A/N: I just want to rewrite my story Harry James Evans: The Boy Who Lived.

December 1980

James Potter frantically ran into his study room, he didn't have much time. He could see Death Eaters outside his house, a whole gang walking down the street, trudging through the heavy snow. They were coming for him. This would be the end of him. He had been betrayed but by whom he did not know.

He fumbled around for a spare piece of parchment and an inked quill. His owl surprised by his current behaviour. He was too preoccupied to even realise that he was crying in sorrow. This was the end of the story for him, after death he was sure nothing came after. He had always wanted to be a hero and this was what he would get, a hero's end and all its glory.

Even when he was fully sent up to write what he needed to, he had trouble doing so. As much as he wanted to write, the words were difficult to place on the page. He hand refused to stop shaking to allow words to form on the page.

He had to remind himself why he was doing this:

He didn't want his Death Eater distant cousins to inherit everything he owned, especially the invisibility cloak. He wanted to spite them in last vengeance.

It would be the last kind thing he would ever do. The money would go to two people who really needed it.

It was his atonement for the wrongs he had committed.

Lily Evans had given birth to a son and she had made him the godfather. The girl whom he had loved for over nine years of his life and later rejected him had a son to a Death Eater. It wasn't what she wanted for herself. As a muggle born she had trouble finding employment so she had to resort to lesser means to support herself once her parents had died and her hardhearted sister refused to help her. She was also willing to do certain things to gain information for the Order and by extension, to save the wizarding world. Lily was the bravest and kindest woman he had ever known. He owed it to her, and to her son.

He remembered the night when Lily had come to him crying. He opened the door expecting Sirius, Peter or Remus but was surprised when he saw Lily. She desperately needed help. She was living in poverty, pregnant and she didn't know what to do. He accepted her with open arms.

She had named her new son Harry James Evans. The baby was named 'Harry' after his deceased grandfather and 'James' after his godfather. Everyone thought that the baby was his. James had gone along with this lie. He had never slept with her and even without Lily confessing, he knew who the father really was. The boy sadly took after his father, hopefully only physically.

James was always a prankster and often bullied other students while at Hogwarts. He couldn't help but feel regret over a lot of his actions and when he had left Hogwarts; he desperately tried to make amends. One thing that got to James was that it was perhaps his actions that added to the reasons why the boy's father became a Death Eater in the first place. The boy wouldn't have a mother who had to whore herself to sustain the both of them. He hoped his godson would grow up to be happy and live in a world where there was no Voldemort or Death Eaters and no intolerance. This was how he would make amends to the man he had so scorned and tormented.

On the piece of paper he had forced himself to write:

'I, James Charlus Potter, leave everything I own to Lily Elizabeth Evans and Harry James Evans. He is our son. Goodbye. James Potter.'

Nobody would deny that Harry was his son now. He addressed the letter to Dumbledore, tied the letter to the leg of his owl and opened the window wide. Looking out the window, he noticed that his muggle neighbours had put up festive decorations. The muggles of Godrick's Hollow were good willed and accepting, just what Lily and her son needed in a world of intolerance. He was reminded that this would be the boy's first Christmas and smiled, he could remember all the gifts his parents spoilt him with every Christmas. The boy deserved a good childhood.

The Death Eaters were banging at his front door now. He watched as his owl had flown out of sight before drawing out his wand and going to face the Death Eaters. There were too many of them to fight and he knew he would die, but he wasn't going to give up so easily.

…And so, James Potter died leaving Lily and her son a considerable fortune. The letter had reached Dumbledore before the Dark Mark had appeared above his dwelling. Wizarding society had accepted that James was Harry's father although he still had the ghastly stigma of being born illegitimate.

Life for Lily and her son had become slightly happier than it had been for a long time, until disaster happened. Voldemort had interpreted Harry as a part of the prophecy and set out to destroy him. Severus Snape tried to plea with the Dark Lord not to kill Lily as he still deeply loved her, although he believed that Harry was the son of Potter. The result was Lily sacrificing herself for her son to live, Voldemort being temporarily vanquished and Snape becoming a permanent agent for Dumbledore.

Harry Evans became the famous 'the boy who lived' and celebrated as a hero for a reason he could not even remember. Magic society unknowingly accepted the lowly illegitimate son of a muggle born prostitute and a former Death Eater as their saviour.

Even at a young age, Harry Evans was always an odd boy.

He had sullen black hair recklessly cut by his aunt with the guidance of a cooking bowl over his head. He was pale enough for people to regularly inquire whether he was ill. He had facial features overly serious for a boy. To make it worse, the baggy, worn hand-me-down clothes that came from his large cousin Dudley did nothing to help give him an air of normality. However, it was his striking almond-shaped green eyes and thunderbolt scar on his forehead that attracted the most attention. When people asked him how he had acquired such an unusual mark, he could only shrug.

