Paradise Lost
Pain. It can come in any number of forms. Whether it be the physical harm of an injury or from the inner turmoil brought upon by a few words. Whether a bone is broken, a tear shed, or a hope crushed pain can shape people into gross and twisted forms of what they should have been. Then again it can also distill the very essence of a person into a being of pure hope and goodness making them yearn for and strive to obtain utopia.
That one word, Pain, that one concept was the very definition of his life. Every second of every day was awash with pain. For as long as he could remember all he felt was pain. From his first memory of staring up at the light filtering through the gaps on the stairs to the bruise that had started to form on his back from his 'adjustment'. To the almost all consuming loneliness of being different than everyone else. And even the shame he felt from those grudging eyes of everyone around him.
For nine long years he had been forced to live with the pain to endure it, and now all that was left to him was a sense of numbness and unending repetition.
Another in a series of blows left him doubled over choking in air and trying to hold onto the meager contents in his stomach. Two pairs of arms hauled him upright so they could continue their twisted game. This time the blow was aimed at his kidneys, and oh how they had been hit. A strike to the back of his head left the already blurry world just a smear of color. Pain once again ruled his world. A boxed ear left a low ringing in his head. Or was that the school bell? They sounded so similar.
"Play times over. See you later cousin." Said the distinctly largest smudge as it waddled away.
"Yeah I've been late to much lately don't want the teacher writing home." Said the smallest blur.
The arms, the only things keeping him upright, were ripped away surrendering him to the mercies of gravity and asphalt. The sounds of footsteps had faded off, was he losing consciousness? No of course not, he wasn't that lucky. They must be leaving. It was ten minutes later that he had regained his balance and stood shakily on his rather thin legs. His hair was plastered to his skull with sweat, leaving his bangs covering his eyes. Searching the immediate vicinity he found his glasses well the broken remains of them. One of the lenses was cracked right down the middle whereas the other looked as if it had been dragged across the ground. He would have to get another pair, 'they' would not be happy about that.
If only the laces on his oversized shoes hadn't snapped and sent him tumbling he would have out run them. Oh well just another day in the life of Harrison James Potter, deranged freak of Surrey.
It had started like any other school day. Get up, wait for someone to unlock the cupboard, go to the bathroom, make breakfast for four, get yelled at for taking too long or for burning the toast, get dressed, leave the house before Dudley the fat blob of a cousin gets dressed, walk to school, get to school, then get chased by his cousin and friends after they had been dropped off by their respective parents. At this point one of two things could happen. The first is get caught, get beaten up, be late for class, get marked down for being late, the teacher then sends home a note about your tardiness, get yelled at by the Dursleys. Option two was get away and make it to the safety of the classroom where the teacher had a habit of being an hour early and wait for class to start. Not even the goon squad was stupid enough to attack while under the watch of the teacher.
"Potter you're late again." Said the rather stern looking women. She embodied everything that would be considered a cliché old school teacher. Horn rimmed glasses, hair pulled back skull splittingly tight and fashioned into a bun. Faux pearl necklace, over a tan sweater tied over her shoulders. A white blouse with a shin length tan colored skirt. Ending with a set of neutral colored heels.
"Yes Mrs. Weatherby, sorry Mrs. Weatherby." Harry said robotically as he took his seat in the back corner of the room. Was it just his imagination or did the lights seem darker over his desk? Probably just a concussion.
"Good now that everyone is here" She sent him a rather annoyed look. "We can begin. Now turn to page eighty in your geography books, today we learn about Brazil."
The sound of the three bells signaled it was lunchtime. Time for the game to begin anew. Even before the final bell had wrung Harry was already out the door and into the hallway. From there would bolt towards the double doors at the end that lead to the outside. Students from other classes start to pour out of the other rooms as he passes them by. While the shortest route to his destination was the opposite direction, just through the doors at the other end of the hallway, half of the goon squad had a class located right by the door. If caught, they using a little coercion and a lot of strength, would steer him to the dumpster behind the school. Where they would loyally wait for the fat blob of a leader to arrive and officially commence 'Harry Hunting'.
