A/N: This is the first shot I try at a real OC story. There will be a connection to the original characters, as well as a strong AU. This story will be told out of POV from three different people. The first three Chapters will be chapters, which will introduce the there protagonists, and show their backstory.

This is the very first Chapter, in which we will meet the main protagonist. I hope you enjoy and please review. I know that most people don't like OC stories, but they are fun to write for the author, so any form of feedback would be greatly appreciated and would naturally motivate one to write more... But now that you successfully skimmed the AN and probably already lost interest in this story, I hope you enjoy...

AU note: This story is AU so there will be multiple changes including some people getting sorted into different houses or things like that.

And most importantly: There will be no form of bashing in this story.

I will try to keep this story as realistic as possible! I will not make someone completely over-powered or will have Harry kill Voldemort without a drop of sweat.

There will be the main focus on the people in the story, they are the most important part of the Universe and I will try to make their interactions as pleasant and realistic as possible. There will be romance and pairings, though I am not sure of when I am going to start implementing them. Most likely somewhere around the third/fourth year.

I hope you will continue to enjoy the story and please do leave a review. It motivates greatly to continue writing when you get some form of assurance that people actually read what you write.

Chapter One

A Bishops Greatest Fear

London, July 21, 1991,

The heat was unbearable. The open windows didn't help much either. Even the rare gusts of wind, that made their way into the small bedroom, where only temporary relief. It had to be the hottest day of the year, which seemingly was about every second day a week over the course of the last month.

The small bedroom consisted of a one person bed, a desk and a wardrobe. The desk was a mess, papers and books spread across it. If you were to search for something specific, you wouldn't be able to find it. A grey coat was hanging on a small chair right in front of the desk, it had a small logo of a local private school on it, somewhere in London.

The Wardrobe was filled with rather casual clothes, with the exception of one segment reserved for a school uniform, consisting of another grey jacket, a white shirt and black trousers with black Oxford shoes, as well as a sports uniform in similar colours.

On the small bed, which was in a rather unconventional colour scheme, representing the colour of a local football team, was laying a young boy, at eleven years of age.

Nicholas Bishop was by no means a popular kid in school. His only friend, a guy called Michael Watford, moved away when he was younger. In a public school, this wouldn't have been a problem, but in the more sophisticated environment of his private school, where there was social pressure by the wealth and renown of their respective families, the pupil created their own little groups. These groups where basically impregnable and the people who didn't manage to find suitable company where quickly outcasted and had to manage their own.

Nicholas was one of these people. And even though he was socially rather intelligent, something he was very proud of, he didn't manage in the shark tank that was his private schools' social environment.

The Bishops weren't the wealthiest people, they just about managed to get through. But Nicholas mother wished to send him to a private school so he could get the best possible education a child could wish for.

Only a year after he entered the school his mother died. He never got to know the real circumstances of her death, he always got one of two answers depending on whom he asked. If he asked his father he would get all quiet and say that she was in an accident, after that he would retreat to his bedroom and that would be it for the rest of the evening. If he asked his aunt she would get angry and yell at him for being a 'nosey prick' and that he should keep out of 'other peoples business'.

Save to say this was a difficult part of his childhood. It forced him to get rather mature for his age. He was more silent and reserved after his mother was gone. Not that he didn't completely act like a normal child after it, but, instead of playing with puppets or toys, started reading and writing a lot. He started to read everything. It started with simple children's books. Then he went on reading short stories and as he turned ten he had finished nearly every book in the house. He was a regular in the local library and book stores. He loved reading fiction and fantasy novels, especially if the story had something to do with magic.

He was fascinated with the concept of magic. His favourite book was written by Newt Scamander, he wrote a book called 'Fantastic Beasts And Where To Find Them'. It was a fictional book with different kinds of… fantastic beasts in it. But the most interesting part about the book was how it was written. It was almost like those things actually existed. Written as if the author had faced each and every one of these creatures. He never found another book from that author, and as he asked in the library, they said that they've never heard of an author called Scamander.

Nicholas loved that book. Though he got it from the same man that brought terrible news to him and his father about the accident his mother had. The strange old man with half-moon spectacles and long grey beard gave it to him and said that this was once a book of his mother and that it was one of the most valuable possessions she owned.

