|| Wires || ☆ || Drarry ||

|Chapter Two: New Life|

Harry Potter was your typical young boy growing up. He lived with his Aunt and Uncle and tussled with his cousin Dudley on a day to day basis.

He was often subject to ridicule and humiliation within the four walls of number four privet drive. His appearance was often a topic of discussion. "Flatten your hair boy, it looks like a pigeons nest." Aunt Petunia would often snarl, trying to force down his hair.

Harry wore rounded black rimmed glasses that were taped together in the centre to hold together the two broken pieces. He'd frequently try to hide his face from others in school, feeling out of places like a shadow in a bright room. This was due to his pale, thin state and his massive golden lightning bolt scar that stretched across his whole body.

He'd managed to convince his classmates that it was due to him being struck by lightning as a baby, but that was not the truth, a mere fabricated lie to avoid talking further about it.

And they believed him.

Harry's life was bleak and dull. He wasn't smart or popular. He was seen as the weird kid everyone loved to point out the flaws of for their own sick amusement. From his wild hair to his scar, they would pick him apart bit by bit, nitpicking everything about him.

Oh, how he wished and prayed every night to god to be normal or to be accepted. How he prayed every night in his cupboard under the stairs for people to like him, instead of the hermit life he was forced to lead, he'd grip the cross necklace on his neck that his aunt had bought him long ago. How he begged God, or anyone above, for weird things not to happen around him every time he was angry, scared or sad.

He wished that little Mike down the block didn't suddenly grow buck teeth when he bullied Harry in the park for his orphanhood. How he pleaded with Uncle Vernon that he didn't make that buck tooth crying boy grow teeth, and yet, he was still punished for it. He didn't know why his hair grew overnight every time his Aunt Petunia buzzed it off or how he seemed to make dead plants spring to life when he would get happy.

Harry did not want this. He just wanted friends and people he could call his family. Not abnormality and isolation.

As if his prayers were heard, he found out he was a wizard, of all the wild things he imagined he never dreamt of such a wild thing, and yet it resignated within him. He was a wizard.

He was normal.

He was needed, he was wanted, this was magnifique, if only he could tell his parents of such wonderful news. But he'd just have to enjoy it for them because deep down he knew that they'd be proud of him. Now he had the pedestal to change the nation with his words, and people would listen to him, not shun him.

Harry's voice was no longer tamed. He was a lion. A Gryffindor.

And yet, the thoughts of Slytherin slithered into his mind throughout his first school year at Hogwarts. It was as if his mind knew he was meant to be in silver and green, but that was forbidden. He was not evil. He was a Gryffindor like his best mate Ron. And he'd shout that to anyone who dared to detest him, he'd convince them with his cunning words that he was a Gryffindor, nothing else.

These waves of sharp thoughts were induced by one boy, the pointy-faced Slytherin boy he met in Madam Malkins before he met Ron, who set his mind straight.

Draco Malfoy, a name that bit those who said it with his coldness. This slick-back platinum blond boy had left a dent in Harry. His presence was like a needle in a mattress. Harry couldn't remove the needle as it was buried too deep in the mattress.

Harry knew why Malfoy had left such a stark impression on him. It must be because the young boy was his sworn enemy, no other reason could be it, that was the one.