Bursting out the 'safe' doors he takes a sharp left and follows the contour of the wall around to the court yard. From there it's simply a matter of blending in with the crowds of students to make his way to the library. His last place of refuge, his vault of knowledge where the goon squad would never tread solely out of premise, the idea of being surrounded by books didn't seem to agree with any of them. That and the hawk eyed librarian who was more than willing to use a meter stick discipline unruly children. Normally it would work and the idiots would go find some underclassman to terrorize, but today Piers the most clever of the bunch had one of his few and original thoughts, wait outside the library.
"Crap." Harry mutters to himself as he spots the rat faced boy with his cruel smile and slowly start to merge back in with the hoards of hungry students. Only to be interrupted as he feels an iron hand clamp down on his shoulder. Well iron might be stretching it, marshmallows or sausage would be more accurate, it is Dudley after all.
"Where do you think you're going?" He asks. Dudley Dursley the fat prince of Private Drive. A whale in the making, already three Stone heavier than anyone in their year he was not a pretty sight. Light brown hair topping a pudgy face and red face, he filled out his clothes in all the wrong places. But if his girth wasn't his most noticeable trait it was his height, he was by far the tallest boy in their year. "You wouldn't want to miss out on the fun would you?" He had started dragging Harry through the crowd and to the back of the school.
Thoughts of imminent pain coursed through young Harry's mind. 'Strike back'. Said the little voice in his head as he struggled to free himself from his cousins oddly strong grip. 'Fight!' That little voiced screamed again. There had always been that urge to fight back, to protect himself. But he refrained for two reasons. One they had the numbers. And two the only person meanier than Dudley was his father Vernon, Harry's uncle. And he could surely do more damage than Dudley ever could. Still for a single moment he entertained the idea of beating back his cousin and giving him a taste of his own medicine, and one moment was all that was needed.
He was being pulled by the fleshy blob that was his cousin then in the blink of an eye he was standing over the wailing form of Dudley. The fat boy was holding his face as crimson poured from between his fingers. Looking down Harry noticed that his hand, no his fist was also covered in the crimson liquid. Looking up he saw that there was a ring of people surrounding him, some looked sick others excited all were screaming. Encouragement, anger, fear and many more sounds were ringing in his ear but he heard none of it. His mind had gone to a place of utter quiet and seclusion. His mind thought one thing and one thing only. OH SHITE!
Resignation. He had resigned himself to what would happen next, and so far he had been fairly accurate. One of the girls had gone and got a teacher, bloody traitor. Some unfamiliar teacher had come and rushed Dudley off to the nurse's office. Harry was dumped outside the principal's office while Principal Warner was informed of the situation. Warner was the one, the one that made the call to dear Aunt Petunia and loving Uncle Vernon.
He guessed that once both of the 'victims' parents arrived a meeting would take place. There would be shouting, pointing, threats Vernon would turn a color usually not attainable by humans, Harry would laugh on the inside but cringe on the outside. He would be angry with the school for letting his son be injured, he would threaten to sue, it would naturally be all bluster. Harry having attacked another student, regardless of being related, would be either suspended or expelled along with some rather unkind things recorded in his file, like it mattered. Petunia would then take Dudley to the hospital for the more than likely broken nose, maybe it would improve his face. Harry accompanied by a furious Vernon would be 'escorted' home and have the beating of his life or be thrown in the cupboard so the beating could commence at a later time.
What actually happed was something he was definitely not what he foresaw. Well he got suspended, Petunia rushed Dudley to the hospital, there was definitely some notation done in Harry's school file but oddly enough Vernon was not angry. Well not in the classical blow up and shout sense. Harry was a bit put out by that, one of his few joys in life was the color Vernon turned when livid. He wore a rather neutral face, to anyone not intimately familiar with the inner workings of Vernon Dursley he looked rather calm. But deep down there brewed a storm like no other. There was no yelling just some "Boys will be boys" and "He doesn't know his own strength" and "I remember when I was a boy" and you can't forget the ever out of place "I understand but I think it would be best if I withdrew him from school. At least for the time being."
