Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Warnings: abuse (emotional)
Harry Potter was what most would consider a perfect child.
He never complained, never cried, and never fought with the other children his age.
His Aunt Petunia didn't mind having him around because the neighborhood ladies were all jealous of the little boy who was so smart and well behaved.
His Uncle Vernon just ignored him, he didn't want the boy around but there were things that just couldn't be helped.
His cousin Dudley tended to pick on him because of his small size, but Harry learned early that being small was useful for some things. Like running or hiding where no one could find him, considering Dudley's size there were plenty of those.
His teachers all praised him because of his intelligence. The quality of his work was far beyond his years and done with such ease that he was left with plenty of time to read. Reading soon became the main activity of his day.
His classmates all envied him, or resented him. None tried to be his friend though.
Harry Potter was what most would consider a perfect child, but no one is perfect even Harry Potter, no matter how hard he tried.
He never complained because he knew that his parent's had died in a car crash and he didn't want to seem ungrateful to his family for taking him in. He knew the alternative was an orphanage, somewhere he hoped to never go.
He never cried because he had once heard his Uncle Vernon say that only pansy boys cried. Uncle Vernon would never be proud of Harry, he had always known that, but he also didn't want a reason for Uncle Vernon to hate him either.
He never fought with other children his age because although the children ignored him didn't mean that Harry didn't long for a friend. Friends weren't made from confrontations; Harry knew that much, so he just stayed away hoping that one day someone would want to be his friend.
His Aunt Petunia was someone that Harry didn't know how to feel about. She seemed to like him while they were out in public; always with a hand on his shoulder, a comforting pat on his head, a smile when he was being complimented. Then while they were at home it was like she was a different person, except only to Harry. She never touched him, almost to the point of being completely ignored. Only she didn't ignore him, no she always made sure to tell him his chores and responsibilities; chores and responsibilities that Dudley never seemed to share.
His Uncle Vernon mainly ignored Harry. That was he never spoke to him, or touched him, and most of the time tried to avoid being in the same room altogether. But when they were, Harry could always feel hateful glares aimed at him. He never understood what he did to deserve them.
His cousin Dudley had invented a game he often liked to play called Harry Hunting. Harry learned early to run as soon as his cousin was in view. Being so much smaller than the other children was an advantage during the game though. He often found hiding spots that the bigger boys wouldn't think to look because of not being able to fit because of their large size; they weren't smart enough to realize that it was Harry's size that actually mattered.
His teacher's all seemed to appreciate Harry having been in their class, almost like he was a reprieve from the other students. He liked school much more than other children his age, his grades were always top of the class and done before most of the class was half way finished. He took to reading to pass the time since he had to friends to play with. He found the schoolwork much easier as time went on because of all of the reading he had already done; most lessons tended to be something he already knew.
His classmate's all seemed to hate Harry; some because of his intelligence, others because of his cousin Dudley. Harry had never had a friend; his only solace was in his dreams.
Every night for as long as Harry could remember he had dreams of exactly the same thing; grey eyes. It was always the same grey eyes every time too, and that's always all he ever saw. The emotions though were what comforted him; joy, peace, love. Harry knew instinctively that he had known this person, the one with the grey eyes. The feelings radiating from them were always so personal, like they were really looking at him and weren't just a dream. He knew of course that it was silly to think such things but he had never actually told anyone about the eyes so he felt as if he could have any thoughts he wanted, no one had to know.
Harry Potter always fell asleep with a smile on his lips, knowing when he closed his eyes that he would find solace in his dreams.
