hiding him from view, though, as Voldemort looked, Daniel tried to push Harry out of the way. His cold smile returned to his lips; he held his wand out. He took aim at the one that he wanted to hit. As long as they were gone, he had nothing to worry about, nobody could defeat him, not even the old fool Dumbledore.

"Avada Kedavra," he watched as the spell rushed towards the boys as they grappled to protect each other. But just as it hit one of them, the light became too bright for even him to see. He didn't know which boy had been hit. He didn't know what was happening. He couldn't see what had happened.

And then the curse was rebounding. Moving faster and faster towards him with nothing in its pathway towards him. The spell hit the shocked wizard and he watched in horror as his plan turned to dust. He could see his hands falling, feel his body getting heavier and heavier until he couldn't stay standing.

There was a moments silence as the ceiling started to fall, slowly at first but falling faster and faster each second. Some fell into the crib where the two toddlers huddled. As the world tumbled and fell around the two toddlers, one unconscious and one still looking out over the chaos caused by a mad man. And then the roof fell in.

The inhabitants of Godric's Hollow slept through the night. None of them knew of the strange and deadly events that had just occurred within the very borders of the village that they lived in. None of them looked out at the stormy night outside and saw anything that was strange or odd, or even out of the ordinary. Certainly, none of them had seen anything that might change the course of history.

But all the same, the events of that Halloween night sent ripples through time, changing events that would have otherwise have been set in stone and would have guaranteed the victory that the light so desperately struggled for.

And just like that, a new future staggered forward.