The King of Slytherin: A Harry Potter Fanfiction

Chapter 1: The Mistakes of Albus Dumbledore

November 1st, 1981: Privet Drive

      Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was a man who believed in the Greater Good. It is for this reason he sacrificed families to Voldemort with a heavy heart, planning out his demise at the hands of Harry Potter. Oh, of course, he knew about the Horcruxes, Harry would have to face them in his seventh year. So what if it meant the killing of Harry in the process? It was all for eventual peace. This is why, the Grand Sorcerer, the Supreme Mugwump, the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, also known as Albus Dumbledore, left Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, on the front steps of the house of his magic-hating relatives.

July 18th, 1985: Kindergarten Classroom

"Art's over, pick up your things," said Mrs. Johnson. She was a kindergarten class teacher, and it was her 2nd year working as such. She planned to quit her job as soon as possible to search for a job that actually paid above minimum wage. She hadn't graduated 4 years of college just to work as a substitute teacher. Her dream was to be a detective, working with the police, and she had been practicing by observing her students. She believed she could now confidently say that she was above average at reading people. In her newest class, only three students stood out.

There was Noah Smith. He was constantly pranking people and generally causing chaos. He regularly interrupted class and make loud jokes. He was the bane of her life, only being encouraged by the laughter of his classmates. Just yesterday, he had stuck a pin on her seat, which stuck to her rear the entire class without her noticing.

There was the class bully, Dudley Dursley. Throughout the day he had knocked over a tower built by another child, stolen a toy, and laughed at Madison Mane because of her large front teeth. Although Mrs. Johnson would chide him occasionally, she didn't care enough to really tell him off.

Then there was Harry Potter. He didn't seem to stand out too much, but something seemed off about him. He was quiet, he did work assigned to him, and he drew during lunch period. The only thing remarkable about him was that there wasn't anything remarkable about him. That being said, there had been quite a few unusual instances involving him.  Only a few days ago, he had seemingly teleported to the school roof.

"Hang up your paintings, quickly now." She watched as the class clumsily hung their artwork on the drying rack. But one, in particular, caught her eye.  A stunning cherry tree with a red pond beneath it, coy fish swimming and jumping through the water. She glanced to the bottom corner for the artist's name. Surely one of the older students had left it there by accident. But no. The name signed was Harry James Potter. The boy was calmly sitting at his desk, seemingly unaware of how he had shocked his teacher. Mrs. Johnson left the students in a daze to get the principal. An art prodigy in her class... Who would've thought? 

July 18th, 1985: Test Room

       Harry Potter was a strange child. He hadn't known this for 3 years, he had thought everyone could do the things he did. In the beginning, it was simply strange things that happened to him. For example, when his Aunt Petunia shaved his head, it had all grown back the next morning. When Dudley had chased him around the yard, he had teleported to the roof. But this wasn't all. He was extremely intelligent and able to answer complicated problems in seconds. He had an eidetic memory, and for this reason was fluent in English, French, and Bulgarian. He took to playing music like a fish to water and painted images realistically in minimum time. He found out that he was special when he first went to school. The children there were like Dudley, having trouble answering simple equations, and painting with the brush clenched in their fists. Harry found it offensive that he was assumed to be on the same level as them, honestly.

However, it wasn't worth the abuse he would have to endure at "home" if he were to skip a grade. This particular day, Harry had been in a particularly bad mood after Dudley had thrown his sketchbook into a nearby pond. He had been absentmindedly painting, thinking that it wouldn't be seen by anyone else. However, he quickly realized that he would have to dry his painting amongst those of his peers. He hadn't had enough motivation to ruin his work. Maybe moving up a grade would do him some good. He watched, a bit panicky, and his teacher found his painting and left to go tell someone about it.

After the Dursleys were alerted (they didn't seem to care all that much and paid no attention to what the principal was saying), Harry was taken to a test room.

"I'm finished." It had only taken him 30 minutes to complete the questions. Mr. Roberts, the man who was supervising him, raised an eyebrow. He obviously expected Harry to have gotten all the questions wrong, after all, he was only supposed to know much about art. He took the test, sat down, and began grading it. As the minutes passed, Mr. Robert's eyes widened further from shock. And such was the beginning of the schooling of Harry Potter.