I do not own, nor will ever own the Harry Potter Series - or any of its subsidiaries.

"Once there was a young man.. who like you, sat in this very hall.. walked this castles corridor's.. stepped under its roof.

And seemed to all the world a student, like any other.. his name?

Tom Riddle

Today, of course, he's known all over the world by another name.

Which is why, as I stand, looking upon you all tonight. I'm reminded of a sobering fact.

Every day, every hour, this very minute perhaps.

Dark forces attempt to penetrate these castle walls, but in the end - their greatest weapon; is you."

~ Chapter I: The Early Years ~

8th of November, 1982 ~ Afton, Isle of Wight

The music-room in the Minister's Mansion of Port Mahon, a tall, handsome, pillared octagon, was filled with the triumphant first movement of Locatelli's C major quartet. The players; Veela-Quatuor, consciously positioned against the far wall by rows and rows of little round gilt chairs - were playing with passionate conviction as they mounted towards the penultimate crescendo down to the tremendous pause of a deep liberating final cord.

All of the assembled audience were enthralled with equal intensity as the players, not just by their practiced fingers but even the mere presence of the mystically beautiful beings. Despite having the fore-thought consciousness to resist the natural charm the French maidens claimed upon them, they were helpless to resist - how could anyone?

This, of course, was the intent of their host, as such 'charity' events were positioned to be used for nothing but lubricious deeds where he needed every assistance possible. Cornelius Oswald Fudge was, bargain trading as any Minister of Magic has done thousands of times before. Their choice of meat was always the same; a deposit in the election war chest in exchange for other nefarious requests; future fore-knowledge of international trade negotiations, a word of dedicated service in the prophet, or slight changes in slander regulation laws.. the works.

The most common request of recent however was uniquely unorthodox to prior; an invitation to the premier events around the world at the Ministers side. With word of the upcoming events of the year; like the Quidditch World Cup, many were clamoring for a position at the best seats available - the private Minister box.

Yes, the Minister of Magic was looking at tough re-election and needed every sickle and galleon he could suck out of the wealthy men gathered before him. So, seats were sold away at the highest auction in their silent bid war – which took place in between each of party events he had planned for the evening as the Lords and Ladies gathered were looking down at their charmed parchment. On it was the current bid pricing of the up-for-sale seat. They had started at just the invitations to the Minsters box, the cheapest seats initial bid set at a mear hundred galleons; and made their way across the list to the most sought after seats - right next to the minister himself.

With the final echoing chord, the crowd erupted in tumultuous applause; as the women regained their senses - they resisted bifurcating their dates at the degrading looks the men were giving the ensemble. Feigning for a distraction they proceeded to turn their attention to the final bid; after some time and much trash talk – the seats closest to the minister was sold away at a 'meager' 50,000 galleons to Theodore Nott.

The evening had reached it's conclusion, and the Minister gave a denouement for the evening summing what is to be expected at the Wizengamot for the Winter Solstice and how he was looking forward to seeing all of them again after the break.

"Fucking quisling, why would we listen to a word she says?" some of the men gave a smirk at the statement. "I mean really, what does she expect to happen; for this filth to actually pass through? I'll break Marchbanks fuckin' neck before I let that happen!"

Cornelius sighed; it was always like this after one of his events - the conservatives (mostly 'ex'-death eaters) were always the richest men at his charities and therefore joined in his after-party drinks for more meat trading. As per usual the first hour was spent trashing the more 'Light' legislation that was currently passing through the Wizengamot for vote. Unfortunately for Cornelius's growing headache, there was quite a liberal proposal facing the current Legislation: a well worded parley for all muggle-born/half-blood witchs and wizards that meet untimely deaths during the war see compensation to their families for loss of life by their killer(s).

As a brilliant politician Cornelius was un-surprised; only a year after the Dark-Lords defeat, and a few months after the Imperius Trials - the Light was taking advantage at the weakened state of the Dark. They were, of course, unhappy with the results of the Trials; even with the most foul death-eaters found guilty to life in Azkaban - many had still evaded jail by claiming they were under the Imperious Curse. Most of Voldemort's followers; Lucius, Yaxley, Macnair, Amycus, Nott, Goyle, Avery, and the Carrows were in fact in this very room. Cornelius smiled at the thought of what a picture of their current setting would sell for to the Prophet. If anyone knew of their continued influence after the war, there would be riots in the streets - but as any good leader knew; ignorance was bliss to the sheep.

"Yaxley.." Lucius began with a disapproving sigh, "we cannot, given the current climate, openly go against this proposition. It would give Amelia", he spat the name out with harsh venom, "the perfect ammunition to continue investigating into our dealings, something I would rather avoid." Macnair, and Nott nodded their heads in agreement, while Yaxley flashed looks around the room before leaning back in his chair scowling.

