Chapter Text
For as long as Harry could remember, he had been different.
His home life and his family, especially the way they treated him. He didn't get to see other families very often, but the glimpses of people at the park and on the telly told him that his wasn't very standard.
Of course, it wasn't just his family. It was the people he passed by while running errands or gardening in the front yard. They way they stared or sneered at him so openly. The blatant hostility from people he'd never met before.
Given, they have good reasons. He didn't look like any other kids his age. His skin was a lot darker than theirs, and they didn't have white streaks running through their hair. The other kids didn't have a scar running from their forehead to their toes like some freakish lightning bolt.
That and the fact he could do things other kids couldn't, that he had problems other kids didn't. The walls didn't shake when Dudley cried as a child, the dishes and windows didn't break no matter how much he shrieked. Other kids like Dudley couldn't understand snakes, couldn't make fire from their fingertips.
But Harry didn't mind being different, not anymore at least.
He learned to like the little things about him that made him different from others. Once he stopped wanting to be like his relatives, stopped wanting to make them proud. He looked at the way people around him so readily accepted his treatment, and decided he didn’t want to be like them.
Besides, he found comfort in the conversations with the snakes. The way that he could make batteries or light bulbs last a little longer.
The Dursleys, on the other hand, very much minded.
Harry, when he was first growing up, always wanted to make them proud. That childlike desire that, even when mommy clearly couldn’t hate you more, you wanted to make her proud anyways. Because she was your mother, and you need to make her proud. It has to be a you thing if she isn't. Especially since you're such a freak. Such a nuisance.
He tried so damn hard to make them love him. To make her love him. He did everything right, without complaint. He shut himself up when he got hurt, the bruises and cuts fading away within a matter of hours. He followed every rule, did every chore assigned. He didn’t bother his relatives when the older kids chased him every time he left the house, tearing his skin and breaking his bones.
Once, Harry tried to be extra perfect. More perfect than Dudley could ever be, or even the people on telly that his relatives so often praised. Aunt Marge’s dog ran into the shelf and knocked over one of Petunia’s fine china plates. It shattered on the floor, and Petunia looked so sad.
Harry wanted to be better, needed his auntie to love him. So, he did the same thing when he got cuts or scrapes, and fixed it. Just like mending a cut or a hurt bone. He did it right too, the plate mending without a single crack as he proudly presented it to her.
But the way that his auntie stared at him. The way she looked at him with horror, such disgust. Harry knew he did something wrong, why else would she look at him like that? It was when Vernon told Dudley to go upstairs that it sunk in that Harry had really messed up.
Petunia was still staring at him, her eyes turning from fear to rage. She picked him up by the back of his collar, lifting him up and dragging him to the fireplace. She muttered, low voice turning to an angry shout as she spoke, “I will not have you tarnish my home. If you can’t stop it, then we’ll beat it out of you.”
Harry had tears welling up in his eyes, watching fearfully as Petunia repeated that she wouldn't have his freakishness ruin her family again. He didn't know what he did wrong, what went wrong, or how to fix it.
Harry just wanted her to love him.
He had to have his hand stuck in the fireplace to finally get it through his head.
And with just over 7 years of experience in that household? He was surprised it took him that long. Still, Harry finally learned that the Dursleys would never love him, and that Petunia would always hate him.
Why wouldn't they? He’s a freak, and he's intruding on their perfect family. Their lives would be so much easier without him. They never wanted him in the first place. A child, just dumped on their doorstep one day. Raising a child costs so damn much, let alone loving them all the while. Why would they love the stain on their perfect lives?
Harry had worked around them, from then on. Tending to them was his compensation to their generosity. If he was going to keep taking up space in their lives, he had to at least work for it. It was the very least he could do.
Harry kept thinking that. He kept thinking that for a damn long while. What else was he supposed to?
Then he met Alexandria.
