Black Emerald

~Two~

Warning: Child abuse, and graphics. If you don't like, then don't read.

Also, this story is dedicated to my favorite cousin, who loves Harry Potter, just as much as I do.

Disclaimer: J.K Rowling owns this. I do not, just plain and simple. This disclaimer will remain the same throughout the story. So, this is the only disclaimer I need.

Author's Note- this chapter changes point of views, but it's very minimal, and it changes back to Harry's.

Chapter Two

Harry hid what he was feeling rather well, and was further surprised that his glamour charms held up. Hiding the years of abuse by his 'filthy' muggle relatives.

Yes, Harry now thought his relatives 'filthy', how could he possibly look at them differently? He had been tortured, carved on, and left foodless for lengths at a time.

They left him starving for the most of the time he had held residence in the Dursleys.

Wizards say that the Dark Lord was the darkest time the wizarding world had to face, according to Hogwarts: A History, but Harry disagreed on that fact. The darkest time was the 'time' he spent living among muggles. Muggles were horrid, and non-respectable creatures Harry now thought.

His views were now closely reflected to the many views of most Purebloods would possess. Which, was funny to Harry. If he hadn't met Hermione, and Ron he would have been in Slytherin. What a strange thought, indeed.

When he had entered into the main room of the Leaky Cauldron, he had walked to the secluded room, which opened into the world of Diagon Alley; and past the many witches and wizards, that were currently talking about things that Harry knows not.

He remembered how in awe he felt at the age of eleven, when Hagrid had done the same pattern across the solid bricks with nothing, but an umbrella for a wand. Remembering, what it was like to believe that magic existed; to have a friend that cared about his own wellbeing; rather than greed, or popularity.

Harry sighed, again.

Slowly, realizing that 'his' sighing would quickly become a regular thing on his part.

The bricks parted, stacking against one another to reveal a light; a light that revealed the magical world that had captivated him his first time watching in wonder and amazement of magic.

.

.

.

.

.

Stepping lightly, almost in a 'graceful' type of manner, Harry quickly made his way to Madam Malkins.

He would be lucky if he made it past the many witches and wizards in 'muggle' clothing. Already knowing the prejudices of muggleborns, as some are called 'Mudbloods' in the eyes of most of the majority of High-Standing Purebloods, and wizards of old: meaning 'dark' houses.

So, Harry casted his gaze down; not risking the chance of someone actually recognizing him as the Boy-who-lived. Not like his glamour charm would help a bit, but not risking it, he hurriedly made his way through the crowd.

Imagine, Harry Potter, The Golden Boy, and the Savior of the Light, reduced to wearing 'muggle' clothes. How the wizarding world would be over joyed at the prospect of such a thing being real. The 'Dailey Prophet' would have a field day.

Harry quickly sidestepped many wizards, and finally reached his destination.

"Hello, how might I help you this day child?" A middle-aged women gently asked.