FicWad

DISCLAIMER: See the Prologue.

WARNING: Minor character death, domestic violence, and both Harry- and Dursley-bashing. You've been warned.

This chapter is analogous to Book 1 (/Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone/), Chapter One, "The Boy Who Lived."


CHAPTER ONE
THE ROAD NOT TAKEN

Mr. Vernon Dursley and Mrs. Petunia Dursley and their son Dudley Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Mr. Dursley worked at a well-paying company known as Grunnings, Mrs. Dursley kept a well-managed household, and young Dudley was an energetic, growing young boy who got everyone's attention.

If one were to look at the pictures on the mantel, one would see ten years' worth of time, measured by images of young Dudley getting progressively older in each picture (not to mention larger). The most recent picture had been taken just a month before, for Dudley's tenth birthday. And yet, none of them indicated that there just might be another boy living in the house.

Nine-year-old Harry Potter, who was roughly the same age as his cousin Dudley, was forced to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs while the second bedroom which he could have used as a normal bedroom was instead used as storage space for all of Dudley's old (and often broken) things which he didn't use anymore but didn't want to part with either.

Harry purposely never told anyone about his life with the Dursleys - not just because his Uncle Vernon threatened him if he ever told anyone, but also because he would simply be too embarrassed by it.

Aside from his relatives' abusive and negligent behavior towards him, there were also their personality traits and behaviors which Harry had observed, which he was pretty sure they would have had anyway even if he did not live with them. They were the petty type of people, scavenging for whatever attention they could get (hopefully of the positive variety), in order to make themselves feel powerful and more important. They were always concerned for their own survival and material wealth, but hardly for anything else.

Harry only felt truly safe in school, and even then, only to a certain extent. He was always careful to keep his distance from Dudley and his gang, whom everyone feared, even though they almost always went after Harry and only him. Whatever few kids felt sorry for Harry and would have helped him otherwise stayed away and kept silent (although personally, he couldn't blame them for wanting to do that). Harry would often seek refuge in the library, busy with a book which he always put back in its place rather than bring with him, especially to his "home," where anything could happen to it.

Also, while Harry did not have more intellectual or academic inclinations like a few of his other classmates, he sometimes threw himself into his studies, so at least then he would have something to do and something to think about, other than hide from and worry about his relatives or other tormentors in his life.

One thing which puzzled Harry was how he kept moving up a level each year like every student should, even though his grades were clearly marked to indicate that he was a poor student. But then he remembered one time when he was five or six years old and he brought home a better report card than Dudley's, and so his aunt and uncle yelled at him and punished him for essentially getting better grades than Dudley, even though that truly wasn't his fault. The next day, Mrs. Dursley came to the school to basically complain about it to the headmistress as though it was something to be fixed. About an hour and several arguments later, Aunt Petunia stormed out of the headmistress' office, while the headmistress herself looked both disgusted that she had to put up with Mrs. Dursley and relieved that it was finally over. And so from that day forward, Harry's report card always showed worse grades while Dudley's showed better grades. Harry had a shrewd feeling that the school's headmistress and teachers did this on purpose to protect him.

And so, one early spring morning, Harry lay on his back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling of his "bedroom" as he contemplated his life and everything which was wrong with it.

He didn't waste his time and energy being angry about what was wrong with his life; he just accepted it for what it was. Besides, he had to reserve his energy for more important things, like being able to avoid trouble with his relatives.

Harry figured while he was up, he may as well get started on preparing the Dursleys' breakfast. After all, it was a Monday, and everyone wanted to be able to start off the week with the energy they needed.

One of these days, I'll get out of here, Harry thought to himself hopefully. One of these days.


Later that day, Harry came home from school, purposely taking a slower and longer route to avoid running into Dudley or his gang along the way.

However, as he walked up the front drive, he sensed that something was... different today. Whatever it was, it did not put his mind at ease.

Suddenly, the door opened, and out walked a fourth Dursley.

It was Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon's sister.

Harry panicked. He didn't know that she was here!

"Boy!" she thundered, seeing him right away. "You're late!"

"Aunt Marge," he stuttered nervously. "I didn't know you were coming here today."

"Rubbish!" she scoffed. "Your loving aunt and uncle should have told you that I would be here today and for the rest of the week!"

"But... they didn't..." he stammered.

"LIES!" she boomed. "How dare you accuse them of not telling you!"

"But they didn't..." he repeated, almost as if begging her to believe him.

"Don't you dare lie to me, boy!" she yelled.

Harry didn't even bother trying to explain to her this time, as she had already made up her mind and it was wrong to confuse her with facts, even if they were true.

Suddenly, Aunt Petunia seemed to materialize, and pulled him into the house. "Get inside, boy!" she hissed. "Before the whole street hears the commotion you're causing!"

Harry could only stare at her as she yanked him inside. The commotion which he was causing?

Typical Dursley thinking, he mentally groused, it's always someone else's fault, and never their own.

Actually, for the most part, human beings had the habit of blaming anyone or anything else other than themselves for their own problems... but in Harry's honest opinion, the Dursleys had it down to an art form.

"BOY!" Uncle Vernon raged. "You have work to do! Now go out and do it!"

And with that, he simply threw Harry back out, right after Aunt Petunia dragged him back inside. Not wasting any time, Harry went to it, remembering the chores from earlier that morning when he had seen the list.

After finishing with washing the car, Dudley came out with candy and soda, and made obnoxiously loud noises as he consumed the food and added it to his ever-growing girth. He even made comments like "Mmm, this tastes so good" or "Too bad the freak can't have any because he has to work."

Harry wanted to retort that he didn't want or even like candy or soda (/The stuff's like poison, especially to Dudley,/ he thought to himself), but he figured, let Dudley think that he wanted some candy or soda or any kind of occasional treat which he had always been denied.

One of these days, they'll get what's coming to them...

Harry wasn't a vengeful person, but that didn't mean he would mind if Fate or Karma or whatever such force would come along one day and give the Dursleys the cosmic kick in the posterior which they so royally deserved.

It was his hopeful thoughts like these which had helped sustain him all these years, and they would help him get through the next week.

But what no one would realize was that Harry's true talents and power would come through for him by the week's end.


Living with the Dursleys had always been bad enough, and it had always been worse whenever Aunt Marge visited, but it almost seemed as though all four Dursleys present were doing their absolute best to make Harry's life absolutely miserable this week.

The small, scrawny Potter boy would spend as much time at school as possible each day of that week, from the hour it opened to when all students had to leave. And once Hary got home, he was either being pushed away somewhere to do some chore or being summoned so he could be unfairly criticized.

Aunt Marge would also go out and buy expensive things for Dudley, both of them making a big scene of it in front of Harry in order to provoke him into being jealous; much to their anger and disappoint, Harry either pretended not to notice or just looked right back at them.

Harry simply refused to give them any kind of benefit in knowing that they were bothering him.

The only allies which Harry had on his side were time and patience. Soon enough, it was the last day of Aunt Marge's stay at Privet Drive. Harry was looking forward it, so things could become better in his life again... or at least less worse.

But soon enough, things escalated out of control.

It all started when Harry was doing his usual slave-like duty of cooking the food and setting it on the table for supper in the early evening. His enormous cousin just couldn't want to shovel down all that food which he really didn't need, and so he shoved Harry aside, completely unconcerned that Aunt Marge's bulldog ripper was right behind them.

Ripper immediately took offense at the accident. Snarling and baring his teeth, the nasty dog went after Harry, chasing him out of the house. The sun's last rays crept over the horizon as Harry thought fast and raced up the nearest tree he could get to, with Ripper right at his heels.

It was about an hour later, when it was cold and dark, when all four Dursleys finally came out to see what was going on. Dudley immediately broke down laughing, and within a minute, he was actually crying with real tears of mirth.

Aunt Marge patted her nephew on the shoulder, looking distinctly amused.

However, Aunt Petunia didn't look so amused. "Get down here now, boy!" she screeched. "You're making a scene in front of the entire neighborhood!"

Harry couldn't even spare the energy to be exasperated. If anyone's making a scene, it's you and your rotten family! Honestly, where did some people get off? Sometimes they make a scene just by yelling at other people to not do so!

Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, while somewhat embarrassed by this spectacle going on, also decided to take the opportunity to humiliate Harry in front of the entire neighborhood to make his family look better in comparison.

"Not so fortunate now, are you, eh, you freak?" Vernon gleefully hollered up to his trapped nephew. "That's what you get for trying to harm Marge's dog!"

However, unbeknownst to young Potter or any of the four Dursleys, an innocent-looking tabby cat surveyed all this happening from under a bush. It narrowed its eyes and gave a small hiss in disgust before retreating, unseen.

A couple of minutes later, it was back at the house of the elderly Arabella Figg, who was actually a Squib. Coincidentally, she had already been living in the same neighborhood as the Dursleys well before Harry was left on their doorstep many years ago, and so when Dumbledore secretly sought her out to ask if she would volunteer to keep an eye on the Dursleys and their ward, she agreed.

Strider jumped through the open window and into the kitchen, accidentally bumping into a few of the other cats as he hastily made his way towards his mistress. He quickly muttered the Feline equivalents of "excuse me" and "pardon me" as he made his way past.

"Strider, you're back so soon?" Mrs. Figg said kindly as she stroked another one of Strider's fellow cats.

It mewed worriedly, and she was quick to notice this.

"What is it, Strider?" she asked, starting to get worried. She could not understand the language of cats, but she had found ways of communicating with them.

Narrowing his eyes, Strider bounded over to the refrigerator and angrily struck a picture of the Dursleys which was held in place by a magnet.

"They're bothering Harry, aren't they?" she asked, trembling. Deep down, Mrs. Figg really did love that sweet little boy, but unfortunately, she had to act rather mean towards him so that Mrs. Dursley wouldn't have any objections to leaving Harry with her.

Strider let out an angry hiss, summing up in the Feline language exactly what he thought of that horrible family.

Mrs. Figg nodded grimly. "Very well," she said. "I'll drive over... pretend to be an innocent driver just happening to pass through..."

Meanwhile, back at the Dursley residence, Mr. Dursley continued his nasty verbal onslaught against the helpless Harry. He and the rest of his family thought that he was making themselves look better and that Potter boy look worse, but in fact, he had it all wrong.

For years now, the other people living on Privet Drive, and even on the nearby connected streets, had all generally feared and despised the Dursleys. They had taken note of how the Dursleys' spoiled son got all the nice new clothes and everything he wanted, while their nephew "that Potter boy" got nothing, not even sufficient new clothes. Dudley had also been a menace to all of the children in the neighborhood, along with his gang who only stuck with him because he had the "power" of being the meanest kid around. A few times, they had called the police to be summoned to Privet Drive to investigate strange on-goings which worried them about the Dursley's nephew which they knew practically nothing about.

In short, the Dursleys only helped garner more sympathy for Harry and made themselves look worse at the same time.

Strider now reappeared, and while Mrs. Figg was getting ready in her car, this dutiful cat was providing Harry with a means of some assistance. Strider yowled at Ripper in that so-called "language" which only non-human creatures seemed to understand with a string of insults.

Enraged, Ripper abandoned the tree and his quarry which was taking refuge in it, and instead went after the cat. Hoping that he was buying Harry enough time, Strider subtly used his natural cat magic to make a speedy escape.

Harry indeed managed to make it back down the tree to the ground, but he may not have made it down fast enough, because Ripper was back with a vengeance. Harry was just making a break for Mrs. Figg's house (he really didn't know who else he could turn to) when suddenly Ripper took him down from behind.

He could feel the dog clawing into his back through his thin, worn shirt even before he heard its vicious barks. He was knocked to the ground, and quickly tried to turn himself over so he was on his back and could push the dog off somehow. His face scrunched up at the dog's hot, smelly breath, and he did his best with his small, nine-year-old body to throw the big dog off of him. Trying a different tactic, Ripper sank his teeth into Harry's lower left arm, between his elbow and his hand.

Harry screamed in pain, looking for any possible way to try and get this nasty dog off of him. His pain was coupled with his fear, his anger, and his rage as the Dursleys practically cheered on the monster! He had to find a way to stop Ripper from harming him...

The Dursleys' neighbors, who were watching this horrifying and sickening spectacle, rushed over to their telephones to call the police and try to put an end to this.

They didn't see what happened next.

Before Harry knew what was even happening, a flash of red light burst from his right hand, throwing Ripper back in an arc from the spot where they were fighting to the middle of the street. Ripper gave a yelp of surprise and pain as he sailed through the air, and then howled with pain as he landed awkwardly on the cold, hard pavement.

And then Ripper was promptly hit by an oncoming car.

Mrs. Figg was rushing to Number Four as fast as she could without breaking the speed limit or causing an accident, but then she had been distracted by the flash of red light which was coming from the Dursleys' property. She was so distracted by this display of accidental underage magic from Harry that she slammed on the brakes a moment too late.

There was a very awkward moment of silence while everyone tried to comprehend what just happened. All four Dursleys were gaping in shock and horror, Harry was lying on his side as he cradled his injured arm, Mrs. Figg was slowly getting out of the car to see what had happened to the bulldog, and all the neighbors were looking out their windows again, wondering what they had just missed.

"I..." Harry began. "I don't know... what just happened..."

"Vernon, Petunia," Mrs. Figg spoke up, trying to distract their attention away from Harry. "I'm so sorry! I was just passing through, and then all of a sudden, this dog just fell in the road right in front of me! I don't know how it happened, honest..."

"Ripper?" Aunt Marge whispered, her lip trembling as she shakily walked over to where her dog lay motionless. "Here, boy..."

But as she bent down to take a look, she soon realized one thing...

"HE'S DEAD!" she wailed. "MY POOR BABY IS DEAD!"

"Please," Harry gasped, gritting his teeth from the pain. "I didn't mean to..."

But with an almighty roar of anger, Uncle Vernon yanked Harry up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back inside. Through the pain, Harry thought about what just happened to Ripper... he honestly didn't mean to kill Ripper, let alone harm him at all... but that dog /was attacking him/...

"YOU HIDEOUS FREAK!" Uncle Vernon screamed at the top of his lungs. "YOU MURDERER!"

"Please, Uncle Vernon," Harry whimpered, instinctively shielding himself, "I didn't mean to do anything to him..."

But Mr. Dursley didn't care, because he needed to yell at his brat of a nephew, and so he yelled so loudly that Harry couldn't even make out the words, and they all just blurred together. What seemed liked an hour or so later, when it was really just over a minute, Dudley came barging in.

"Dad told me to watch you, freak!" he shouted. "You're going to get it now for killing Aunt Marge's dog!" he then added with malicious glee, in both his voice and on his face. Dudley didn't really care about his aunt's dog, but if it helped get the freak in trouble, then so much the better.

Harry made to move to the kitchen sink to clean himself and hopefully treat his wound, but Dudley stopped him, denying him the right to be treated for his injuries.

"You think that's bad, you freak?" Dudley laughed maliciously. "Try this, freak!" And with that, he took Harry's injured arm and viciously twisted it.

Harry cried in pain while Dudley's evil laughter rang in his ears. However, his pain was also steadily turning into anger.

"What are you going to do now, freak?" Dudley laughed, taking Harry by the arm and swinging him so that he flew across the room. Harry just barely managed to stop himself from being thrown into the wall by using his other arm.

Harry now had his back against the wall as Dudley had him trapped. As he could see no other way out of this, Harry prepared himself for the worst.

"You're so weak, freak!" Dudley chortled, especially after his own rhyme. "Why don't you hit me, freak?" he taunted Harry. "WHY DON'T YOU HIT ME, FREAK? GO ON! HIT ME!"

Something within Harry completely snapped at that point, and so he punched Dudley as hard as he could, square in the face.

What neither of them suspected, however, was that Harry could apparently punch very hard.

With a single blow which stupefied both of them, Harry punched Dudley in the face, resulting in a sickening sound. Dudley staggered back against the opposite wall from the force of the blow, and actually managed to leave an indentation in the wall from where he fell back into it.

There was an awful silence while Dudley slowly raised his hand to his nose, and then saw the blood on his fingertips from his now-bleeding nose.