As Nicholas asked the man how he got the book and what had happened to his mother, the man, who called himself Albus Dumbledore, only said that he would get the answers to those questions 'in due time'. Then he left them, to deal with the bad taste in their mouths and sad thoughts on their minds.

The book looked old and was written per hand. It mentioned on multiple occasions, in footnotes, a place called 'Hogwarts' and how it was a school that taught magic and sorcery. He thought that it maybe was a fictional school for witches and wizards that the author imagined making the story seem more consistent, but again he got the feeling that there was something more to all of this.

He even searched the local library and book stores to even just the remotest mention of this mysterious school. Not even in a history book, which was focused on the Salem witch trials and the slaughter of 'witches and wizards' in Europe in connection to Herbology and medicine in the middle ages, mentioned even the possibility that there was something like a school for witches or wizards.

Nicholas couldn't even count the amount times he read that book about magical creatures. Every time he found something new and interesting about the animals and beasts. The fact that the book looked like it was written per hand about a hundred years ago made it so much more interesting, it could have been the only version of it, or maybe the original handed down through the family until it somehow got into the hands of his mother. Sadly he couldn't confirm nor deny his speculations, as the man with the half moon spectacles never returned. He had so many questions, so many ideas, theories and speculations. He wanted to know what happened to his mother. She was his and his fathers' sun in the morning. Always happy and comforting. She could read peoples emotions from their eyes, their wishes from their lips and thoughts from their forehead. She was a remarkable person. Kind, caring and cautious, always prepared to say the right thing at the right time, to listen when she had to and to talk when she needed to talk. She always put him in front of her own desires, made sure that he was happy.

The day that his mother died, was a dark day. The sky clouded. It started to rain. His entire world was grey. Dead. His heart ached before he even knew what was wrong. That morning was terrible, he never till that day felt emotions like that. Everything was always happy and smiling. Now the world went dark as if the planet was in deep grief.

From that day onward, Nicholas suddenly was capable of feeling other peoples emotions. He could glance at his father's eyes, and feel the deep underlying pain in his heart. He could see the people at school, their emotions and feelings. Just a glance in their eyes, and he was diving into a pool filled with emotion and thoughts. He couldn't read their thoughts, only their emotions. Though only the strong ones like joy, trust, fear, surprise, sadness, disgust, anger and anticipation, he was still able to feel into their emotions. It was almost like… Magic. He decided to keep his ability to himself. He didn't need to be more alienated by his peers, and claiming that he could read their mind would certainly not help.

The youngest Bishop woke up through the bird song that was blown in through the open window, which was constantly open due to the heat wave that took place in England this summer.

The sun rays were directly thrown into his face. He slowly got up, scanning the room as he usually did. He fixated himself in the mirror which was loosely hanging on the door of his wardrobe. In the mirror, he could see an average finally eleven-year-old boy staring back at him. His eyes were his most noticeable feature. A remarkable glint was in them. They were rather mature. Not old. But mature. Not the eyes you would expect an eleven-year-old boy to possess. He had to live with his problems. Being an outcast for most of his life and losing his mother at a young age changes someone. Most people would have become introverted enough to shut themselves away from the rest of the world. Would have become broken. He on the other hand always tried to get to know people. He tried to thrive on his shortcomings and problems.

He wanted friends. Desperately. He would be willing to go through a lot if in return he would finally find someone, just one singular person, whom he could trust.

He mastered himself in the mirror. He had short straight brown hair with one side combed over. An amused glint shoot across his inviting green eyes. A gift from his mother. Between them was the root of a pointy round nose which ended over a thin-lipped mouth which often held a slight smirk. Not a condescending smirk like a sneer, but an inviting and friendly one.

The eleven-year-old kid in the mirror in front of him stood at 5ft 1' (155 cm), which he was very proud of. He was a good 2 inch taller than most people his age. Looking further down from his face, he could see the rest of his physique. He wasn't obese nor was he lanky. He was average. In every sense of the word.

He quickly garbed a t-shirt and a pair of jeans and put them on, after he took a shower and brushed his teeth. His father had to work today. Like every other day, his father was gone nearly the entire time until seven pm. Then dinner had to be ready and served, so he could eat when he got home. After that, he would be sitting down in the living room, watching the news or a football match, he would always mumble things into his beard for days if his team lost, and then would go to bed just to wake up at seven am to get ready and head for work again.

