When Harry Potter was a young child – only 5 or 6 at the latest – he figured he wasn't normal. After all, being called a "freak" and "worthless" was sure to leave an impact on the poor boy. He was so used to being everyone's least favorite, for someone to notice him was a foreign thought.
So when Harry was at the small park about a kilometer or so from his relatives' house (he refused to call it his own home, because aren't you supposed to feel loved and safe at your home?) he didn't think anyone would notice him. They never did, even though he showed up at the park every Saturday, often with a new bump or more stains on his shirt.
They probably thought he was homeless, or he got into street fights, or maybe he just didn't take care of himself.
But how is a six-year-old supposed to be expected to take care of himself? Harry had no experience of care and his relatives never thought of his wellbeing. All Harry knew was he was practically a servant to his aunt, a punching bag to his cousin, and a nuisance to his uncle. Why would anyone willingly take him in?
That was the question he asked his uncle that morning (don't ask questions was now a mantra Harry couldn't stop repeating in his head).
"Uncle Vernon, sir?" Harry didn't know why he had opened his mouth, but he did and couldn't back out now. His uncle muttered a few choice words and glared at the too-small boy in front of him.
"What do you want, boy? It better be important."
"Why did you," Harry broke off and almost asked a different question, one that would surely cause less of a reaction than this one would. But he knew he wouldn't get the chance to ask again, so he licked his lips and tried to gather any courage he possessed. "Why did you take me in?"
Uncle Vernon snapped his head up and gave the boy a filthy scowl. "Don't get any ideas, boy! We don't want you; we just want the money we get from you. If it weren't for that, you would have been far away from here before one could say 'freak'!"
That (rather short) conversation was followed by a hand cuffing his right ear and his uncle sending him off to "play" with Dudley.
But Harry wasn't an idiot, oh no, and he knew what "playing" entitled. So quickly he snagged a piece of the bread (only the rye bread, his aunt would know if he stole any other kind) and made his way to the park.
That was what he was doing now. He just finished his bread and was hiding behind one of the trees so Dudley and his "gang" (who has a gang when they're six?) wouldn't find him. But, alas, nothing could go right for Harry, could it?
While Harry was trying to be as invisible as possible, he was spotted by Piers. It wasn't much of a surprise; he was slightly smarter than the rest of them – while still being as dumb as a rock.
"Hey, Big D," The boy called to Harry's cousin. "I found the freak!" He gave the raven-haired boy a cruel grin and moved to let Dudley see him. "He was trying to hide from us, isn't that just pathetic?" The boys laughed and Harry cowered against the tree.
"Aw, is poowr Hawwy afwaid?" Dudley pretended to be compassionate and looked to his friends. He put his hand to where his heart was (if he had one) and spoke in a cool voice. "Maybe we should give him 5 seconds today instead of 3!" His friends all laughed and Harry hurried to stand up. If he wished to get by with limited scratches, he was going to have to find new shelter.
10 minutes and several injuries later, Harry realized that he really hated his life.
After he limped back to the house an hour later, his aunt put him right to work. The dishes were done quickly (Harry liked to do the cleaning the most because then he could at least free his hands and arms from the dirt and grime) and was then sent outside to weed the garden and water Aunt Petunia's hanging flowers.
It was now midday and the sun was blistering. Harry occasionally took some of the water from the hose and splashed it on his skin, but he was careful not to get his clothes wet. He learned from experience that wet clothes meant not coming inside until they were dry again. He also took mouthfuls of the warm water to satisfy his hunger. It was always this way. No breakfast unless he could steal some, no lunch unless he could steal some, and dinner only if he wasn't caught stealing the food from the previous two meals. And even then, Harry wouldn't call a ladle of soup and half of a roll "dinner".
A familiar tune made the young boy's head snap up. When the ice cream truck came into sight, Harry's mouth began to water. He's never had ice cream but could imagine what it tasted like. He had no doubt Dudley already got his ice cream a few streets away, but if he hadn't, he surely would be begging his parents for some money to get a cone.
Harry's aunt and uncle always gave Dudley enough money for two cones, but not so he could share it with Harry. They always did the same thing: give Dudley a lot of money, make sure Harry sees it, tell Dudley to spend it all on himself. Harry is stuck watching with a rumbling stomach.