Tears - not crocodile tears, but actual tears - welled up in Dudley's eyes as the ramifications of what just happened hit him as a sort of aftershock.

"You hit me," he whispered, sounding as though he would break down crying at any moment.

"Dudley," Harry stammered, hoping to say something which would placate his cousin. But whatever he was going to say, Dudley would never know, as a woman's scream of horror and a man's scream of outrage echoed throughout the house.

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon stood on the threshold, with her getting progressively whiter from shock by the second and with him getting progressively redder from anger at the same rate.

With a scream of pure anger and primal rage which sounded almost psychotic, Mr. Dursley charged at his nephew like a red-faced bull, intent on causing the boy as much bodily harm as possible for what he had done. For what he did tonight, what he did all these years, and just for being born at all. To blazes with the repercussions, he would make the brat pay!

Harry was quicker, however. With his heart pounding madly in his chest, he just narrowly avoided Uncle Vernon's massive bulk, meandered around Aunt Petunia's slender form as she tried to catch him, and burst out the back door.

Please, he begged to whatever higher powers might have been listening to him at that moment, I'm sorry for everything that's happened, I really am! I'll do whatever you want! Just get me out of here!

"Please, just get me out of here!" Harry cried out loud.

He was just about to jump into the bushes separating the Dursleys' property from the next one over when suddenly, a bright white light the size of a firefly made contact with him.

Harry Potter completely disappeared from Privet Drive, and indeed Little Whinging, in a flash of light.


Pim jolted out of his magical slumber. How long have I been asleep? He dimly wondered to himself. Then again... what woke me up in the first place?

The tower's "memory" as he called it replayed the strange magical sensations which it had been commanded to detect before Pim went to sleep centuries ago.

Pim took a moment to take into account just how long he had slumbered for. Fifteen hundred years, he mused. Doesn't feel like it's been a day more than fourteen hundred years, he privately joked to himself.

Now turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he went over the information which the tower had magically recorded. Through the tower's memory, he could view what had happened through space and time. He saw a young boy with messy black hair, bright green eyes, and the scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt, who wore strange devices in front of his eyes, which held transparent lenses...

Wait a minute. Pim went through that again. That scar...

Something told him that it was no ordinary scar caused by something separate from magic. He would look into that later.

This boy was forced to act like a slave, a veritable house elf, to his horrible Muggle relatives. Currently, a fourth Muggle was visiting, and brought along this nasty dog which clearly hated the boy. Pim watched the accident unfold...

Pim was aghast at how things played out (he was now watching things as they happened through real-time magic). He couldn't blame this young boy for defending himself, even if he did accidentally use uncontrolled magic to contribute to the dog's demise (being struck down by an oncoming vehicle).

When he repulsed the dog like that... that was what must have been what triggered the tower to bring Pim out of his slumber. However, it wasn't over yet...

He watched as this boy's abhorrent and obscenely obese cousin bullied and provoked the boy into striking back after finally wearing out his incredibly long supply of patience. Having a shrewd feeling where this was going, Pim conjured up a small bright light and sent it out from the tower and to this boy's residence.

Pim's timing could not have been better, for now the boy's aunt and uncle were now out of their minds with fear and rage, and were now willing to do anything to make the boy truly suffer.

Through the magic which allowed Pim to see and hear what was going on, he could witness the boy's cry for help.

And just in time, the bright white light made contact with the boy, magically transporting him across the country to the tower itself.

As the magical sensors indicated that the young wizard was now within the tower itself, Pim activated one of his servants.

A marble statue of a young woman in modest robes walked into the room, making very light footfalls, considering its weight. "Galatea," he magically spoke to the nonliving servant, "the boy who has just arrived here has been injured. Please tend to his injuries."

Galatea smiled and nodded, immediately hurrying downstairs to tend to the scared and injured young boy.

However, he was now out of his mind with grief and worry. He was already scared when he suddenly found himself in this strange new place where he had never been before; now, he was trying to flee.

No one would have guessed it, but Galatea was surprisingly fast (another advantage of being magical). Where the boy's malicious aunt and uncle failed, she succeeded, but she was so gentle for her hard marble form that he was unhurt.

"No... please," he whimpered, now crying freely.

"I'll take care of this, Galatea," Pim privately spoke to her.

"Do not fear, young one," said a voice which made Harry jolt in surprise and fear.

"Who are you?" Harry stammered. He wasn't sure if he actually heard it with his ears... it was more as though it he could sense it from within his own /mind/...

"I am the master of this tower," Pim told him. He hated having to lie, or at least not tell the whole truth, buy the boy was now out of his mind with worry, and now was not the time for detailed explanations. "I managed to rescue you and bring you here through my magic."

"Magic?" Harry repeated, stupefied. "But... there's no such thing as magic..."

"But if it does not exist, then how did you manage to fend off that dog or the other boy? Then how did I manage to transport you here within mere seconds?" Pim asked.

"My... my relatives..."

"They are of no concern, young one. They will not harm you here... they do not even know where 'here' is," Pim reassured him. And they never will do so again, if I have anything to do with it, he forcefully added in private.

Pim then asked, "What is your name?"

"Harry, sir," the boy stammered. "Harry Potter."

"And my name is Pim," the voice responded cordially. "You must rest, Harry. You are gravely injured. We need to heal your wounds."

"No, please," Harry begged. "I just want to go... please, I don't want to get in your way..."

"Everything will be fine, Harry. Please, trust us." Harry could feel his eyelids getting heavy. "Sleep now. When you wake up, you will feel much better."

"No," Harry tried to protest, but it came out muffled by a yawn. "I don't want... to... sleep..."

And with that, Harry knew no more.

After Harry fell asleep with what Pim called a "mental suggestion" (hardly anything like the Imperius Curse or other such spells), Galatea gently swept him up and carried him to one of the "guest rooms." The truth was that they were more like spare rooms to serve as sleeping areas, since Pim never really counted on having guests. At this moment, Pim was glad that he had the foresight to add such quarters centuries ago.

As Harry was laid out on a spare bed, Pim noticed something for the first time.

He has a piece of Dark magic in him. What's more, it's linked to that scar on his forehead.

However, Pim knew that this did not automatically make Harry evil or even potentially evil. But even still, the circumstances were baffling, to say the least, not to mention unprecedented. Even with many millennia of magical experience, he could not determine how this came to be.

He will have to take great care, Pim thought to himself. And I will have to take care of him.

As Galatea applied a potion to heal his arm, Pim watched over the boy.

I will do my absolute best to protect and train you, Harry Potter.


Meanwhile, back at Privet Drive, it was quickly turning into one of the worst days in the lives of any of the four Dursleys. But what they didn't know was that it was about to get even worse.

An old man wearing half-moon spectacles and sporting a long beard and crooked nose managed to make his way throughout the crowd without drawing suspicion to himself, almost as if by magic. In fact, it was magic which was allowing him to do this.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (and holder of many other titles) made his way to Number Four, and entered while the police were outside, taking pictures of the incident as well as taking statements from witnesses.

Dumbledore had been in the middle of dinner when he felt that somehow, something was... /wrong/. After discretely excusing himself and heading back up to his office at a brisk pace, he happened to find that the wards around Number Four, Privet Drive, were going off. He then told the portraits in his office to tell his colleagues that he would be away for a little while, before transforming his robes into Muggle clothes, and taking out a special Portkey to Privet Drive, one which he had hoped he would never need to use.

But soon enough, before even crossing the threshold to the Dursley's house, Dumbledore learned one terrible truth: Harry Potter was now missing.

Miss Majorie Dursley was currently outside, still sobbing over her dead dog. That left Harry's three immediate relatives, who sat in the kitchen by themselves, trying to avoid embarrassment in front of the neighborhood.

"Good evening," Dumbledore said as he walked into the room. Mr. Dursley and young Dudley Dursley looked at this newcomer, confused and instantly suspicious, but Mrs. Dursley jumped up and screamed with fright.

"Please calm down, Mrs. Dursley," Dumbledore suggested calmly.

"Don't you tell me what to do!" she snapped. "You've done that before, leaving that boy here on my doorstep all those years ago..."

Dumbledore frowned. Somehow, he got a feeling that Harry may not have had a very loving family to grow up with...