He was right of course, the Minister mused thoughtfully, Amelia Bones Department was now more powerful than ever. With increased funds from the war, the Light backing her every move, and the Order feeding crucial information she was an unstoppable power. A power that as Minister, Cornelius had no way of controlling without raising suspicion.

Looking around the room, he could see the others agreement with Lucius's statement and decided to speak up; "What the Light are asking for, on paper, is atrocious yes. But after it's gone through the Wizengamot; and my office, you can rest assured the money you lose will be but a small cut compared to our overall wealth. Something I'm sure after a few 'quiet' years, will be easily regained.." He gave a reassuring smile, which seemed to lighten the mood of the 'ex'-death eaters. Lucius gave a disapproving glance of the way he had taken all the credit, but said nothing - instead divulging himself to more firewhiskey.

Not yet sated Yaxley looked towards the politician; "What of the boy? Did you find where that codger is keeping him?"

Fudge frowned "As I've said before, Albus is keeping the Potter child's location a closely guarded secret, and I have reason to believe he is under the Fidelus plus many other impenetrable wards.. it would be unwise to spend resources trying to locate him at the moment." Cornelius pondered for a moment before trying a more apt approach with the blood-lust man. "However, with the upcoming ceremony; I suspect that he will be moved from his current location to a more permanent residence – most likely with one of the Order Members, an old friend of the Potters."

Many heads in the room perked up at this; Macnair immediately questioned it – "How solid is this information, surely the Order would not be foolish enough to think the boy is safe with our Lords defeat?"

The Minister smiled cruelly; "It is in fact impossible to be otherwise; Albion Magic dictates that an orphan child has to live with one of the names listed on the deceased parental will. In a few days I will be reading the Potter Will with Albus, and we will have a full list of who he will be going to."

Lucius, eyes still staring into the roaring hearth on the Eastern wall, waved a dismissing hand; "Again, it matters not – we are in no position to launch a full scale attack against the Order. Should they learn that we intend to strike against the boy, they will come for us entirely; and there will be no Imperius claim to fall back on." Turning he regarded Yaxley with malice filled glare, "Deception and patience is key until our Lord returns, something you will have to learn in strides Corban."

The man scowled but did not quip back, instead opting to down his firewhiskey and stand. "Fine, but I will not stop searching for our Lord – I've heard rumors of dark magic being used in Bulgaria; I'll be there until the Solstice." He nodded towards the others before striding out the door.

A belayed pause filled the air before they continued their conversation on the incoming Romanian trade-deals, slowly bringing the evening to a close. A short while later Cornelius found himself biding adeu to Nott and Amycus in the foyer; with a resounding *crack* he was alone with a man he so loathed; Lucius.

Regarding the slytherin with a telling glare, the platinum haired man scoffed; "He's rash, yes, but will not be a problem any longer - I feel there is more bark than bite to his words." Eyes narrowing, Cornelius said nothing; the choice of words.. the general laziness of not taking action.. either the Malfoy Head of House had lost his edge since the dark lords defeat or the statement was a test. He suspected the latter; the man was always cunning - and used every opportunity to extract information from both enemies, and allies.

"We shall see during the ceremony; Order of Merlin First Class to the Potter boy will be pressing on Yaxley's limited restraint - if he does intend to act on his words.. well, I don't have to tell you what must be done?" Cornelius smiled cruelly, while Lucius nodded his head. The small twinkle of approval in the man's eyes gave away intention of the test; he wanted someone outside the Inner Circle to deal with Corbon should it be needed. It would not due at the moment for there to be cracks in their already fragile trust, and as Minister - it gave Cornelius the unique opportunity to be in appearance with his position by reining in the groups more reactive members.

"Goodnight Cornelius, I shall see you at the Solstice" Lucius said, stepping out of the Manors wards – he silently apparated without waiting for a response. The Minister closed the door, thoughts already drifting to the next days events – World Cup negotiations with Delacour in the morning, I wonder if he'll bring that half-blood daughter of his with the entourage..

3rd of September, 1988 ~ Epsom, UK ~ Year Three, Lower School

Messy black hair, high cheek bones, and soft unblemished skin adored the child sitting alone in the back of art class. Harry Potter, was without doubt, the most beautiful child of their generation and damned if everyone didn't know it. No child could compare to those emerald green eye as they swept across jealous glares making even grown woman freeze in place disrupting inappropriate thoughts.

A silent child, they called him in whispered conversation – soft spoken; but when voiced could enchant your thoughts, and ensnare your attention. His movements a natural grace, his lithe build hiding the speed and dexterity of a champion Olympian. In their athletic activities he was not the strongest, nor the fastest – but many saw the lie for what it was. The way he could avoid bullies with practiced ease, or when cornered escape without a scratch told the truth.

