Author's Note
Several of the kind members reddit/hpfanfiction took the time to read over this, my first attempt at writing fanfiction, and pointed out a number of issues. First and foremost was the fact that the length of the paragraphs I used, while quite in line with traditional print, appeared to anyone reading on a mobile device as a wall of text. Second was that I was suffering from the common dilemma of writing children as if they were adults. I'm not able to write children as children, so I acceded to the logic and aged them up to be in Junior rather than Infant. Hopefully this will help with the suspension of disbelief required.
Special thanks to Cavelioness for her sound arguments and advice.
/Author's note
Harry Potter was seven years old when he realized that life was inherently unfair.
He wasn't able to verbalize it as such, or even frame it in his mind, however, he was quite sure that other children weren't treated as poorly as he was and further that he hadn't done anything, in particular, to deserve his lot in life. He made this determination four days into his first term at the Little Whinging Junior School when after careful observation and comparison he knew without a doubt that every single one of his classmates was better dressed, better fed, and better supplied than he was.
Whereas his classmates dressed in trousers, t-shirts and trainers that were, if not brand new, at least without holes and fit them well, (although a more astute or older observer might have noticed that a few of the children wore clothes with a bit of growing room, or perhaps an outdated logo on a shirt passed on from an older sibling who had outgrown it, but not worn it out of serviceability), Harry Potter was clad in clothing so terribly oversized as to appear clownish, in addition to being much the worse for wear. Harry's t-shirt was once a brilliant scarlet that had faded to a rather dull pink and sized for someone at least six inches taller, and two stone heavier. His trousers were less faded, but more damaged, with both rear pockets torn off, leaving two splotches of darker denim highlighting a poorly stitched back seam, all of which was all too visible as the trousers also possessed several additional inches of unnecessary length and more than a foot of extra waist. As one continued downwards, a rather sad pair of trainers which must have once been white were to be seen, held together by silver duct tape. It was clear to anyone, even seven-year-old children, that Harry Potter did not fit in with the rest of his class.
Harry recognized this fact immediately when he arrived on his first day but was in no position to remedy it. As the first few days passed and his classmates overcame any initial shyness they may or may not have had, they began to make friends with each other, based on whatever common interests they might have. Harry was excluded from this process entirely based on his appearance. Harry was, perhaps justifiably, upset by the casual cruelty of exclusion his classmates relegated him to, as he had hoped to make friends.
His home life was less than stellar, living as he did with his Aunt Petunia, his Uncle Vernon, and his Cousin Dudley with whom he shared his new schooling experience.
His Aunt Petunia was his mother's sister, although the few things Aunt Petunia had shared with Harry about his mother made it clear that were not at the time of his mothers passing, close. She doted on his Cousin Dudley, quite to the exclusion and more often than not, to the detriment of Harry, whom she made clear was a best an unwelcome guest in her home. Aunt Petunia had told Harry repeatedly that he had been left unceremoniously on their doorstep one November morning with only a letter advising her and Uncle Vernon that her sister and brother in law had been killed, and guardianship of then just over one-year-old Harry had fallen to them. The fact that the family received no compensation, nor insurance, nor assistance in funds to raise Harry was an often lamented fact, and frequently a point raised by Petunia whenever Harry failed to complete a chore or task she set for him adequately.
Uncle Vernon was a member of the management of Grunnings, a manufacturer of drilling equipment, and the provider of more than half of Little Whinging's employment. A corpulent and boisterous man, he took his position as a leader at Grunnings seriously and carried that mindset over to the local community where he viewed himself (and to be fair, was quite often seen as) a pillar, always ready to volunteer his time and even small funds to community events. Vernon, sharing no blood relation with Harry seemed to have even less use for him than Petunia, and as the man of house was the one responsible for delivering any paddlings or even strappings needed, when Petunia indicated that Harry had misbehaved. This role did little to endear him to Harry, who, by and large, rather viewed his Uncle as an incomprehensible force of nature; Huge, loud, and violent.
Harry's family was rounded out by his Cousin Dudley who took after his father both physically (being rotund and quite tall for his age), and in personality, although Dudley lacked his father's bonhomie and instead merely presented himself as loud and demanding. Imitating his father's attitude and actions towards Harry, Dudley found at an early age that he earned his father's approval by pushing Harry around, both verbally and physically. That his mother gave Dudley no indication that she disapproved of this behavior set a clear and early precedent in the young boy's mind this was perfectly normal and proper behavior.
