AUTHOR'S NOTE:
{a what-if story about Harry's home life before hogwarts. and what if Hagrid was just a tad too late? All credit for characters goes to JK Rowling. That is my disclaimer. enjoy. remember to review.}
"Filth! Utter filth boy! It's totally undercooked! Are you trying to kill my boy?" Vernon roared gripping the ten year old boy's hair.
This young boy had never been invited to eat with the family at the table. This boy at the age of ten, knew how to cook nineteen different meals, and he did. Three times a day this boy would cook for three people and eat the scraps. Tonight he cooked steak and mashed potatoes. His cousin Dudley enjoyed a juicy and rare steak. However, by his Uncle's standards, it was a bit too rare. Dudley never complained before. However this punishment wasn't as uncommon as the complaint. No matter what Harry did to make everything perfect, he was punished regularly every night.
Being dragged by the hair was only the beginning of the consequence ahead. Tears filmed over the boy's eyes as he felt his scalp burn with tension. Vernon forced him out of the kitchen and into the hallway. He led the boy to a cubboard by the stairs, Harry's pathetic excuse for a bedroom. Vernon violently opened the door and threw the boy onto his bed. Harry curled up into a pitiful heap of sobs. He clutched his sheets seeking a material comfort and escape. Though he could not see his day to day horror he could hear it and there was no escaping that. He could hear clearly, Vernon picking up the metal razorblade required to rest on his bedside table at all times. Harry couldn't bare to look at the thing so much as leave it out. That is how he found out that hiding it thoroughly enraged his guardian.
"It'll be four tonight. Do you understand?" Vernon grunted extending the razorblade to the crying boy.
Harry shook his head vigourously as he convulsed. It was only four tonight, that was still four too many. He detested the feel of the cold razor sliding across his skin, or the shar sting when the blood finally released from the corrupted flesh.
"You listen to me boy!" Vernon roared as he quickly gripped Harry's hair and pushed him against the wall. "You will face the consequences!" Vernon placed the razorblade into the boys shaking hand. Harry nodded submissively and held it accordingly to his wrist. A plan! A glorious plan. Eyes glowing with pure rage he had formulated some sort of plan!
I will enrage him! I'll make him a real mess! It'll take Petunia forever to get the stains out of the carpet! He thought cleverly to himself.
"Wipe that smug look off your face!" Vernon warned.
Harry quickly stopped smirking (he hadn't realized he had been.) He held the blade accordingly to his wrist. A plan! The end to this dreadful punishment! Vernon prepare to face questions! A ruined reputation! Prepare for a mess! A blood bath! Harry Potter would not linger for any more abuse...
However, Harry Potter did not escape the memory. He did not make the grand exit he had intended on making.
Very bright lights and a certain sterile scent were what the boy woke up to. As he surfaced from his coma he could feel the searing pain on his left arm developing. He brought in a long breath trying to subside the pain without crying.
"He's awake! Should I let him recooperate for a bit before we tell him?" one voice said from the left.
Before anyone could answer Harry mumbled, "Tell me what?"
"Of course you let the boy re-cooperate before you go about telling him!" a nurse scolded the surgeon at Harry's side.
"I just asked you 'tell me what?' Please answer me!" Harry growled. The nurse turned away frustrated with the stubborn boy she would have to take care of for the next week. She could for-see a whole world of arguments and trouble. Little boys always had a knack for making trouble around the hospital. Harry, with his messy hair, broken glasses, and scars, looked to be no different. But there was something different about this boy that shook the nurse up every time she looked into those pretty green eyes of his. Poor thing. How could a boy his age even contemplate suicide?
"Well son, do you remember anything from before you got here?" the doctor asked. Great, he answered Harry's question with another question.
"Well, I had just finished cooking dinner and..." Harry's mind went fuzzy for a moment. He stared off into space with a vacant expression that frightened the surgeon who had in his spare time watched too many medical shows.
"Hello? Snap out of it Mr. Potter!" The surgeon snapped his fingers to regain Harry's attention. The surgeon had called him "Mr. Potter." It sounded strange to Harry. More than likely because he had never been addressed with such dignity.
"Yes. I was going to die." Harry finally managed to sputter out. "So why am I here? Why am I still alive?" Harry asked angrily. He couldn't comprehend why he was still here, why he hadn't gone on to heaven or hell or even purgatory.
"Your aunt and uncle rushed you to us as soon as they could. That's where some news comes in...I would call it good news, I think you will too," the surgeon rambled on.
"What are you talking about?" Harry asked. Harry was stuck on the part about Uncle Vernon rushing him to the hospital. He was almost certain that he would just bury Harry in the backyard to cover up his tracks. "Let him die, one less mouth to feed!" he imagined Vernon saying to a crying Aunt Petunia.
"Your uncle had tried to play it up as though he hadn't known you were slicing up your wrists and thinking about suicide. I just can't believe that, you are eleven years old. There's no way. Other injuries you have don't correspond with that story!" The surgeon seemed proud of his detective work. Harry was still confused. The surgeon, Dr. Harris was his name, continued his heroic story about fixing up his wounds and having a nurse call social services. Long story short, the Dursley's were in jail for child-abuse, and Dudley and Harry would be placed into the foster care system.
Harry was a little frightened. Would he be placed in with Dudley? Dr. Harris assured him that it was highly unlikely. Social services would want to detach him as far as possible from those toxic memories. Where would he go? That was something that Dr. Harris could not tell him. He could tell Harry how long he would be in the hospital and all about the surgery he'd undergone and how he fluctuated between life and death, but he couldn't tell Harry about his future. Dr. Harris was trained to save lives not rebuild them.
That night, Harry was placed on suicide watch. Dr. Harris knew it was unlikely for Harry to make a second attempt. Harry had wanted a way out of the household that was imprisoning him, not life itself. However Dr. Harris always followed protocol. He couldn't afford any slip-ups. Dr. Harris had made too many before. His attachment to patients lead him into big trouble. So cameras were set up in Harry Potter's room and security watched them intently. Harry slept soundly the entire night.
In the same midnight that Harry fell soundly to sleep in a nearby hospital, Hagrid stood astonished in front of the Dursley home. His large mouth gaped open and his big brown eyes welled up with tears. Crime scene tape. What had happened to his boy?
To be continued...