What people don't seem to realize, is that he never had the chance to be a kid. The Dursleys had done the absolute minimum since that November night he was left on their doorstep, and the price for that was he grew up too soon.
He's just turned eleven when a group of weird looking people pushes past Vernon to get in the house. He can see Vernon's face turning an alarming shade of purple as he yells at the group but all they do is ignore him. He watches from the kitchen, sees as Petunia goes to see what all the noise is about and abruptly pales to a stark white before she too, starts yelling.
The one with the long white beard waves a stick and everyone sighs simultaneously at the relief to their eardrums.
He waits, watches as the look around. He's under his cloak, invisible to all. The black haired man looks down his large hooked nose, evidently not happy to be here. Join the club, Harry thinks.
Dudley is out with Piers, so he's not entirely sure what they're here for. They haven't started stealing and the only female, red hair and bright green eyes, is sitting on the couch staring off into space. The one with hair like his own is still poking around, looking at pictures and what not.
The four are in their own little world until the white haired man speaks up. Harry is still finding it a bit hard to look at the man's outfit, it's awfully bright and the pattern is moving around. "It says he's here. "
Who? Me?
The redhead snaps back to reality, her eyes looking around once again. "Harry?"
He doesn't know these people, but they seem to know him. Do they know about the abuse? Is that why they're here?
The four have the upper-hand at the moment, he reluctantly thinks. The only thing he has going for him is his cloak and his ability to get away if he needs to.
He pulls the cloak off his head, willing it to make him visible. His face shows nothing but curiosity as he opens the kitchen door and walks into the living room. Every head snaps to him and they just stare.
Harry's rather amused when the black hair one just sneers at him, but he's not big on being the center of attention. He wants to fidget, somehow show his discomfort, but he can't. Not now at least.
"Harry," two of them breathe, holding on to each other.
"Yes, " he answers, the s being enunciated a bit more snake-like, drawing the word out. "How can I help you?" He looks them all over, a calculating gleam in his eyes.
"My dear boy, " the old one starts, "we've come to take you away."
Harry's lip twitched as he fought back the urge to sneer at the old man. "Who? And why do you want to take me away?"
"You're a wizard my dear boy; we want to take you to the wizarding world. Your home." The man answers, smiling jovially.
He still hasn't answered the who.
Harry stays quiet, waiting for these people who just barged into his home -home? What home? - and declared that they wanted to take him away.
He hears the grumpy one grumble good for nothing brat , or something along those lines, and ignores him.
The red head seems to understand his silence, though, as she answers a minute later. "I'm Lily Potter, this is my husband James Potter, my best friend Severus Snape, and Headmaster Dumbledore. James and I are your parents."
Harry squints at them, not believing a word they said. "You died."
His parents shift, uncomfortable with his statement.
"Yes, but Dumbledore thought it'd be better if we raised you. He looked for a spell, ritual, a potion to make it happen. And here we are, wanting to get to know you." She tells him, smiling ruefully.
Almost anything would be better than here, he thinks, and I can hopefully get out if I need to. At least that is what the dreams keep telling me.
Harry looks them all over one more time before shaking his head in acknowledgment. "There are a couple things you must know before we leave together." The word sounds foreign in his mouth, he can't think of what it would sound like if he said family out loud as well. "I don't need you and I don't trust you. You will have to earn my trust, but needing you, needing my parents, someone to raise me will never happen. I'm sorry to disappoint if that was something you were looking for in a child, but you're 7 years too late for that."
He watched as Lily, his mother, and Severus, her best friends -he had no clue how that happened- jaws lock. His father and the headmaster looked confused, confused at why a freshly turned 11-year-old had said what he did.
It took a minute for his father to understand, but the headmaster looked like he was one to deny such things as abuse. Family, blood as well, could never hurt one another! That was just crazy talk. The child was just a little misbehaved and needed a spanking.
His mother, he would still have to get used to that, quietly told him to grab whatever he wanted to keep and that they would get him what he needed as soon as possible.
He walked over to his cupboard, ignoring the piercing gazes on his back as they saw where he had slept for the past nine-ish years. There were two things: an envelope full of letters and a small collage of pictures. The letter was from a girl a little younger than him, a seer she had said, with blonde hair and silver eyes. She'd wrote him many times, a picture or two with each letter and a small sentence describing what the picture was. His most prized were a picture of who she said was his godfather, and then a picture of her.
She was what got him through the day, kept him going when the world felt like it was falling down on his shoulders.
He gently put them in the pocket in the cloak - he didn't know where it was, but it kept his stuff safe when he left the cupboard - before turning around to look at the four adults in front of him.
The headmaster quickly said his goodbyes, telling them he still had stuff to do before the start of term in a month.
The four remained, not talking and looking anywhere but each other. The air was so thick he thought he could cut it.
He needed to go to the dark home, the one with the elf. at least that's what the blonde girl said they were, and the screaming portrait. He stared at them, his eyes not focused, as he debated on asking them to take him or not. The house was calling to him, though, and he finally had a way to it.
The need outweighed the cons.
At least he hoped they would.
"There is somewhere I wish to go. Will you take me?" He asked, his voice loud in the quiet house.
"Sure, what's the address?" She asked, smiling kindly.
"12 Grimmauld Place."
The room fell silent once again, a look of shock on both his parent's faces.
It was a Black house, one that Walburga had lived in until her death. The place was dark, the years and years of black magic tainting the building for all of the eternity.
Severus spoke before his parents did.
"Yes."