Harry had lived with his aunt and uncle for most of his life and could not see any way around it. Living with the Dursleys was forbidding. His Uncle Vernon was a large man who cared nothing but his business success, his car and how his family compared with the neighbours. Aunt Petunia was blonde and horse looking with a long neck. There was something about Harry that made her face occasionally grimace in disgust, which was quite cruel and harsh for someone to do to their sister's child. Then there was his cousin Dudley Dursley whom Harry often compared to a fat pig in a blond wig, whom his both his Aunt and Uncle spoilt to no end.

If you randomly walked into their home on 4 Privet Drive, you couldn't tell that another boy lived there if you didn't know otherwise. There were no pictures of him on the walls. There was no bedroom for him as he slept under the stairs. There was no love or time for him.

A lot of the time Harry felt angry about how he was treated. He often lashed out in ways that the Dursleys could not explain or pick up. He often stole Dudley's things and either sold or hid them. Yet, there was a certain calmness in him that triumphed the anger. Like an invisible beacon of light that gave him love no matter what.

When he was little, he had hoped that he had other family who would whisk him away from them but with age he eventually realised that nobody was coming for him. The Dursleys were the only family he had. For some reason he had always hoped that it was his real father before realising that the man not only had nothing to do with his life, but probably didn't know he even existed. Maybe his real father was a nice man, maybe he was a scumbag – Harry supposed he would never know.

Whenever he got into arguments with Dudley, Dudley's resolution to everything was the same:

"Dudley, I'm staying back at school late because I have to tutor little Louise Maple. I can't do your homework for you tonight."

"Dad will get really angry at you if you don't!"

"I don't care, he's always angry at me anyway. Besides, he'll be too preoccupied with his company dinner. So is your Mum, so fuck off."

"Well, your Mum was a drug addicted prostitute."

This would strike a sad chord within Harry, maybe because his mother really was a prostitute and had died from a drug overdose. The Dursleys would sometimes use it against him. He hated them as much as they hated him and had already decided to run away when he was old enough. Harry knew he was clever enough to make it in the world by himself, but life for him always didn't seem fair. For instance, why didn't they just put him up for adoption? Harry was sure there were plenty of families that would love a son, even one like him.

Harry liked school better than home. For a boy with such an unnatural and neglected appearance, he was reasonably well liked. Well, more liked than his bully of a cousin Dudley. Harry was the kind of boy who spent all recess in the library reading books, not just because it was refuge from bullies like Dudley and his gang (who he doubted would ever voluntarily enter a library), but because he genuinely liked reading. He just liked books. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia hated going to parent teacher meetings because all they would hear as 'Harry is a very bright boy who gets along with most other children' and 'Dudley is dangerously overweight and underperforming'.

He wouldn't have to put up with Dudley at school for much longer anyway; Dudley would be attending Smeltings, the academy Vernon attended while Harry would be attending Stonewall High. Even though Stonewall was sure to be a shitty school and filled with losers and deadbeats, Harry was determined to succeed. Over his school years, he had developed several methods of dealing with bullies. There would have to be people

Harry had only ever had a few good friends, both of closer friends had left the school by the time he was ten. His best friend Emmy was a year older and her family had moved to London so she could attend an academically selective secondary school. His other best friend, Adam Freyson and his family moved back to Iceland a year ago. Harry remembered that he couldn't speak much English when he first arrived and Harry had helped him escape bullies. To Harry's anger and resentment, the Dursleys wouldn't let him have them as pen pals. It had been a very lonely school year.

He still got along with most of the over students though, even if they thought he was highly abnormal and some made an effort to avoid him. Harry didn't complain though, he was abnormal. Strange things would happen when he was upset, frightened, mad or sometimes just bored. He remembered he made the toy train that Dudley had received from Aunt Marge for his seventh birthday vanish into thin air; he didn't intend to do something so mean but when the woman who he was forced to call 'aunt' gave a packet of dog biscuits he just lost it. Dudley screamed and cried the whole afternoon as Harry had successfully ruined his party. When Aunt Petunia had once shaved off all his hair, he found that it had grown back to the way it was overnight. Earlier that year, he had failed to explain to the principal why he had seemingly teleported himself on the school roof once when he was being chased by Dudley and his gang. Dudley's gang and other groups of bullies permanently left him alone after that. He was then after known as 'that freak Harry'.