"What happened?" he asked, calmly but now also seriously.

"He hit Ripper - that's Aunt Marge's bulldog - lured it outside, got into a fight with it, pushed it in front of a car, ran back inside, hit me, and ran away like a coward!" Dudley shouted, rambling.

However, a quick yet informative glance into young Dudley's mind through Legilimency told Dumbledore otherwise.

"Really? And are you sure that was what happened, and in fact, you did not carelessly push young Mr. Potter onto your aunt's bulldog, which in turn chased him up a tree, then attacked him once he was back on the ground, was accidentally pushed into the path of an oncoming car, and then Mr. Potter was forced back into the house, where you hurt him and prompted him to try and defend himself, and then he fled?"

Dudley flushed with anger. "I didn't do anything! It was that freak's fault!"

Dumbledore nearly did a double take at such hateful words spewing from this ten-year-old boy's mouth. This did not bode well at all.

"Was it now?" Dumbledore asked with a small yet noticeable edge in his voice.

"Are you calling my son a liar?" Mr. Dursley shouted, instantly going red in the face again.

"I suppose maybe I am," Dumbledore said, his patience really waning now... especially after he also used his skills at Legilimency to take quick looks into the minds of Harry's aunt and uncle.

"HOW DARE YOU!" Mrs. Dursley suddenly screeched. "How dare you leave us with that - that - that brat and then get mad at us when things don't go according to your plans!"

"How dare I/?" Dumbledore repeated disbelievingly. "How dare /you treat any child that way just because he was left with you. He never did anything to you, and you treated him as though he was the instigator for all the ills in your life."

"Well, maybe he was!" Mrs. Dursley retorted. "And how dare you question the way we treated him after you essentially abandoned him with us! The way I see it, you're just as responsible for this, if not more so!"

There were very few times when Dumbledore was truly angry, and this was now one of them. Those brilliant blue eyes began to radiate with a kind of heat, and he gave off an aura of great and terrible power.

He went for his wand to use magic to somehow make the Dursleys see just how terrible they were to their own kin, and maybe also to punish them somehow for their cruelty and their stupidity... but then he thought against it.

"The blood protection provided by this home worked not just for Harry, but for all of you as well. And now... if a year goes by without Harry coming back here, they will collapse permanently and irreversibly. They could protect all of you from any evil which attacked his house, but if that protection falls apart for good, then you may have just condemned yourselves.

"So, on the off-chance that you just happen to find Harry within the next year or so, I would highly recommend bringing him back, not just for his sake, but for yours as well. Because if it doesn't work... then you just may have condemned yourselves to complete vulnerability against the darker elements of the magic which you hate and fear so much."

Mrs. Dursley was as white as a sheet by the time Dumbledore was done with his warning.

"Oh, and Petunia?" Dumbledore asked a less hostile tone. She nodded dumbly. "Remember my last."

Mr. Dursley was just about to ask what that meant when suddenly a young policeman walked into the room. "We have more questions for you," he said coldly as they turned to look at him. The Dursleys had a sinking feeling about the tone in his voice, which indicated that he may have had something on them which could get them in trouble...


In the meantime, Dumbledore had quickly made himself invisible before anyone else could see him there. With that, he quietly snuck out the back, doing his own little inspection of the grounds, to see if he could find out what happened to Harry. However, all he found was a small magical trail which ended quite abruptly at the property line. Sighing with disappointment and frustration, Dumbledore used his Portkey to send himself back to his office at Hogwarts.

He sat down wearily, what could have possibly gone wrong. From looking through their memories, he had seen how cruelly and badly they had treated him... punishing him for whatever went wrong in their lives... making him the slave with more duties than a house elf (after all, house elves never had to do laundry)... and telling him horrible lies about his parents.

Dumbledore honestly thought that even the Dursleys wouldn't be so bad to their own nephew... apparently, he was wrong. He only considered physical abuse and harm, and never other kinds, such as verbal and mental abuse. He would have never left Harry with his awful relatives if he had known...

And then Petunia Dursley's words came back to haunt him... about he was just as responsible for Harry's ordeal as the Dursleys were, if not more so.

NO, he thought to himself forcefully. They could still have taken proper care of him... me leaving Harry with them was absolutely no excuse for their abominable actions...

But deep down, Dumbledore knew that he was responsible for not looking into matters himself between then and now.

And if Harry ever finds out that I was responsible for all those years of torment and suffering, he just might come after me himself.

As for Harry Potter now being missing... that realization in itself made Dumbledore feel sick. If the Wizarding world found out about their young savior being missing, they would try and find out why it happened, and then they would find out about how the Dursleys treated Harry... and it could turn into chaos from there. It would mean a disastrous blow for Wizard/Muggle relations, with Muggle-hating witches and wizards capitalizing on Harry's ordeal to "prove" to the rest of the world that Muggles were savage and terrible monsters. On top of that, some witches and wizards would try and take matters into their own hands by exacting revenge on the Dursleys, which could end badly in any number of ways.

As Dumbledore held his head in his hands, he gazed over the top of his desk to an ordinary mirror which stood there across the room. In it, Dumbledore could see just how terrible he looked... how useless.

That's one of the few things I dislike about myself, he thought bitterly. I rarely make errors or mistakes, but when I do, they seem to be large, uncontrollable disasters.

Suddenly flaring up with anger, Dumbledore took one of the nearest silvery instruments on his desk which he could reach and flung it as hard as he could at the mirror. It hit the mirror in the center with surprising accuracy, and then the entire mirror fell apart into reflective fragments on the floor.

The entire office was silent as looked down at the surface of his desk, wondering what he could possibly do now.

What have I done? Dumbledore thought to himself miserably as he sank into his chair. Oh Merlin, WHAT HAVE I DONE?

Dumbledore vowed to himself that he would fix his mistake and somehow make things up to Harry, even if it was the last thing he ever did.


A/N: So, how was that for a change?

Regarding the chapter title... it's a nod to the famous poem by Robert Frost. Personally, I thought it was quite fitting for this chapter, since it's where things diverge from the canon path.

Also, note that I'm adjusting the timeline so that Harry is only nine years old (but nearly ten) when he runs away, so he'll have at least one full year to stay at the Tower of Pime and be free of the Dursleys before finally going to Hogwarts.

As for Ripper's death... I hope nobody was upset by that (it was what I meant by "minor character death"). As for the Dursleys' downfall... they'll go down with a one-two punch. You'll see.

Mrs. Figg's tabby cat "Strider" is of my own creation but is NOT named after Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings/, and is instead named after the Latin word /stridor/, meaning "trouble," in that he can either /cause trouble or can sense trouble. (No offense to Tolkien's work or its fanbase.) As for cats having their own "Feline" language... well, the rabbits in Richard Adams' classic novel Watership Down had their own "Lapine" language, so I figured, why not?

Galatea was the name of a woman from Greek mythology who was originally a statue. Her creator, the sculptor Pygmalion, hated women, and so he decided to create his own perfect woman out of marble. However, after releasing how pointless and ridiculous his situation was, by treating his sculpture like a living being, he realized just how miserable he was. Sometime later, he went to the temple of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, and prayed to her to turn his statue into a real woman. When he returned home, he found that his wish had been granted. (I decided to name this automaton after Galatea, since it just seemed appropriate somehow.) Furthermore, the idea of a "robot" as we know it, a nonliving servant which could do chores and other such things, originally came from Greek mythology; the first ones were created by Hephaistos, the god of fire and patron of blacksmiths, and were used to either help serve the gods on Mount Olympus or help the god himself in his own workshop.

As for the broken mirror in Dumbledore's office... foreshadowing, perhaps?

Furthermore, I'm referring to Book 1 as Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone/, not /Sorcerer's Stone/. Yes, I'm American, and so I'm more inclined to know the first /Harry Potter book as that, but I figured I might as well go with Queen and Country on this.

Oh, and one other thing... please don't forget to review!

/-Quillian, 2/9/07/
(Last edited: 3/16/07)




DISCLAIMER:See the Prologue.



WARNING: Minor character death, domestic violence, and both Harry- and Dursley-bashing. You've been warned.