Harry wanted to say something to defend his actions. To bring to light the years of neglect and abuse, but every time he opened his mouth to speak all that came out was silence. The whole ordeal left Harry in a haze and unable to really understand anything that was being said.
As the meeting drew to a close there was some pleasant hand shaking accompanied by smiles and some ushering into the car, even some unrecognizable tune playing across Vernon's lips. It was clear the man had been driven so far off into the depths of anger that he had snapped.
Harry briefly wondered if they would ever find his body.
As they pulled into the driveway of Number Four, Private Drive Vernon was still humming that annoying tune, just a few lines over and over. As he exited the car and made his way to the door it even appeared that there was a spring in his step, not a good sign. Unlocking the front door the overly large Mr. Dursley held it open for Harry as though he were a celebrity.
Setting his book bag on the floor Harry slowly closed by the door and waited for the inevitable. Mr. Walrus, as Harry secretly called him, at least had the decency to take off his watch before he started.
"You are to never harm one of my blood, boy." The man said calmly before the pain began.
The human body is a rather marvelous thing. When in danger the brain will enter into a state ready for fight or flight. It will release compounds that will enable the body to go above and beyond its physical limits. Senses are heightened, non essential systems are slowed or even stopped. Reflexes are sharpened, physical ability is momentarily increased, and pain is numbed. It will also subconsciously move itself into the smallest size possible, which also allows for the greatest protection of the delicate internal organs. It is these responses that kept Harry alive.
Molten metal raced up and down Harry's frame as every part of his body shuddered in pain. No inch of his body had been free from Vernon's wrath. He could never have imagined how many ways a belt could be used to inflict pain, he lost count after eight.
While he has never been a stranger to pain there are always different levels and he could certainly say he reached a new one. He wondered if this time his injuries would be too much for him to handle and he would leave this world, then he remembered his luck was horrible so he doubted he would have the release. Shifting ever so slightly a whole new wave surged through his body as he tried to redistribute his weight.
His left arm was broken, his left shoulder was definitely broken, and his hand, well he had always thought being a righty was overrated. He thought as he took stock of his known injuries. The shoulder was just about as bad as the 'Stairs' incident. His legs didn't feel broken but then again he had never had the same sort of feeling in them since the 'Bike' accident. He could feel that most if not all of his back was raw from the savage use of Vernon's specially imported Spanish belt. Running his tongue throughout the inside of his mouth he found a gap where he was sure there should had once been teeth.
He had been conscious through most of what he now considered the absolute worst pain of his life. He had held on to conscious thought through two breaks and a round of whipping, it was only after a foot to the groin that Harry had succumbed to the blackness.
Twisting his head to the side he looked up at the light filtering through the grate on the cupboard door. "Wonder what day it is?" He said to no one.
Unable to really move he had nothing to do but go over his punishment. A straight left was the first blow, it had sent him reeling into the closed door. Then it became less about the power behind the strikes and more about the sheer quantity. A fist to the temple left him disoriented which was quickly followed up by a shove that sent him careening to the floor. The clink of metal could be heard as the enraged man fumbled with the buckle on his belt.
Harry had just gotten up on all fours when the first lash hit. The grunts of the out of shape Dursley and the whimpers of the feeble Potter formed an odd sort of rhythm for the next few minutes. Harry learned early on in his life that screaming just made things infinitely worse.
Exhausted from the most physically demanding thing he had done in years Vernon gave up the lash for something much less tiring. Using his size as his weapon he stepped on Harry's shoulder and put all his weight into it. An audible crack could be heard followed shortly by more whimpering but this time with much more urgency. Then the large man gave his attention to the boys forearm, it quickly decided to follow the shoulder in breaking.
The crying of the child had apparently been getting on the man's nerves so knowing a rather painful way to silence the boy he kicked him between the legs. Hard. Harry was blasted off into unconsciousness.
But going over the whole thing Harry found a stray thought rattling around in his delirious mind. "Man, I really hope I broke Dudley's nose."