They would always talk over dinner, but in reality, they basically didn't have really any contact with each other. Either the younger Bishop would be at school or Bishop senior would be working.

While his father was at work, Nicholas grabbed the nearest book and started reading. Then at about six he would get up and start preparing to cook. It was something he likes doing. It was something he and his mum used to do. She taught him how to make his favourite food and then sat down and watched him make them. His father, on the other hand, taught him a dry sense of humour and trained him in the art of having a discussion. He loved both of his parents deeply but, since his mother was gone, he felt more distant to his father. A feeling which was reciprocated by him.

He didn't need his ability to tell that his father had a distant and broken spirit. He put on his mask and pretended that everything was all right but Nicholas knew different. He felt like his father was hiding something from him. Something concerning his mother. The only topic he still showed genuine emotion for once it came up.

All of this made him lose trust in him.

This frustrated Nicholas greatly. He could trust no one. He felt like there was a big secret, that everyone kept from him. Something that people where talking about once he turned his back. The same people who would bring bad news and write a book about how a Dragon and a Niffler share an affection for gold. The same people who went to a school called Pigpimple or Hogwarts or whatever... for the things other people write books about, the things other people dream about possessing. Magic. It, of course, sounded ridiculous, he was no person to believe in strange theories or wore a tinfoil hat. But this was something different. Deep within him, he could feel that there was more to this Book, to the man with the half-moon spectacles and long grey beard, to the accident his mother had and to his ability to read peoples emotions just by looking them into their eyes.

Suddenly there was a loud flapping noise at the window of his room. Nicholas' head shot around, ready to defend himself and his possessions in a bloody fight for life and death, to find a grey owl sitting on his desk ruffling its feathers. A large frown grew on his face, his ears where red, filled with blood, as he could only hear the loud thumping of his accelerated heartbeat. Besides the obvious obscurity of an owl to be sitting in his room on his desk in brought daylight, it carried a large letter with a red wax seal on it in its beak.

Hesitantly walks Nicholas up to the owl and takes the letter out of its beak.

The envelope was clearly addressed to him. To clearly. It read the following:

Nicholas Jeremy Bishop

Great Britain, England, London, Chelsea, King's Rd no 13, fourth level right, last room left.

After the shock passed through him, it took a few seconds to gain composure, but his thirst for knowledge overpowered all his fear and got him on task. He searched the envelope for a sign of the person who sends the letter. It only took all about three seconds to find an answer.

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress of the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry

A cold sensation ran down his back like a bucket of ice water. The cogs in his brain turning faster than they ever had, as they were working on the information that was just acquired.

Flipping the envelope around cracking open the ancient looking wax seal, on which there was a shield separated into four pieces: a lion, a snake, a badger and a raven. He unfolded the letter and started reading.

Hogwarts School

of Witchcraft and Wizardry

Headmaster: Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

(Order of Merlin First Class, Grand Sorcerer, Chief Warlock,

Supreme Mugwump, International Confederation of Wizards)

Dear Mr Nicholas Jeremy Bishop,

We are pleased to announce that you have been accepted at the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Students will be required to report to the Chamber of Reception upon arrival. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on September 1,

We await your owl by no later than 31, July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Deputy Headmistress.

Starring at the piece of paper in his hand, he read and re-read the letter in his hand about fifty times.

Looking into the envelope he found a list of items attached with a request them to buy these items before the first of September, so he could attend the school prepared and ready for his first term.

As he was going through the letter for the fifty-second time there was suddenly a loud knock on the front door of his apartment.

Keeping the letter clutched in his hand he shot up and ran towards the door to check who knocked.

Before he even reached the door though, the handle turned on its own and the key unlocked the door as if someone was turning it.

The door gently swung open and there stood no one else, but a tall, old man with half-moon spectacles and a long silver-grey beard, smiling as he saw the young boy standing before him.

Mustering the child focusing on the hand, in which he held the letter, his smile intensified, and looking him straight into his green eyes with an amused sparkle shooting across his own elderly ones. "Ah, I take it you read the letter already Mr Bishop?" without waiting for a response, he took a step forward looking around the room, while he said "Good, come on now, get ready, we have a lot to buy before you are ready to start your term at your new school.".

With a long strange looking stick, he tapped on the small desk, where a small note appeared. Smiling Dumbledore turned back to the still rooted eleven-year-old boy, with an expecting glare.