This chapter is approximate to Book 1 (Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone), Chapter One, "The Boy Who Lived."






CHAPTER ONE

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN



Mr. Vernon Dursley and Mrs. Petunia Dursley and their son Dudley Dursley of Number Four, Privet Drive, were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Mr. Dursley worked at a well-paying company known as Grunnings, Mrs. Dursley kept awell-managed household, and young Dudley was an energetic, growing young boy who got everyone's attention.



If one were to look at the pictures on the mantel, one would see ten years' worth of time, measured by images of young Dudleygetting progressively older in each picture (not to mention larger). The most recent picture had been taken just amonth before, for Dudley's tenth birthday. And yet, none of them indicated that there just might be another boy living in the house.



Nine-year-old Harry Potter, who was roughly the same age as his cousin Dudley, was forced to sleep in the cupboard under the stairs while the second bedroom which he could have used as a normal bedroom was instead used as storage space for all of Dudley's old (and often broken) things which he didn't use anymore but didn't want to part with either.



Harry purposely never told anyone about his life with the Dursleys - not just because his Uncle Vernon threatened him if he ever told anyone, but also because he would simply be too embarrassed by it.



Aside from his relatives' abusive and negligent behavior towards him, there were also their personality traits and behaviors which Harry had observed, which he was pretty sure they would have had anyway even if he did not live with them. They were the petty type of people, scavenging for whatever attention they could get(hopefully of the positive variety), in order to make themselves feel powerful and more important. They were always concerned for their own survival and material wealth, but hardly for anything else.



Harry only felt truly safe in school, and even then, only to a certain extent. He was always careful to keep his distance from Dudley and his gang, whom everyone feared, even though they almost always went after Harry and only him. Whatever few kids felt sorry for Harry and would have helped him otherwise stayed away and kept silent (although personally, he couldn't blame them for wanting to do that). Harry would often seek refuge in the library, busy with a book which he always put back in its place rather than bring with him, especially to his "home," where anything could happen to it.



Also, while Harry did not have more intellectual or academic inclinations like a few of his other classmates, he sometimes threw himself into his studies, so at least then he would have something to do and something to think about, other than hide from and worry about his relatives or other tormentors in his life.



One thing which puzzled Harry was how he kept moving up alevel each year like every student should, even though his grades were clearly marked to indicate that he was a poor student. But then he remembered one time when he was five or six years old and he brought home a better report card than Dudley's, and so his aunt and uncle yelled at him and punished him for essentially getting better grades than Dudley, even though that truly wasn't his fault. The next day, Mrs. Dursleycame to the school to basically complain about it to the headmistress as though it was something to be fixed. About an hour and several arguments later, Aunt Petunia stormed out of the headmistress'office, while the headmistress herself looked both disgusted that she had to put up with Mrs. Dursley and relieved that it was finally over. And so from that day forward, Harry's report card always showed worse grades while Dudley's showed better grades. Harry had a shrewd feeling that the school's headmistress and teachers did this on purpose to protect him.



And so, one early spring morning, Harry lay on his back on his mattress, staring up at the ceiling of his "bedroom" as he contemplated his life and everything which was wrong with it.



He didn't waste his time and energy being angry about what was wrong with his life; he just accepted it for what it was. Besides, he had to reserve his energy for more important things, like being able to avoid trouble with his relatives.



Harry figured while he was up, he may as well get started on preparing the Dursleys' breakfast. After all, it was a Monday, and everyone wanted to be able to start off the week with the energy they needed.



One of these days, I'll get out of here, Harry thought to himself hopefully. One of these days.








Later that day, Harry came home from school, purposely taking a slower and longer route to avoid running into Dudley or his gang along the way.



However, as he walked up the front drive, he sensed that something was... different today. Whatever it was, it did not put his mind at ease.



Suddenly, the door opened, and out walked a fourth Dursley.



It was Aunt Marge, Uncle Vernon's sister.



Harry panicked. He didn't know that she was here!



"Boy!" she thundered, seeing him right away. "You're late!"



"Aunt Marge," he stuttered nervously. "I didn't know you were coming here today."



"Rubbish!" she scoffed. "Your loving aunt and uncle should have told you that I would be here today and for the rest of the week!"



"But... they didn't..." he stammered.



"LIES!" she boomed. "How dare you accuse them of not telling you!"



"But they didn't..." he repeated, almost as if begging her to believe him.



"Don't you dare lie to me, boy!" she yelled.



Harry didn't even bother trying to explain to her this time, as she had already made up her mind and it was wrong to confuse her with facts, even if they were true.



Suddenly, Aunt Petunia seemed to materialize, and pulled him into the house. "Get inside, boy!" she hissed. "Before the whole street hears the commotion you're causing!"



Harry could only stare at her as she yanked him inside. The commotion which he was causing?



Typical Dursley thinking, he mentally groused, it's always someone else's fault, and never their own.



Actually, for the most part, human beings had the habit of blaming anyone or anything else other than themselves for their own problems... but in Harry's honest opinion, the Dursleys had it down to an art form.



"BOY!" Uncle Vernon raged. "You have work to do! Now go out and do it!"



And with that, he simply threw Harry back out, right after Aunt Petunia dragged him back inside. Not wasting any time, Harry went to it, remembering the chores from earlier that morning when he had seen the list.



After finishing with washing the car, Dudleycame out with candy and soda, and made obnoxiously loud noises as he consumed the food and added it to his ever-growing girth. He even made comments like "Mmm, this tastes sogood" or "Too bad the freak can't have any because he has to work."



Harry wanted to retort that he didn't want or even like candy or soda (The stuff's like poison, especially to Dudley, he thought to himself), but he figured, let Dudley think that he wanted some candy or soda or any kind of occasional treat which he had always been denied.



One of these days, they'll get what's coming to them...



Harry wasn't a vengeful person, but that didn't mean he would mind if Fate or Karma or whatever such force would come along one day and give the Dursleys the cosmic kick in the posterior which they so royally deserved.



It was his hopeful thoughts like these which had helped sustain him all these years, and they would help him get through the next week.



But what no onewould realize was that Harry's true talents and power would come through for him by the week's end.








Living with the Dursleys had always been bad enough, and it had always been worse whenever Aunt Marge visited, but it almost seemed as though all four Dursleyspresent were doing their absolute best to make Harry's life absolutely miserable this week.



The small, scrawny Potter boy would spend as much time at school as possible each day of that week, from the hour it opened to when all students had to leave. And once Hary got home, he was either being pushed away somewhere to do some chore or being summoned so he could be unfairly criticized.



Aunt Marge would also go out and buy expensive things for Dudley, both of them making a big scene of it in front of Harry in order to provoke him into being jealous; much to their anger and disappoint, Harry either pretended not to notice or just looked right back at them.



Harry simply refused to give them any kind of benefit in knowing that they were bothering him.



The only allies which Harry had on his side were time and patience. Soon enough, it was the last day of Aunt Marge's stay at Privet Drive. Harry was looking forward it, so things could become better in his life again... or at least less worse.



But soon enough, things escalated out of control.



It all started when Harry was doing his usual slave-like duty of cooking the food and setting it on the table for supper in the early evening. His enormous cousin just couldn't want to shovel down all that food which he really didn't need, and so he shoved Harry aside, completely unconcerned that Aunt Marge's bulldog ripper was right behind them.



Ripper immediately took offense at the accident. Snarling and baring his teeth, the nasty dog went after Harry, chasing him out of the house. The sun's last rays crept over the horizon as Harry thought fast and raced up the nearest tree he could get to, with Ripper right at his heels.



It was about an hour later, when it was cold and dark, when all four Dursleys finally came out to see what was going on. Dudleyimmediately broke down laughing, and within a minute, he was actually crying with real tears of mirth.



Aunt Marge patted her nephew on the shoulder, looking distinctly amused.



However, Aunt Petunia didn't look so amused. "Get down here now, boy!" she screeched. "You're making a scene in front of the entire neighborhood!"



Harry couldn't even spare the energy to be exasperated. If anyone's making a scene, it's you and your rotten family! Honestly, where did some people get off? Sometimes they make a scene just by yelling at other people to not do so!



Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, while somewhat embarrassed by this spectacle going on, also decided to take the opportunity to humiliate Harry in front of the entire neighborhood to make his family look better in comparison.



"Not so fortunate now, are you, eh, you freak?" Vernon gleefully hollered up to his trapped nephew. "That's what you get for trying to harm Marge's dog!"



However, unbeknownst to young Potter or any of the four Dursleys, an innocent-looking tabby cat surveyed all this happening from under a bush. It narrowed its eyes and gave a small hiss in disgust before retreating, unseen.



A couple of minutes later, it was back at the house of the elderly Arabella Figg, who was actually a Squib. Coincidentally, she had already been living in the same neighborhood as the Dursleyswell before Harry was left on their doorstep many years ago, and so when Dumbledore secretly sought her out to ask if she would volunteer to keep an eye on the Dursleys and their ward, she agreed.



Strider jumped through the open window and into the kitchen, accidentally bumping into a few of the other cats as he hastily made his way towards his mistress. He quickly muttered the Feline equivalents of "excuse me" and "pardon me" as he made his way past.



"Strider, you're back so soon?" Mrs. Figgsaid kindly as she stroked another one of Strider's fellow cats.



It mewed worriedly, and she was quick to notice this.



"What is it, Strider?" she asked, starting to get worried. She could not understand the language of cats, but she had found ways of communicating with them.



Narrowing his eyes, Strider bounded over to the refrigerator and angrily struck a picture of the Dursleys which was held in place by a magnet.



"They're bothering Harry, aren't they?" she asked, trembling. Deep down, Mrs. Figg really did love that sweet little boy, but unfortunately, she had to act rather mean towards him so that Mrs. Dursley wouldn't have any objections to leaving Harry with her.



Strider let out an angry hiss, summing up in the Feline language exactly what he thought of that horrible family.



Mrs. Figg nodded grimly. "Very well," she said. "I'll drive over... pretend to be an innocent driver just happening to pass through..."



Meanwhile, back at the Dursleyresidence, Mr. Dursley continued his nasty verbal onslaught against the helpless Harry. He and the rest of his family thought that he was making themselves look better and that Potter boy look worse, but in fact, he had it all wrong.



For years now, the other people living on Privet Drive, and even on the nearby connected streets, had all generally feared and despised the Dursleys. They had taken note of how the Dursleys' spoiled son got all the nice new clothes and everything he wanted, while their nephew "that Potter boy" got nothing, not even sufficient new clothes. Dudley had also been a menace to all of the children in the neighborhood, along with his gang who only stuck with him because he had the "power" of being the meanest kid around. A few times, they had called the police to be summoned to Privet Drive to investigate strange on-goings which worried them about the Dursley's nephew which they knew practically nothing about.



In short, the Dursleys only helped garner more sympathy for Harry and made themselves look worse at the same time.



Strider now reappeared, and while Mrs. Figgwas getting ready in her car, this dutiful cat was providing Harry with a means of some assistance. Strider yowled at Ripper in that so-called "language" which only non-human creatures seemed to understand with a string of insults.



Enraged, Ripper abandoned the tree and his quarry which was taking refuge in it, and instead went after the cat. Hoping that he was buying Harry enough time, Strider subtly used his natural cat magic to make a speedy escape.



Harry indeed managed to make it back down the tree to the ground, but he may not have made it down fast enough, because Ripper was back with avengeance. Harry was just making a break for Mrs. Figg's house (he really didn't know who else he could turn to) when suddenly Ripper took him down from behind.



He could feel the dog clawing into his back through his thin, worn shirt even before he heard its vicious barks. He was knocked to the ground, and quickly tried to turn himself over so he was on his back and could push the dog off somehow. His face scrunched up at the dog's hot, smelly breath, and he did his best with his small, nine-year-old body to throw the big dog off of him. Trying a different tactic, Ripper sank his teeth into Harry's lower left arm, between his elbow and his hand.



Harry screamed in pain, looking for any possible way to try and get this nasty dog off of him. His pain was coupled with his fear, his anger, and his rage as the Dursleys practically cheered on the monster! He had to find a way to stop Ripper from harming him...



The Dursleys' neighbors, who were watching this horrifying and sickening spectacle, rushed over to their telephones to call the police and try to put an end to this.



They didn't see what happened next.



Before Harry knew what was even happening, a flash of red light burst from his right hand, throwing Ripper back in an arc from the spot where they were fighting to the middle of the street. Ripper gave a yelp of surprise and pain as he sailed through the air, and then howled with pain as he landed awkwardly on the cold, hard pavement.



And then Ripper was promptly hit by an oncoming car.



Mrs. Figg was rushing to Number Four as fast as she could without breaking the speed limit or causing an accident, but then she had been distracted by the flash of red light which was coming from the Dursleys' property. She was so distracted by this display of accidental underage magic from Harry that she slammed on the brakes a moment too late.



There was a very awkward moment of silence while everyone tried to comprehend what just happened. All four Dursleys were gaping in shock and horror, Harry was lying on his side as he cradled his injured arm, Mrs. Figg was slowly getting out of the car to see what had happened to the bulldog, and all the neighbors were looking out their windows again, wondering what they had just missed.



"I..." Harry began. "I don't know... what just happened..."



"Vernon, Petunia," Mrs. Figg spoke up, trying to distract their attention away from Harry. "I'm so sorry! I was just passing through, and then all of a sudden, this dog just fell in the road right in front of me! I don't know how it happened, honest..."



"Ripper?" Aunt Marge whispered, her lip trembling as she shakily walked over to where her dog lay motionless. "Here, boy..."



But as she bent down to take a look, she soon realized one thing...

"HE'S DEAD!" she wailed. "MY POOR BABY IS DEAD!"



"Please," Harry gasped, gritting his teeth from the pain. "I didn't mean to..."



But with an almighty roar of anger, Uncle Vernon yanked Harry up by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back inside. Through the pain, Harry thought about what just happened to Ripper... he honestly didn't mean to kill Ripper, let alone harm him at all... but that dog was attacking him...



"YOU HIDEOUS FREAK!" Uncle Vernon screamed at the top of his lungs. "YOU MURDERER!"



"Please, Uncle Vernon," Harry whimpered, instinctively shielding himself, "I didn't mean to do anything to him..."



But Mr. Dursley didn't care, because he needed to yell at his brat of a nephew, and so he yelled so loudly that Harry couldn't even make out the words, and they all just blurred together. What seemed liked an hour or so later, when it was really just over a minute, Dudleycame barging in.



"Dad told me to watch you, freak!" he shouted. "You're going to get it now for killing Aunt Marge's dog!" he then added with malicious glee, in both his voice and on his face. Dudleydidn't really care about his aunt's dog, but if it helped get the freak in trouble, then so much the better.



Harry made to move to the kitchen sink to clean himself and hopefully treat his wound, but Dudley stopped him, denying him the right to be treated for his injuries.



"You think that's bad, you freak?" Dudleylaughed maliciously. "Try this, freak!" And with that, he took Harry's injured arm and viciously twisted it.



Harry cried in pain while Dudley's evil laughter rang in his ears. However, his pain was also steadily turning into anger.



"What are you going to do now, freak?" Dudleylaughed, taking Harry by the arm and swinging him so that he flew across the room. Harry just barely managed to stop himself from being thrown into the wall by using his other arm.



Harry now had his back against the wall as Dudleyhad him trapped. As he could see no other way out of this, Harry prepared himself for the worst.



"You're so weak, freak!" Dudleychortled, especially after his own rhyme. "Why don't you hit me, freak?" he taunted Harry. "WHY DON'T YOU HIT ME, FREAK? GO ON! HIT ME!"



Something within Harry completely snapped at that point, and so he punched Dudley as hard as he could, square in the face.


What neither of them suspected, however, was that Harry could apparently punch very hard.



With a single blow which stupefied both of them, Harry punched Dudley in the face, resulting in asickening sound. Dudleystaggered back against the opposite wall from the force of the blow, and actually managed to leave an indentation in the wall from where he fell back into it.



There was an awful silence while Dudleyslowly raised his hand to his nose, and then saw the blood on his fingertips from his now-bleeding nose.



