CH 2

Harry then turned around and stormed off the platform and through the remaining students waiting to be sorted. He stormed back down between the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw tables heading back to the double doors he'd only recently entered.

Suddenly, he stopped. He turned around to look back up towards the head table. He could see that the old fool had risen to his feet and was raising his wand. Thinking for a bare moment, Harry suddenly threw his robe off over his head and threw it onto the floor.

Quickly, he turned to the Hufflepuff table with those wearing ties of black and yellow. He stepped onto the bench seat between two students - who rapidly gave him room and then up onto the table top.

Once he was standing on the table he started to remove his v-necked school jumper, tie and shirt. While doing so, he snarled out in a large voice near shouting, "You people think me some kind of hero. I'm supposed to be some great Boy-Who-Lived; the one who supposedly defeated Voldemort. Well..."

Down to his shirt, no undershirt, he ripped it off and threw it, too, to the floor leaving himself bare-chested. Then he threw his arms out wide and loudly snarled, "Take a look at some of the evidence of how your supposed hero has been treated since that night! None of that bullshit your parents and guardians probably read to you as bedtime stories!" He started to turn in a slow circle so that everyone in the hall could see the scars from some of the injuries he sustained. "And these are only the visible ones! These are only the ones that didn't heal properly!"

Harry didn't hear the gasps, the sudden exclamations of horror, or the crying from some of the students as they looked upon him. He couldn't really hear anything.

His head was throbbing. The pain was excruciating. He mentally bit down on the pain through force of will as he ranted.

He didn't see the little red headed girl that was sitting near the head of the Hufflepuff table - Susan - stand up with tears in her eyes and bolt out of the room. He didn't see her because the pain had brought tears to his own eyes. The pressure - the feeling of suffocating began to feel like he was being choked - began to build to a level he'd not felt before. But, he didn't care. He was finally able to vent his feelings to the people who caused him to be left with the Dursleys. His rage had been unleashed.

"Is this how you believed your hero should be treated?" he screamed. "Is it? Was it your intent for your hero to beaten? Whipped? Fed nothing but tablescraps, if I was lucky to get even that? Treated like a slave while my fat uncle and whale of a cousin fed themselves to morbid obesity and tormented me? WELL?

"And who was responsible for me being dumped in a house where I was abused for almost all of my life you might ask?" he screamed out. Jabbing a finger at the head table, he screamed, "It was none other than the so-called, all-powerful Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Minerva McGonagall and Rubeus Hagrid!" Lowering his arm, he screamed at them. "Arseholes!"

The pain in his head flared right up. There was so much pain. He felt as if he was also being squeezed into a tiny ball. He could barely breathe. He was losing focus. The pain was too much. He screamed a scream of extreme agony at the ceiling. There was a flash of white light and he felt as if he had exploded from the inside out.

Blackness. The peace of unconsciousness.

June 1987 - Four Years Earlier:

Young Harry Potter grew up always knowing he had a weird sort of memory. He could remember the most detailed points of individual events, right down to the feel of how warm or cold he felt, what the air smelled like, the feel of something on his hands or elsewhere on his skin. The memories were always extraordinarily detailed and vivid. But, those memories always were disjointed, like he was remembering fractions of whole memories. And memories would intrude at the oddest moments. The memories often intruded at the worst times. The memories that made it hard for him to concentrate completely on the task before him.

One of those times was when he was washing the dishes. A memory, triggered by a sound from outside, flashed up into his mind while he was washing a frying pan. He dropped the pan and his aunt hit him in the side of the head with it. The next thing he remembered was waking up in his cupboard late at night or early in the morning.

That was the night the headache started. The one that never went away.

The next morning he was sent to school with the headache still greatly bothering him. Walking to school in a round about route - to avoid his cousin's new gang from laying in wait for him - he spent the time thinking about how he could make his mind stop bothering him. He waited until the lunch break and quickly went into the school library. There, he sought out books that covered memory. There, he found a book that covered improving one's memory recall.

Quickly he found a place to sit and read. He read through it and moved onto the next. Then the next.

It took him a few weeks to read everything the library had to cover on memory. However, he begun to understand what his problem was. He learned about people who had perfect memory, and he learned how people developed perfect memory. He learned about 'mind palaces' and how people who had to speak in public used them to remember their speeches, or their lines of script.

He also learned that meditation was often used by people to remember things. And how meditation could be used to order an unordered mind; or, one that was simply cluttered with unorganised memories. So, during those times he was locked in cupboard, he learned to meditate.

Once he managed to meditate, he learned to review his memories. And he learned how to file them away within his mind.

To file them away he built a palace within his mind. And, within that palace, he created library shelves. And on those library shelves he filed his memories.

At first it took a lot of effort, as things moved slowly. Each memory took time to sort out and find a place within his shelf space to place it. One of the first things he learned after that was that he wouldn't have enough shelf space to file everything. And that, once he did, how would he quickly find everything again. And he also quickly learned that while he was meditating or was sorting his memories his headache receded. When he was locked in his cupboard and knew he wouldn't be allowed out for hours, he meditated. And, after many months of practice, he could drop into his meditative state while still allowing all five senses to be aware. This he called conscious meditation rather than the deep meditation of when he shut all senses off, or when he was sorting memories.

He had also learned from the school librarian at his Primary School that he could 'order' library books be brought it on short term loans. The librarian had come to like the young raven haired boy for his focus on quiet study. So, when he asked her if the library could purchase more books on a particular subject, she took the time to explain to him about the inter-library exchange system. And Harry made a lot of use out of it.

Some of the things Harry learned during those early days and into the following few years were:

1. Creating his mind palace and ordering his memories made it immensely easier for him to recall at will.

2. He had a whole set of memories from when he was an infant that looked like hallucinations. Either that, or magic existed.

3. He was rarely any longer distracted by stray memories - and he was looking at knocking those back to being even rarer.

4. He required far less sleep.

5. He was rarely bothered by the

headache any more, unless he got angry.

6. He was able to better control his

emotions, so was far less likely to become angry.

7. He could speed-read a book at the

library, memorising its contents. Then, he could spend the time to read it while he was in his meditative state. Even then it was still read faster than normal.

8. If the memories he had as an infant were real, then he knew what had really happened to his parents, and why he was now living with the Dursleys.

9. He only had to study something once, and he knew it from then on. He did not need to review his work, nor study for exams.

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