The most deceitful of all was his intelligence; the cunning brilliance glowing behind his eyes was a giving tell. However the boys grades were average at best, and the adults questioned it constantly.

In fact today the administrative body decided to take interest and deliver an unknowing test to his class. After much discussion it was decided art was the best trial, innocent painting of colors that, to the young, was always a messy exercise but could display hidden intelligence from some.

Mrs. Lewis glanced at her target, sitting absently relaxed but postured in his chair – eyes scanning slowly over a tattered hardcover novel clearly from the school library. She glanced at the cover curiously, eyes slowly widening in surprise – the Bible?

After a moments pause in surprise, gaze torn away she was forced to bring the class under control with the increasing disruption and noise. "Attention class!" she sounded in a commanding noise, the class noise wavered lightly but continued in their gleeful laughter and conversation. "Attention please!" she attempted again louder with a frown. Flinching at the sound of a thick book snapping shut, the general noise quickly died out. The sound itself seemed to draw more faces to the front of the class, than her own voice – something she dismissed as imagination.

As they quieted, she smiled finally; with an air of annoyance towards her strained patience. "Today we'll be working on our brush painting" the class cheered with bright smiles, making the women sigh. "One row at a time, come collect a brush, a few tubes of paint, and a palet.." all the aisles as one started to get up immediately. "ONE ROW AT A TIME!" she snapped harshly, making all the kids return to their seats disappointed.

Berating her now checked temper; she glanced at the patiently waiting black haired boy with a smile.

"Thank you, now please - row one come up.." after much haranguing – she got the students settled into their paintings.

Patiently giving them time to think of what to paint then proceed she watched the class, then intrigued decided to wander. Drifting between the rows corralling some of the boys from chewing brushes, she remarked each drawing with disappointment. So far their pictures were at best mediocre, but it did little to dissuade her hope; they were after all only second graders. Giving each child a genuine smile, and some praise – they continued painting.

Finally, after some time, she made it to the back row; crossing empty seats to the alone child. With the easel turned away she could not see his painting, instead regarded his measured face. Head tilted in thought, the boy was enwrapped in his swirling brush – he's so damn cute. Looking towards his palet she could see Harry had mixed together primary colors to get a variety of secondary colors; separated in perfect little globs.

Taking notice of her presence; Harry regarded his teachers enthralled stare – embarrassed she distracted him. "Feeling okay Harry?" she asked.

His eyebrows furrowed, but gave a small nod as if confused to what she asked.

"You're just so quiet.." she explained, to which he looked away before turning back to her with an angelic smile.

"I'm fine" he answered in a musical voice.

Mrs. Lewis decided he had the voice to sing when he got older. She just smiled softly.

"Okay then, can I see what you're drawing?"

Nodding, she stepped around the easel expecting to see a couple splats of color or the infamous stick figure house with a couple lips of grass. What she saw instead made the woman freeze, open mouth in absolute shock. Staring for a few minutes she noticed the child beside her didn't even blink just returned to art, stroking the paper lightly. The painting, was in simple terms; beautiful. A lighthouse standing at the edge of a cliff, overlooking a crescent bay reflecting the falling sun disappearing below the waves.

As an art appreciator herself, the minor details were not missed by Mrs. Lewis; perfectly sculpted shading, reflective shadowing, and even lips of waves captured the color blends uniquely. It was the type of painting she would have to spend weeks working on without coming even close in detail, yet this young boy had done it in under an hour. She barely noted Harry gently setting his brush down to look it over.

"T-that's amazing Harry" she stuttered out, unknowingly drawing some nearby students attention.

Some of them gathered around to look in wonder, most didn't understand what it was – or what was so significant about the picture. But before Mrs. Lewis could request showing the lovely art to some of her colleagues; a troublemaker boy who had been taken to the principal office on more than one occasion came over. All it took was the flick of a paintbrush, and a dark black line flickered across the painting - instantly ruining it.

Mrs. Lewis never felt the need to hit a child before that day, but in that moment, without thought, her arm flipped up in an open hand and came crashing down hard against the child's head. A resounding smack, and the squeaky yelp of the student delivered the necessary punishment. As Mrs. Lewis berated the boy for his actions, she didn't notice the darkened look in the young Potters eye; or his hard instinctive flinch away from her simple hand gesture.

Leading the young troublemaker out the door, she left the class to continue the art as she walked to the principal's office - red faced boy in tow.

