Chapter 1 - Harry Hopper
Harry has always hated his crutches. When most students get crutches after an injury they simply become more interesting for a few weeks, and most seem to enjoy the attention they get from being so noticeable. They usually end up with underarm crutches and a cast or a brace, and after a few weeks they're as good as new, nary any sign at all that they were once imperfect.
Harry's crutches aren't like that. They fit around his forearm with a handle for him to grip for stability, set specifically for his size and build. They're not the type of crutches that a hospital gives out for a broken bone or short-term mobility loss. The forearm crutches mean to most people what they mean to Harry - permanent. They're a symbol and a reminder of the worst night of his life, even if it's a night he doesn't remember. Combined with the lightning bolt scar on his forehead, he's seen as little more than the final victim of Lord Voldemort.
That's especially true of those who meet him after hearing his story. Outside of Little Whinging, some people laud him as a hero, the only one in the world to survive the killing curse. But people don't meet Harry in person and see him as a hero. His left leg is all but useless, a relic of the killing curse that never killed him. It might look fine, but he's assured by doctors and mediwizards alike that the damage is permanent. Beyond that, he's thin - and not the kind of thin that suggests any sort of athleticism.
Worst even still is what the wizards can see when they look at him. Harry was born with magic, but whatever happened when Voldemort cast the killing curse managed to strip even that away from him, too. Harry can see the pity in their eyes when they look at him - like he's lost his very soul. He can see it even now when he's leaving school, reflected in the eyes of the people that see him every day. He's Harry Potter, the cripple.
"Harry Hopper, the boy who lived to be a cripple!"
Or, he's Harry Hopper, the boy who lived to be a cripple. A not so creative nickname devised by his not so smart cousin. Still, it's accurate enough that it bothers Harry immeasurably, which of course means that Dudley and his gang of cronies repeat it often.
"How long does it take you to get home, hopping on one leg like that?" Piers Polkiss adds, following behind Dudley.
It's phrased as a question, but after so many years of tormenting Harry on their way home, Piers knows that it genuinely does take Harry a fair effort to get back to the Dursley's. Dudley and his friends know as well as Harry himself that it's the most arduous part of his day. Ten blocks isn't all that far for most people, but most people don't have to struggle with only one good leg, and any who do would likely have people to come and pick them up.
In his experience, answering the question will only make things worse. Fortunately, he's gotten used to being able to comfortably ignore them - though, that doesn't always mean that they'll ignore him, too.
Harry's almost knocked onto his face when a blast of cold water strikes him from behind. It's not a particular forceful torrent, but the surprise is enough for him to be stumbling forwards, only just getting his crutch to the ground in time to stop from hitting the ground. Dudley and his friends cackle like fools.
So now they're using their Pokemon…
Sure enough, when Harry turns his head, Piers has released his Pokemon, a small round blue creature with a zigzag tail ending in a ball about the same size as it's main body. It's got a happy, innocent smile on its face.
Harry lets out a small sigh and continues towards the Dursley's house, urging himself to go faster even though he knows its impossible. Like every other day, he's got no choice but to deal with it.
"C'mon Dudley, get your Growlithe out!" Piers says excitedly.
As Dudley sputters out an excuse as to why he shouldn't, Harry finally has reason to smile. Dudley should by rights be the talk of their year group, with a powerful and adorable Pokemon like Growlithe to call his own. Yet, that would only be true if he had any semblance of control over the little fire dog - and he absolutely doesn't.
Most of the time Harry's seen Dudley give it an order, it's simply turned around and gone to sleep instead. There was even one time when the fire Pokemon decided to throw a few embers towards his master when he finally got fed up with his orders, chasing him around the yard with spits of fire and irritated little barks.
"C'mon Dudley…" one of the other boys tries, "show us Growlithe."
From the look on Dudley's face that Harry catches out his peripheral vision, he's definitely going to give in to the pressure. How people see him seems to be the most important thing to Dudley, so he's not going to want to disappoint his sycophantic friends. With a single button press of the Pokeball hanging at his waist, Dudley's Growlithe appears from a blobby mass of white energy.