Harry himself was slender, a trait apparently his Aunt and Mother both shared, although he had no photographs of his parents to provide evidence, and short. Quite the opposite of Dudley. His eyes were green, and his hair black, and unruly, in contrast to Vernon and Dudley who both shared blue eyes and well behaved blonde hair, and Petunia whose light auburn locks were impeccably curled, and served to highlight her blue eyes, which were only a shade darker than her Husband and Son's. The family portraits that hung on the walls of the Dursley household showed a strong family resemblance and served to showcase proud parents and a beloved son. Of Harry, there was no sign or mention. In point of fact, were one to tour the Dursley household (which Petunia's bridge club, garden club, community theatre group, and local women's auxiliary often did), one would have no evidence to show that a fourth person was living in the house. Afterall, Petunia and Vernon claimed the master bedroom, Dudley had the second largest room, and a very neatly appointed guest room awaited the occasional arrival of Vernon's older sister Margaret, a widow who raised champion English Bulldog's in her spinsterhood. No, one would have to unlock the small, angular door that secured the cupboard under the stairs to find the thin crib mattress and army surplus blanket upon which Harry spent his nights.
His days up till the point of the beginning of this school year were spent "Earning his keep" as his Aunt and Uncle liked to refer to the various chores and tasks Harry was assigned. He weeded the garden, painted the fence and stoop, and washed his Uncles personal car, a 1980 Triumph Spitfire (his company car, a rather lovely Range Rover was just too tall for Harry to properly clean without a step ladder, and Vernon didn't trust him to that degree). Inside the Dursley household, Harry was responsible for washing, drying, folding and putting away the laundry, as well as sweeping and mopping the floors. He had also recently been assigned the task of preparing breakfast each day, which consisted of eggs, bacon, toast and reconstituted frozen orange juice.
Harry had rather hoped that going to school would allow him to escape Dudley's bullying behavior, and the arduous and never-ending list of tasks and chores his family had for him. However, this wasn't to be the case. Harry found himself alone at break on his fourth day, perched somewhat morosely on one end of the seesaw, which the other children had for some unexplained reason abandoned. Harry watched as Dudley, the largest of his classmates, attracted a group of several others, as he told them some story, likely having to do with Harry and something humiliating and embarrassing judging by the stares and laughter coming from the group. He pulled his thin shoulders in tighter under his ridiculously oversized jumper, and thought to himself "It won't ever be fair, so it shouldn't matter." He desperately wished he could convince himself of that.
It was two months into the school year when Harry learned yet another harsh truth. The entire class had spent their first two months learning to read and write a few simple sentences. This hadn't come terribly easily to Harry as he hadn't ever been read to, that he could remember. He knew that Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon took turns reading bedtime stories to Dudley at night (and had suffered a deep, aching jealously that they never read to him). Harry had struggled, in no small part initially due to his eyesight, which his teacher, Mrs. Smith had determined was poor and that Harry was nearsighted. This resulted in a letter home to Aunt Petunia, and a trip to the local optometrist where Harry was tested, pronounced nearsighted, and provided with a pair of round, black plastic framed eyeglasses, the cost of which Aunt Petunia lamented loudly and often for several weeks.
Armed with his vastly improved eyesight, Harry tackled the assignment with enthusiasm. When Mrs. Smith handed back their first official assignments, Harry was quite pleased that he had gotten a gold star! He had spent all of his free time in class and at break practicing (which in his mind wasn't any great loss, as none of the other children were interested in playing with the "Freak" as Dudley liked to call him), and while he wasn't the best in the class, an honor that went to Amanda Langham, he was still one of the four out of fifteen that received a gold star.
Upon delivering his results proudly to Aunt Petunia, Harry discovered that not even outside confirmation of a job well done drew any approval from her. When Vernon came home, he further learned that performing better than Dudley was an invitation to punishment. Harry was sent to his cupboard without dinner for "Cheating" as Vernon crossly informed him that there was no way he could have possibly done better than Dudley and that if he didn't "Shape up" he was sure to go the same way as his worthless parents and die while drunk driving. As Harry lay in his closet, eyes burning with unshed tears, he clenched his tiny fists and swore to himself that he would keep doing well, no matter what Uncle Vernon said.
