Harry never complained, and bore his life as if it were normal. Far too normal, for most of history children were to stay out from underfoot and work.
It didn't bother Harry that he never got as much food as his cousin; Harry never became hungry. He grew into a small, thin buy, because that was the way nature intended him to. The mean barbs and insults that his aunt and uncle gave him were never taken to heart, for they were accompanied by a feeling of contentment.
He accepted that his aunt and uncle treated his cousin better; much better. But this was understandable, because they were his parents. Harry's parents probably doted on him. Too bad they died in that automobile accident.
Harry felt angry over being abandoned by them, and sad that they weren't there, and even guilty that he survived when they didn't; but all these emotions were perfectly normal for an orphaned boy, no matter how his relatives treated him.
Harry seemed a perfectly ordinary boy, except for a few key areas. The first was his wild hair. Nothing could be done about it. Combing, moussing, perming, nothing lasted more than a few minutes. Even a near crew cut disappeared when Harry was alone for a while. Harry knew what he looked like, and when no one was looking, Harry returned automatically to that image.
Harry also never had a fear of dogs. Even the vicious Doberman owned by that skinhead neo-Nazi whom all of the other townsfolk looked down on, but treated with respect born from fear. The dog didn't frighten Harry, Harry frightened the dog. It was quite something to see a slavering shark on a leash hiding behind the legs of a skinhead to avoid a six year old boy.
When Harry and the skinhead insisted, the dog fearfully allowed Harry to pet it, acting like a puppy scared by an Alsatian. Harry had the skinhead's respect, if none of the other adults'.
The third odd thing was the way Harry seemed to get around when no one was looking. Harry didn't understand what was odd about it, and his relatives refused to acknowledge it by asking too many questions. But Harry would go from place to place quickly and silently.
Through locked doors.
No one ever saw him vanish or reappear; that they couldn't have ignored. He just got to wherever he wanted to go, and never considered it odd that he sometimes bypassed the intervening steps.
But the last odd thing about Harry Potter they daren't ignore, no matter how much they wanted to. His strength. When Harry was five, he lifted the couch to retrieve a toy Dudley had dropped under it. At age seven, he lifted the fridge while cleaning the kitchen.
Dudley and his friends never started to physically bully him, they didn't dare. They were dumb, not stupid. They insulted and teased Harry mercilessly, but when their Frisbee slid under a parked truck, they insisted Harry crawl under to retrieve it. Harry found it easier to move the truck.
Anyone who has to be taught not to damage trees when trying to climb them, something he was imitating seeing his cousin do, had no difficulty carrying the groceries or pulling up dandelion roots.
Only when it came to his strength did his relatives effectively mistreat him. They made sure that he knew it was freakish, and had to be concealed from others. Having frightened away some friends at school, Harry took this lesson to heart, and promised to conceal the extent of his strength.
He learned to wince with effort as he deweeded the garden, and to pretend the bags with canned groceries were heavy. And he stopped leaving hand prints in the steel sign posts.
For Harry was a mazoku, a dream made flesh, fed on hate; unaware that his location and appearance were dictated by his belief in them. A loner both by nature and upbringing, he'd have felt pain if his aunt had sung him to sleep with a lullaby.
And while he was too immature to change into his other form, the Doberman knew Harry was really a huge canine/canid that put wolves to shame. After all, he could trace his lineage to Zellias of Wolf Island.
While Harry had magic, actually was magic, he never suffered bouts of accidental magic, for he wasn't really a wizard. But no one else knew that, so he would be stuck having trouble with spells others found easy, and doing the impossible without thought.
He was physically incapable of ever learning the Patronus Charm, for example. And cheering charms would be beyond his ability. But the anti-apparition wards made no difference to someone whose body ceased to exist at one point and re-exist elsewhere automatically. And though he didn't know it, the killing curse would have no effect on him.
God help whoever tries to teach him to become an animagus, for they would succeed.
Instead, Harry was being given his allotment of Dudley's outgrown clothes in a grocery sack, with the admonishment, "never say we don't give you anything!" when there was a knock on the door.
When Harry was brusquely ordered to answer it, he was shocked to find a huge man holding a pink umbrella, who swept him into a hug, announcing "It's so good to finally see you!"