It looks as healthy and formidable as ever, covered with vibrant orange with black stripes, with an occasional tuft of cream-colored fur. The claws on its forepaws are long and sharp, much like Harry knows are the teeth in his mouth. He's a decent size, too, coming up to perhaps just below Dudley's hips at full height, with stocky legs and a muscular body. Unlike when most Pokemon are called, Growlithe doesn't look to be expecting an order from Dudley, or more likely, doesn't care and won't obey if there is one.
But Dudley's never really been bright, and despite a thousand attempts to get Growlithe to obey, for some reason he seems to think that now will be different. "Growlithe, bite him!"
Slowly, Growlithe looks up at Dudley, then slides his gaze over towards where he's pointing, at Harry, before finally stretching his front legs out in front of him and laying his head lazily on the pavement.
"Growlithe, I said bite him!" Dudley says again, this time with quite a bit more feeling.
This time, Growlithe doesn't even so much as bat an eyelid. Harry can't help it - he laughs.
Stupid, Stupid! Impossible or not, Harry once again urges himself to go faster.
"Think that's funny do you, Hopper?" Dudley snarls after him. There's a brief flash of red, probably Dudley recalling Growlithe back to it's Pokeball. Harry doesn't turn to answer his cousin, still crutching away as fast as he can manage. He can hear Dudley storming up behind him, and can't help but cringe when he knows what's about to happen. One of his favorite games in the world seems to be making Harry fall, something that's almost laughably easy with Harry's issues with mobility.
As he's done a million times before, Dudley kicks the crutch in Harry's hand to the side as soon as it hits the ground, sending Harry sprawling onto the path, thankfully on his right side. It might not be painful to the touch, but falling on his curse damaged leg is far more painful than landing on any other limb.
"At least I've got a Pokemon, cripple," Dudley sneers. "You're never going to have one. Not a wizard… not a trainer… what good are you to anyone?"
Its not the first time someone's said something like it, but still each word is like a blow to the head. Dudley's normal insults don't phase him much, but he pulls out the more disparaging words whenever he's driven to anger. It wouldn't even be an issue, were Dudley not absolutely correct.
If he still had his magic, he'd have been in Hogwarts a few years ago, and he could've made something of his life. Instead he's been labeled a squib, and so needs to live in the muggle world. Most squibs would then dedicate their life to some sort of career in Pokemon, but Harry's been denied even that, with Vernon refusing to sponsor him for a Pokemon license.
Tears welling in his eyes, much as he tries to prevent them, Harry tries to get back to his feet. Instead, Dudley kicks his crutch again, and Harry falls back until he can practically taste the cement underneath him.
"Hey! What do you think you're doing!" a gruff, angry voice shouts from nearby.
It immediately has Harry tensing up. No doubt this stranger will chastise Dudley for bullying, which sounds good in theory, but isn't in reality. Best case scenario, the stranger tells Dudley off and leaves, and Dudley complains to his parents himself, in which case Harry ends up in trouble. Really, no matter how this works out, no doubt Vernon and Petunia will hear of it, and Harry will be in trouble for the embarrassment of it all.
Great… just great.
Dudley backs off a little warily as the man approaches in front of them. Harry can't see his face, but his clothes are shabby, and patched… and familiar. Even with only a suspicion that the man is who he thinks, a small smile begins to spread on Harry's face.
"Who are you?" one of Dudley's friends asks.
The man lets a wand drop into his hand from a holster assumedly kept on his forearm. "You don't want to find out," he says threateningly.
None of Dudley's friends are particularly bright, but even they know not to mess with a wizard. The second they see the wand, they scatter, leaving Harry helpless on the path.
"Alright there, Harry?" the man asks, gentler now.
Harry almost laughs when he hears the voice. He sounds different when he's angry, but now, Harry's sure of exactly who it is. Sure enough, when he lifts his head further, it's to look into the lightly scarred face of Remus Lupin.
