Chapter Text
Harry had always known they were watching him. Every day he was outside he could see dark shadows flickering at the edges of his vision, hooded shapes following at a distance as Aunt Petunia dragged him by the arm through shopping centres. At night he saw them standing closer to the edges of the property, glimpsed through flickering reflections and lights on the glass of the big pictures windows in the sitting room or the limp lacy cafe curtain covered window over the sink in the kitchen.
When he was very little he was afraid of them. And really who wouldn't be? After all dark hooded figures following you around couldn't be good, right?
But as he got older, and all they ever did was watch, Harry got used to them. After a while they were even a comfort. At least someone cared enough to watch him, whomever they were. He was fairly sure there was more than one, since they seemed taller or shorter or wider or skinnier every time he saw them.
When Harry was ten he was fairly sure he was mental. The watchers were still there – just as silent, just as tenuous as always. But even in broad daylight nobody else ever saw them. A crowd of giggling teenagers just pushed past one in the park without batting an eye.
But he figured, as far as being mental went, invisible watching people wasn't all that bad. Its not like they were telling him to do anything bad. Or good. In fact they never did anything at all. But still Harry found himself looking for them, hoping to see one of his watchers.
That all changed when Harry was ten and a half. It was a wet gloppy February day. Dudley and his thugs had spent most of the day chasing little kids through the park and pantsing them or throwing snowballs at people from behind trees. Harry however had spent the day peacefully dusting the house. With Petunia out at a bridge club and Vernon 'with the lads' which Harry was pretty sure meant 'drinking like a corpulent fish' it was beautifully breathtakingly quiet for once in the little tacky house on Privet Drive.
He hadn't seen one of his watchers, always the bright point of his day, but it was still a lovely day. For him.
Until Vernon reeled into the house drunk as a lord. Harry had been in the kitchen and at the first loud bang of the door, Harry was halfway to the back door. “Freak! Freak come here boy!” hollered Vernon, his words half slurred. There was a crashing noise as Vernon fell into the hallway table and the vase of Petunias silk flowers smashed into the floor.
“How dare you move the furniture Freak. I'll teach you to touch our things.”
Oh this wasn't going to end well.
Harry eased the back door open, but unluckily Vernon managed to wobble into the kitchen fumbling at his belt. Harry bolted right out the door. Better freezing in the snow than another hiding. The drunker Vernon was, the worse his aim. After the last time the belt nearly got him in the eye Harry had decided to run for it the next time Vernon got drunk and riled up.
The backyard though was a slippery mess of trampled up snow and slush, with chunks of ice. The high fence meant there wasn't anywhere to go. Harry made for the gate but as he pushed at it frantically he realized that Vernon in his drunken fog, had managed to park the car right up against the gate, half in Petunias flowerbed, crushed twee wood edging and all.
As he realized this Vernon's meaty fist landed on Harry's shoulders and pulled him over backwards, sprawling across the muddy wet yard. The slush soaked through Harry's thin clothing instantly,but that was the least of his problems.
Vernon was so incensed at Harry daring to run that he was bellowing incoherent words and slicing at Harry with the buckle end of the belt, heedless of being out in the yard in broad daylight. Harry curled into a protective ball hiding his head with his arms as much as possible.
The sharp buckle cut into his skin and Harry cried out helplessly. His blood spurted onto the white snow. Excited by the blood and violence Vernon hit at him so hard he lost his grip on the bloodstained belt which flew over the fence and into the neighbors yard. Harry heard an odd popping sound he barely noticed since at that moment, now disarmed Vernon escalated to kicking at Harry.
With all his considerable weight behind it Vernon's heavy wellies made short work of Harry's ribs. As Harry tried to curl away from the worst of it Vernon triumphantly lunged forward and stamped down directly onto Harry's arm. Harry could feel the bones shatter and the flesh give way in a wave of searing agony as he screamed.
Then there was a green flash of light and Harry dimly sensed Vernon falling as Harry succumbed to darkness.