Harry had wanted to be a candy maker when he was younger.
No seriously, that was what he had hoped for in his future.
Fireman? Astronaut? Puh-lease. Can you say lame? Sure, it sounded a bit cool when introducing yourself, (Hey man, I'm kind of a big deal. I've been to space... Yes I'm being serious! Really!) but it totally wasn't at all for Harry.
He hadn't really desired the kind of life that others had desired.
Maybe it was because his childhood had been a bit more skewed than everyone else's. Rooms? Who needs rooms when you can have a cupboard? Pssh, yeah.
And food? Seriously, so last year.
Because of his unconventional roots, Harry did not view the world as everyone else did.
While they saw it as a place full of opportunities to change things for the better, help people, be thought of as a hero, Harry saw it as a place of wild fun.
He saw it as a place to do what he wanted. A place where he could please himself, and not worry about others.
(The future. Such a grand, untouchable thing.)
And sure, the people his age were no doubt thinking that they viewed it like that, but really? No. No they did not. In the end, it was all about society. Their views and actions and decisions were all ruled by society.
They just didn't know it yet.
(Mum, I'm going to be a lawyer!)
Harry thought that it was all flat out unsuitable.
He wanted to be a candy maker, damn it! Why? Because he wanted to.
There was no need for any other reason.
He wanted to be a candy maker, and he saw no reason why he shouldn't be able to become one.
The thought made him happy. He liked being happy. So... yeah. Candy candy.
He was aware that he'd probably never gain any sort of real money, and would no doubt end up working as an assembly line worker at some dirty Mars Bars factory, but hey! At least he was going to try!
Most gave up their childish dreams in favour of doing something more grounded, but Harry wasn't one for giving up... And who said that he would ever be grounded?
He wanted that free-flying fantasy future. The one that he'd always yearned for. The one that he would lie awake under the silent stairs thinking about, a deep ache in his heart.
Because when Harry had been a child, he'd been dreaming about being a kid.
It was, no doubt, because of the Dursleys (those bastards).
(It's cold, Aunt Petunia. Please let me in...)
They never let him have any sort of fun. It was rather mean of them, quite honestly.
Harry had passed his days, trying to ignore the dull hurt that washed him in shades of dull grey. He didn't want to be grey. He wanted to be green and orange and pink and blue. He wanted to fill his life with the colours and emotions that he vaguely knew he was missing.
Because not everyone could be like him; they couldn't all feel like he did. Everyone else seemed so... bright. So happy.
They definitely didn't feel his hurt.
So he was different.
He understood that. He understood that and accepted it. There was no need to make any sort of deal out of it; it was what it was.
And so as a young boy, he came to the conclusion that there had to be more to life than just what he knew, and he was going to find it.
He would.
The world was rubble. Dusty, rocky, rubble. And he was going to be one of the few, lucky ones who scraped away the sooty debris and uncovered the gleaming silver underneath.
Because, in the end, it wasn't about candy, dreams, lonely broom closets, or chalky tears falling down bruised, dry cheeks.
It was about being happy, in a world where humanity didn't want you to be so.
And Harry was always the kind of guy who liked that sort of thing.