I previously published this under my 'reading' FF user ID. Since I now have several fics to publish, I have moved it to my 'writing' user ID, and deleted it from its former location.
The world JKR created is amazing, but her efforts to connect beginning and end were not completely successful: inconsistencies and plot-holes abound in the series. I'm not complaining; I suspect it's these very inconsistencies that opened the door for the thousands of HP fan-fiction authors.
But there are also other problems in the series that seem to be nothing more than brain farts.
One example is Harry's eyesight. Even though my eyesight has never been as bad as Harry's, I've worn glasses since the third grade . . . and I can assure you that there's no way a child with Harry's terrible eyesight could have become a outstanding seeker. Apart from anything else, glasses screw up peripheral vision!
A more serious issue is the problem of the Dursley's abuse of Harry. The most common fanfiction treatments exaggerate the abuse. Less commonly, it's minimized. But what I have not seen - and maybe I've just missed it - are attempts to consider what Harry would be like if an actual 1 ½ year old was abused till age 11 in the manner described by JKR: no more, no less.
Sadly, it turns out that the answer to that question is well known. Under Nicolae Ceausescu, abuse of Romanian orphans was widespread and horrifying. Some were abused sexually and physically, but many were abused no more than JKR's Harry was: no physical abuse, no sexual abuse, but also no physical contact and no affection from adults. The results have been studied for years. When children were rescued before age four, some recovery was possible. After that? Not so much, as many good hearted but ill-prepared Americans found when they adopted such children at an older age.
Unfortunately, even in the absence of sexual and physical abuse, the damage done has proved to be both profound and permanent. More than a few of those children, now grown, are institutionalized in either mental health facilities or prisons.
I look forward to any reactions or responses, especially from any readers who may know more than I do about the actual effects of such treatment.
[ I have had a anonymous review that claimed there were other stories that considered the effects that were LIKELY, given the abuse described in canon. I've seen some stories that exaggerate the abuse further, and then describe an utterly broken Harry. And I've seen many that both exaggerate the abuse, and then gloss over the likely results. But I don't know of ANY that consider the LIKELY effects of abuse that was no better, but no worse than canon.
If you do, please include the title and site in your review. (Don't use a link; Fanfiction tends to delete those).
The reviewer then went on to complain that EoASL left the story at a dead end, to which I can only say, "Duh! That was the point, dude!". In my mind, the abuse Harry suffered IS a huge plot-hole, if you consider the story as young adult fantasy, which is what JKR obviously intended, at least by HBP, and possibly earlier. ]
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The Freak had noticed the strange envelope, addressed to him using his school name, "Harry". But he hadn't touched it. Vernon would do something about it, or he wouldn't, but if The Freak left it alone he might not be punished. If he picked it up, he would surely be punished. The Freak wasn't even curious about what news it might bring. After all, new information in his life was of only one kind: bad. He'd learned, long ago, that curiosity only made the bad news arrive faster, and there was really no point in that.
He got back to his chores.
Unfortunately the first envelope had been followed by many more. As a result, The Freak was very, very hungry, as he sat rocking back and forth in the dark of his closet. Vernon blamed him, of course. And so the week after, he'd eaten little, very little indeed. There had been three cans of beans and some bottles of water. But, he wasn't used to eating just beans; usually he got left overs too. The result of his diet was a smelly mess in the corner, and with no way to clean up, his bottom hurt. Plus his hands were sticky from the beans and the poop.
Eventually, a giant monster man had come, and taken him away from Vernon and Petunia, and carried him off to some sort of strange place where people played all sorts of tricks on him. He was used to it - Dudley had gotten most of the students at St. Grogory's Primary School to make fun of him: he was the "dummy". So he did what he had learned to do: just go along with whoever was bossing him. None of it made much sense, but he never expected it to do so.
The Freak guessed that some of the papers the monster man had given him probably said something about the things the man kept going on about. He could tell the paper had the "Hogwarts" word on it, and had some lists. But the lists had lots of words he didn't know, and the bits he did know, didn't make any sense. Besides, he had knew that when people wanted him to do something he didn't understand, he could just wait, and eventually they would show him how to do it, or do it themselves. That worked with the monster man, too.