Alexandria, or as Harry called him, Alex, was a kid in the neighborhood that was a little bit older than him. Harry was around 7ish, while Alex was 11. But, Harry didn’t have many friends and it didn’t look like Alex’s parents wanted him either. But they didn’t even want compensation, they just wanted him out of their lives.
Harry thought it was a bit unfair. You go from being loved, and treated like Harry's family treated their son, to being treated like Harry all because you want to be called a boy. It seemed a bit silly to be honest, but when have adults ever made sense?
Alex shared that sentiment, and so did his friends (which Harry had somehow become a part of). If they weren't with the others, they would spend their days underneath that willow tree by the graveyard. Every day they could, either 6pm sharp or 7:33pm exact. No buts or in betweens.
Harry had giggled when Alex made the proclamation. Such an odd and specific time. When Harry asked why, Alex only replied with, “Well, since we’re so freakish and all, we might as well live like it.”
Harry had liked it. He liked hanging out with Alex in general, actually. Having friends was a nice concept period, but Alex was different, cooler.
The way he spoke, the way he held himself with a mix danger and pride. His head held slightly down, his back ever so slightly hunched while his shoulders remained square. He looked like a soldier walking in bootcamp. What really sold the act was the way Alex looked to the outside world.
A sharp expression, one of disdain and mild anger. He looked like a predator on the hunt. Or a very harsh judge at a competition, picking through the contestants like fascinating insects. Eyes narrowed, chin pointed down to ‘highlight the correct features’. Harry thought it looked wicked.
Alex had complimented his form the one time Harry tried to do it, saying how cool he looked. Harry had replayed that moment in his head over and over the next week, smiling all the while.
Alex had been the one to break Harry out of that mindset. The belief that he owed his relatives anything. When Harry had told him about his family, he had been appalled. He had gone on to say that it didn’t matter if Harry got dropped on them. They should have treated him like any other kid, or given him to the police if they hated the prospect of keeping him that much.
Harry had quite liked that idea. Mostly because it meant that his relatives were wrong in how they treated him. That they should have loved him, but didn’t and that they were wrong for that. That Harry was worth the affection and care that Dudley got on the daily, but he got put with a family of psychos.
Alex had taught Harry how to work despite the Dursleys, not around them or for them. He taught Harry how to steal from stores and get away with it. He reasoned that if his relatives weren’t going to give him the necessities, he had to get them somewhere else. Alex taught Harry how to run, how to fight off people if the situation called for it. Harry never really liked fighting, but he was damn good at running.
Alex had taught Harry how to act like him. Scary, and predator-like, so that people didn’t try to hurt him. If they think he's a delinquent and scary, why not play to your strengths? Harry had learned, but didn’t like doing that either. It felt like he was stealing Alex’s thing, you know? And that would just be rude.
The 2 year mark rolled around for his friendship with Alex, and Harry had a new perspective. This was his life, and he had to fight for his happiness and his joy. And if making his relatives happy made him happy, then he could do that. But otherwise, it was his world he was experiencing and he should make it better for himself and himself alone.
Overall, Harry knew Alex for almost 2 1/2 years. They met when he was around 7ish, and then stopped when he was about to turn 9.
Harry still thinks about him sometimes.
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"Oh, they hate Halloween," Harry rolled his eyes as the two lay in the grass. "They always have. Says it's somethin' to do with magic and god forbid you bring up anything to do with magic near them, y'know?"
Alex nodded, humming a supportive affirmation. He had gathered flowers while they were out, and was currently making flower crowns with some of the more sturdy ones. "God, just hearing about them makes me angry. So you've never done anything? I know that trick or treating isn't really popular here, but not even scary movies?"
Harry shook his head, blowing a stray hair out of his face. "Nope. Honestly, they go so far out of their way to pretend it's any other day even Dudley question what's going on. And then they blame it on me..." Harry gestured out to the starry night, sundown long gone. "Thus why I am currently locked out."
Alex looked at him sympathetically. "I'm sorry, man, even my mum makes sure I'm in at night during autumn and winter."
