Disclaimer: I own nothing. J.K. Rowling is the author of the Harry Potter series.
He was stuffed in this tiny body, hands small, fingers curled. Barely able to move without assistance.
Helpless.
How was he to go through it all over again? The second time around, still without those that he needed.
Though they passed by him every day.
Was he again to learn balance on his own?
Would his accidental magic once more be the bane of his existence?
And puberty? No one wants to go through puberty twice, regardless of their guardians.
If he stood and cried, would they notice? Would they coo to him? Or would it just be like an annoying background noise to them?
Yet no.
He didn't think they would care. Glance his way, maybe. Briefly wonder if they should do something, perhaps. But care? Honestly care? No.
That baby in their arms, happy and giggling, they would notice him without a doubt. His twin, almost.
A crude look alike, really.
Same hair, skin, size, even eyes.
But where that baby smiled and laughed, oblivious to everything else, he would sit, grim faced listening to what went on. He comprehended it.
How could he not?
So much he had gone through to get here. Here, the wrong place.
The wrong world.
The wrong universe.
The wrong life.
His previous hope had turned into hate and bitterness in a mere matter of weeks.
He wasn't supposed to have a twin. He wasn't supposed to be unblemished.
Well, he supposed he wasn't completely unblemished. But the scared over splinter from that horrible night hardly counted.
They were supposed to have died.
Yet, they lived.
Should he not be happy? Ecstatic? He could have a normal childhood. Be cared for. Be loved.
Maybe he could have been. Maybe he could have accepted the fact he abandoned everything he knew and those that were left whom he loved for this strange place. This wrong place.
But, no.
He could not be happy. Not when they didn't pay attention to his cries. Well, not like they did the other one.
He couldn't be ecstatic so long as the house elves were the ones that cared for him.
No. Cared for wasn't what the house elves did. The house elves took care of him. But, truthfully the house elves didn't care for him.
He couldn't blame them. One of them had instructed the house elves merely to complete the duties of taking care of him.
Perhaps at a time when they fully intended to care for him.
They were supposed to be perfect. Compared to everyone else, his parents had to shine above the rest.
That's what he had been told, and that was what he had clung to.
Now he was ready to let that go.
As he laid down to rest, thoughts flooded through his tired mind
He could deal with this place if only his memories had been left behind.
Maybe his soul too.
The deaths. The torture. The screams of help.
Who could he help now?
That spell, one word screwed up, one word different than the rest……
And here he was.
All he wanted was a second chance.
He supposed that was what he got. It was just the wrong chance, in the wrong place.
Everything was different, but the same. He would grow up the same. Perhaps fate needed him to be the way he turned out. Happiness would only mess up that careful balance.
Why couldn't he tip the scales?
Did this place need him? Was this the reason for his being here?
Why would this universe need him?
He was only Hector Potter, twin brother to Harry Potter: The boy who lived.