They had gone to a place that had little men dressed in little monster suits. One of the little monster men had him and the big monster man, and made them ride some sort of car to a hole underground that had lots of fake gold in it. He was shaking with fear, but he said nothing: he knew better than that. Not that he had much to say: he couldn't talk very well.
When he'd started kindergarten, they'd asked him to try to say lots of words that he didn't know. He didn't like it. Vernon and Petunia didn't talk to him much; never had. And when they did talk, they only used a few words. The people at the school used lots of words, and wanted him to use lots of words. He couldn't understand why.
But that was normal. He couldn't understand lots of things. But there were things he did understand.
He knew why people called him a 'dummie'. He couldn't read very well or speak very well, so they put him with the other dummies at school. He knew why the other children called him 'stinky; he didn't like bathing or washing his clothes. He didn't understand why other children didn't mind it; it made him so cold when he did bathe, it sometimes took him hours after to warm up. And when he gave his clothes to Petunia to be washed, he had to sit in the cupboard all day, with just an old sheet, while he waited for her to give them back. He already sat in the dark, a lot, and he didn't want to do it more than necessary.
But the big monster man took him to a place where they got him some strange new clothes. The people there made faces when they got too close to him. But that didn't surprise him; it had happened before. He was a little surprised when they didn't say anything. Usually, people would call him 'stinky' if they had to get close. The clothes were really strange, but Harry thought they might come in handy. Maybe Petunia would allow him to wear them when his other clothes were being washed. Then he wouldn't have to stay in the closet.
They also got books and pots and some bottles with dried bits, a stick that had sparks, and a great big box with handles to put things in. He didn't like the box - they called it a trunk - because it was hard to open and even harder to move. The hairy man told him about the things he was getting, but he used words Harry didn't know, like "Hogwarts" and "enchantments", so Harry didn't understand much of what he said. But that was normal too; every day he heard lots of words he didn't know and he'd learned long ago to pretend to listen intently and nod his head every so often. When he did that, usually the people talking to him seemed satisfied, as long as he didn't nod at the wrong time too much.
The monster man also tried to get him a bird that had a scary beak and really sharp claws, but The Freak just backed away. The man called it an "owl"; but it didn't matter. Harry couldn't see any reason at all to have any bird, much less a bird that could hurt him. The man said something about mail, but that made no sense, so Harry did what he usually did when things made no sense: he ignored it.
Finally, the monster man took "Harry" back to the Dursleys, and left him there, after talking to Vernon some. Afterwards, the Dursley's seemed to be really afraid to be around him, but The Freak couldn't understand why. They gave him more food, and moved him into Dudley's toy room, too. He didn't understand that, either. But he wasn't going to complain.
A few weeks later, Vernon took him and the trunk he couldn't carry to the train station, gave him a piece of paper with 9 ¾ on it, and left him sitting on a bench near a row that said "9". The Freak didn't know what else to do do, so he just sat there. After a while, a whole family of gingers came over and started talking to him. At first they were really excited when he agreed that his school name was really "Harry Potter". One of the ginger boys seemed to be about his age, and tried talking to him about something called "kwi-dick". He didn't talk back, since he didn't know what to say.
Finally, two of the bigger gingers grabbed him, and tried to pull him through a brick wall. He might be a dummy, but he knew better than that, and fought them grabbed him again, covered his eyes, and drug him with them. When they uncovered his eyes, he was somewhere that reminded him of the strange place with the little monster men and the birds with sharp beaks, except that there was also an old fashioned steam engine present. He didn't know what to do, so he sat down, and started rocking back and forth. This seemed to make the two ginger boys angry, so they grabbed him, dragged into a passenger car him down the aisle of train, put him in a room on the train, and closed the door. They came back a few minutes later with the trunk he couldn't carry, put it in the room with him. The Freak sat on the floor and rocked back and forth, waiting for whatever was going to happen to him.
