Chapter 1
He was freak and they were sir or mam. That was how it worked. He lived under the stairs. He didn't always eat. He never ate with them. He did the cooking, cleaning and washing. He always looked at the floor. He was always told to look at the floor.
Never meet our eyes, worthless.
You don't deserve to look at us.
You'll contaminate us with your freakishness.
He always obeyed. He was hit. He was beaten. He was cut.
It was his fault because he was a freak. He had asked once why and they had said it was in his blood. He couldn't change it. He would always be a freak and they would always call him so. He should have thanked them. They put a roof over his head. They gave him food and clothes and water. They kept him alive. They kept his heart beating. Kept air in his lungs. Stopped him from falling into that eternal sleep.
They never let him forget it.
So what if his heart beat too fast because he was always in pain. So what if the air in his lungs was hot and tainted from the stuffy space under the stairs. So what if he sometimes longed for that eternal sleep.
He was freak and that was all he would ever be.
His other name was Harry. Another name was Boy. Another was Worthless. Another was You Piece Of Shit. Another was Bastard. Another was Fag. Another was Stupid. Another was Rotten. Another was Dirty. Another was Lazy. Another was Kitten. Another was Ugly. Another was Dumbshit. Another was Fuckface.
All of them were true.
All of them his fault.
He wore glasses because he had hit his head when he was younger. That was his fault. He wasn't allowed to speak unless directly asked a question. That was his fault. He was in pain almost always. That was his fault. He kept having accidents. Doing freakish unnatural stupid things. He once turned a teacher's hair blue. He once appeared on the roof. He once talked to a snake.
All of them freakish.
All of them his fault.
He didn't have any toys of his own. He had never been bought any. The only ones he got were when he cleaned Dudley's toy room and shoved the broken ones in his pocket. He didn't have any clothes of his own. They were all Dudley's and all too big. He didn't have a body of his own. That belonged to everyone else to do with as they pleased. Petunia berated him. Dudley hit him. Vernon... It was best left unsaid.
All Freak had was his own thoughts. But, even these weren't always his own. He thought what they told him to think. If they thought he had been bad then he had been bad. If they thought he deserved what he got then he deserved what he got. If they thought he was ugly then he was ugly. If they thought he needed to be beaten then he needed to be beaten.
All your fault.
You do what we say.
What anyone says.
You obey.
All your fault.
These thoughts ran in a loop in his mind always. He did what they said. He acted like they wanted him to act. He hurt when they hit him. He cooked when they asked him to. He answered direct questions. He didn't cry himself to sleep because he was too loud. He thought what they wanted him to think.
But, sometimes he didn't.
Sometimes Freak had his own thoughts. He never thought what they did was wrong. No. That was just how life was. But sometimes he would think of something sneaky. Like stealing broken toys or thrown away books.
Or hiding a letter he received from their prying eyes.
Its was shame that most of the time when he thought for himself it ended in punishment. A punishment he most definitely deserved. Freak had wondered that afternoon what the contents of that letter was. But Dudley had found it, and exposed him, and Vernon had done what Vernon always does. Put him in pain. This pain was a firm well deserved beating.
Freak had thought that was the end of it. His last chance had disappeared to read that mysterious letter.
But he was wrong.
As he often was. The next day more and more letters appeared. They flew around the house in what seemed like a snow storm and Freak was shoved under the stairs. He had thought the letters would stop.
But he was wrong.
They kept coming. Day after day they came, and day after day Freak was punished more. It was every night with no fail and when it was over he would curl up in on himself and cry silent tears in the safety of his cupboard. They couldn't get him when he was in his cupboard. The walls were impenetrable, the floor was stone, the door was a barricade, his bed was a double bed, his broken soldiers were real life friends, his tears were just war paint, and his sense of doom was actually courage.
Bah. Courage. That never helped anyone. What Freak needed was cunning.
On Sunday Freak had thought they would finally stop. "There are no letters on Sunday." That the household would be free from this madness. That maybe it wouldn't be every night. That maybe his nightmares would be free of it as well. That it didn't follow him around in the day like his shadow. That every third thought wasn't about what would happen. About the bruises. About the blood. About the pain. About those sounds that would linger in his mind even after he had moved back to the safety of his cupboard.