Harry groaned, it wasn't even the cheap Popsicle and nutty buddy truck. This was a high-class neighborhood so it was the actual 18-different-flavors, best-ice-cream-in-the-world truck. And Harry couldn't have any.
Harry turned back to his chores and heard the truck pass him, but stop a few feet before it reached the next house. He looked up, confused. Surely the driver wasn't stopping for him, but there weren't any more kids on this street. Harry dreaded looking and seeing one of his cousin's friends, they weren't supposed to be back for another hour at least. But what he saw surprised him.
There was a young boy, probably about his age, with white-blond hair asking the man at the window for a small mint chocolate chip ice cream in a dish. Harry didn't recall ever seeing him before and there wasn't anyone who moved in recently. Maybe he was visiting a relative? Either that or he was on a long walk all by himself.
While the boy was waiting, Harry saw him look around. His nose wrinkled at the houses and Harry knew immediately what he was thinking. It was a more expensive neighborhood so all of the houses looked the same. All had the same structure and land size and color. The only difference was Harry's house, which had a large flower bed which bordered the front steps. Aunt Petunia loved flowers, so it was always a chore to make sure they stayed pretty.
The flowers caught the blond boy's attention and he smiled at them from his spot waiting for the man to finish making his treat. But then a movement made him curious and he tilted his head, squinting until he saw the shadow of a boy hunching by the plants. Looking further, he saw marks of dry blood and bruises littering his small frame.
"Hey," the blond started, "are you okay?" Harry huddled closer to himself and went back to pulling weeds from the dirt. Uncle Vernon always said that if he talked to strangers he would suffer. Harry knew what his uncle did wasn't right, but if he ever told someone it was sure to get worse.
The blond saw him move to become less visible and frowned. Why was this boy so afraid? He looked like he could use a friend. Would it be a good idea to befriend him? How would he even manage to do so? The man from the truck spoke, breaking his attention from the boy who didn't look older than five. He gave his money to the man and took his ice cream, but before the truck could move he got an idea.
"Could you stay here for a few moments, please?" The blond spoke and Harry heard the agreement from the man in the truck. He slowly grew frightened. The boy was coming his way, what would Uncle Vernon do if he saw him?
The boy stopped a few feet away and stood silently for a few seconds, hoping the smaller of the two would look at him. He was shaking softly and his head was turned away. When he didn't look up, he began to speak.
"Are you okay?" He asked again and, like before, failed to get a reply. He noticed now that he was closer that the black-haired boy had numerous bruises easily seeable on his arms and legs. He could assume that there were even more underneath his over-sized shirt and shorts. Also, there was no baby fat on the young boy and his cheek bones were prominent. It was obvious this boy was under-fed, and he knew just what to do about that.
"Hey, do you want some of my ice cream?" Harry stopped shaking and looked curiously at the blond. Was he offering food? Harry didn't deserve food. Harry realized after a second what this must mean. Dudley was always playing tricks; this could be one of them. Harry looked around furiously, trying to find the boys he hated. When he couldn't, he risked a glance at the taller boy. He was wearing expensive clothing but didn't seem very stuck-up. Maybe this wasn't a trick?
But Harry knew not to take anyone's food. He's supposed to only eat the scraps. If someone offers food, they pity you. Harry didn't want someone to pity him; he wanted someone to care for him. He shook his head softly but couldn't help hoping he'd offer again – just a bite would do wonders for Harry's aching stomach.
The blond boy frowned. His father had told him that not all families had as much money as they did, but this was ridiculous. The boy seemed to live here, he kept throwing worried glances at the door, but he was hurt and was wearing clothes much too large for him. Even the Weasley's could afford to take showers; this boy looked like he hadn't showered or bathed in over a week. He felt sure this boy wasn't treated very well, by why would he refuse ice cream? Oh! Maybe he didn't like mint!
"Come on, I'll buy you some ice cream." Harry couldn't believe his ears. How could this stranger possibly give him a chance this great? Harry couldn't accept this!
"I wouldn't be able to pay you back." Harry whispered, just loud enough for the boy to hear him. After speaking, the blond positively beamed.
"That's alright! It's my father's money anyways, and it's not like ice cream costs much! Come on!" He held out his hand to help the boy off of the ground.
