Prolog
From a young age Harry knew that he wasn't normal, it wasn't from his skin, his hair that never seemed to stay cut, his skin that never seemed to scar or stayed bruised, or even from the fact that snakes seem to enjoy his company. His appearance, besides an odd lightening bolt scar that would occasionally burn like someone took a glowing hot rod and carved into his skin, there was nothing off about how he looked. He had dark skin, black hair that puffed out like a rats nest, and eyes a shade of green that reminded you of spring, of new plants pushing past clumps of snow to prove they survived- (The same shade as his mothers, he would later find.)
No, not from those things at all.
It was from the odd little things he was able to do, be it from talking to snakes like he was conversing with them in English or making things levitate when he was truly upset or, a very rare thing, teleporting to the roof of a building to flee from bullies.
Harry tried desperately to place what these abilities were, they weren't normal and for a long while he had thought them not human, until he heard it, a joke, an insult, thrown at him by other kids in the neighborhood, by bullies who picked on his small frame simply because he was different. ("I bet he thinks he's magical, it's not like he's good at anything else.")
Magic. As simple and whimsical as it sounded, as simple and whimsical as it felt, it just had to be the answer.
Harry would wonder if it was really magic, quietly hoping someone would walk through his Aunt and Uncle's front door to save him, how someone having magic was rare and needed to be treasured, if someone would ever tell him how to control it better or if there was even someone else in the world who was like him.
He got his wish. ( It wasn't until he got to Hogwarts that he fully realized that.)
As the very next month, a few days before he turned seven, an elderly couple moved into the house next door to the Dursley's. Which wasn't odd as many might think, many elderly couples lived on Private Drive, as well as pompous housewives with too much time on their hands. A good example of an elderly neighbor Harry had come to known was Mrs. Figg who lived on Wisteria Walk, or Old Lady Figg as many other children had come to call her, and Harry wound't lie, lying left a bad taste in his mouth, it was easier to talk and be himself around the elderly then other kids, or even other adults that lived in his horrid little neighborhood.
But the gossip surrounding the new couple, the disgusted glares the vacant house received before they had even finalized the papers to buy the house, had been new, though Harry didn't know why.
In 5 Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England, an elderly couple consisting of two elderly women moved into the house next to the Dursley's.
Harry hadn't thought that marrying the same gender was a thing people could do. Harry was completely fascinated by the idea, and, to him, there was nothing wrong with two people of the same gender loving each other, despite how deeply the other neighbors would spit poison in their direction.
One elderly woman was tall and thin, wearing a deep and dark green robe over-top a black dress ripped out right from a renaissance fair, the robe would shimmer in the light in a way Harry had never seen fabric do before, and she held herself in such a way that Harry would think royalty was in her blood and she knew it. Her hair was dark and graying, tightly tied back into a neat bun, and Harry's first opinion of her was that this was a woman you should never cross, but when she spotted him, peaking at her and her wife from an overgrown bush in the Dursley's yard, she had smiled softly at him, like a grandmother would to her favorite grandchild she caught sneaking out of the house.
It was a soft, and sly smile, as if telling him she knew something he didn't.
The other woman was just as tall, but where the woman in green was slim and severe-looking, the other woman, dressed in blue and black clothing ripped out of a viking show, was broad, muscle-bound, and had a face, despite being covered in a serious amount of scars in different shapes and sizes, that exerted an odd sense of calm and kindness. Harry thought the broader woman resembled a friendly mountain.
Aunt Petunia disliked them, the new neighbors, Uncle Vernon thought them disgusting, and Dudley hated them simply because his parent hated them, but Harry liked them more then he could ever like the Dursley's, which wasn't hard.
On the twenty-third of July, at six PM in the afternoon, one Mrs. Minerva McGonagall, and one Mrs. Frigg Björk, moved into 5 Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, England.
And a brand new path opened for Harry Potter, a path of power and friendship, a path setting up Voldemort's true downfall.