R e a l N a m e

By Ostensibly Lucidina

W a r n i n g s : AU, or Alternate Universe, X-Over with the anime Loveless, Slash, or Male x Male relationships, FemSlash, or Female x Female relationships, graphic violence, blood, gore, implied sex, sex, abuse, child abuse, torture, and all-around mature themes. It's not rated 'M' for nothing, people. Manipulative!Dumbledore, Kind-of-OOC!Harry, and a bunch of others acting somewhat OOC. It'd be too long to list them all. This will be a Harry x Voldemort story.

D i s c l a i m e r : I only do this once per story. I do not own Harry Potter, or Loveless, nor do I make any profit whatsoever from writing this.

F u l l S u m m e r y : Harry James Potter was sent to the Dursleys at the age of one after his parents died by Albus Dumbledore. His relatives did abuse him for five years, and at the age of six, tragedy struck. Petunia died, and, seeing no reason to keep our young hero, Vernon throws him out onto the streets. A touring couple from Japan decides to take him in after finding him. For a year, he lives peacefully with the couple and his adopted brother, until his brother is burned to death in Harry's own school desk, and his father is randomly murdered. Going insane, his adopted mother abuses him regularly to get the 'old' him back after he comes down with a severe case of amnesia. Then, after four years of living through this, he gets his Hogwarts letter...

C H A P T E R 1 : P R E L U D E

It was a cool morning, November 1st, a Monday, with the sun just barely brightening the sky to a light blue-gray and it was the day that most people dread going through because of how it dragged on an on. As people reluctantly started going about their business, we find that one Harry James Potter lay on the doorstep of Number 4, Privet Drive after Albus Dumbledore and his colleague, Minerva McGonagall had left him there at the mercy of his only remaining blood relatives. Wrapped in a forest green blanket that was slightly charred around the edges after what had happened only the night before, leaving him orphaned, and with a letter written in green ink and addressed to aforementioned relatives perched delicately on top of his blanket, the sleeping babe was an innocent picture of baby abandonment. Or, so it might have seemed to anyone else.

He woke to a very harsh, very loud, and very shrill shriek. He blinked sleepy bright green eyes up at his Aunt Petunia, a woman with platinum blonde hair and a horse-boned face that was, right now, twisted in a mask of fear, fury, shock, and hate. He didn't make a sound when awoken so suddenly. No, he just stared with haunting and captivating eyes that seemed far too old for a baby's face with such a look of knowing and of sorrow, as if he knew what kind of life awaited him, that Petunia was able to collect her wits and pick up the child before anyone came out to see what was wrong.

Little Harry watched as she read the letter, and glared at him with all-consuming hatred, before calling to Vernon, who waddled in, his face going from its normal beefy red to a violent shade of purple within two seconds flat.

"GET THAT FREAK OUT OF MY HOUSE!!!!" he roared with all his might, making their own one-year-old son wail loudly in his bedroom from being woken up in such a manner. Petunia shook her head at her husband.

"The boy must stay here, Vernon. If we don't keep him here, they'll know, and come after us!" She laid a hand on her husband's fat shoulder to placate him. He calmed down a little, and then grumbled as he sat down to eat.

"No freaky child is going to be cared about in my house, Petunia. He will be treated like all freaks should be treated; with heavy discipline. Maybe we can squash the freakiness out of him." He grunted, and then set about eating, ignoring the cries of his own child, leaving Petunia to take care of it, which she did, and watching little Harry warily. "You, boy, are in for a world of pain." was all he said. Little Harry simply watched with those haunting eyes, before going back to sleep.

- t - ! - h - & - i - # - s - - i - ! - s - - a - - l - $ - i - ! - n - & - e -

Three-year-old Harry Potter sat down in the backyard, thoroughly exhausted, but knowing he had to complete his tasks or risk getting beaten by Uncle Vernon again. He wasn't quite tall enough to reach the stove yet, so he wouldn't have to cook, but he was given tasks that were nigh on impossible for a three-year-old to complete. And he wouldn't have been able to if it weren't for the Secret Thing he could do. He wasn't allowed to do it with his relatives around, but he could do it when their backs were turned. And he was going to do it now to help him get the gardening done.