Just as she was returning a few minutes later, the lunch bell rang and most the students made their way out the door. Mrs. Lewis searched for Harry in the growing crowd feeling heavy heart as she lost sight of the dark haired boy. He must of left early she thought absentmindedly, changing her gaze to the stack of today's artwork in the outgoing project bin – only to discover his project gone. A little crestfallen, she realized the other teachers wouldn't believe her when she described the artwork to them at lunch – she decided instead to keep what she learned to herself.. for now.

23rd of November, 1988 ~ Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, UK

The belt hit his back with a sharp crack. Harry barely flinched, eyes a dulled green as he lay on the chair almost motionless. Blood ran down his bare back, but he could no longer feel the pain – hell he couldn't even feel the chair he was leaning over. He assumed it was his body's way of coping with the pain, numbing all nerve receptors – everywhere.

"That'll teach you to pass- " he slapped the metal end down again, "with better marks than Dudley-" he delivered the most powerful strike of all making Harry yelp instinctively, faking the pain. "- cheating freak." Vernon finished, re-clapsing the belt around his waist, as Harry's heavy breathing started to slow; and he slumped into the wood.

Not letting the boy rest, Vernon violently grabbed his sweat covered hair; dragging him from the kitchen across the wooden floor - careful to avoid the white carpet with his blood. Unlatching the bolt, he threw Harry within the cupboard - hearing the hard snap of his head colliding with the backboard.

"I better see those grades drop boy, or I'll chain you out with the trash" he spat, the report card Harry had been so careful to hide in his cupboard for the past week held like a weapon in the air. Harry's lip quivered, and he looked away in shame - not for getting good grades, but for being caught getting good grades. Harry knew from past experience that Vernon would be furious his own son's education was dipping below the filth he was in charge of.

Vernon now sated, slammed the door shut; the walls shaking from the collision - then after a moments pause his weight pounded on the stairs as he retreated for the night. Harry body collapsed against the unwashed sheets, his blood soaking into the stained fabric - but he didn't even notice, nor care. His cuts and bruises would heal soon, they always did. Harry knew not why or how; just that he never had an injury for more than a day. He thought he was cursed, forced to endure Vernon's beatings everyday without the proof to report him.

Wet emerald green eyes stared up at the ceiling; mind whirling with emotions - anger, frustration, and longing. Longing to not feel like this, to be helpless in a broken system; helpless against his jailers. He wiped away a drip of sweat, as it traveled down his forehead to his eyes. What to do? Should I try to leave?

He always eyed the open gates of the school during recess; his heart yearning to be released from his prison - the endless cycle of hate. But where would I go?

At home they hated him, looked down on him, beat him, made him submit everyday.

At school they despised him, were jealous of his beauty, his talent.

In public, whenever he was dragged along; people looked down on him, Vernon told them he was a stray they picked up - a beggar child without a home.

He had nobody, no place to go, no people to see - he was.. alone.

Harry cried into his sheets that night; admonishing himself for the weakness of his eyes - but the soft, muffled sobs continued without care.

Alone.

13th of November, 1982 ~ Minister's Office, Ministry of Magic, London, UK

Cornelius sighed; across his rosewood desk was the source of his growing irritation – Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. A name as long as his ego; was denying him elegantly of everything he had hoped to accomplish today. But as a politician he could not help but want to tip his hat to the wizard, it wasn't everyday Cornelius found himself stuck without solution.

"So, let's reiterate – because this conversation has become repetitive and I'd rather we save our limited pleasantries for public appearances" Cornelius quipped before Albus had a chance to respond. "You will not risk the Potter boy receiving his Order of Merlin because at this time you believe there are still some who wish to harm him."

Albus said nothing, just simply nodding his head – making the minister scowl "Wouldn't it be more prudent for you to tell me who you believe threatens the boys life so I can communicate to Amelia who to be wary of at the event?"

"Hm yes, but seeing as I've already done that; and Amelia cannot arrest people before they've committed a crime – there is little assurance that the DMLE will be able to protect him. Instead, I suggest we give the honor without Harry's presence – he is after all just a baby. It has little effect on the political aspects you were hoping to gain from the award, so there is no loss to the Ministry in its rebuilding efforts." Albus explained simply, with a righteous smile – his eyes challenging for the Minister to disagree.

Of course, he was smart enough not to take the rising bait – and instead leaned back in his throne of a chair. Rubbing a hand across his face, he gestured to the Will laying across his desk. "You are, as always, correct Albus. I just hoping to honor James Potters son properly; we will of course award James and Lily post-humorously along with their son" he faked a thoughtful pause. "It saddens me that there is not more we can do for the savior of our world, and the last heir of such an Noble House."