Harry stared at the foggy mirror and the blur cast in its reflection. The steam rising from his shower having covered the surface in a layer of moisture. With his hand he wipes away the clinging water revealing his reflection.
Looking at himself he saw just how small and pathetic he truly was. He had always been a small kid but as the years past he noticed the children his age outgrow him by leaps and bounds to the point that he looked two or three years their junior.
His general appearance didn't help either. His wild black hair which could never be permanently cut was always doing its best impression of a birds nest, making his face look smaller by comparison. His face was thin and hallow from lack of food and decent rest. He often compared it to the face of a cadaver, the kind of face that comes at the 'end'. But to most people his one redeeming quality, if one were to look close enough were his eyes bright green eyes. Haunted eyes that stood in harsh contrast to his morose face.
His shoulders were thin clearly showing his musculature along with his warped skeleton from the badly healed breaks. His chest was but ghostly pale skin and bones with the odd protrusion here or there as parting gifts from a fist or foot.
Really he was in every way the exact opposite of his family. Dudley the light brown haired, whale of a child who despite being grossly out of shape towered over him. Petunia while thinner than her son was not a stick like Harry but had more of a stretched quality to her. Demonstrated by her almost giraffe like neck, and long horse like face. And Vernon the great big walrus that he was stood a little under average height but more than made up for it with his girth.
But what really set them apart was their normalcy. Well their perceived normalcy. They tried to be as average as possible blending into the background of British culture. Every third Wednesday of the month Mr. Dursley played a round of golf with the neighbors then went out for a drink at a nearby pub. Mrs. Dursley attended garden parties with the other wives of Private Drive, the main attraction was of course the local gossip. And sweet Dudley had sleepovers and camp outs with his friends.
But Harry stood out like a sore thumb. No hobbies; he wasn't allowed any. No interests; they just made another target. No friends; he couldn't pay someone to befriend him.
And every once in a while things would happen, things that were anything but normal. His hair when cut would almost immediately return to its previous length, which had caused quite a stir at his first and only trip to the barber. Repeated attempts by Mrs. Dursley had yielded similar results.
He would sometimes move. Not any kind of linear movement using his legs. He would be one place one second and be somewhere else the next. It usually happened when chased by Dudley and his gang, though the frequency of it happening had increased since he Vernon had beat him senseless.
Delicate objects had a way of breaking around him. The 'one of a kind' antique vase that Mrs. Dursley had found at a yard sale had mysteriously imploded when harry had stubbed his toe on the table it had rested upon. The ensuing punishment had him cleaning their driveway with his toothbrush.
Then there were the random people who would call out to him on the street or rush him shake his hand thank him then scurry off and disappear. They were always dressed in the most unusual ways, capes, pointy hats, and bright colors.
Then there was his miraculous healing rate. Well healing might not be the right word, mending would fit better. Things that broke and then were mended could never be fully restored to perfect condition. That one pain defining beating he had received the previous year for hurting poor Dudley had partially healed to the point to where he could do his required chores within a week and fully within a month. The only real permanent side effects had been further loss of mobility and strength in his left arm and having to switch which hand he had to write with.
He contemplated the oddity that was his life as he stewed in the left over steam from his shower.
"BOY!" Boomed the voice of Vernon. "Stop wasting all the hot water and make us dinner before its bloody tomorrow!"
Harry grimaced at the voice of his uncle and quickly got dressed as he didn't wish to anger that man any more than necessary. Tonight they were having fried chicken mashed potatoes and gravy, a crowd favorite. It was to celebrate Dudley's passing of another year of school and what a miracle it was. Dudley having forced Harry to do the large boys homework for most of his academic career was barely allowed to pass…again. Though having the ability to forge Dudley's signature could come in handy.
"Thanks. Mum, the. Dinners amazing." Dudley said happily in between bites as he shoveled in spoon full after spoon full of mashed potatoes.
"Anything for my special man." Petunia cooed to her little boy. Once again acting as if she was the one who made the meal.
