At Privet Drive, in the Dursley household, there were four people. Vernon, Petunia, Dudley and Harry. Harry was a special child, for he could do magic. One might think that would make him the more popular one, perhaps that it would provide him a happy and fun childhood.
It didn't.
He recalled the first time he was told the weird things he could do was magic. His aunt had sat him down on the couch, while Dudley and Vernon were out doing father-son things.
"Harry, dear, you know how you do some things occasionally, that you cannot control?" Petunia had asked, and Harry had nodded, very interested now, instead of wishing he was out climbing trees.
"It's because you have magic in you, Harry, just like your mother and father had. But that was also what got them killed, as they were trying to hide from one of your kind, you see?" she continued, and Harry tilted his head, not sure he understood.
"Magic? But magic isn't real, is it?" he asked, even more confused when his aunt started laughing, though the laugh didn't seem like she was particularly happy or found his question funny.
"Of course, it is, Harry, where else would you have gotten your scar from? It never really heals, does it? But magic is a bad thing, Harry, it takes lives, it's very bad. Vernon and I talked about it, and we think you should be punished every time you do magic, because we believe it might make the magic go away," Petunia explained, and Harry seemed to crumble a little.
"Will it hurt?" Harry asked, fiddling with his hands. His aunt swatted at them to make him stop. He looked up at her again.
"It will, but Harry, do you want to be punished or be a really bad person?" she asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, the weight both reassuring and pressuring.
"I want to be a good boy, Miss Jones says I am, when I finish my lines quickly," Harry said, smiling.
"Then that's settled, Vernon will be giving you punishments, just keep in mind to tell him whenever you do some of that magic, okay? Now go out and enjoy the weather," and with those words, he had gone out to climb trees.
He had happily forgotten about the talk, until the next time he had used magic. He had fallen and scraped his knee, it hurt a lot, and he just wanted it to go away. When he blew on it to ease the pain, it closed right before his eyes.
At first, he had felt elevated. He had healed himself! Magic was amazing, it could help people. But then he remembered that it had also killed his parents, and that magic was still within him. He wasn't sure he felt bad about what he had done, but he also didn't want to be a bad boy.
All through dinner that evening, he had been very quiet. His aunt had noticed how he kept playing with his food, and it was obvious she was growing tired of his restlessness.
"If you aren't going to eat, Harry, then you may leave the table," she finally snapped, and he let down his fork, focusing his gaze onto his lap, mumbling that he had used magic earlier.
"I can't hear what you say if you don't talk to me clearly. Speak up," she reprimanded him, and with a sigh he lifted his head, as he spoke clearly.
"I used magic earlier today, to heal my knee," he stated. Everybody stopped eating, Dudley looking quite interested, while Vernon seemed furious. Petunia looked somewhat happy, but there was something behind her smile that Harry didn't like.
"Oh, Harry dear, I'm so glad you told me. You know we have to try and get it out, so it doesn't happen again, you remember that, right?" she asked kindly, as she reached for his small hands. Somehow her grip felt clammy instead of comforting.
"Yes, but, auntie, I used it to heal? Isn't that a good thing? It didn't hurt anybody," Harry questioned, furrowing his eyebrows.
"I have a name, Harry, please use it. But, do you think the madman who killed your parents wasn't once a child too? He was just like you, using magic before he could control it, and see where that lead him, you don't want to become bad do you?" she inquired, and Harry quickly shook his head.
"I want to be good au- Petunia. That will make you happy, right?" he asked excitedly, wanting the same affectionate smile as she gave to Dudley. She did smile, and though it wasn't as big as when she smiled at Dudley, it made Harry feel happy.
"It will make us all very happy, Harry, can you do this for us?"
He didn't think, before he happily agreed, thinking he finally would fit in with them. Perhaps they could all go on family trips now, he knew Dudley loved those, but Dudley said Harry would probably be bored if he tagged along, so he should be glad he wasn't forced to come with them.
And that was how he found himself over Vernon's knee later that night, his bum so sore he could not sit properly for the next few days.
Next time he was still reluctant to give up the information that he had used magic, but the smile Petunia had smiled at him had made ensured him, that it was indeed the right thing to do.
Harry never thought it would surpass a simple spanking, yet it seemed like it got worse with time. At first it had been spankings, at least until he turned 9 and he fit too awkwardly across Vernon's lap, without him lying somewhat on the couch, and Vernon hated when he was on the couch.
That was when he started to feel a fist against his back or arms, kicks against his ribs when he fell. Once by mistake Vernon struck him across his face, but when the blue eye disappeared the day after, his face was no longer safe.
It hurt, but Harry hid it well. Petunia said it was for his safety, for all of their safety. And he wanted them to be safe and happy. Vernon never really seemed happy, but Harry didn't comment on that. If anything, he seemed to grow angrier every beating, as if he was frustrated the magic didn't just leave.
Harry was frustrated too. He wanted to be a good and normal boy. He hated that he was so sinful and disgusting, filled with something so dark. Something that could kill.
"Harry, can you come and sit here with me," Petunia called from the dinner table, one day. Harry cautiously went to sit with her. Was she tired of trying to get the magic out of him? Would they abandon him? Had he perhaps used magic without noticing it?
