After reading numerous fanfics, yours truly has decided to mutilate JKR's work in his own demented way. I'll start with a prologue just to describe the main change in the story as opposed to canon.
This chapter has been edited by moshpit and Ilovecats.
On to the story...
In a world where prophecies are made and futures are toyed with, nothing is impossible; with the proper motivation, even incredibly implausible ideas can be put into play in very interesting ways...
Fate likes to play. The entire world is Its playground, and human lives are nothing more than playing pieces. People have often said that Fate is cruel. This is incorrect, as Fate does not truly understand what It is doing. Fate is very much like a small child toying with a set of wooden blocks, stacking them up and knocking them down to see what will happen. Fate is fascinated by what can happen, but It spends most of the time as a passive observer. As such, It doesn't understand the suffering and joy It brings to the world. Like a small child, It takes pieces of the world around It, twists them, prods them, and then throws them back in to see what will happen next.
Fate and Its meddling are innocent like a child is innocent. Alas, with Its power the actions that It takes have extreme consequences for humans, sometimes leading to an existence with far more pain than anyone should be forced to endure.
In a period of less than fifty years, two extraordinary children were born. Both were born innocent, but one small event that Fate set in motion blighted one's existence, which started a horrible war that caused Harry James Potter more suffering than was his due.
Luckily for humans, several Adults are capable of stepping in when Fate has gone too far before fading into obscurity once again. One such Adult, Love, knew how things would turn out and was not pleased. Love has always been patient. She doesn't mind a bit of suffering before She can have Her way, but this was too much for Her to accept. She decided that another child could negate a great deal of the damage the war would cause; a seventh child, the first girl in several generations.
Love knew that Fate would be pleased, for this unique phenomenon would stir up new calamities, even while countering others, and the only way to see how things would play out would be to observe.
A small boy sat on his bed, if it could be called that. You would expect to find that bed in a landfill, but only in a bedroom if the family was exceptionally poor. This boy was different, for he was forced to live in a cupboard, and this small cupboard under the stairs was the only home he knew.
Eight-year-old Harry Potter believed he was nothing special. His relatives had been sure to teach him that lesson thoroughly. However, he found two things about himself to be mildly interesting. The first was easily seen - a strangely shaped lightning-bolt scar on his forehead, which he knew to be his daily reminder of the car crash in which his parents lost their lives.
The second thing was his and his alone. For the past two years he had been visited by a girl in his dreams. By now, all he had to do was close his eyes and he could recall how she looked. She was somewhat smaller than him, but he didn't think he was much older than her. She had beautiful red hair, big chocolate-brown eyes, and some rather pleasant freckles across her nose and cheeks.
During her nightly visits she would play with him and keep him company. Just the thought of her made Harry happy, and happiness was one thing that Harry's life was otherwise desperately lacking in.
There was something strange about these dreams, though. They would chase each other over a beautiful meadow, or go swimming in a pond, but they never said a word to each other. It was like they couldn't communicate yet. But he had a strong feeling that this situation would be rectified soon.
Harry, lying down to sleep, couldn't wait to see her again. He was unable to imagine life without this precious girl anymore.
Harry Potter was in love, and with a bond stronger than any wizard or witch had ever experienced before.
In the outskirts of Ottery St Catchpole there is a house like no other. Behind the old battered sign proclaiming The Burrow lies the home of the Weasley family. Its very existence defies the laws of physics, and the only possible way that it could stand is a copious supply, and regular application, of magic.
Although the ramshackle building reflects the poor financial status of the family, there is one thing that they never lack - love. Thick familial bonds run between them all, and numerous children are constantly running around, playing, bickering, and teasing each other playfully.
In the magical world it is easy to spot a Weasley. All you have to do is look for red hair and freckles. A less obvious but just as identifying trait is their legendary courage. This trait has guaranteed each member a welcome seat at the Gryffindor table in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
All of them were special in their own way, but the youngest was amazing in a way none had ever been before. Not that any of them knew it at that moment.
Ginevra Molly Weasley was sitting in her favourite spot under a tree near the pond, where she and her brothers spent most of their summers. Her red hair was arranged in a thick plait and she was watching the clouds while thinking.
There were many things you might expect a seven-year-old girl to think about. But at this moment, she was thinking about a boy. A very special boy known to most as The Boy Who Lived - the subject of children's bedtime stories all around the magical world.
Ginny had heard the story of Harry Potter for the first time when she was four years old. It had quickly become her favourite story, and her father was forced to tell it to her every single night. She had a soft spot for the boy who lost his parents when he was barely one year old, and she couldn't wait until she could meet him, and maybe even become his friend.
Little did she know that it would happen so soon, and in a way that was very unusual, even by wizarding standards. Shortly before her fifth birthday, she started having dreams about a boy with messy black hair, emerald green eyes, and round glasses. She immediately recognized him by the infamous scar on his forehead.
In her first dream about him he seemed incredibly scared and shy, so she approached him, took his hand and looked in his eyes. He smiled shyly at her and she couldn't avoid blushing, even as she wore a big grin.
For two years they had been spending every dream together. She considered him her best friend, though she had a feeling he was even more than that. The fact that they still hadn't spoken a word to each other didn't concern her at all. She knew everything would sort itself out in due time. Perhaps it would resolve itself that night.
With that last thought, Ginny Weasley started her way back to The Burrow and into her room. It was almost time for bed.
Love was happy. Things were going according to Her plan, and it was finally time to add a new element to the connection She was forging between the two children.
There was only one more step after this, but She had three years before She had to act. Then Her plan would be complete, and She could sit back and observe.