He awaited for Albus to say something in agreement, but only noticed his angry gaze drift over the will in front of them. Cornelius coughed to break the rising tension; "What of the boy's holdings" he continued failing to notice the wizard's flash of annoyance. "Gringotts restricts access to only those listed on such Will but with the right motivation.."

Albus raised a hand stopping him - flicking his wrist, producing a letter from the air; reading a few lines from it before handing it over to the minister.

As he read the parchment, Albus spoke watching the man's eyes - "I've already spoken to Ragnok, and he has.. Obstructed any involvement from myself or anyone listed on that will from touching the Potter fortune; depositing or withdrawing. He is under the impression that some would take advantage of Harry's inability to speak for himself; and has frozen the Potter Accounts."

Cornelius's was briefly stunned; Ragnok was the President of Gringotts, and Commander of the British Goblin Forces - a goblin only a few souls had ever spoken to in person. The Minister had only twice the unpleasant occasion, and he had seen the Goblin as stoic, and un-corruptible; enough information for the Minister to not need a third occasion.

For Ragnok to directly speak on the Potter situation spoke volumes to what the Goblins role in the Potter boy's future would be. His presence was only ever required during the negotiation, or decision of the banks most troubling concerns - otherwise he left it to his hand selected Department Heads. The Minister swallowed this information harshly, while he wanted to take some of the massive Potter fortune for himself; he would never attempt to heavy hand the Goblins. Wise in length, and as cunning as Salazar Slytherin himself – the Goblins were not to be trifled with; especially when Ragnok himself had made the decision.

Glancing across the desk, he could see the similar thoughts reflected in older eyes; coming to the same conclusion – the Potter Accounts were out of their reach. His attention drifted to other matters in saddened resolve; "Well" *cough* "now that the boy's Will has been read, I believe it is prudent; but most importantly, magically binding, that Harry be moved to one of his listed guardians."

Albus nodded; "Yes, as per Albion Magics – this has already been done." There was a long pause, before Cornelius realized the man was done speaking.

"Which guardian did the Ord- .. did you choose?" he challenged the man to deny, and with an afterthought stood up walking over to pour himself a drink.

"His muggle relatives; Lily Evans sister, and her husband" the shorter man paused before pouring his drink.

To say that Cornelius was taken aback was an understatement; not only by the fact Albus, for once, had told him who he left the boy with, but also that he had chosen the most unappealing of options. Taking his glass back over to the desk, he sat down cocking his head in question: "Why?"

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and Fudge sank back in his chair; expecting a long speech in-coming - with the sip of brandy he was not disappointed.

Half-an hour later; the Minister finished a third glass of brandy, eyes drifting sleepily as the Hogwarts Headmaster finished his explanation of blood magic and their apparently useful properties.

"So in short, Lily's sacrifice for her son saved the boy's life - and he is now protected under that same magic at the Muggle relatives home" he shorted, sighing rather rudely.

Eyes narrowing at the Minister's obvious frustration Albus simply nodded his head. "This protection effects (theoretically), anyone intending to do harm to the boy, yes?"

Again Albus nodded waving a hand, "I believe it is the most powerful magical ward any could ever procure; of course we've also added the standard wards - Fidelius Charm, maximum praesidium, fianto duri, etc."

The Minister nodded thoughtfully, half-drunk; and Albus slowly stood - collecting his paper's from the desk. "Well, if that is all Minister - I believe I'll be off, much negotiating to be done before the Winter Solstice after all." After a moment's pause, the Minister realized Albus was leaving, stood.

Speaking of which "Actually, before you go Albus, I had a request of sorts" he spoke rather sluggish at this point, man that's some good liquor.

The tall, thin man turned back - his cloak swishing across the floor without touching it.

"I've been met with some.. resistance, on my side of the aisle at this proposal Lady Marchbanks has submitted. I was hoping that you could provide some assistance in lightening the intended reparations, it would be most.. appreciated." He paused, realizing he had given a little too much away at his current position; a foolish mistake of any politician. But with a slight grin, he realize that it was nothing Albus didn't already know; he recovered easily at the thought. "I, of course, only want to see swift justice for those poor families that have lost loved ones, as expeditiously as possible.. such a terrible war, so many lives wasted. So I believe you understand, it's best we attempt to repair, and move forward."

The Chief Warlock recognized an opportunity when he saw one, and understood that helping the Minister in this predicament would go a long way towards repair in Ministry. "I will talk it over with Lady Marchbanks, perhaps the initial proposal was a bit.. overstretched in it's asking reparations."

The Minister nodded his head in thanks; "Emeis thalithuanian mauti", Albus recognize the greek saying; 'we shall push on'.

"Indeed we shall Minister", he nodded back striding out the door. Indeed we shall..