And so Harry did as well as he could. He wasn't able to endear himself to Mrs. Smith, who was only a few years from retirement and had long ago lost whatever passion she had initially possessed for teaching, and now merely employed the mechanics of learning. Harry was able to devise an ingenious method of disguising his assignment results, by just removing his gold stars from the assignments before bringing them home. As long as Dudley didn't see the gold star before Harry had a chance to remove it, he was home free, as Amanda Langham proved to be a remarkably bright little girl whose parents had already taught to read and write a year earlier, and was the only pupil regularly identified as having the best results.
Harry's autumn term continued as it began, save for the addition of several classmates to Dudley's campaign to bully and demoralize Harry. Dudley and his new friends came up with a game they called "Harry Hunting" where they would find Harry, chase Harry until the caught Harry, then push Harry to the ground and put the boot in. Harry was not a fan of this new game, and took to staying close to the teachers at break, and hiding when that wasn't practical. Coming home dirty, and occasionally bloodied with scrapes, served to further cement his Aunt and Uncle's already low opinion of him.
Matters came to a head when Aunt Petunia received both Harry and Dudley's end of term marks in the mail the Monday after the winter holiday break began. Harry had been unaware that there would be a report sent at the end of term, this being his first term, and no one taking any particular effort to explain to him precisely how schools functioned. Harry noticed that Aunt Petunia was upset about something, and with long familiarity knew that somehow he was the cause. When Uncle Vernon came home, Harry was sitting in the kitchen on his stool (being unable to reach the sink or the stove, he had his own three-legged wooden stool), peeling potatoes for the evening meal. Aunt Petunia greeted Uncle Vernon at the door and held him there for a few minutes speaking to him in low tones that Harry wasn't able to hear. Harry was caught quite unaware when Uncle Vernon walked into the kitchen, anger written large on his face, and backhanded him, knocking him off his stool, and smacking the back of his head against the hard steel of the oven behind him.
"Boy," Uncle Vernon growled, "I told you that cheating wouldn't be tolerated in my house." Harry shook his head trying to clear it while choking back a sob as his face reddened and tears sprang from his eyes. Vernon thrust a thick, rectangular piece of amber coloured construction paper in front of Harry's face. "This is your end of term report boy" Vernon hissed "And it says you've been cheating." Uncle Vernon reached down and grabbed Harry by the arm, yanking him to his feet, and dragging him out of the kitchen towards Harry's cupboard. "Just like your worthless parents, lazy layabouts, living off the dole, cheating honest, hardworking people" Vernon rumbled, "And us, a good, normal, upstanding family burdened with a cheating freak." With that epitaph, Harry was tossed into his cupboard, his head hitting the back wall so hard that he lost consciousness immediately, without even realizing that his Uncle, in his anger, had twisted his arm so hard that it had fractured.
That was the first Christmas with the Dursley's that Harry ever received a gift - the nurse who attended the Doctor that set Harry's broken arm gave him a small stuffed bear with a white bandage on its arm. Harry made himself small while Uncle Vernon explained to the Doctor that Harry had been bringing home false grades all term, and that when Vernon had discovered it, Vernon had grabbed Harry just a little too hard. Faced with Aunt Petunia and Dudley, the entire family well dressed and clearly healthy, with another child that was apparently fine, and no signs of abuse, the Doctor was all too willing to chalk this up to a delinquent youth who pushed his loving family too far, especially when Harry was unable to refute the fact that he hadn't brought home his real assignment results. Harry wanted to say that he was trying to hide his ~good~ grades, but a looming Uncle Vernon kept him from it. Harry learned yet another valuable lesson - the things he didn't know could come back around to hurt him.
What Harry was unaware of was that Uncle Vernon had also learned a lesson. Vernon was too strong, and his temper too volatile. Broken limbs weren't something that would often be overlooked, and he hadn't truly intended to damage him. Vernon needed a better way to punish the boy. As he drove his family, and his freak of a nephew-in-law (Vernon did not consider Harry really be family) back home from the hospital, an idea sprang to mind.
