Ellie

OK, a quick FYI: In this Harry will go by Hadrian, which will be the extended version of his name. (He's raised by purebloods, so I want his name to sound more eloquent, although something that could be passed off as a longer version of Harry.) He lives in a manor, so that's why he's not in a cupboard and he's actually healthy. And, most obviously, he's OOC. This is just the prologue, but do you think it's worth continuing? If anyone has any constructive critisism I'd be glad to hear it, but please be nice because I'm just fourteen and have only taken basic grammar and English classes.

The child looked like something more akin to a Bouguereau painting than real life. He was a piece of art in and of himself, an Adonis in all but name. Light flooding his room from a large pane of glass that served as the wall farthest from the door, he was seated on the black tile with one curved leg stretched out in front of him and one against his bare chest. Head tilted innocently, his swan-like neck arched the slightest bit as he gazed out at the vast expanse of garden that one had the perfect view of from his room.

His hair was thick and sleek, hanging around his face in a wild head of curls that stopped just below his jawline. Although normally a deep black color, the sunlight struck the tresses at just the right angle to produce a dark shade similar to blood. Absently, he twisted a curl around one of his long fingers, revealing a black-painted nail.

Perhaps his most notable feature, large, verdant green irises peeked out from between thick locks of hair, outlined in dark kohl. The bright green made his fair skin appear even lighter, a slight, almost ethereal glow emanating off of it. A touch of pink adorned his cheeks, and his thin eyebrows arched mischievously.

Yes, Hadrian Sebastian Potter was a lovely creature indeed. A month away from thirteen, and he’d already attained an agelessness and grace that most pure-bloods were striving for well into their thirties. He could be twelve, or he could be as old as the Founders, and there would be nothing to quell his act but an angelic face and a small stature.

However, the piece of parchment next to him wasn’t fooled. It knew his age, it knew where he was, and it knew his name; his Hogwarts acceptance letter had arrived.