All Harry Potter knew for certain of life was that there was pain; all he needed to know was how to minimize it.
It started when he was a baby when he learned the pain of death. Harry remembers the flashes of green, the scream, the thud, the laugh, When he thought about the memories he still felt an overwhelming sense of loss and confusion, but he didn't remember enough to understand why a green light would cause him to feel that way. He also learned the pain of abandonment. He remembered the cold and the dark and the unyielding loneliness and it scared him. He learned that no one would ever be there for him.
By the time Harry was four he had become very familiar with the pain of punishment, something his uncle thoroughly enjoyed teaching him. Harry learned to keep quiet, stay low, do what he was toled and maybe his uncle would be too preoccupied to give him anything worse than a quick hand across the back of his head.
When Harry was six, the pain of exhaustion became as familiar to him as the rise and fall of his chest. Once his aunt realized that he could be put to work she quickly pushed him to the edge of his physical abilities, only letting up on his work load when he was too physically ill to move from his cupboard. He spent his days moving from cooking to cleaning and back again, only punctuated by uncle Vernon's fists and latter by the days at school.
On the night of Harry's 11th birthday he sat in the dark listening to the creeks and groans of the shack on the rock his uncle had taken them to. Vernon had been driven mad by the unceasing storm of letters, each one addressed to Harry, and had found someplace that the birds could not follow. Harry didn't mind though, he didn't have to do quite so much cleaning here and he didn't dare ask what the letters said so he wouldn't be missing out on anything there. He looked down at the image he had drawn in the dust and let out a steady breath at the sound of Dudley's watch signaling midnight.
"Happy Birthday," Harry said as the crudely drawn birthday cake disappeared.
He was about to bury himself in his sheet on the floor when a bang at the door had him on his feet and against the wall in a second.
"Bang!" it came again and Harry could feel the wall behind him shutter. Dust fell from the rafters showering them, leaving Dudley coughing as he crouched behind the couch. Fear paralyzed Harry, his breath caught in his throat as he waited for the unknown monster to crash through the door.
Another second and the door gave way.
Harry stood still, hoping the shadows would conceal him from the monster. He was surprised, however, when a very large man stood in place of a monster. Harry wasn't sure if this was better or worse as the large man looked like he could snap Harry in two should he try. The giant man stepped in, shaking off an equally large umbrella, and found his way over to a terrified Dudley, speaking is joyous, friendly tones, words that harry could not concentrate on. His mind was reeling from the event happening in front of him, he had to be ready to respond to a fist, just like with Vernon.
Harry lost touch for a moment, taken hostage by memories of a fist hitting his face, falling, pain, always pain.
"Bang!"
Harry's senses came back with crystal clarity. In front of him the man stood staring down uncle Vernon and aunt Petunia and clutching the bent end of a shotgun in his hand, the smoke still rising from the barrel. Harry tried to push himself further into the wall, wishing he could really be as small as uncle Vernon made him feel sometimes.
Harry's mind pulled him in again, the image of uncle Vernon's purple face spewing spittle at him clear as the moment it happened. The pain in his arms from Vernon's grip as real as the air in his lungs. "You worthless freak! You're good for nothing, no one!"
Someone saying his name pulled him back into the room. It was the large man, he was talking to Dudley as if he was Harry.
"I-I-I'm not H-Harry," Dudley said
Harry took this moment to reveal himself, curiosity at what this man wanted with him overriding his better judgment to stay hidden. "I'm Harry," he said, stepping out from the shadows.
After Hagrid, the large man, explained to Harry his situation he couldn't believe it. Harry was a wizard, and a famous wizard at that Part of him used this information to confirm that Vernon's words were true, that he was nothing but a freak, but another part of him took this information as hope. He was going to go to school far away from the Dursley's; far away from uncle Vernon. Harry could hardly contain his excitement.
It was that very excitement, and Vernon's detest at the smile it brought, that left Harry with a nasty bruise on his arm and a galaxy of colour on his back and side as Hagrid led him through the station on their way to platform 9&3/4. Harry felt more comfortable around Hagrid now. After spending the day with him, shopping around Diagon Alley, Harry had warmed up to the large man. He was still weary of Hagrid's movements and was always ready for the pain of a blow, but Harry found himself smiling and laughing with the man like never before. He got a taste of what freedom felt like when he was with Hagrid and that left an imprint. Hagrid also bought Harry the first gift he had ever received in his life. When Hagrid presented him with the snowy owl, Harry was speechless. He just stared at her, overcome by gratitude, an emotion he had never felt before. He could even have cried if the lessons on why that wasn't allowed were not so strongly ingrained into his being.
As Harry followed Hagrid through the throngs of passengers he could feel his chest tightening, each breath became harder. There were just so many people, so much danger. How was he supposed to focus on it all at once. His head was jumping from one person to the next. His eyes could not keep up with them all. In that moment Harry wanted nothing more than to be back in his cupboard under the stairs. At least there the only danger was on the other side of a door. Just thinking of his cupboard calmed Harry so that is what he did. He could see Hagrid in front of him but in his mind he wasn't there in the station, he was back at the Dursley's, shut tight in his cupboard, the only safe place he had ever known.
Hagrid slowed and turned to Harry, bringing him back from the cupboard. Hagrid leaned over and said to Harry, "the platform is just over there, You can't miss it," as he looked and pointed to the sign reading "9."
"But Hagrid, where is the 3/4?" Harry questioned.
"You just run into the wall in between the two platforms and it will get you right there."
Harry looked up at him, very concerned, "you run into the wall?" he said.
"Yep, just run right on through it," Hagrid reassured, "now, I've got to go. I've got a bit of buisness. You run along now. I'll see you at Hogwarts." and with that Hagrid waded into the crowd, leaving Harry standing in his wake.