Harry spent the Holiday break in his cupboard. He was allowed out twice a day for the loo, and to have a drink of water and a few slices of dry bread. It was, Uncle Vernon said, what prisoners received, and if Harry was going be a lying cheat, he ought to get a taste of where that path would lead him. His imprisonment ended when spring term began.
Harry returned to Little Whinging Junior School even more subdued than he had been previously, and with a heavy plaster cast, he would carry for the next month. His school work suffered, and he was issued no more gold stars. It wasn't until the first week of March, when Mrs. Smith took ill, that a substitute teacher gave Harry something he hadn't ever had before - Hope.
If Mrs. Smith was considered old in her mid-fifties, then Mr. Carmichael was well into the category of ancient at the age of ninety-two. He was tall, nearly six feet despite being stooped with age, and his head was bald and shiny, the skin thin, and sprinkled with liver spots. His eyebrows were bushy, and silver, the same colour as the stubble that graced his cheeks. The impression of age was further aided by his cane, which served him when the damp caused his leg to ache, which was often. Despite all of this, he bore himself with pride and surety, his suit dated but pressed and neat. His blue eyes were sharp, with no hint of loss of his faculties, and if his voice was rough, his diction was precise. Moreover, Mr. Carmichael was active, engaged and interested in his temporary pupils.
Harry was still suffering from the further harsh realities the world had seen fit to reveal to him over the holidays, and took only slight notice of Mrs. Smith's temporary replacement, until after the morning break, when Amanda Langham, who suffered from no measure of shyness and possessed a rather inquisitive nature asked Mr. Carmichael about the crimson ribbon he wore from his breast pocket, and the black cross that hung beneath it. Mr. Carmichael looked surprised, then a wide smile broke across his grizzled old face, and he began to speak. Some of the children recognized a trained orator as their parents shared his skill. Others were caught up in the cadence and tones of a true storyteller. All of them were paying rapt attention.
"This", Mr. Carmichael said, tapping the black cross "is my Victoria Cross". He drew a deep breath and began to speak "It was the 19th of December, just a few short days before Christmas, and I was in the trenches at Nueve Chapelle, on the Western Front. It was cold, and we daren't have had a fire, as the damn Jerry's took any glow as an opportunity toss a few bombs at us." He gestured tossing something with an overhead throw, as he continued "As a Lieutenant in Her Majesty's Corp of Royal Engineers, I knew all too well how those bombs worked, which is to say a sight better than ours did." He snorted ruefully.
"As it happened, we'd kicked Jerry out of a trench, and the lad's holding it ran into a spot of bother - turns out our bombs wouldn't ignite, and Jerry was hell-bent on getting back in that trench." He sighed and rubbed his leg as his eyes grew distant. "So, the Major in command of the West Yorkshire, he comes up to me, claps me on the shoulder and says 'Phil my lad, I've a trench up there with bombs in it, and one a bit further on with Jerrys lazing about. Be a good fellow, and introduce them to each other will you?".
He chuckled, a low, light-hearted laugh. "The Major was a bit of a character. So up I went, and found naught but six cases of grenades, none of which had bloody fuses, and nearly a dozen wounded men" He looked down at his pupils, who were staring up at him wide-eyed. He continued on "It was about then that Jerry got serious about tossing his own bombs into that trench, and the situation became a bit exciting. I took out my matches, and proceeded, over the next hour to light each grenade with a match and loft it over to Jerry."
He shook his right hand slightly and rubbed the pad of his thumb and forefinger together. "Burned my finger right and proper by the time the West Yorkshire got up to the Trench en masse, but I kept Jerry out of it." He reached up and tapped the black cross again "I was awarded this for," he made quoutation marks with both hands "'Conspicuous Valour in the face of the Enemy'. All told I threw one hundred and forty four bombs that night, and drug or carried eleven wounded men from that trench."
Mr. Carmichael cleared his throat drawing the children out of their entranced state and said "The Victoria Cross is the highest honour that can be awarded for gallantry. I've never been completely sure I deserve it, but when Her Majesty chooses to give you an award, you accept it with as much grace as you are able.". Amanda Langham raised her hand, and at his nod asked: "What is the Western Front?".
And so began a three-week course on The Great War, taught by one who had lived it. And for young Harry Potter, he had finally found someone to look up to.