Tears - not crocodile tears, but actual tears - welled up inDudley's eyes as the ramifications of what just happened hit him as a sort of aftershock.



"You hit me," he whispered, sounding as though he would break down crying at any moment.



"Dudley," Harry stammered, hoping to say something which would placate his cousin. But whatever he was going to say, Dudley would never know, as a woman's scream of horror and a man's scream of outrage echoed throughout the house.


Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon stood on the threshold, with her getting progressively whiter from shock by the second and with him getting progressively redder from anger at the same rate.



With a scream of pure anger and primal rage which sounded almost psychotic, Mr. Dursley charged at his nephew like a red-faced bull, intent on causing the boy as much bodily harm as possible for what he had done. For what he did tonight, what he did all these years, and just for being born at all. To blazes with the repercussions, he would make the brat pay!



Harry was quicker, however. With his heart pounding madly in his chest, he just narrowly avoided Uncle Vernon's massive bulk, meandered around Aunt Petunia's slender form as she tried to catch him, and burst out the back door.



Please, he begged to whatever higher powers might have been listening to him at that moment, I'm sorry for everything that's happened, Ireally am! I'll do whatever you want! Just get me out of here!



"Please, just get me out of here!" Harry cried out loud.



He was just about to jump into the bushes separating the Dursleys' property from the next one over when suddenly, abright white light the size of a firefly made contact with him.



Harry Potter completely disappeared from Privet Drive, and indeed Little Whinging, in a flash of light.








Pim jolted out of his magical slumber. How long have I been asleep? He dimly wondered to himself. Then again... what woke me up in the first place?



The tower's "memory" as he called it replayed the strange magical sensations which it had been commanded to detect before Pim went to sleep centuries ago.



Pim took a moment to take into account just how long he had slumbered for. Fifteen hundred years, he mused. Doesn't feel like it's been a day more than fourteen hundred years,he privately joked to himself.



Now turning his attention back to the matter at hand, he went over the information which the tower had magically recorded. Through the tower's memory, he could view what had happened through space and time. He saw a young boy with messy black hair, bright green eyes, and the scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt, who wore strange devices in front of his eyes, which held transparent lenses...



Wait a minute. Pim went through that again. That scar...



Something told him that it was no ordinary scar caused by something separate from magic. He would look into that later.



This boy was forced to act like a slave, a veritable house elf, to his horrible Muggle relatives. Currently, a fourth Mugglewas visiting, and brought along this nasty dog which clearly hated the boy. Pimwatched the accident unfold...



Pim was aghast at how things played out (he was now watching things as they happened through real-time magic). He couldn't blame this young boy for defending himself, even if he did accidentally use uncontrolled magic to contribute to the dog's demise (being struck down by an oncoming vehicle).



When he repulsed the dog like that... that was what must have been what triggered the tower to bring Pim out of his slumber. However, it wasn't over yet...



He watched as this boy's abhorrent and obscenely obese cousin bullied and provoked the boy into striking back after finally wearing out his incredibly long supply of patience. Having a shrewd feeling where this was going, Pimconjured up a small bright light and sent it out from the tower and to this boy's residence.



Pim's timing could not have been better, for now the boy's aunt and uncle were now out of their minds with fear and rage, and were now willing to do anything to make the boy truly suffer.



Through the magic which allowed Pimto see and hear what was going on, he could witness the boy's cry for help.



And just in time, the bright white light made contact with the boy, magically transporting him across the country to the tower itself.



As the magical sensors indicated that the young wizard was now within the tower itself, Pim activated one of his servants.



A marble statue of a young woman in modest robes walked into the room, making very light footfalls, considering its weight. "Galatea,"he magically spoke to the nonliving servant, "the boy who has just arrived here has been injured. Please tend to his injuries."



Galatea smiled and nodded, immediately hurrying downstairs to tend to the scared and injured young boy.



However, he was now out of his mind with grief and worry. He was already scared when he suddenly found himself in this strange new place where he had never been before; now, he was trying to flee.



No one would have guessed it, but Galatea was surprisingly fast (another advantage of being magical). Where the boy's malicious aunt and uncle failed, she succeeded, but she was so gentle for her hard marble form that he was unhurt.



"No... please," he whimpered, now crying freely.



"I'll take care of this, Galatea," Pim privately spoke to her.



"Do not fear, young one," said a voice which made Harry jolt in surprise and fear.



"Who are you?" Harry stammered. He wasn't sure if he actually heard it with his ears... it was more as though it he could sense it from within his own mind...



"I am the master of this tower," Pim told him. He hated having to lie, or at least not tell the whole truth, buy the boy was now out of his mind with worry, and now was not the time for detailed explanations. "I managed to rescue you and bring you here through my magic."



"Magic?" Harry repeated, stupefied. "But... there's no such thing as magic..."



"But if it does not exist, then how did you manage to fend off that dog or the other boy? Then how did I manage to transport you here within mere seconds?" Pim asked.



"My... my relatives..."



"They are of no concern, young one. They will not harm you here... they do not even know where 'here' is," Pimreassured him. And they never will do so again, if I have anything to do with it,he forcefully added in private.



Pim then asked, "What is your name?"



"Harry, sir," the boy stammered. "Harry Potter."



"And my name is Pim," the voice responded cordially. "You must rest, Harry. You are gravely injured. We need to heal your wounds."



"No, please," Harry begged. "I just want to go... please, I don't want to get in your way..."



"Everything will be fine, Harry. Please, trust us." Harry could feel his eyelids getting heavy. "Sleep now. When you wake up, you will feel much better."



"No," Harry tried to protest, but it came out muffled by ayawn. "I don't want... to... sleep..."



And with that, Harry knew no more.



After Harry fell asleep with what Pimcalled a "mental suggestion" (hardly anything like the ImperiusCurse or other such spells), Galatea gently swept him up and carried him to one of the "guest rooms." The truth was that they were more like spare rooms to serve as sleeping areas, since Pim never really counted on having guests. At this moment, Pimwas glad that he had the foresight to add such quarters centuries ago.



As Harry was laid out on a spare bed, Pimnoticed something for the first time.



He has a piece of Dark magic in him. What's more, it's linked to that scar on his forehead.



However, Pim knew that this did not automatically make Harry evil or even potentially evil. But even still, the circumstances were baffling, to say the least, not to mention unprecedented. Even with many millennia of magical experience, he could not determine how this came to be.



He will have to take great care, Pim thought to himself. And Iwill have to take care of him.



As Galatea applied a potion to heal his arm, Pim watched over the boy.



I will do my absolute best to protect and train you, Harry Potter.








Meanwhile, back at Privet Drive, it was quickly turning into one of the worst days in the lives of any of the four Dursleys. But what they didn't know was that it was about to get even worse.



An old man wearing half-moon spectacles and sporting a long beard and crooked nose managed to make his way throughout the crowd without drawing suspicion to himself, almost as if by magic. In fact, it was magic which was allowing him to do this.



Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry (and holder of many other titles)made his way to Number Four, and entered while the police were outside, taking pictures of the incident as well as taking statements from witnesses.



Dumbledore had been in the middle of dinner when he felt that somehow, something was... wrong. After discretely excusing himself and heading back up to his office at a brisk pace, he happened to find that the wards around Number Four, Privet Drive, were going off. He then told the portraits in his office to tell his colleagues that he would be away for a little while, before transforming his robes into Muggle clothes, and taking out aspecial Portkey to Privet Drive, one which he had hoped he would never need to use.



But soon enough, before even crossing the threshold to the Dursley's house, Dumbledore learned one terrible truth: Harry Potter was now missing.



Miss Majorie Dursleywas currently outside, still sobbing over her dead dog. That left Harry's three immediate relatives, who sat in the kitchen by themselves, trying to avoid embarrassment in front of the neighborhood.



"Good evening," Dumbledore said as he walked into the room. Mr. Dursleyand young Dudley Dursley looked at this newcomer, confused and instantly suspicious, but Mrs. Dursleyjumped up and screamed with fright.



"Please calm down, Mrs. Dursley,"Dumbledore suggested calmly.



"Don't you tell me what to do!" she snapped. "You've done that before, leaving that boy here on my doorstep all those years ago..."



