Word count: 1,275

Written for:

QLFC - Inspiration must come from The Hunchback of Notre Dame.

Hogwarts Muggle Studies - Task 4: Write about someone judged on their appearance. Prompt: (word) desire

Gringotts Prompt Bank (19 prompts used, listed below fic)

Hidden Away

The faded red scar on Harry's forehead was a symbol of his servitude, a little lightning bolt that told the world what Harry was: inferior. It bound him to Vernon's house, showed his disfigurement, punished him for his inadequacies. And he deserved it.

Vernon once told him that no one in the world cared for Harry or loved him. It was Vernon's own kindness that kept Harry alive, and for this generosity he paid only the smallest of prices: lifelong servitude in Vernon's home. Harry didn't know what servitude meant, but it sounded pretty good. It sounded like serving guests food, which was nice because he always got to sneak some off the plate and into his mouth. The only bad part was they jeered at him when he showed his face - his scar, as always, burning bright at the least convenient of times.

It was a little mark that caused a lot of trouble, he'd always thought, but it didn't matter what went on in his head. Vernon liked to say that the mind was affected by the skin. Outside wounds could pass through and torture the soul within.

So he listened, he received orders, and he followed them upon command. What else could he do? If Vernon had not generously accepted Harry when his mother died and he had nowhere to go, now, who would have?

It had always been this way, and so it would always be, until the day he died, Harry thought. Or perhaps until Vernon died. He wasn't a young man, after all...

These thoughts poked and prodded at him, distracting him from his work, so Harry wasn't surprised when Vernon appeared with a scowl on his face.

"Not finished with the cleaning, boy?" He peered at the floor and grimaced. "You haven't started! What's wrong with you? -Besides the obvious."

"I was thinking," said Harry simply. He had been gazing out the window at the street below, and he knew it was wrong to daydream when there work to be done, but... he couldn't help his desire. There was so much life out there.

"And what-" Vernon snapped- "-were you thinking about?"

"Nothing in particular."

"This is my thanks for taking you in and raising you as my son?" the old man snarled. "You're the laziest thing I've ever seen."

"Yes, sir."

Vernon ignored him, lying down on the sofa Harry was supposed to be vacuuming around. He waited, not wanting to disobey an elder. The man's eyes opened suddenly, revealing little black spots that narrowed at him. "Get on with it!"

"Yes, sir."

As Harry worked, Vernon complained - berating Harry, condemning the whispers of witchcraft that he said filled the streets. There were filthy abominations everywhere, nearly as horrific as Harry himself. None had a scar, but all seemed to practice shady magics that Vernon disdained. Witchcraft went against God's will - that's what Vernon always said. Why didn't those people understand?

But Harry thought about it more and more, daydreaming even after Vernon moved on to a new source of irritation. Was it really so bad to do magics? If he had magics, he could fly out the window and see the world.

Harry shifted his feet, suddenly guilty. That was wrong of him. He was lucky to be alive, to have a home.

"What is it now?" Vernon muttered, noticing Harry's clear disengagement from his task.

"I was thinking again..."

"About what?" Vernon barked, sitting up. "What now?"

"The magics. Why are they bad?" Harry looked up at Vernon, his eyes wide. He wasn't sure why he felt so daring as to confront his master about a hated idea - he just did.

Vernon leapt to his feet. "Magics are a sin, do you hear me?!" He glared down at Harry, his mustache curling into a even less appealing shape.

"Yes, sir," Harry murmured.

He was nine.

.oOo.

The girl's fierce demeanor and tangled brown hair drew Harry in, but it was the way her eyes widened in surprise that made him love her. She was a girl around his age - beautiful and foreign, like a TV character - but she looked smart. Or wise. Something about her made her stand apart. And she watched him with those curious, confident brown eyes.

Harry scrambled towards her, glancing back at the house to make sure Vernon wasn't watching. If he was, Harry would never be allowed out again.

"Who are you?" he said breathlessly, meeting her eyes for a split second. Immediately, he bowed his head to stare at the ground, ashamed. "I'm sorry," he murmured. "I've disgusted you already, I'm sure."

"What on earth are you talking about?" The girl blinked at Harry, shaking her head. "Why would I be disgusted?"

"Don't you know about me?"

"No," she replied. "I travel a lot with my parents. Why, did you do something bad I should know about?" She let out a loud laugh, smiling broadly at him when she'd finished.

Harry sighed, then pushed his forehead fringe to the side, revealing his scar. "Don't you see?"

She stepped closer. "You're marked," she breathed. "Oh. I see." She paused. "Well that's a surprise, but no matter. People don't like the looks of me, either."

"Wh-what?" Harry stammered. He stared, waiting for her to run away or shriek in disgust. Why didn't she hate him for having a scar?

"They think I do witchcraft," she informed him, rolling her eyes. "As if. But Vernon Dursley is a big man in this town, like Bart Crouch in the last. Neither of them liked floaters like my parents and me. So we'll probably be heading off soon." She gave Harry an understanding smile. "I know how you feel."

Harry turned away, ready to head back to the house. But he knew he had to explain himself to this girl. "Vernon is my guardian. He doesn't like witchcraft, but he won't kick you out. It's all for show. But me? I am a monster."

"What?! No, you're not!" the girl exclaimed, stomping her foot. "You're just like everybody else, and I don't care what he told you. It's just a mark!"

"It's not just a mark," said Harry, frustrated. "It's worse. It sets me apart. No one else is marked like me. I'm different."

"It's just a mark!" she shouted, grabbing Harry's arm roughly. He was forced to look at her. She was so pretty it hurt. A moment later, she let go, and he slumped back to his resting stance. She folded her arms. "You were saying?"

Harry was quiet. Then: "I don't know your name."

"Hermione. And you?"

"Harry."

"How old are you?"

"Eleven. Why?"

"Me too," she said, smiling. "Now let's get away from that awful house. I don't think you have anything in there you want to get, right?"

"No," Harry answered, still in awe. But he took her hand when it was offered. "Thank you, H- Hermione."

"For what? You were doing fine on your own." She tilted her head, not considering the most important point of all.

"You don't think I'm less than you," Harry said in wonder. "It's a funny feeling, but I think it's true."

"Of course not. A scar makes you look tough, not weak. You and I are equal."

"Not everyone thinks that way," he said in a low voice.

Hermione looked him in the eye and nodded. "Well, I do. Now come on. You can stay with me and my parents for a bit."

Harry held her hand and felt that the world was collapsing on itself. What else could make him feel so strange? So happy?

He smiled. Things were looking up.

.oOo.

Various Prompts - Hunchback of Notre Dame

[Feeling/Trait/Emotion] Fear, [Feeling/Trait/Emotion] Manipulating, [Feeling/Trait/Emotion] Scared, [Feeling/Trait/Emotion] Selfless

[Word] Monster, [Word] Master, [Word] Abomination, [Word] Beautiful

[Plot/Action] Unwillingly becoming responsible for someone, [Plot/Action] Raised by someone cruel, [Plot/Action] Sneaking out, [Plot/Action] Being cruel to someone different, [Plot/Action] Standing up for what's right, [Plot/Action] Discrimination, [Plot/Action] Helping someone escape, [Plot/Action] Being accepted

[Dialogue] "This is my thanks for taking you in and raising you as my son?", [Dialogue] "I am a monster.", [Dialogue] "You were saying?"