"Do I have something to be worried about here?" Vernon joked.
"Oh honey, how could you say that I only have eyes for you." She said before a gentle chuckle swept through each of them.
It was the perfect meal. They were in good loving company. The head of the household had received hints that he might be in line for a promotion to region director of Grunnings int. Petunia had won a prize for the most beautiful roses on Private Drive, bestowed upon her by the other ladies on the street. And Dudley within a few days would turn eleven, then within the month be sent off to Smeltings Academy, Vernon's alma mater. Life couldn't be better.
"Can I have some more?" Dudley said as he looked at his emptied plate.
"Your third plate already! My sons a growing lad, he needs his nutrition." Vernon said happily before his grin dropped. "Boy more food!" The man bellowed.
From the behind the nearby wall movement could be heard. A small form entered the doorway. The small black haired child carried two platters laden with a pile of fried chicken and a mountain of potatoes.
Quickly he scurried over to now empty plate of Dudley and began spooning out chicken and spuds.
"You forgot the gravy!" Dudley bellowed, he was really starting to take after his father.
"I'll get it right away." Harry said as he finished reloading the portly boy's plate. Quickly he dashed back through the door, to the kitchen. The sound of metal touching could be heard as Harry started to presumably ladle gravy into a sauce boat.
He came scurrying back out carrying the ceramic dish. He applied generous amounts of liquid to the pile of spuds but didn't stop till Dudley bid him to. By the time the diner was happy there was more gravy than potato.
Vernon looked pleased; it did the 'boy' well to know his place. "Good now go fetch us the" He was interrupted as a sharp clicking sound came from the backdoor right behind them. Turning around they saw that the clear glass door was empty. Again the knock but this time the sound came from down near the floor. Looking down they saw the form of a small brown owl. The two younger faces looked on in confusion while the two older showed only anger.
While odd, an owl knocking at your backdoor didn't usually inspire such anger. Then harry saw it. A red envelope tied around the poor birds leg.
"Again?" Harry said exasperated.
The clatter of a knife could be heard from Vernon's direction. Everyone else turning to the noise saw the mustached man starting to turn purple and his knuckled going white. "Again?" he asked quietly, the type of quietly that was not good for the health of people named Harry Potter.
Harry seeing his uncle turn a very dangerous shade of purple started backing up trying to distance himself from the explosive man. "C-couple w-weeks ago owl c-came by, gave me a letter d-didn't read it just wrote saying I wasn't interested. S-sent it back." Harry stuttered out in fear.
The tightness of his fists and his color started to return to normal. "Good, now go to your room while I deal with this." Vernon ordered.
"Yes sir." Harry said as he fled to his room, his cupboard under the stairs, the very spot the letter was addressed to.
Harry sat in a tight ball trembling in his cupboard.
He had indeed received a letter previously and had in fact sent a note back saying he didn't want any part of what they were offering. But as opposed to what he told Vernon he did open the letter. And what he found inside terrified him.
Normalcy was the Dursley's armor. It allowed them to function in polite society. Anything different was deemed hostile to their way of life and treated accordingly.
Painting was deemed abnormal. Normal people do not paint, only hippies and those weird artsy people paint. Petunia when younger had liked art but it didn't fit in Vernon's definition of normal so it was given up early on in their relationship.
Speaking anything but English was not normal. As such Vernon had made it abundantly clear to the teachers at Dudley's old school that he was not to be taught any of that foreign 'gibberish'.
Magic. The concept of altering the world in ways not normally possible was definitely not normal. Anyone caught watching anything magic on the telly was due for a very stern scolding. If Harry was caught watching tv, well watching tv at all would get him yelled at with a fifty percent chance of boxed ears, watching magic would result in a full beating.
So the idea that Harry was not just different but a being that could use magic was a very distressing thought. But going away to a school where he would be taught how to do magic, where he would be immersed in it, to live in a place not normal scared the utter shit out of him. While him being magic explained some of the oddities he discovered when comparing himself to others, the idea of being something that Vernon hates was having him flashing back to the beating that almost ended his life.