4th of February, 1989 ~ Epsom, UK ~ Year Three, Lower School

A light touch across the bow was all it took for his hand to desperately reach out and grab it. Running a calloused finger over the rosin bow; he felt the smooth horsehair delicately. Mrs. Lewis noticed this with light smile, but said nothing as she continued describing each chord of the violin. Harry tensed the strings, softly plucking each one as she talked; hearing the minor difference between them. After some time, Mrs. Lewis released the class to play; instructing them to pluck one string at a time in ascending order.

She was not surprised as the room filled with off-key plucking, some so harsh almost breaking the strings and sighed resentfully - closing her eyes to ease her already rising frustration. Something however perked her curiosity; a soft sound - A-minor, to g-minor stroke - eyes closed shut she searched for the source. Next door.. maybe, Mr. Oveture was known to practice sheet music at this time of day. She paused, trying to listen over the chatter and plucking. No, its in the room.. in the back.. Eyes flashing open she hungrily searched for the player, it only took a brief look for her to know who was producing the soft sounds. After all he was the only student with a bow raised across the strings.

Mrs. Lewis said nothing, just listened - closing her eyes at times to hear better over the class. Harry was playing a rising tempo; it started off slow and methodical, like a walk - and grew over time as if learning to run; rising in sound. The general noise had died as students listened to the melody; enthralled in the enchanting noise. Eyes wide in shock, she stared at the Potter boy; who had yet to notice his audience. Analyzing the bow confidently dancing across the chords as his fingers pushed new noise with each stroke; he was en wrapped in his play.

Blinking her eyes; Mrs. Lewis thought she saw the softest of glow around the boy - but dismissed it as a trick of light.

The music was suddenly familiar to each student; relaxing and comforting like a fond memory. Each note sounded the same; but brought different emotions - to the girls it was a romantic ballad. They imagined castle ballrooms; filled with elegantly dressed people spinning in practiced formation to the music, their hearts filling with love and affection. The boys imagined a battlefield; a ferocious fight between warriors in the fields of death, their chests filled with pride, and determination.

As Harry crescendo to a finish; he drew out a long G major bellow and looked up from his bow - his fellow classmates stared back with glazed eyes. One girl, accidentally dropped the instrument in her lap with a resounding crash; snapping everyone from their imagination.

Briefly flustered, Mrs. Lewis regained the class's attention and continued with the lesson as though nothing had happen. But, as she talked; curious eyes roved over the Potter boy as he continued to quietly pluck his strings - head tilted in thought. She came to the conclusion, without a second thought, that the boy had received prior advanced lessons at home and dismissed the complexity of the melody they had all heard.

7th of February, 1989 ~ Number 4, Privet Drive, Surrey, UK

Harry's body shook in absent pain, trying with all his will to keep it under control - he was once again helpless. Looking down at the cement, it was already pooling with blood; and his eyes blurred. Again, he felt little to no pain - but the pressure was a different story, he could feel the sensation of broken bones. Today, was one of the most brutal beatings he had ever received. Harry wasn't surprised, of course, when his homeroom teacher showed up at the Dursley Residence with questions of his advanced musical teachings - he knew tonight he wasn't going to sleep.

Vernon and Petunia, as always, had cunningly deceived his teacher - the same way they always escaped questions about him; charm and innocence. "Why yes, we've been tutoring Harry on instruments since he was five! A lovely boy yes, excellent with his fingers - gosh, I'm so glad to hear you feel the same. Of course were very proud; I've been telling Petunia we should all go to one of the local orchestral concerts, see if the boy has an interest towards the Arts." This statement was all it took to win his teacher to their side without a second thought. A few hours later and Harry was in the basement bleeding out on the cement flooring naked with only a tattered rag.

Breathing hard, the bulging vein on Vernon's neck thudded away his elevated heart rate - it took the final thud of a hammer against Harry's fingers before he was finally sated. Meaty palms grabbed at the boy's hair, pulling hard back and forth, before finally he pushed away standing to return upstairs. With a look from the last step, he spat down at the boy with a statement Harry would never forget; "Just like your mother, a pathetic bitch; I'll make sure you know just how much that cock-slave was worth to the world" with that he slammed the door, with a finale click of the deadbolt.

Harry immediately threw up the blood he been swallowing; he was determined never to give the man any satisfaction that his beatings were working. Crawling to the corner, to lean his head in elevation against the wall he softly cried. The tears did little to satiate his emotions, but the salty water as they touched his lips helped relieve some of the metallic taste in his mouth.

Slowly but surely his body stopped shaking and the pressure against his chest washed away as a relaxing, soothing flow of energy travelled up his body. It calmed his emotions, and the tears stopped flowing – the last feeling his remembered before blacking out was the snapping sound of his bones moving back into place.