"Are you sure? I don't want to be a bother…" Harry trailed off, hoping he would be accepted anyways.
"You aren't! Come with me, uh, what's your name?" The blond looked sheepish and Harry blushed. He took the hand that was offered to him and they walked back to the truck.
"'M Harry" he said and the blond smiled.
"Hello, I'm Draco, what flavor would you like?" The boy – Harry – frowned a little.
"Draco? Like the constellation?" Once again, Draco's eyes lit up.
"You know astronomy?" Harry shrugged.
"Not really, but I have a globe that has a lot of the stars and constellations and such." Harry did in fact have a globe like this. It was a present for Duddykins but he didn't like it so it went to the freak. It's the only toy Harry has. It should've lit up and projected the stars on the walls, but that required batteries, which Harry hasn't ever had.
"That's neat," Draco aimed to please Harry. "Draco means dragon in Latin, my family tends to have weird names, but they're meaningful if you say them in another language. My aunt's name is Bellatrix, which means the warrior in Latin, and that definitely describes her." His pale eyes danced merrily when talking of his family. By this time they were up to the window up the truck.
"So what do you want?" He asked again and Harry's eyes roamed over all of the options.
"I don't know" he answered truthfully. "I've never had ice cream before." Draco's eyes and jaw popped open.
"Never?" He asked and Harry shrugged.
"No, my cousin has it a lot but I haven't." Draco shook his head in sadness.
"Well that is no way to live." He said finally. "What kind of foods do you like? Do you like sweet things? Nuts? Fruits?" Harry looked uncomfortable.
"Um, I don't know. I don't eat much of a variety." Draco's eyes narrowed. Now he was sure Harry wasn't treated correctly. He didn't even know what foods he liked!
"Well then you'll try everything." He decided. Harry's eyes widened but Draco ignored it. Turning to the man, he asked for a small spoonful of each of the eighteen flavors for Harry to try.
Many minutes later, Draco decided this was a very good day. Harry displayed his emotions openly on his face and it was very amusing to watch. When he didn't like the hazelnut, Draco knew. When he thought the vanilla was amazing, Draco knew. When he thought the cookies 'n cream was heavenly, well Draco knew that too.
Harry ended with a small cookies 'n cream in a dish and seemed to be having the best day of his life. The sad thing to Draco was this very well could be the happiest he's been. If that wasn't awful, he didn't know what was.
They both took their treats, Draco's nearly finished and Harry's disappearing rather quickly, and sat back by the plants the raven-haired boy was tending to.
"So, how old are you?" Draco asked and Harry looked up, surprised.
"Uh, I'm six right now. I turn seven in a couple of months. What about you?" Draco carefully hid his look of shock.
"You don't look six. I'm turning seven next Friday, on the 6th." Harry smiled at him, but before he could say anything, a shout was heard from inside the brown house.
"BOY!" Harry flinched and stood up quickly.
"Go, go, go!" He cried desperately to the blond and Draco only stood numbly. The shorter boy gathered the cups and threw them into the large garbage bin in the garage. He began pushing Draco away and the blond got the sense that he should leave, but still didn't quite know why is was so abrupt. Surely his relatives wouldn't care if they were only talking?
But Harry didn't seem to want him there so Draco started to walk away, a slightly hurt expression taking over his face. Harry hastily sat back in the garden and weeded urgently, casting looks towards the large door.
"BOY!" The yell was louder this time and Draco stood hidden behind some bushes as he watched the ensuing scene in front of him.
The door was thrown open and a man hardly able to fit through said door appeared. His face was a plum and his eyes were two furious embers, glaring at the small boy in his plants. The man's voice lowered considerably.
"Why are those not weeded?" Harry flinched at the dangerous edge in his voice. "ANSWER ME, BOY. You think you're too good for this? Get inside, this instant." Harry was shaking as he rose.
"Sir, I-"
"NOT A WORD FROM YOU! I DON'T WANT TO HEAR YOUR GOD-AWFUL VOICE IN MY HOUSE." Draco himself quivered in fear from the man's tone. Did Harry deal with this every day? This man was impossible! He says one thing then goes back on it and says another! But Harry feebly nodded and ducked underneath the man on his way in the house. The man looked around rapidly before shoving Harry's shoulder so he would hurry and slammed the door shut.