"Hullo, Remus," Harry smiles.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Remus asks, taking a seat across from Harry in their usual booth at the ice cream parlor. As usual, he's ordered a double chocolate sundae, topped with little flakes of chocolate and further smothered with a rich chocolate sauce. It looks as sickly sweet as it always does, enough that Harry can practically taste it from across the table.
"Of course," Harry says in a simple deflection of the question. "Whats with you and chocolate?"
Remus simply raises an eyebrow at Harry's rapid change of topic. For a brief second he looks worried, but covers it with a smile. "According to muggles, chocolate releases endorphins, and endorphins are meant to make you happy. We could all use a little more happiness in our lives, wouldn't you say?"
Maybe I should have ordered chocolate…
Remus shoots him another concerned glance, but Harry just smiles back. Most of their monthly meetings go the same way, with Remus worrying like a mother hen and Harry pretending like life is grand. He's not going to stop, either. His daily life is filled with people treating him like a poor little victim, so the last thing he wants is his one meeting with Remus every month to be the same.
"So how's school?" Remus asks after a short sigh. No doubt he knows by now that pushing Harry to really open up is a pointless endeavour.
"School's fine," Harry says noncommittally, "Kind of boring though."
Remus lets out a short laugh. "I remember feeling the same when I was at school. I always did pretty well, but sometimes I'd rather have been doing just about anything else."
Harry has to suppress a surge of anger at that. Bored at Hogwarts? Harry would give anything to be able to go there, and Remus has the hide to say that he was bored? How could magic ever be boring?
"In fact we were doing other things most of the time," Remus continues, oblivious to Harry's sudden anger. "We spent more time just exploring the castle and playing pranks than we ever did studying."
Its nothing Harry hasn't heard before, but whether repeated stories or not, he's always been happy to hear anything about his father. Merlin knows that Petunia would never say anything about either of his parents, so he'll take what he can get.
"What kind of pranks?"
Remus shrugs. "Looking back, many of them went too far, but I can't deny how much fun we had with them. One time we slipped a potion into a Slytherin's pumpkin juice at breakfast to make his voice high-pitched. It took the potions professor nearly six hours to cook up the antidote."
Harry grins, picturing the exact situation only with Dudley in the leading role. That would take him down a peg or three.
"Merlin, your mother was so angry with us that day," Remus adds.
"Angry?" Harry asks. "Wasn't she friends with you?"
Remus laughs out loud and shakes his head. "Oh I think she absolutely hated us to be honest. She had the right of it, too. Immature idiots we were back then, and it didn't help that James was always mooning after her. It wasn't until he started to smarten up in our final year that Lily finally warmed to us."
"That long?"
"Oh yeah. She used to tear strips off us for being so stupid. I remember one stinging jinx that had James limping about for nearly a fortnight. Kindest woman I ever met, but you'd have been an absolute fool to cross her," Remus says, his eyes suddenly sad and wistful.
"I wish I'd known them," Harry says. As happy as the stories make him, its always impossible to ignore the images that pop into his head. How different would his life look if they were still alive? Would he be at the same school? Would he have friends?
Would I be happy?
"I never saw them happier than the day you were born. I'll never forget the way they looked at you - like you were suddenly the focal point of their entire universe," Remus says. "That kind of love never really goes away. As long as we remember them, they're right here with us."
Easy for you to say. It might be a nice thought, but Harry knows better than anything that his parents aren't right here with him. He's reminded of it every day when he wakes up in the cupboard under the stairs. More than that, how is he supposed to remember people that died when he was a baby? More than once it's felt like loving the idea of his parents more than his parents themselves.
"Harry," Remus says, distracting Harry from pointlessly spinning his spoon in his ice-cream. "I know that things aren't easy for you…"
"Stop," Harry says.
Remus shakes his head slightly. "I just… if there's anything I can do to make things better…"
Harry's patience cracks. He and Remus have been down this route multiple times in their meetings over the years, and its become abundantly clear that there's nothing Remus can do to help. Or at the very least, nothing that Remus is willing to do.