In fact Harry's favourite memory had been caused by his strange abilities. Two years ago, he and Emmy were riding on her bicycle when a gang of high school students had turned up and threatened them. Harry had tried his hardest to out-peddle them but he found that it was extra difficult with Emmy on the back, holding on to him with her life. Suddenly, Harry found himself rising higher and higher. It was fantastic. Emmy had started screaming at first but after being up high for a couple of minutes she had started to enjoy the view. She didn't seem scared of him.

All this changed one day when he would receive a letter in the mail…

"Harry, get the mail!"

Harry could hear Uncle Vernon's voice boom from the kitchen into his cupboard under the stairs. Harry merely rolled over in his bed.

"No, make Dudley get it!"

"Dudley, can you get the mail please?"

"Make Harry get it!"

"Dudley, poke him with your Smelting Stick."

Harry grudgingly got out of bed, making an effort to move as slowly as possible in the hope that Uncle Vernon would get off his huge bum and get the mail himself.

"Hurry up, boy! Don't get all resentful with me again!"

Harry opened to cupboard door and took slow, deliberate steps towards the door to get the mail. He knew Uncle Vernon was annoyed without even looking back. It was when Uncle Vernon gave a grunt or coughed in a deliberate way to disguise that he was annoyed. He was coughing like a small dog would bark.

It was a pretty typical morning. Uncle Vernon drank his tea before Aunt Petunia made him breakfast. Uncle Vernon and Dudley ate almost everything. The Dursleys only gave Harry enough food so that the child protection agency wouldn't get suspicious. They had given up trying to force Harry to cook for them. He always deliberately burnt it or found a way to make it taste disgusting.

Harry looked through the mail with the usual apathy; a bill for Uncle Vernon, a bank statement for Uncle Vernon, another bill for Uncle Vernon, a possible lawsuit for Uncle Vernon, a fashion magazine subscription for Aunt Petunia. Then he came across an interesting envelope. The paper was old and brownish and it had a string around it. It had no stamp, only an insignia of a shield with a 'H' in the centre on the back. The best thing about this letter was that it was addressed to him, in fancy writing: Harry James Evans, the cupboard underneath the stairs, 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey.

Harry was amazed and a little shocked.

This was the first letter he had ever received in his short life. He quickly stuffed it in his back pocket. He would open it in his bedroom away from the Dursleys, where they wouldn't see it.

"What the devil is it, boy?"

"Nothing much," Harry said with hands in his pocket. To Uncle Vernon, Harry was always acting in a way that was deceitful.

Aunt Petunia finished making breakfast and totted awkwardly over to Uncle Vernon in her high heels to pick up the letter. Aunt Petunia was fully dolled up; wearing a blue and white polka dot dress, her favourite purple high heels and her best, most expensive make up. If it were any other woman Harry would have said that she looked beautiful but this was his horse faced aunt - she just looked silly wearing such fancy clothes. Today she was going to have brunch with some of her friends at their usual favourite fancy restaurant, if you could really call the gossipy group of ladies she spent time with as genuine friends.

She placed large plates of bacon, egg and toast in front of Vernon and Dudley who proceeded to wolf it down. Harry thought they looked like pigs at a trough. For Harry there was a burnt slice of toast, some egg and bacon.

"You know I don't like bacon," said Harry, scrapping it to the side, "I've only been saying that for the last eight years or so."

Aunt Petunia gave him the evil eyes, "Well, don't eat it you ungrateful brat! If the child services come we can say that you refused to eat what we provide."

Harry frowned. They obviously didn't care enough about him to remember that he didn't like bacon, tuna or his Aunt's wilted salads and hadn't done so for as long he had been here. She also made him tuna sandwiches on purpose as well. He didn't know what kind of thrill she got out of doing so.

Dudley snorted and forked up the bacon on Harry's plate, "How could you not like bacon, freak? The fuck is wrong with you."

"Duddy-pumpkin, watch your language." Aunt Petunia stated in her wimpy voice. She was never upset at anything he did.

"I don't like eating pigs because they remind me of you."

In an instant, Uncle Vernon went red in the face, like a big beetroot. It always amused Harry. Dudley started to whimper - despite his bullying nature, he cried easily. Aunt Petunia shrieked. Annoying the Dursleys was like watching a bag of marshmallows explode in the microwave - it amused him immensely when it shouldn't have. Harry snatched the toast and ran straight back into the cupboard. It took great skill and practice to escape their wrath – both of which Harry had already mastered. He put on the cupboard light and opened the letter when he thought it was safe.

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress

Harry smiled in amusement. A wizarding school? Must be some sort of joke. Still, it sounded cool and it might be fun. Maybe he might even have his own TV show, like Zonko. Anything was better than the Dursleys and Stonewall High. There was another letter, one that listed all the stationary and book. But, how the heck would he respond by owl and how would he buy all those books? Did they even exist?