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
"I'm here ta see why ya haven't answered any of the letters we sent ta Harry."
"We never received any letters!"
"We sent hundreds! The skies should 'a' been full of them! Never mind. I've brought one with me. Now where did I put it?"
A huge pile of knickknacks appeared before he pulled out a slightly battered envelope of heavy paper addressed in green ink with Harry's name.
While Harry opened the envelope, the Dursleys watched the rude intruder retrieve parchment and quill from his clothing saying, "Just a second, I gotta tell Dumbledore I found him."
So saying, the half giant, who hadn't bothered to introduce himself wrote out a quick note, and tied it to a put-upon bird which he pulled from yet another pocket.
At this point, Vernon Dursley's outrage overtook his confusion. "Just a minute! You can't just come in here like that!"
"What're you complaining about? I'm here about Harry's education. 'S not my fault ya never got the letters we sent and I had ta come in person. Just as well, since I’d a come today anyway ta take Harry shopping fur school supplies, so ya didn't put me out none."
"You're not taking Harry to that school and that's final. We refuse to pay for it."
"I'd like ta see you try an' stop him from attending. 'Sides it's already paid for. He's been down since his birth as going to Hogwarts."
"I said he's not going!"
"'S not as simple as that. Alot of people expect him ta go to Hogwarts. His parents even mentioned it in their will. If he doesn't go, yer garden will be hip deep in important wizards by lunchtime. 'Sides, he'll wind up going anyway. Only question is how they plan ta convince you."
Vernon was not about to just take threats from anyone, even wild-looking giants. But he had learned to compromise. For example, locking a small boy in a cupboard doesn't work too well, when the boy doesn't realize he's supposed to be locked in, and he rips the door open anyway, claiming "I thought it stuck a bit."
Instead a detente had been reached. When grounded, Harry stayed in his cupboard, sneaking out to use the bathroom, while Vernon pretended not to notice. Vernon never threatened physical violence, and Harry tried not to use his strength where Vernon could see it. It was sort of a "don't ask, don't tell" philosophy which allowed the Dursleys the normalcy they craved.
Now Vernon could put his foot down, but what would be the consequences? Either he let his nephew go to that freak school, and taint everything with its freakish ways, or the freaks would come here; in droves; where their neighbors could see.
Vernon may have been a stupid shortsighted bigot, but he was smart enough to be a manager at a company. "Alright, we'll permit him to go to school, as long as he keeps it from everybody here. He has to promise to make sure no one else knows about it. If the neighbors even suspect, I’ll yank him out so fast your head will spin. And we don't want to hear about it in this house. Understood?"
Magic that would have revealed his name would have announced he was Harry Potter, after all. Magic designed to reveal his family tree, on the other hand, would have returned anomalous results. He never had parents per se. Perhaps his primogenitor from whom he budded, for want of a better term, would have registered as his father or mother.
But no one bothered to ascertain that this Harry Potter was from the house of Metallium, with the right to call the creator, Great-great-grandmother.
Instead, they unwittingly robbed Gringotts, although no one would ever press charges. Harry Metallium Potter had gained power of attorney for Harry Potter's trust fund.
Later, at Malkin's robe shop, Harry was made to stand next to a blond boy of his age as they were measured for their robes. Harry wasn't experienced enough to tell that the young man used his hatreds and prejudice to prop up his otherwise fragile self image. All Harry knew was that this boy felt like family.
Draco's hatred could be a ready source of sustenance, making a good acquaintance. Whether they'd be friends, acquaintances, or enemies would be determined by their personalities, but Harry wasn't likely to maintain indifference towards such a fine example of suppressed rage, fear, and self-loathing.
After all, it couldn't be easy to sneer condescendingly while holding out your arms like a scarecrow while some matronly woman sticks pins in the sleeves, and calls you "dear." It must have taken practice.
Harry managed to get away from the casually rude boy without revealing his family name.
Harry was peeved with whoever sent Hagrid. They couldn't send a letter without dispatching Hagrid. They didn't send someone who understood the troubles someone growing up in the ordinary world would have. They didn't have any kind of preparatory literature. They preferred to let him sink or swim. And now they couldn't even be bothered to put up a sign saying Hogwarts.