Harry will not be attending your school this fall or anytime within the foreseeable future. We have decided to enroll him at a local institution so he can stay close to his family.
Please do not send any more letters.
Vernon Dursley
Vernon's note spelled out before he sealed it in an envelope and threw it at the feet of the bird.
The small bird turned its eyes upwards to the whale of a man and locked gazes with him. It was if the bird was judging him. It then let off a small hoot before shifting its attention back to the letter. It grasped it with its talons then spread its wings and took off into the night.
A week had passed since the now named 'letter' incident. It had been a week that Vernon had been stuck flipping between moods. Angry that something so abnormal had happened within walking distance of his house, let alone his back door. And oddly happy that Harry had willing rejected the invitation to that freak show.
No more letters had arrived via the post or… other means. Dudley had received his sets of Smeltings styled uniform. A maroon tailcoat, over a maroon long sleeved shirt, a set of dull orange knickerbockers and topped with a straw hat. He had even given the boy his own Smeltings stick, one of his most prized possessions from his childhood. It made Vernon so proud to see his son dressed in his old colors, like father like son.
And the 'boy' had been really quiet for the last week almost if he was waiting for an 'adjustment' and didn't want to do anything to hasten its arrival. Almost everything had returned to normal. Now if only those fools from Kent would decide if they wanted their drills delivered on the seventh or eighth of next month.
Looking at the clock resting on the fireplace Vernon saw it was almost time for the match to begin, he couldn't quite remember who was playing today he wasn't actually a fan of any team, but it didn't matter since it was normal for the man of the house to watch football on his day off.
He had just sat down in the chair assigned to the man of the house and had his hand halfway to the remote before a knock came from the front door. Who could that be? Dudikins was out with his friends. Petunia was out with the ladies at one of their garden parties, so it wouldn't be any of the women from the street. The boy had no friends so it was unlikely that it was anyone for him. It was Sunday so there was no post. That left one option, salesmen.
Among the hoards of roaming salesmen that dwelled throughout England there persisted a list of addresses that were not to be disturbed. Most were just for violent citizens who were just as likely to buy something as to take a swing at you. But among the list sat Number 4 Private Drive, not because any of the occupants were outwardly violent, no that would be abnormal, but because salesmen tended to come intending to dispense high quality items but walked away the proud owner of industrial sized drills. Never try to sell to a salesman.
"I wonder how many they will be walking away with today?" Mr. Dursley wondered to himself. The first time he had sold a drill to a rather green salesman was because he was annoyed at being interrupted during dinner. The second time had been to boost his sales records for the month but the third time had been for fun, he had made a little game out of it and so far he was 4 and 0.
Straightening out his green sweater vest and putting on his best smile Vernon answered the door. All reason and cognitive thought stopped as light poured through the doorway. It was only due to the armor of normalcy that he wore throughout his whole life that allowed his body to function by itself. Thoughtlessly he closed the door.
Outside the man was a little put out. It was after all rather rude to close the door is some ones face without at least exchanging pleasantries. Could it have been his attire? Maybe he should have worn the burgundy suit instead of the mauve. Still he would not be denied, he had an important message to deliver. Focusing his twinkling blue eyes on the door he went to knock again. Only to stop a hairs breadth from the painted wood. Looking to the side he saw a small plastic button sticking out of a metal plate. Oh a door bell, one of their more peculiar if not interesting inventions. It would probably be better to use the bell. So he did.
Was that man wearing a purple suit? No. No. Just a trick of the light. Maybe he was tired, yes that was it a nice lay me down would be just the thing. Giving his head a shake he turned around and started up the stairs. He was however stopped dead in his tracks by the familiar chiming of his doorbell.
He stared at the painted wood of the door hoping if he ignored it the problem would disappear. He wasn't about to let some weirdo into his home. He could just imagine what the neighbors would say if they saw such a man. The neighbors, he couldn't afford for them to see such a strange man outside his door. Quickly he rushed to the door and flung it open. Outside the man was in the process of pulling a thin wooden object from within his light purple jacket.