After a some period of time, a girl opened the door, and asked if she could take a seat. The Freak looked at her, puzzled. She seemed to be asking him for permission, but nobody ever asked him for permission. Not sure what to do, he nodded, and she took a seat, and began chattering. He didn't understand most of what she was saying, but she seemed to go on without his response, so he wasn't worried. But eventually, she looked at him, waiting.
"Well?"
"Well, what?"
"What house are you going to be in?"
That was easy. "I don't know."
"Well, which one do you want?"
Still easy. "I don't know."
"You're not very smart are you?"
"No. I'm The Freak. Everybody says I'm not very smart."
"Surely, 'The Freak' is not your real name."
"Oh, sorry. My school name is Harry Potter."
"You're Harry Potter?'
'No. I'm The Freak. I just have to use a school name at school. It's 'Harry Potter'".
"What are your parents' names?"
"I don't know. They got drunk and got killed in a car accident."
"Where do you live?"
"With my aunt and uncle."
"Do they call you 'The Freak'?"
He shrugged. "It's my name."
"Are you a wizard?"
"I don't know. The big hairy man took me to a place where they had sticks that sparked. The man there said I was a wizard. But I don't know what that means."
"Do you know where you are going?"
"They said something like "Hog-Warts", but I don't know what that is. I just know my uncle was happy I was going somewhere else."
"Oh, my."
The girl fell silent. The Freak was happy with that. She was asking lots of questions, and he wasn't good at questions or answers. He began to rock back and forth again. Some other people came in and the girl talked to them, but they didn't talk to him, so he didn't pay any attention. Eventually the train stopped, and the girl left. The Freak didn't know what else to do, so he kept sitting and kept rocking.
After a long while, the girl came back, this time bringing an old woman with her. The woman had a wrinkly face, a sharp nose, and carried a thin stick.
"There he is!". The girl pointed at him.
"Are you Harry Potter?" the old woman demanded.
"No. I am The Freak. "Harry Potter" is my school name, but I only use it during the daytime when I'm at school. Am I supposed to use my school name at night when I'm here?"
"Oh. Oh, dear." The old woman's face had a look of horror.
Both the old woman and the young girl started at him. He hadn't eaten, and he hadn't gone to the bathroom, and he didn't know where he was and no one had told him what he should do. This made him nervous, so he started rocking again.
The old woman took a deep breath, and then stepped forward with resolve. "Stand up, Harry, and then come with us."
Harry stood up. It was dark in the train, and outside. He followed the girl and the woman. They walked for long time, before entering a giant and scary old castle. After going up several stair cases, the old woman turned to the girl.
"Thank you, Hermione. Your common room is down that corridor. Come along, Harry."
The girl nodded, and walked away. He followed the old woman, as they walked some more, before coming to a stone monster in the wall. The old woman spoke it it, and it moved aside, revealing a short set of stairs behind it, which they climbed. A voice called out, "Come in, Minerva."
An old man with a Santa Claus beard that was gray enough to look dirty instead of white sat behind a huge desk. There were books everywhere. A giant orange bird with a sharp beak sat on a stand, and there were shiny moving metal spider like things on the shelves, in front of the books.
"Well hello, Harry! I am Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts."
Harry looked at him. The old man was very strange looking, but he was smiling and his eyes were twinkling. The Freak supposed that this place must be Hogwarts, and that the letters that started all the strange things came from here. But he didn't know what to say, so he looked back down. When he did, he heard a whisper that sounded like "lemon legs", but that didn't make any more sense than anything else.
After a few minutes, he felt a pressure in his head, and he began to get a headache. He tried to ignore it, but it kept getting worse. He put his hands on his heads, and then began crying silently. Instantly, the pressure stopped. After a bit, the headache began to diminish.
The old man spoke again.
"Harry, we're a little confused why you didn't leave the train with all the other students. Can you tell us why you remained on the train?"
Harry looked at them, to see if they were just talking to him, or if they really wanted him to say something back. It looked like they wanted him to say something. He tried to recall what the man had asked.