If he had known where he was going, he might have discorporated and reformed without being aware of it. However, he neither knew he had the ability, as he only used it when distracted, nor could he use it accidentally while observed and both his current location and his target were packed with observers. Plus, he had no idea where it was he was supposed to wind up.
But there was a family that might be going to the same destination! The boys all had trunks. One had an owl. And the mother used the word "Muggle," a word he never heard before the day spent with Hagrid.
Harry felt an instinctive dislike of Molly Weasley. Her bustling mothering was grating like fingernails on a black board. Her children were alright, though. The older and the younger brothers were both awash with insecurities and self-worth problems. And while the twins were annoyingly cheerful, they used that cheerfulness as an abrasive on others. Their mischievous streak also had no regard for the desires of others, and would provide sustenance to a growing mazoku. The younger daughter was awash with resentment and frustration, apparently at being a few months too young to attend this year's classes.
Harry knew none of this, all he knew was that the children would be good to be around, and that their mother disturbed him.
Getting onto the platform proved surprisingly easy once it was explained to him. Molly was too busy to spare him much attention as he thanked her and proceeded to board the train.
Fred and George paid attention, however, when the small thin polite boy picked up a trunk he could have hidden inside, and carried it on as if its only problem was its bulk. It looked like Harry was carrying a light empty trunk.
Now it could have had a charm on it to make it light, but then why not use the common weightless charm. So either it was a very bizarre trunk, or there was a very bizarre story behind why someone would want to haul an obviously empty trunk to school.
"Need a hand stowing your trunk?" one of them offered, taking some of the weight of one end. The full trunk wasn't heavy to Harry, but it was bulky, and having a second set of hands on the other end was a help; besides, his family had ingrained the idea of hiding his strength, so he accepted gratefully. He would have had trouble with the overhead luggage shelf in any case due to his height.
Meanwhile, Fred was surprised to find Harry's trunk weighed as much as theirs did. Fred and George may have been large and fit for their age, but they had made short work of their own trunks by working as a pair. While they might have been able to carry one of their trunks by themselves, there was no way they could do it as easily as Harry had.
"You look like a good person to know. You're definitely stronger than you look. I'm Fred Weasley, and this is George."
"I'm Harry Potter."
"Really?" Harry brushed aside his hair. "I was right; you are an interesting person to know. Anyway, we heard Lee's got a new tarantula, so we gotta go see it. We'll see you later."
Harry missed the relaying of his identity to the Weasley matriarch and their younger siblings. The younger daughter's hero worship would have been as disturbing to Harry as the mother's benevolent mothering.
But Ron's attitude when he said "Are you really Harry Potter?" was filled with as many negative feelings as positive. Ron may have been a nice guy, but he was a cauldron of resentment, envy, and self doubt. This actually made him a good companion for Harry, as Harry was a kind and considerate creature of nightmare who fed off of the ill feelings of others.
The irony was lost on two young boys who gradually discovered that their parental figures spent more attention and praise on their siblings/cousin than was fair or warranted, and until recently, both had lived in personal poverty, wearing hand-me-downs. The fact that Ron's hand-me-downs fit seemed to balance out Harry's recent cash windfall since Harry wasn't stingy sharing his snacks.
Ron's mind slotted Harry as someone in the same position as him, and generous with his recent luck. Meanwhile he was able to act like the wiser big brother for the first time in his life, as he told Harry what to expect from chocolate frog cards to quidditch. He never had much opportunity to do it with Ginny, since she had many wiser brothers to ask questions, including a few that were so grownup that they didn't think of her as an icky girl. Ron wasn't Ginny's favorite brother.
That's when Malfoy walked in. "Are you really Harry Potter?"
Harry raised his hair again mumbling "I need an ID card."
"No need to introduce him, he's obviously a Weasley. You'll find that in the wizarding world some families are better than others. I can help you with that." Malfoy offered his hand.
"I don't know about making friends with families. After all, I'm supposed to come from a good family, but I wouldn't make friends with any of my relatives. Ron's all right. Are you a good Malfoy or a bad Malfoy?"
Draco was nonplussed. He knew what to do if he were accepted. He knew how to act if he were snubbed. Was he being asked for ethical introspection? Draco had been talking about family power; maybe Potter was referring to competency within a family. When in doubt, go with what you know. "I'm a powerful Malfoy."