"Eh," Harry shrugged it off, ignoring the pang of hurt in his chest. He was with Alex, he had to be cool. "Better than getting hit, right?"
Alex winced, looking at Harry with that damned concerned expression. Harry wanted to hit himself upside the head. Fucking stupid.
"You know, I don't really suggest this to the others cause their parents will actually kill them if they do," Alex started carefully, weighing his words, "but maybe you should go to the police."
Harry groaned, pressing his hands against his face. "I've tried! One of my neighbors saw me out in front doing chores, and called someone. It was like the minute they stepped into the house, all of the concern just vanished!" Harry huffed, past anger bubbling up anew. "Doesn't help that the bruises fade too damn fast. Just said that the scars were from falling or some shit, they just believed them."
"Your bruises... heal to fast?" Alex echoed dubiously.
"I'm serious!" Harry sat up. He rolled up his too long long sleeves, cuffing them at the elbow. "I once picked up a hot oven dish just to see if I could, the blisters were gone within the hour!"
Alex sat up too, using Harry's upright position to place a flower crown gingerly on his head. Alex giggled at Harry's miffed expression, tugging them both back to the grass. Harry huffed, scratching at the back of his hand, opening an 'old' scab until it reopened. "No, seriously, watch."
Harry gave his hand to Alex, the other boy holding it as they waited for it to heal over.
Harry continued, "Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever going to get out of here. The plan is to wait until I turn 18, they'll probably kick me out by then. I won't have any schooling, so I'll need to figure that out. But they have programs for people like that, like refugees and stuff. It'll be hard, but I can manage. I've been managing, I can do it a little longer."
Harry looked up to the night sky, haunting with its changing familiarity. He knows constellations by heart, counting the passing days, months, years. His voice got a little lower, "I don't know if I'll make it to my 18th birthday, though. She sees I'm healing and she keeps getting worse. They know I don't have any lasting damage from when..."
Harry stared down at his other hand, the burned one that he could still fully function despite the horrid burns going up to his wrist.
"I'm starting to think they're trying to kill me," Harry admitted quietly, as if saying it too loud would make some kind of curse. "It's not even Vernon anymore, he thinks I'm convenient," Harry mocked the mans gruff voice.
"But Petunia, she... god, it's like she wants to strangle me. Doesn't matter that I'm giving free labour and literally taking up no less space than a fucking broom cupboard, she wants me dead anyways."
"The worst part is that these accidents of mine are just getting stronger, happening more often. The other day I accidentally burned their food but I didn't even touch the stove. It was like the very molecules just lit up in flames and charred on the spot. Got it really bad after that, too."
Harry winced, he shouldn't get too dark. "I know I can't risk getting caught stealing out of the fridge, but I don't think they know how long a person can go without food or water. As it is, I'm probably going to be thin forever. You know those people in the advertisements with those big muscles and super soft hair?" Harry looked at his own split, damaged black hair. "Gone, never a possibility for me."
"I know I need to hold out hope, but it keeps getting harder. Wait til I can get out, that's what you guys always say. I just... I don't know how you do it, Alex, how you put up with them. I'm just waiting til I turn 18, but you've got to figure out what happens once you do. And from what you've told me, I'm starting to second guess if it's even something I want to look forward to..."
Harry finally shut up, waiting for the encouraging advice that Alex always gave that kept him going. God, he'd just unloaded a lot, Alex probably thought he was so weak. He ran his hand through his hair, grimacing.
The flower crown crunched as he touched it. A few decayed, dried petals fell onto his face. It completely fell apart in his hands as he panickedly grabbed it wondering what the fuck had happened. It was crumbling under his grip, as if it had been years and it dried out long ago. Harry sat up, looking over guiltily, "Shit, sorry Alex, that happens sometimes, especially on Halloween-"
Alex was pale, ghostly so. His eyes were open, half lidded so he wasn't asleep, no matter what his half agape mouth said. "Alex?" Harry shook his shoulder. His skin was cold to the touch, limp and sinking at his fingertips.
"Alex?"