21st of December, 1982 ~ Wizengamot Chamber, Ministry of Magic, London, UK

ORDER! ORDER IN THE COURT!" Dumbledore's voice reverberated across the chamber, enhancing his already commanding tone. The gathered noise slowly died out; Lords and Ladies languid to resume their seats - but did so turning toward the Chief Warlock.

The aged-wizard regarded the source of their sudden uproar with venom; "Lord Nott, it has already been widely recognized in many courts that a victim still holds personal injury claim to negligence or intentional harmful acts on part of the defendant- " One side of the room immediately exploded with outrage, drowning out the sound of his voice.

Again, his voice booming with the Sonorous charm, Albus forced calm upon the commotion – "SILENCE!".

Patiently waiting for the conservative side of the room to resume their seats he continued; "I will remind the chamber that we are not discussing manslaughter, assisted suicide, or homeowner negligence – we are only addressing first/second degree murder proven by The Council of Magical Law", he paused letting the words sink in, and the court erupted in small whispers.

With a sly grin he turned towards the conservative side; eyes sweeping across them individually as he spoke "It is unfortunate, that the Dark Lord, during his rein, was so powerfully able to control twenty-two souls, forcing them to do horrendous acts of violence against others on his behalf - making their crimes mote.."

A few of the progressives chuckled, but Albus ignored it; continuing to stare down each 'ex'-death eater Wizengamot member waiting for them challenge the remark.

Yaxley shifted to stand, but a quick flick of Lucius Malfoy's wand he was held down; the two had a brief silent conversation of eyes. After a moment awaiting silence, Yaxley snapped his head away in defiance, but remained seated. A few members of the Order observed this with prudence; and continued to monitor them even as the floors attention returned to their speaker who acted as though unaware of the exchange.

"..but negligence, however, can be proven by Causation; a defendants action or in-action against a victim." He swiftly continued before the conservative's disapproval could be voiced. "After all the same twenty-two people that were Imperio'd by Voldemort also bore the mark of Voldemort's personal.. Entourage." Yet again, a few chuckles were heard through the silence at the jabbing comment; but with some restraint the conservatives said nothing.

"Because of this, it indicates that these individuals must of been in some.. esteem, or trust, with the Dark Lord and aware of his plans; therefore fall under second degree negligence for each victim murdered by their wand."

He let the statement dangle, leaning on his heels awaiting an opposition to be voiced, after a minute; when it was clear none would come - Albus turned back to Lord Nott.

With a cough the man stood back up; "Are we saying now that any with group tattoo's, or members of clubs are culpable for what that club/group does even without the consent of said individual?" he paused a moment for his view to sink in.

"Let's say, for example, that the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot were to murder someone tomorrow; would that make each member of this esteemed court liable for the Chief's action? Or penalized for their in-action?"

Some murmur flowed through the court at this making Nott, and some of his close-by comrades smile widely at the quip; he sat back down.

"If those members Aided or Abetted in the Crime; then yes - they would be charged under Accomplice Liability" Albus remarked immediately as Nott finished, stunning the man at his miscalculation. "The twenty-two individuals named on this bill thoroughly Aided and Abetted in all the crimes committed during the time they were under the Imperius Curse; but cannot, as proven by The Council of Magical Law - be held accountable for those crimes under S.R 42-322. What they can be held negligible for is being marked with the 'Death-Eaters' mark, and willingly presenting themselves before Voldemort to be Imperiused."

Walden Macnair immediately stood, smiling menacingly; "Now you are claiming that these people were willingly Imperious by the Dark Lord, and willingly received the Dark Mark when you cannot possibly prove- " he was cut off by the Chief Auror Amelia Bones standing, swiftly pulling out a roll of parchment.

"Excuse my interruption, Chief Warlock - may I.. " Albus nodded quickly, a little too quickly some of the Wizengamot noticed.

Amelia tapped the parchment lightly with her wand; "Vetranquis Sonorous" - instantly a small ball of light floated from the parchment, rotating to the center of the chamber; then without warning the monotone voice of Ignatius Prewett (Stenographer of Governmental Sessions) echo'd throughout the chamber.

"14th of September, 1982 ~ Docket Case 12-44271; Trial of Augustus William Rookwood, accused of First Degree Murder, convicted of Treason by Testimony from Igor Aleksey Karkaroff. Quoting from Transcript 76:02 Subsection 12.41;..

15:21:49: Bartemius Crouch Snr. - "When did the Branding Ceremony take place?"

15:21:58: Augustus Rookwood -"Two months after- "

15:22:02: B.C. Snr - "A specific date, please, Mr. Rookwood"

15:22:09: A.R. - "I don't know.. 14th of December, 1977.. maybe? I can't remember.."