Dumbledore frowned. Somehow, he got a feeling that Harry may not have had a very loving family to grow up with...



"What happened?" he asked, calmly but now also seriously.



"He hit Ripper - that's Aunt Marge's bulldog - lured it outside, got into a fight with it, pushed it in front of a car, ran back inside, hit me, and ran away like a coward!" Dudleyshouted, rambling.



However, a quick yet informative glance into young Dudley's mind through Legilimencytold Dumbledore otherwise.



"Really? And are you sure that was what happened, and in fact, you did not carelessly push young Mr. Potter onto your aunt's bulldog, which in turn chased him up a tree, then attacked him once he was back on the ground, was accidentally pushed into the path of an oncoming car, and then Mr. Potter was forced back into the house, where you hurt him and prompted him to try and defend himself, and then he fled?"



Dudley flushed with anger. "I didn't do anything! It was that freak's fault!"



Dumbledore nearly did a double take at such hateful words spewing from this ten-year-old boy's mouth. This did not bode well at all.



"Was it now?" Dumbledore asked with a small yet noticeable edge in his voice.



"Are you calling my son a liar?" Mr. Dursleyshouted, instantly going red in the face again.



"I suppose maybe I am," Dumbledore said, his patience really waning now... especially after he also used his skills at Legilimencyto take quick looks into the minds of Harry's aunt and uncle.



"HOW DARE YOU!" Mrs. Dursleysuddenly screeched. "How dare you leave us with that - that - that brat and then get mad at us when things don't go according to your plans!"



"How dare I?" Dumbledore repeated disbelievingly. "How dare you treat any child that way just because he was left with you. He never did anything to you, and you treated him as though he was the instigator for all the ills in your life."



"Well, maybe he was!" Mrs. Dursleyretorted. "And how dare you question the way we treated him after you essentially abandonedhim with us! The way I see it, you're just as responsible for this, if not more so!"



There were very few times when Dumbledore was truly angry, and this was now one of them. Those brilliant blue eyes began to radiate with a kind of heat, and he gave off an aura of great and terrible power.



He went for his wand to use magic to somehow make the Dursleys see just how terrible they were to their own kin, and maybe also to punish them somehow for their cruelty and their stupidity... but then he thought against it.



"The blood protection provided by this home worked not just for Harry, but for all of you as well. And now... if a year goes by without Harry coming back here, they will collapse permanently and irreversibly. They could protect all of you from any evil which attacked his house, but if that protection falls apart for good, then you may have just condemned yourselves.



"So, on the off-chance that you just happen to find Harry within the next year or so, I would highly recommend bringing him back, not just for his sake, but for yours as well. Because if it doesn't work... then you just may have condemned yourselves to complete vulnerability against the darker elements of the magic which you hate and fear so much."



Mrs. Dursley was as white as asheet by the time Dumbledore was done with his warning.



"Oh, and Petunia?" Dumbledore asked a less hostile tone. She nodded dumbly. "Remember my last."



Mr. Dursley was just about to ask what that meant when suddenly a young policeman walked into the room. "We have more questions for you," he said coldly as they turned to look at him. The Dursleys had a sinking feeling about the tone in his voice, which indicated that he may have had something on them which could get them in trouble...








In the meantime, Dumbledore had quickly made himself invisible before anyone else could see him there. With that, he quietly snuck out the back, doing his own little inspection of the grounds, to see if he could find out what happened to Harry. However, all he found was a small magical trail which ended quite abruptly at the property line. Sighing with disappointment and frustration, Dumbledore used his Portkey to send himself back to his office at Hogwarts.



He sat down wearily, what could have possibly gone wrong. From looking through their memories, he had seen how cruelly and badly they had treated him... punishing him for whatever went wrong in their lives... making him the slave with more duties than a house elf (after all, house elves never had to do laundry)... and telling him horrible lies about his parents.



Dumbledore honestly thought that even the Dursleys wouldn't be so bad to their own nephew... apparently, he was wrong. He only considered physical abuse and harm, and never other kinds, such as verbal and mental abuse. He would have never left Harry with his awful relatives if he had known...



And then Petunia Dursley's words came back to haunt him... about he was just as responsible for Harry's ordeal as the Dursleys were, if not more so.



NO, he thought to himself forcefully. They could still have taken proper care of him... me leaving Harry with them was absolutely no excuse for their abominable actions...



But deep down, Dumbledore knew that he was responsible for not looking into matters himself between then and now.



And if Harry ever finds out that I was responsible for all those years of torment and suffering, he just might come after me himself.



As for Harry Potter now being missing... that realization in itself made Dumbledore feel sick. If theWizarding world found out about their young savior being missing, they would try and find out why it happened, and then they would find out about how the Dursleys treated Harry... and it could turn into chaos from there. It would mean a disastrous blow for Wizard/Mugglerelations, with Muggle-hating witches and wizards capitalizing on Harry's ordeal to "prove" to the rest of the world that Muggles were savage and terrible monsters. On top of that, some witches and wizards would try and take matters into their own hands by exacting revenge on the Dursleys, which could end badly in any number of ways.



As Dumbledore held his head in his hands, he gazed over the top of his desk to an ordinary mirror which stood there across the room. In it, Dumbledore could see just how terrible he looked... how useless.



That's one of the few things I dislike about myself, he thought bitterly. I rarely make errors or mistakes, but when I do, they seem to be large, uncontrollable disasters.



Suddenly flaring up with anger, Dumbledore took one of the nearest silvery instruments on his desk which he could reach and flung it as hard as he could at the mirror. It hit the mirror in the center with surprising accuracy, and then the entire mirror fell apart into reflective fragments on the floor.



The entire office was silent as looked down at the surface of his desk, wondering what he could possibly do now.



What have I done?Dumbledore thought to himself miserably as he sank into his chair. Oh Merlin, WHAT HAVE I DONE?



Dumbledore vowed to himself that he would fix his mistake and somehow make things up to Harry, even if it was the last thing he ever did.








A/N: So, how was that for a change?



Regarding the chapter title... it's a nod to the famous poem by Robert Frost. Personally, I thought it was quite fitting for this chapter, since it's where things diverge from the canon path. (And it also happens to be the title of a Stargate: SG-1 episode, also named after the poem, even though this chapter has nothing to do with that.)



Also, note that I'm adjusting the timeline so that Harry is only nine years old (but nearly ten) when he runs away, so he'll have at least one full year to stay at the Tower of Pimeand be free of the Dursleys before finally going to Hogwarts.



As for Ripper's death... I hope nobody was upset by that (it was what I meant by "minor character death"). As for the Dursleys' downfall... they'll go down with a one-two punch. You'll see.



Mrs. Figg's tabby cat "Strider" is of my own creation but is NOT named after Aragorn from The Lord of the Rings, and is instead named after the Latin word stridor, meaning"trouble," in that he can either causetrouble or can sense trouble. (No offense to Tolkien's work or its fanbase.) As for cats having their own "Feline" language... well, the rabbits in Richard Adams'classic novel Watership Down had their own "Lapine"language, so I figured, why not?



Galatea was the name of a woman from Greek mythology who was originally a statue. Her creator, the sculptor Pygmalion, hated women, and so he decided to create his own perfect woman out of marble. However, after releasing how pointless and ridiculous his situation was, by treating his sculpture like a living being, he realized just how miserable he was. Sometime later, he went to the temple of Aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, and prayed to her to turn his statue into a real woman. When he returned home, he found that his wish had been granted. (I decided to name this automaton after Galatea, since it just seemed appropriate somehow.) Furthermore, the idea of a "robot" as we know it, a nonliving servant which could do chores and other such things, originally came from Greek mythology; the first ones were created by Hephaistos, the god of fire and patron of blacksmiths, and were used to either help serve the gods on Mount Olympus or help the god himself in his own workshop.



As for the broken mirror in Dumbledore's office... foreshadowing, perhaps?



Furthermore, I'm referring to Book 1 as Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, not Sorcerer's Stone. Yes, I'm American, and so I'm more inclined to know the first Harry Potter book as that, but I figured I might as well go with Queen and Country on this.



Oh, and one other thing... please don't forget to review!



-Quillian

(First posted: February 9, 2007)

(Last edited: August 22, 2007)