"Ah good day mister Dursley I have a rather pressing issue I must discuss with you. Might I come in?" The bearded man asked.
Vernon just stepped aside and let the man in. It was one of those freaks, they were defiling his house his normalcy with their… their freakiness. The guest walked from the entry way and into the living room, where he stood expectantly.
Vernon slowly closed the door with an almost inaudible click. What was this freak doing here he had sent that letter telling them he wanted nothing to do with their world. How dare they come here! "What do you want?" He asked rather heatedly. His anger starting to bubble to the surface.
"Im afraid it concerns your nephew Harry. May we sit down?" He said as if the hint of anger in Vernon's voice was nonexistent.
"No." He replied quickly.
"Ah yes then, I'll just get right to it. My name is Albus Brian Wulfric Dumbledore and I am the Headmaster at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have in fact received your letter pertaining to Harry's nonattendance; you have to understand that it is imperative that he attend school to master his inborn abilities and learn of his heritage."
"No! Like I said in the letter he will not have anything to do with your strange ways! He is to be raised as a good and normal citizen of England! He will have nothing to do with you or your kind." Vernon was now completely red faced with anger.
"His parents would have wanted-" Albus started only to be cut off.
"His parents gave up all right to him when they went and got themselves killed, and then had the audacity to dump him on my doorstep. I will decide what he is to become, and it is not one of those stick waving degenerates."
This was not how he had envisioned this meeting to go. He was confident that it was just a misunderstanding and that through a simple explaining of the facts the matter would be resolved. One could not simply deny magic, it was the very core of who a wizard was, add on the importance of Harry Potter in Wizarding world. There simply was no other option than for the boy to go to Hogwarts. Maybe a slightly different approach. "Mister Dursley, I can appreciate your desire to separate yourself from the world that took your sister in law and her husband but-"
"But nothing" Vernon cut the old man off. "My decision is final. Now get out!" Vernon practically yelled as he pointed to the door.
The oddly dressed man let out a sigh that seemed to hold the entire weight of his very long life. "Then mister Dursley I'm sorry it has come to this." His eyes hardened and the almost magical twinkling disappeared. With a quick decisive movement belying his age his arm whipped around. He held it outstretched with a thin wooden stick held securely in his grasp. The point of the stick mere inches from the now raging Vernon's nose. He uttered one word and the world went white. "Obliviate."
"Have a nice day mister Dursley." The old man said as he placed his purple bowler on his head and backed out the door. "I'll send somebody by in a few weeks to take Harry shopping for his school supplies." He placed his hand on the doorknob and quietly closed the door.
Vernon stood there stewing in his defeat as the old man left. How had that strange man convinced him to let the boy go? He had made his decision all those years ago when Petunia had told him about the existence of magic. He would do everything in his power to distance his family from those no good degenerates.
He was interrupted from his contemplation by the voice of a small child. "I finished painting the fence uncle." Harry Potter said flatly.
"Go to your room." The overweight man said almost too quietly.
Harry obliged quickly for fear of reprisal. As he was once more sequestered in the dark embrace of his room under the stairs he could hear the thundering footsteps of his uncle walking. The sound of the steps stopped and was replaced by the deadbolt on the outside of the door clicking into place. Through the small grill on the door he could the light that should be slowly sifting through being blocked by Vernon's body.
"You're going to school with those freaks." His uncle said before the sound of footsteps started to fade in the direction of the kitchen.
Harry despaired.
Ive had this sitting around for a while and thought it was about time i uploaded it.
A what if piece, i always thought that the Dursley's should have been a little darker. If i decide to take it further Harry will be a survivalist, do anything to obtain freedom and to continue living. Somewhere between a Grey and Dark Harry with a moderate intelligence but superhuman drive. Later on anyways.
If i get a positive response i might start looking into following this up with a book one. Mostly it would be trying to fix the parts that i found disagreed with logical thought.
So yeah it was fun to write, if you enjoyed it send a review, if you hated it send a review, any questions send a pm.
Have a nice day.