About how it was all his fault.
Eventually Vernon lost it and even punishing Freak couldn't soothe him. He took the whole family to a remote shack positioned in the centre of what seemed like a constant storm. It was always raining. And the ocean waters were always rocky.
You would think that Freak would be worried, but really he was glad. Vernon couldn't get him alone. He was rooming with Dudley, he wouldn't dare expose his child to the horrors of what Freak endured. He feared it. Even if he did deserve it. Even if he was a Freak. It didn't make it any less painful.
That night he stayed awake staring at the ceiling, willing himself not to move. He would surely be punished if he woke Dudley. He tried to keep his breathing calm. He couldn't even cry silent tears tonight. How he longed for the safety of his cupboard, he was safe in there. Freak was glad that tonight he wouldn't be punished but in his mind was the constant stream of thoughts berating him for even thinking such a thing.
You shouldn't be glad, Dirty, you deserve to be punished.
You are nothing but a no good freak and if you think one night away will change any of that then you are sorely mistaken.
But you have always been stupid.
You are stupid.
Its your fault.
You must obey.
Freak's cycle of thought was broken by the loud bang of a door collapsing. He stood quickly and ran down to the stairs. He didn't know why he ran. It would have been safer to stay. But something took a hold of him and told him his life was worth nothing, it didn't matter if he died, his only purpose was to be used.
Somehow this made him feel free in his trapped life.
Freak saw him standing there. Fighting with Vernon. He twisted his rifle as if it were nothing. He loomed over everyone, as if he was a monster.
But he was a man.
A man that called for Harry as if it were his name. His name was Freak. But he obeyed. He introduced himself,
"'Ello 'Arry I'm Hagrid."
Freak stared at the floor.
Must not meet his gaze.
Worthless.
Hagrid simply smiled and said,
"'Appy Birthday."
Then he handed Freak a cake. He took it warily. What was he meant to do with it? Serve people. That was what was generally done with cake. But who was he meant to serve? And where was he meant to serve it? Freak desperately wanted to ask for clarification but that was not allowed. And had he said birthday? Freak did not have a birthday. Dudley and Vernon and Petunia, they had birthdays. Freak wasn't human. Humans had birthdays. Freak did not.
Hagrid stared at him expectantly. What was he meant to do? Why wouldn't this man tell him? After a few moments the man said,
"Well op'n it!"
Freak carefully lifted the lid. His family stared in shock, Vernon looking frightened at his bent gun. Dudley whimpered and moved away from this giant man. Petunia stood stock still. Freak stared at the cake in its box. The cake was squished and small with a sickly green icing. He read the icing on the cake.
Happy 11th Birthday Harry!
So. The cake was for him. How could Freak tell him that he didn't have a birthday? How could he explain something like that if he couldn't meet his gaze or communicate unless he asked a question? Instead he simply stared at it and Hagrid thought he was staring in amazement. He smiled like a loon, little did he know that Freak was staring in confusion.
Hagrid boomed,
"'Lso 'Ogwarts be startin' soon. You'd be''er come with me. 'E need to get your school supplies."
Freak wanted to ask what he was talking about. He didn't. He knew only to obey. So, when the man started to walk out the door he started to follow. Hagrid called back to him,
"Walk a li''le faster 'Arry."
Freak was about to correct him. To tell him that his name was not Harry. But, this man wanted to call him Harry. He could be Harry. But he would always be Freak first.
As Harry was taken away by Hagrid he couldn't help but wonder what this man wanted. Would he be like Vernon? Were the rules the same? How was he meant to act? Where were they going? Most of these questions were left unanswered as Harry knew one definite rule:
Do not speak, you piece of shit, unless we ask you a direct question. How many times do we have to tell you before you understand?
And so he could never ask Hagrid anything. That was fine. He didn't have anything of value to say. No one wanted to hear from the freak.
The next day Harry made some startling discoveries.
Magic was real.
He was a wizard.
Hagrid was unlike his family.
Overall Harry was quite confused by the end.