"I didn't know what to do. Usually, someone tells me what they want me to do."
"Ah-hh."
No one spoke for awhile. The old man looked at him with a smile, but still scared Harry. The old woman was crying silently. There was a dark man, with long black hair and a long black robe who was staring at him with confusion. The old man nodded at the old lady, who walked to a table and picked up a tall and strange looking old hat.
"Harry, we're going to put a special hat on your head. It's special because it can talk, and it can see inside your mind. But you'll find it doesn't hurt at all."
The old lady placed the hat on his head.
"Well, well, what have we here, young Harry? My name is Clarence, and I'm a very old talking hat. I need to take a look inside your head. Oh. Oh, this is not good at all. Harry, you are very, very strong magically, but you haven't the slightest idea what magic really is, do you?"
"I don't understand," Harry answered out loud.
"No, I don't suppose you do. The old man sitting in front of you placed you with the Dursley's ten years ago, just after your parents were killed. And now we see the results of that choice. Please don't be so frightened, Harry. No one in this room is going to hurt you. By the way, your real name, the one your real parents gave you, is 'Harry Potter'. The Dursley's should have never given you that other name."
"They said 'Harry Potter' was only my school name, and that my real name was 'The Freak'."
"You spent a lot of time in the dark in that closet, didn't you, young Harry?"
"They said people like me should be kept out of sight and in the dark, where they couldn't cause problems for real people. I'm a dummy, and can't do anything right, so I guess the closet is a good place for me. I don't mind, except when they don't give me food or let me use the bathroom."
Harry heard a gasp from the old woman. Then the hat spoke out loud.
"Well Albus, ten years ago, you ignored James and Lily's wishes. And you ignored the advice Minerva and Severus gave you about the Dursleys. Now the results of your foolishness that day sits here before you. Harry's magic is powerful, very powerful indeed. But he will never be a wizard. You have your instruments there that use his blood to monitor him. The Dursley's suspected something like that, and they were afraid of you and of muggle Family Services, so they did nothing that would make your instruments react. He was never beaten and never physically abused"
"But they never did anything else, either. As a toddler, he was never held, never comforted, never cuddled, never cherished. He's afraid of baths, because he's never had a warm bath in his life, and because when he slipped and his head went underwater, they would only pull him out when he was in danger of dying. He never sat at a table with other people nor held a book till he went to school. His first day at muggle school was the first time anyone called him "Harry Potter".
The old lady was weeping openly now. The hat continued.
"You need to call Madame Bones, and her aurors, and let them bind his magic, snap his wand, and obliviate him. Thanks to your choices, Albus, there's nothing else that can be done."
The old man spoke. "Surely it's not as bad as you say, Clarence. We need to call Madame Pomfrey."
"There's no use, Albus." The man with black hair and black clothes was speaking now. "His mind is not so much broken as it is blank. You know that children's minds are developing, and that we have to be careful what we do, lest they develop wrongly or are damaged. We wait till they are eleven to bring them here, after their minds are sufficiently formed and stable. Harry's mind is stable, but most of what should have grown and developed there, never did. You can't make him a toddler again, and without that, there's nothing you can do. As much as I despised his arrogant father, I would have never wished this on any child."
The man continued. "I know part of the prophecy, as does Minerva, but I've never understood your obsession with Harry. I don't know if this is what you wanted or intended. But it is what you have, and there is nothing I know of that can change it. The Dursley's have broken him beyond repair."
"Perhaps, we can take young Harry to St. Mungos?"
"Oh, Albus, I should have cursed you that day. I trusted you, against my better judgement, and now Harry has paid the price. You know as well as I do that muggles do more than magicals to help people with broken minds, but they can't fix this. If you take Harry to St. Mungo's, the healers there will have no idea what to do. They'll put him in a bed next to the Longbottoms and give him sleeping draughts, till you no longer pay them. And then they'll turn him out."
"But the prophecy makes clear that only Harry can save us when Voldemort returns."
"Then, you damned old fool, you have destroyed us all!"
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