Hey! Thanks for all the reviews! Sorry I haven't updated in a while. Enjoy! Disclaimer: JKR owns the awesomeness, not me.
Everyone was scattered around the living room, but almost all eyes were on Harry. What his friend had said at dinner worried all of them. Little inconsistences were starting to add up in everyone's heads. Ron and the twins remembered the bars on Harry's window summer before second year and the manic way his uncle tried to keep him inside. Hermione recalled the time when Harry said his relatives would've been disappointed that he hadn't died. Sirius remembered Harry's reaction to his offer to live with him, how he had jumped at the chance to leave the Dursleys. Mrs. Weasley remembered the frighteningly thin boy dressed in cast-offs nervously asking her how to get onto the platform. No matter what the memory was, the general conscience was clear: More was going on at Harry's home than what he wanted them to know. This girl, Izzy, was the key to uncovering that.
Meanwhile, Izzy rummaged through her bag, looking for the thing she had wanted to give. Finally, she found it. "Here," the black-haired girl said to Harry, handing him a small package. Seeing Harry's skeptical look, she clarified. "Mark wants your opinion on these." Harry's face broke out into a grin as he ripped open the packaging. Sirius and Remus were both struck by how young Harry looked in that moment, like an innocent little kid. No one in the room could ever remember seeing Harry look like that.
Harry scanned the list Mark attached, recognizing some of the bands. "Not bad," he judged. "A couple of these groups are new."
Izzy rolled her eyes. "I'm sure they all play their instruments way too loud," she teased. Ron and Hermione exchanged a look. What in the world was this girl talking about? Seeing confused looks around the room, she backtracked. "Harry's a music snob when it comes to rock. Personally, I detest the stuff, but he and John love it. Of course, Harry's pickier than John is, which is why Mark has him listen to albums to see if they're any good or not."
"I'm not a music snob!" Harry protested. Izzy shot him a look. "Fine, I am, but only because of Patrick. He said, 'If you kids are going to come here and eat all my food, one of you has to learn something.'"
Izzy let a laugh, a laugh that sounded like music to everyone in the room simply because it was free. "Gotta love that Patrick."
"Who's Patrick?" Sirius questioned suspiciously. Harry and Izzy exchanged a look that wasn't missed by anyone. It was like they were silently deciding what to say and what to hide.
"He's someone who cares," Izzy answered quietly. "He lets us stay at his house sometimes."
"Why would you need to stay at someone else's house?" Mrs. Weasley asked with narrowed eyes. Not at her, of course, but of the dark things that statement implicated.
Izzy smiled sardonically. "I didn't fall down the stairs," she stated.
"Iz," Harry hissed, not liking where this conversation was going. They didn't need to know about his pasts, about the bruises and cuts and things no one else ever knew about. They didn't need to know about his childhood, about a life spent in a cupboard or protecting a little blonde girl. It wasn't any of their business, and she didn't need to make it theirs.
"What? I'm not ashamed!" she shouted. "I'm not hiding anything."
"And are you saying I am?" Harry challenged. Izzy looked him directly in the eyes, and he looked away. That look hurt. It reminded him of better times, of days spent in a creek, two little girls laughing as they pulled two little boys with them. He couldn't relieve those memories. He just couldn't.
Izzy softened, sensing the pain she was causing her best friend. She understood, in a way, why he tried so hard to distance himself from their past. It was a way to cope, a way not to hear the voices murmuring in your trying to pull you back. "I think you spend a lot of time running away."
Harry shrugged. "I like to run," he shot back cryptically. Izzy rolled her eyes but smiled softly.
"It's good to know some things never change," she murmured.
"Like?"
"Well, we still know how to fight," Izzy offered. Harry laughed, a deep laugh that shocked everyone and relieved Izzy. She had thought Harry had forgotten how to laugh, how to have joy in his life. It was good to know otherwise.
Later that night, when everyone was asleep, Harry laid in his bed and closed his eyes, letting himself remember things he had thought he forgotten, some things things that probably should be forgotten
A five-year-old Harry sat in his cupboard, clutching his bleeding head but not crying. Crying wasn't allowed at the Dursleys. The more you cried, the harder they hit you. Harry had learned this lesson the hard way. He reached out and grabbed his favorite book, The Chronicles of Narnia: The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. It had been his teacher's, but she had noticed how much he loved it and gave it to him. Harry had scribbled his name in the top corner of the cover page so that everyone knew it was his book. Harry didn't have a lot of things that were his. Everything belonged to either his aunt and uncle or Dudley, but this, this book, belonged to him. He had been very careful sneaking the book into his house because the Dursleys didn't approve of magic or even imagination. Harry, on the other hand, liked losing himself in other worlds. He liked imagining places better than Privet Drive.
Harry's mind flashed to another memory a little later in time. It had been one of the few happy ones he'd ever had.
"Come on, Harry!"Izzy shouted, her black hair swinging as she ran. "We're gonna be late!"
"Coming!" he shouted back, trying to keep up with his black-haired friend. They were going to Patrick's house for dinner. Harry hadn't had a proper meal in a week, and Izzy didn't like eating at home because her dad would usually get mad. Johnny and Daisy were both going to be there. Johnny was staying the week with Patrick because his foster parents were out of town while Daisy parents' dumped her there while they had a fancy dinner party. Weirdly enough, it was also Harry's eighth birthday.
He followed Izzy into the house and was surprised to see Johnny, Daisy, and Patrick all smiling at him and wearing party hats on their heads. "Happy birthday, Harry!" they all shouted. Harry stood there in shock. He couldn't remember the last birthday he had actually celebrated.
Daisy smiled at him, her blonde hair glowing like a goddess. "Happy birthday, Harry," she whispered. "Make a wish."
Harry grinned and closed his eyes, contemplating his wish for a moment before blowing at the candles. Really, there wasn't much he could wish for. All his dreams had already come true.
That was thing about Harry's childhood. Good or bad, it was complicated and messy and hard to get into. Sure, he has good memories and bad memories, but they were his nonetheless. And he wouldn't let anyone else have them.