"But I'm not interested in power at the moment." Harry meant it as a neutral comment, but Draco had come in expecting to figuratively clasp Potter to his bosom, kick the Weasley out of the compartment, and become friends. Draco wasn't used to things not going his way; Harry hadn't shaken his hand yet.
So even though Harry was still undecided over Draco's hand, Draco pulled his hand back. Goyle took this to mean that the boys were fair game, and reached for some of their sweets, only to have his arm grasped by Harry's. Now Harry's arm was extended, and Harry was only two thirds the mass of Goyle, so Goyle should have been able to pull his arm back, at least a little, or force his arm further. Instead it felt like he'd been grabbed by an adult.
He'd been grabbed like that before, and it had invariably meant he'd done something deserving a scolding or punishment, so to be grabbed like that by a tiny peer caused him some confusion. On top of that, he'd been brought up to respect power. This was "The Boy Who Lived," a semi-legendary figure, who was obviously physically powerful. And Draco wanted his friendship, so he obviously had social power. Goyle backed away looking chastised.
Crabbe and Draco had never seen Goyle behave like that with anyone who wasn't an adult. Goyle was treating Potter like an angry adult, and they had no idea why. "You haven't heard the last of this, Potter."
Harry called out, "Come back soon, but bring your own sweets!"
"That insufferable git!"
"At least he was interesting."
"Interesting?" Ron almost shouted, "He insulted my whole family!"
"He was rude, insulting, and thoughtless. But he was interesting. Did ya see how he answered my question? Ron, are you a good person, or a bad person?"
"A good person, obviously."
"It wasn't an obvious question to him. He didn't even know. And did you see the way they ran away? Why'd they do that? Because I stopped him from snatching a candy? He walked in here, looked at your hair, and decided the best way to become my friend was by insulting you; very strange. He seemed derailed by the idea that I make friends with people, not which family they're from; is that a difficult concept?"
"OK. He's a rude insufferable interesting git."
"Agreed."
The children were waiting for the sorting, swapping stories about the horrors in store based on rumors from older siblings when two ghosts floated into the hall, arguing about the poltergeist, Peeves.
They're studiously ignoring their effect on the new students, as they bicker, until both suddenly feel uneasy. Neither of them had ever felt quite like that before, so they cautiously scanned the room looking for the source of their unease.
It was the boy who survived the killing curse. They had assumed that he was just an ordinary boy who had somehow survived; but now they considered the possibility that it was a side effect of some ability revolving around death; something that might affect a ghost. Or it was possible that that event changed him in some way.
Being dead themselves, anything that made them feel like this was worthy of caution and respect. Ghosts survived hundreds of years, and were notoriously hard to affect, but that didn't mean their existence couldn't be cut short due to foolishness on their part. The abbot turned to his companion and suggested "We should continue this conversation in private." Then he turned to his audience of eleven year olds and said, "Sorry if we bothered you."
Then the two of them made a polite retreat.
Shortly thereafter, they were called to be sorted.
The subject of which house they might wind up in had never come up on the train ride. Malfoy hadn't had time to poison Harry's opinion of Slytherin, and Ron hadn't mentioned his prejudices against them. So as far as Harry was concerned, one house was as good as another. He would prefer to be in the same house as Ron, but as his name was Weasley, he had no idea which house that would be when it came to be his turn to be sorted.
When his name was called, a susurrus swept the room as everyone whispered to their neighbor and craned their necks to watch Harry lower the hat on his head.
There was nothing in Harry's memories to indicate he wasn't human, except that he did things humans couldn't. But as Harry had no idea he wasn't human, the hat certainly had no idea either. "Hmm, very difficult. You're powerful and dark enough to do well as a Slytherin, but you're not exactly ambitious, and that's their deciding characteristic. You're smart enough, but you don't have the joy of learning for learning's sake that Ravenclaw wants. You've never had a reason to be loyal to anyone else, so Hufflepuff would be a mistake. You've never known fear, so I guess that's close enough to immitate courage to put you in GRYFFINDOR!"
"Thanks ALOT for that GLOWING reccomendation!" Harry walked over to the Gryffindor table mumbling, "Lousy Yarmulke with delusions of grandeur."
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(Posted Tue, 30 Aug 2005 01:56)
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