Gardening was one of the few things he liked to do when it came to the chores he did daily. He always used the Secret Thing when it came to the garden. It made the flowers bloom beautifully and last much longer than normal ones. He grew many things in the backyard. And he enjoyed it a lot. Right now he grew large white rose blossoms, which he sat among to weed. He made quite a picture, a small boy with impossibly pale skin, though he was outside in the hot sun just about every day, with a thin little body that had lost all of its baby fat in all but his cute little face, black hair falling halfway down his back in messy waves, and bright green eyes that were slightly slanted, sitting among the roses in filthy rags that barely passed for clothes. He looked surreal. Like a Fae, really. His relatives hated that.

He knew his relatives didn't like him. He had figured that out a long time ago, when he had seen the differences between how his Aunt and Uncle treated himself and Dudley. They treated Dudley with such love and affection that it had made him spoiled. They treated Harry like he was scum. Like he was so unwanted that he would have been thrown out a long time ago. He had never known what kept his relatives from doing just that. He never would, either, because he was taught never to ask questions. Never question what they told him. Or be beaten and go without food for another day, and spending said say in his cupboard under the stairs, on top of doing chores all night. No, he didn't question anything.

He was going to do the Secret Thing now, since he was getting lost in his thoughts. Harry lifted up a slender hand, and watched the soft brown light with green flecks radiate from his palm into the earth. The weeds withered and died, and the plants became more bright and vitalized. He smiled serenely, and got up, brushing the dirt off his pants and wiping off his feet before going back inside. It wouldn't do to have dirt on the floor he had cleaned and have Aunt Petunia say he was shirking his duties, and have Uncle Vernon beat him again.

There was no food on the table for him today.

So lived young Harry Potter.

- t - ! - h - & - i - # - s - - i - ! - s - - a - - l - $ - i - ! - n - & - e -

There was a shrill scream. Harry's eyes snapped open to the darkness of his cupboard. He was six, and something was very wrong. Uncle Vernon came tumbling down the stairs, and high-pitched voice hissed madly, "WHERE ISSS HE!!!???" Harry blinked. He recognized that voice... It was the one from his dream with the Green Light and the Woman Crying. He sat up, and wished very hard for his door to be unlocked. With a click and a heavy thud, the padlock came off. Harry punched open the door; just in time to see Green Light rush at his Aunt Petunia. Her screams died instantly. Uncle Vernon was knocked out. Harry got out slowly from his cupboard, and turned left towards the front door. There was a large black shadow standing there. Red, glowing eyes peered out of the hood it had on. Harry stared back. The Shadow moved forward.

It was like a horror movie, where the victim is captivated by its murderer and can't move. But Harry wasn't even afraid. Something was telling him that this person would protect him no matter what. Forever. The Shadow reached out a hand, which was chalk-white and boney; to push back his bangs and see the lightning-bolt scar upon his forehead. Then the Shadow crouched down, and picked him up, cradling him to his chest like he was a small, precious treasure. The Shadow's scent washed over him. He smelled of cold nights, of musty tomes, of fresh ink, of pain, of blood, and of sweet chocolate. Harry closed his eyes, feeling for perhaps the first time in his short life of being with the Dursleys; that he was safe, and would be happy.

Then it went wrong. The Shadow tensed, and turned towards the door, pulling out a long bone-white stick, and aiming it there. The door burst open, knocking Vernon in the back of the head. An old man with a lot of hair on his face and head in a brightly colored and really clashing dress stood there, baby blue eyes hard, and loooooong crooked nose looking at him. Harry had opened his eyes and looked at the man. His mind screamed 'BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD BAD!!!' Harry buried his face in the Shadow's chest, clutching his Big Coat with a Hood. Then there was light so bright, he could see it through his eyelids. Then he fell asleep.

---

When he woke, Uncle Vernon was heaving him out a car door, and he landed with a thud onto hard pavement. "Your Freakishness got my Petunia killed! NO MORE!!!" And then he drove off, slamming his door in Harry's face.

What had happened to the Shadow? He blinked the tears from his eyes as his brain slowly grasped at the only conclusion it could think of. The Shadow didn't want him. Just like his relatives. He wiped his streaming eyes, and sniffled slightly. He was an UnwantedFreak, like his former family said. No one wanted him...

On the other side of the street, a young Japanese couple were coming towards him, curious as to who would leave a little boy alone like that.

E N D : F I R S T : C H A P T E R

I hope you all liked it. I'm taking a break on my other story, the BEWDS Challenge, and I deleted my other one because I got writer's block every time I tried to work on it and not make it a stupid romance story with no real plot. Hopefully this will well make up for it. I am currently working on revising the Challenge, so please don't think I've abandoned anything. I'm just trying to keep the creative juices flowing. This is the result.

O S T E N S I B L Y - LU C I D I N A