"Can we not talk about this again?" Harry snaps before returning to slowly swirling his spoon in his quickly melting sundae.
It's not that he doesn't appreciate Remus' wanting to help him, only that these conversations always end with the both of them upset. It's well established by now that Harry's situation isn't about to change anytime soon no matter how much either of them would like to do something about it.
Out his peripheral vision Harry sees the hesitation on the man's scarred face. No doubt he doesn't want to rock the boat either, but Harry knows Remus feels as powerless as he does. Perhaps in saying something he feels like he is at least trying to make a difference.
"You know I would take you in an instant," Remus tries slowly. "Only…"
"Only the Dursley's are my legal guardians," Harry sighs. "I know. Remus, just let it go."
"It's not just that. With my condition-"
"As if I care that you're a werewolf!" Harry yells. It's one thing to argue that he can't do anything about the situation because of the Dursley's legal rights, but another entirely to suggest its because Harry would care about his being a werewolf.
How little does he think of me?
Though he must know that everyone is looking their way, some with faces full of fear and disgust, Remus doesn't flinch or take his eyes away from Harry.
"That's not what I was going to say. Please, if you could just calm down and let me say what I have to say… This isn't easy for me, either. I was going to say that even if I wanted to challenge your aunt and uncle for guardianship, the law wouldn't let me because of my condition."
Oh.
Behind Remus a man clutches the hand of his young son tight and leaves the ice-cream parlour, glaring at Remus in disgust the entire way. Harry's crutches aren't really meant to be weapons, but he's certain that they'd hurt any idiot well enough were he to whack them atop the head with one. Really, he's sorely tempted to test his theory.
"So you might be right," Remus concedes, either missing the bigoted fool or simply ignoring him. "Perhaps there's nothing I can do to change things, but you're my family, whether we live under the same roof or not."
"It's a nice thought," Harry says slowly, his anger slowly evaporating away, "but I still have to go home to the Dursley's after this."
Remus shakes his head and leans forward over the table, his light green eyes boring into Harry's. "No, not home," he says. "Only you get to decide where your home is."
Harry can't help but roll his eyes. Whatever new tactic Remus is trying to cheer him up, whether he ever asks or not, its definitely not working. Normally he'd stick to the same old pointless spiel about willing to do anything to help Harry, but now he's pushing far more than usual.
"So your point is that I don't actually have a home?" Harry asks sarcastically. There's a small part of him that recognises how stubborn and obtuse he's being, but he's entirely sick of these conversations. The best part about meeting Remus once a month is that it allows him to forget the misery of his day to day life, but the more he brings up the problems, the less enjoyable the meetings are.
A look of hurt flashes across Remus' face, but he quickly recovers. "My point is that you have a home with me. We can't live under the same roof, but I need you to know how important you are to me. I can't stand the idea of you going back to those people and thinking there's no-one in the world who cares for you. I care for you."
All semblance of anger and annoyance goes out the window, and Harry's at a loss for words. Life still sucks, and nothings about to change, but its still nice to hear out loud that at the very least, someone would notice if he were to disappear off the face of the earth. But having never had anyone say anything like it before, he's really got no idea how to respond.
"You don't have to say the same," Remus says slowly, "you only see me once a month, and-"
"You're my home," Harry says with a tone of absolute finality. It's an easy thing to say in the end. Even if the qualifier in the decision is that Remus is the only person in the world to care about him, it feels like enough. The world isn't fair, and everything prevents them from living together like family, but Harry's used to life not being as it should be. At least this means he's not really alone.
Harry's expecting the berating of a lifetime when he walks through the front door of the Dursleys.
Not my home. After his meeting with Remus, its a strangely comforting thought. Privet Drive has never really felt like home anyway, but now it feels different than it did before. One day he'll legally be an adult, and nothing can keep him here. Maybe then he and Remus can become a real family. For now, it's nothing but a roof over his head.
But until then, he's going to have to deal with his uncle's fury. Dudley will have told them about Remus threatening him by now, and Harry's the one who will have to bear the brunt of it, as always.
