AN: Hello again! Here comes the first chapter of LHW and I hope it is satisfactory.

And a big hug and many thanks for all those who put my story on their alert/favourite list, and even more so if you left a review. They're really appreciated :)

Disclaimer: See prologue


Chapter 1: When One Wants…


Harry Potter had always known he was different. He had known it before he had seen all the other kids at pre-school, before he knew he could talk to snakes, before he turned his teacher's hair blue.

Before his relatives named him freak.

He had felt it, deep within him, from before the first day he could consciously remember, that those who walked among him lacked something vital which he possessed in abundance. But, in turn, he lacked some things which almost all others took for granted. Home, family, food.


He had none of that, and he doubted it would be something he could get or was even allowed to have before he passed on, who would want someone like him anyway, he reasoned. He was different, full of colour and light where others were dull and bland, brimming with something unknown, always there, just below the surface waiting anxiously to lash out.

He was small, thin, bony, weak, scorned, scarred and broken.


So when he had first started school, and none of the kids in his class wanted to become friends with him, it just confirmed his belief in his own lack of worth. He had nothing, was worth nothing, deserved nothing. And in that moment, when he felt all the small, scratched pieces of the puzzle which was him suddenly match and fit together, no matter how wrong and fallacious the picture that had come forth may have seemed to someone else, the small raven-haired boy named Harry Potter decided that if couldn't escape being an unwanted freak, he might as well indulge himself completely. Bask in his own abnormality, the glow deep within him. The brightly shining ball of a rainbow which like he had seen in no other, not even in those weirdly clad men and women who sometimes visited the strange cat-lady down the street, softly as they may shine themselves.

That was when he first for real discovered just what the glow within him meant, some of what it could do and how it affected him and his surroundings. He understood that it was the glow that had made his hair grow back during the night when his aunt had shaved it off, that it was the reason the shirt he had been forced to wear had shrunken till doll-sized when washed and that it was behind his sudden teleportation to the roof when Dudley and his friends had chased him.

He didn't know what this power of his was or who those weird peoples were, but he knew some of what it could do, as evident of his previous excursions, and he was determined to discover more. The power-source itself he just called the glow, since it shone so beautifully.

He would never come to like the word freak, even if he had resolved to embrace his oddness, but he decided that it was a small price to pay – he was paying it already after all – to be called as such if it meant he could do more than just grow hair at an abnormally fast pace.

If it meant he could be more.


The first thing Harry did when he woke up in his dark cupboard the first Saturday after he had begun school, was to pry out the board he had loosened some years prior from the sidewall and pick up the tattered journal that lay hidden inside. He had found it in a trashcan by the library some months ago, ragged, dirty with just a hint of the blue colour it had originally possessed lingering on its covers, but it had been almost unused, and Harry considered it his most prized possession.

It was in his notebook that he wrote down all those things he wasn't allowed to say out loud, where he shared all his moments without inhibitions and the only place that he could for just a moment be Harry, not boy or freak or him.

He had collected a few pencils as well, a blue ballpoint pen with a bank-company's logo on it, two lead pencils with a soft grey tone and four crayons used for colouring which were red, yellow, purple and green. None of them were whole, the ballpoint missed the soft part where you should put your fingers and the other ones either were broken off and thus shortened or they had been bitten to oblivion. But they were his and they worked regardless so he loved them.

He opened the journal and quickly found the page where he had stopped writing the last time he had needed to vent, he had decided almost immediately that he could only write when he needed to get something out of his system, otherwise he'd quickly run out of pages. He laid down the worn object in his lap and reached inside his hidden safe again to get a pen. The purple one, he liked the colour a lot, he decided after a short while.

The reason he was going to write this time was for once not because he needed to vent something, but that he felt that since he had decided he was going to try to get better at all this weird stuff that he could do, it would be of use to him to write it down.

He was smart, he knew, smarter than Dudley and he was good at both thinking and writing and a lot of other stuff, some he just knew without having a clue as to how, but he had always found it easier to understand and find order in things if he wrote them down so he could see the words. He learned from listening well enough, many years of eavesdropping coming to good use, but he learned even better if he could watch things as it happened, observe the process and the results.

First thing he had decided to do was to scribble down all the weird stuff that he had done in his short life, those that Dudley or Piers or Malcolm had never been able to. Those that if noticed earned him a harsh slap in the face and an uncertain amount of time locked in his cupboard with even less food than usual. Those happenings which made him different.

What I've done:

Turned teacher's hair blue

Shrunken a shirt in the washer

Teleported to roof

Healed injuries quickly

Fast hair-growth

Unlocked cupboard-door

Talked with snakes

Harry stopped there, the pen still attached to the bottom of the last s. He was sure that he had missed some things, things that might have happened before he could remember, things that were hardly noticeable, but those were the major stuff.

But how had he done it? How had he made it possible?

He pondered that a bit, nothing coming to mind that would work in all scenarios, with the exception of the glow itself, and the drain he sometimes felt afterwards, before he had come up with an idea.

His will.

While true that he had never wanted to turn Ms Fisher's hair blue, never wanted a doll-sized shirt and not once felt a need to enjoy the non-existent view from the school-roof, he had wanted something. And even though he hadn't chosen the methods himself he had gotten the result he had sought.

He had wanted Ms Fisher to stop her cross-examination of him, and it had when all the other children in the classroom had started laughing at her new hair-style.

He never wanted to wear that particular nasty shirt again and he didn't have to since it fit him no longer.

He wanted to escape his cousin and his friends during their Harry-hunt, and escape he had, though he had to receive help from the janitor to get down on the ground again afterwards.

He wanted the pain on his back from the repeated lashings to go away and while he still had the scars to tell the tale, he hadn't been forced to live in agony for more than an hour afterwards.

He wanted his hair back the way it was, because frankly, he looked like shit when bald, and lo and behold, it had returned.

He had wanted, or more correctly needed, to go to the bathroom as soon as possible so that he wouldn't soil himself and have Vernon unleash even more of his anger-issues on him, that the unlocking of his cupboard had come as a blessing from above.

He had desperately wanted someone to talk to, someone to call friend and share both his pain and those precious, even more so since there were so few, happy memories that when the garden snake's hissing had somehow become understandable, ha hadn't stopped speaking till long after sundown.

He had wanted, so something had happened.

A smile slowly made an appearance on his face, a tiny bit more smug than happy, and Harry was just barely able to constrain himself from laughing out loud in glee.

Harry Potter would make sure to want a lot more in the future than he ever had before.


AN: So what do you think? Good, bad, confusing?

As for the future of my story and how it will develop, I've planned to hop directly to the train to Hogwarts in the next chapter and do everything that has happened in between in flashbacks. The reason for that is that I simply don't know exactly what there has happened, so I'll just add more stuff as I need them instead of having to go back and rewrite and complicate it for everyone… It also has an additional effect that I'll probably be able to produce chapters at a faster rate, which is a good thing.

So be prepared to meet people and experience conversations in the next chapter, for next up is the Hogwarts Express! ;)