"Don't worry, you've been a good boy these days. But tomorrow, you'll probably get a letter from a place called Hogwarts. It's a magical school which your parents went to too. You will have to go there, as they all see you as a hero for killing that madman who killed your parents, but you know better, right, Harry?" she asked, smiling that small smile of hers.
Tears filled his eyes.
"But I don't want to go, I probably have to do magic there, and that's bad, right?" Harry asked, bewildered. Why would they send him there? To become bad? Did they think he could not be saved?
"It is bad Harry, but you have to. They will come for you anyway, so you must pretend to like the magic there, okay? But while you're there, you need to somehow keep count of every spell you learn, and everything magic you do, okay? Then we'll take care of you when you come home, perhaps you can talk with Vernon about how to keep count," Petunia suggested, and relief slowly started to spread through his body.
They hadn't given up on him, they still wanted to help. He could go there and pretend like he didn't mind their weird rules and their brainwashed idea that magic was good, and once he got home, he could finally get cleansed.
And true to her words, his letter came the day after. Harry cried that night, so very much. It wouldn't be long until he had to go.
The urgency was felt in his beatings too. It seemed as if Vernon wanted to leave enough scars and pain for Harry to remember, remember that magic was bad. That was the one thing he should not forget.
He had been picked up by a professor from the school, a professor McGonagall, apparently Hagrid had been unable to come get him, and so he had to follow her around. She was old and stern, yet Harry really liked her. She was easy to be around.
Harry almost forgot that he wasn't supposed to enjoy his outing to the wizarding world, or that he wasn't supposed to want to get more things from there than he had already gotten.
That was a reminder he got that night though, a hit for every object he had gotten, and five for the wand. The wand was the most dangerous part, and Harry almost felt scary to touch it, because it made him feel so complete and so wrong.
The day before he had to go to the train was the worst. He had been about to sleep on his mattress, when Vernon had walked into the dark room, belt in hand, and pain Harry had not felt before was all that he knew.
"When you're at that freakish school, I want you to use this, to carve every spell and everything magic you do into your skin, so no one can see, and you cannot forget," Vernon said, throwing a small blade beside his mattress, before leaving him.
Broken, bleeding, in pain, and never happier. His magic wasn't to find in that moment, he was clean. Not for long, but long enough for Harry to feel elevated.
Even when he had to go through the weird wall at the station – his first cut – and leave on the magic train. It lasted him all the way through the train ride, right until he was standing with the other first years, hearing them whispering excitedly about what they thought Hogwarts would be like, that was when he remembered.
He would be unclean and bordering on bad for the next year, until he could finally come home to Vernon and Petunia again.
"Harry Potter is supposed to be here; did you hear that? I wonder what he looks like, do you think he'll let me see his scar?" he heard a person whisper, and he tried hard not to flinch when his name was mentioned.
His scar was nothing but a mark branding him as evil, a sinner.
"I doubt Harry Potter would want his scar bestowed by anybody as lowly as you, Weasley," a voice said, clearly someone posh and educated. Rich parents, big education.
Before the other boy could retort, Professor McGonagall stepped forward, hushing them all, and making them stand in line.
It became clear to Harry that he had ended next to the posh kid, seeing as how he was the only kid with polished shoes and slicked back hair, as if a wild hair would upset his ancestors.
They ignored each other and merely followed instructions, until they stood between two house tables, waiting to be sorted. In front of them were a stool with a hat upon it, and, when it started to sing, Harry could not contain his gasp.
He knew he would cut himself for that, knowing it wasn't using magic, but he was not supposed to feel attracted to magic either. That was dangerous.
Once the hat stopped singing, they were called up one by one, to get the hat on their head, and it would shout out their Hogwarts house.
The posh kid was sorted the quickest, the hat barely touching his head, before it shouted SLYTHERIN. The boy seemed happy. Harry just knew it would be yet another cut.
"Harry James Potter," Professor McGonagall called out, and the hall seemed to go completely quiet, only few people whispering his names excitedly to each other. Unsure and unused to such attention, he slowly went up to the stool.
Before the hat went on his head, he saw the posh kid look contemplatively at him.
Hmmm, what do we have here. Harry James Potter, it feels like yesterday that I sorted your mother and father. They were both in Gryffindor, and my, you could fit in there.
You have bravery and I see a fire within you, yes, very Gryffindor indeed.
The thought was dangerous, going to live where his parents had been. An alien feeling went through him, but a fear struck him. He could end up in the bed his father had slept in.
What a disgusting thought, he could not, not ever, lie in a bed his father had slept in, the father he had killed. Sit in a chair his mother had sat in, laugh in a place they had laughed, as if everything was okay. As if he had never hurt them.
Calm down Harry, please, I cannot read you if you do not calm your mind. Let me see, oh my, I cannot talk about anything I see to anybody young Potter, but if you seek out Severus Snape, it would be easier.
In fact, there is one thing that will make it even easier. You will fit in just right there Harry, you seem careful and intelligent, very good at hiding your intent and feelings too, most of them probably won't know what hit them, once you finally get out of your shell.
I hope you will have some lovely years here.
"SLYTHERIN"
And the hall got silent again.
A/N:
Yes, I have now started this other fanfiction too.
I have a more general idea about where I want to go with this, and I hope it entertains someone else than just me.
I do not own Harry Potter.