15:22:22: B.C. Snr - "Very well.. What took place during the Ceremony, how many people were there?"

15:22:34: A.R. - "Fourteen.. fifteen including me, of the inner-circle. We stuck out our arms; and repeated after the Dark Lord some words.."

15:22:51: B.C. Snr - "Were you under the Imperius, or any influencing magical stimulants that persuaded you to be 'branded'?"

15:23:04: A.R. - "No, the Dark Lord was clear that our mind's had to be willing to receive the mark and loyal to only him otherwise we would parish; Marcius Rosier died while receiving his mark. His body withering- "

"Finite" Amelia tapped her wand, again, and the ball of light faded from existence - elevating the room's stunned silence. After a moment, the room erupted in barely docile whispers.

Letting the conversation flow, it rose in tempo with time - before Albus finally raised his wand, letting the room take notice and return to silence by it's own pace.

Dumbledore turned towards the Minister nodding his head, "I believe all has been argued; for or against W.R. 1042 - if there is anything more to discuss: speak now, or forever mote shall it be!"

He awaited for someone to object, or further argue another such point - but when none came he smiled.

The Minister stood; "We shall adjourn for the day, tomorrow at 0900 hours, Session will reconvene and vote on W.R. 1042. Goodnight to you all!"

24th of September, 1989 ~ Epsom, UK ~ Year Four, Lower School

Harry rolled the phrase over his tongue elegantly; reverberating the words fluently to the German raised man. His grade three teacher clapped delightedly, face contorted in a silly grin – thinking of more and more phrases for the boy to learn. With a guilty sigh of boredom Harry repeated the man's next sentence verbatim. How did he end up in these situations?

The day had started like any other with a few introductory lessons into French; hello, goodbye, etc. Then after some time into the lesson, Mr. Thomas handed out a worksheet for the students to start in class; and finish at home.

The classroom quickly became deathly quiet, only the sound of page turning and pencils working to be heard. Mr. Thomas methodically worked his eyes across the room, ensuring each student was working and not taking naps or playing around. Scanning the last of the row, elated most were working diligently, he spotted a patch of jet-black hair staring unfocused out the window into the school yard.

Shaking his head, the mid-aged man stood and walked over to the student – mentally preparing the speech to berate his student back to the work at hand. As he approached the young Potter's desk however, the boy just held out his homework to him without turning his eyes from the yard. Confused, and annoyed he was about to ridicule his student, but then some writing on the sheet of paper caught his eye. It was finished.

Perplexed, he took the assignment – carefully going over the answers; with a quick scan he could tell they were correct. After a moment's contemplation he walked back to the front tail in tow, mind whirling. Surely the boy must have some French heritage to have learned the language so quickly. It was then he determined, he would speak with the boy after class to see if he already knew the language.

Later that day Harry sighed; as he teacher again asked the same question – he only rolled his eyes as he repeated yet the same answer; "Non monsieur". Mr. Thomas had requested Harry to come by his office after classes convened, knowing that the Dursley's wouldn't notice his absence for another few hours he agreed.

Grinding his teeth, Mr. Thomas switched to german; "sicherlich hatten sie vorher nachhilfe.." 'surely you had previous tutoring'.

"wieder kein herr" 'again, no sir'; Harry snapped harshly – annoyed. "ich habe das letzte jahr in der bibliothek studiert" 'I studied in the library all last year'.

Mr. Thomas narrowed his eyes; "Well.. what other languages can you speak?"

"None fluently, I'm only passable in French and German" he replied sheepishly, making Mr. Thomas chuckle.

"Reading only get's you so far after all.." he explained quickly, eyes lowering to the book in front of them.

Thoughtful, encouraged by a kinship pride; Mr. Thomas offered to teach the boy an private lesson of expansion on French, and German after classes for an hour everyday. Interested, Harry agreed - another hour away from the Dursleys would be nice..

Over time it became their ritual; Mr. Thomas would teach him a phrase or colloquial saying, and Harry would learn it instantly.

Before his second lesson however, learning from the past mistakes – Harry made his teacher promise to keep the private tutoring between the two of them secret, in exchange he would learn any language the man wanted to teach. With slight remorse the man agreed, and so began a long friendly tutoring of a multitude of languages.

They repeated this process every day, and at the end of his third year – the dark haired boy had become fluent in French, German, Romanian, and a little bit of Russian.

Ecstatic over his linguistic development, Mr. Thomas broke his promise and emailed his guardians – telling them of how proud he was of the boy's intelligence, and work ethic.

That week, Harry didn't return to school – the basement had never seen so much blood.

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~Looking for Help in Editing this Story, already have chapters and ideas for storyline written; just need a good editor to help with writing~