The Dark Prophecy

The ''Chosen One''

Harry Potter had always been different. 

From the moment he was left on his aunt and uncle's doorstep as an infant, it was clear to them both that he was not normal, in many senses. The way he collected small toy figurines in the cupboard under the stairs he was forced into. The cold, hating stares whenever anyone even breathed a word towards him, or so much as glanced in his direction. The way the other children had always been terrified of him and his strange behavior. Or maybe the strange instances where he would be caught in the most unexplainable scenes, such as the time he had been running from a bunch of bullies and they had all been bizarrely slammed against a wall without a single touch.

Even his appearance was strange, Vernon Dusley couldn't help thinking to himself as he glanced in the mirror back at the young, tan skinned boy with sharp features who sat in the back of the car, in his cousin's clothes which were far too big for his scrawny frame, his messy black hair hanging over his forehead, but inconveniently enough so that he could just see that ugly jagged scar on his head, right above his piercing green eyes.

"Cover that scar up, boy," Petunia snapped, glaring back at Harry, Dudley nodding along to his mother's words as he continued to attempt to edge as far away as possible from his cousin, as if he were infected by some disease, while Harry, amused as always by Dudley's fear, glared back at him.

As they made their way through the streets of London, across a particularly shaky road, the luggage shoved hastily in the boot of the car rattled noisily, causing Harry's new snowy owl to screech in distress, earning more angry stares from the Dursleys.

Soon, they had arrived at King's Cross Station, where Uncle Vernon dumped Harry's trunk onto a cart and wheeled it into the station for him, not saying a single word to him. Harry couldn't help thinking this was strangely kind until Uncle Vernon stopped dead, facing the platforms with a nasty grin on his face. "Well, there you are, boy. Platform nine -- platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don't seem to have built it yet, do they?" 

He was quite right, of course. There was a big plastic number nine over one platform and a big plastic number ten over the one next to it, and in the middle, nothing at all. 

"Have a good term," said Uncle Vernon with an even nastier smile, leaving without another word, Harry resisting the urge to make him trip over with his mind. Harry turned and saw the Dursleys drive away, all three of them laughing loudly at him. He was starting to attract a lot of funny looks, because of Hedwig, and Harry hastily glanced around for any trace of the sign.

He, of course, believed the Hogwarts ordeal, how could he not, after it explained so much to him, all the instances where he found his strange abilities particularly useful, the unnatural scar deep n his forehead, his parent's death. Yet, even after seeing the towering Hagrid, taller than any man, there was still a shred of doubt in Harry's mind. Magic, really?

He was considering asking the ticket-man for help, dreading the possibility he might have to, but then he heard, all a sudden, a group of people pass just behind him, letting him catch a few words of what they were saying. 

"-- full with Muggles, as always --" 

Harry swung round. The speaker was a pretty, slim woman, with blue eyes, pale skin, and long blond hair, who spoke in a clear, cold voice. She was accompanied by what must have been her partner, a man with a pale, pointed face and carrying a cane with a snake, walking in a noticeably confident, better than everyone else manner. A young boy Harry's age that resembled both parents, with handsome, angular features and sleek blond hair, pushed a trunk like Harry's in front of him with an eagle owl.