Harry lets out a sigh of relief as he crutches into the living room past the entrance and into silence and darkness. Either they're not home, or they're already in bed. It's a victory no matter which it is.
Was the car in the driveway?
Remus had side-apparated him right to the front door before bidding him farewell and cracking away into the night, so Harry has to look out the window to actually check. The car isn't there, which means that they've gone out. That's not as good news as if they'd simply gone off to bed, since it means that Vernon will come for him the minute he comes through the door. At least if it was to wait until tomorrow, some of his formidable anger might have gone away.
In the end its probably safest if he just locks himself away in his cupboard. But first - supplies. Living fourteen years in a house where nobody bothered to look out for him has made him rather more thrifty and resourceful than a boy his age has any right to be. It's rare that the Dursley's leave him alone in the house, but when they do, Harry takes advantage.
Both Vernon and Dudley are both big eaters, so they generally don't notice when a little food is missing. Harry's careful not to take too much anyway. Even the idea of Vernon finding Harry's stash under the loose floorboard in his cupboard is unthinkable. He's bad enough for any little offences he decides Harry makes, but the thought of being caught stealing food? Terrifying.
Harry crutches his way towards the kitchen, eyeing the red and white ball left on the bench as he passes. Vernon always takes his Pokemon with him wherever he goes, so theres no doubt that its Dudley's Growlithe inside. Harry rolls his eyes in disgust. A boy like Dudley, who clearly doesn't appreciate his Pokemon, is allowed to have one, where Harry is not. Just another unfair facet of life.
Harry's poking his head into the cupboard when he hears the familiar creak of the front door swinging open. Startled, he cracks his head on the top of the cupboard, stumbling on his bad leg and falling back towards the kitchen bench.
"Uncle Vernon" Harry says, blinking away his blurry white vision from the bump on his head, "I didn't think-"
Even with his vision compromised, it's easy to tell that it's not Vernon or Petunia who entered. For one, neither of the men are even as close to as large as Vernon, and the way they simply stand across the room from Harry is totally unlike any action his aunt, uncle or cousin would make. They'd be more likely to storm across the room and scream in his face than ever stay silent.
"You're not uncle Vernon," Harry says.
"Theres the scar," one of the men says, "Can you believe it, Avery? This broken runt of a kid defeated the Dark Lord?"
The Dark Lord? But the only ones who say that are Death Eaters…
"Hard to believe. Kid can barely even walk and he's meant to have defeated the most powerful wizard in the world? Dunno that I believe it," the other says.
What do I do?
Death Eaters aren't meant to be able to get into the house under any circumstances. Dumbledore himself was the one who said it was impossible. Clearly, he was wrong.
"Almost seems like we'll be putting the brat out of his misery, doesn't it? No magic to defend himself, a bum leg and a skinny body like that? We're basically doing him a favor."
Harry instinctively ducks behind the bench when he sees the wands appear in their hands, just in time to avoid a barrage of spells that sail over his head and smash into the kitchen tiles behind him. His crutch is knocked out from underneath him and he falls hard onto the ground as debris from the kitchen wall falls in pieces over the top of him.
The sound of it is unbelievable, like a series of mini-explosions sounding right over his head, until all he can hear is a loud ringing in his ears. Pieces of tile and now food from the smashed fridge rain over his prone body, some of the sharper pieces piercing and cutting along exposed skin on his arms, legs and face.
And then it stops. Harry can't hear anything beyond the ringing in his ears, but the flashing lights from the spells has stopped. Before he can move, theres a flash of movement in front of his eyes, a blur of red and white that lands on the ground in front of him.
It's Growlithe's Pokeball, and it's already open.
Notes
I've had this chapter written for yonks, and the second is actually nearly done as well. Just decided to randomly post it.
This chapter does raise several questions though, I know. Firstly, Harry here is about 14, three years after he should have gone to Hogwarts. Second, the muggle world and the wizarding world are not separate, since Pokemon are basically the magical creatures of the world. Third, any questions about Harry's lack of magic and his cursed leg will be answered in time.
Hope you guys enjoyed it!