I posted this extended synopsis/summary of what to expect from this story on my author profile, but I thought I would put it in the first chapter as a sort of author's note as well. This is just a way of expressing some of my motivations for writing this story, as well as a way to give people a heads up about what kind of story it will be. If that peaks your interest, great, if not, feel free to skip the bold stuff and launch right into the meat of the story.
The initial inspiration was the idea of a Harry that seemed to the rest of the world like the traditional hero they all expected him to be, while actually possessing a much more ruthless and secretive personality. The rules he develops were just my way of creating that personality. Another factor that motivated me to write this story is how many times I've started stories with similar premises, only for them to devolve into nothing but bashing on every character under the sun, with Dumbledore, the Weasleys, and every Gryffindor making it their favorite past time to murder babies and steal candy without a single obvious motive. So, if you're thinking about reading this story, and are looking for a Harry that comes into godlike powers overnight so that he can duel Dumbledore to death while Hermione and Molly scream "You can't do that!" I would advise that this story isn't for you. On the flip side, canon Harry and his tendency to escape death via a triple serving of luck hold the skill, will also not be making an appearance. Harry will be skilled and highly competent, he is the chosen one, but no 12-year-olds with one year of magic practice will be dueling Dumbledore into defeat. As time goes on, I'll be trying to slowly shift the focus away from the events of canon, because frankly Rowling already told her story, now I want to borrow her world and tell mine. At the same time, I will be trying to give a reason for the changes that are made. Voldemort and Dumbledore won't be changing their plans or acting any differently to canon unless there is a cause for them to do so. A cause like, I don't know, the actions of a boy who lived with very different motivations and tendencies compared to his canon self?
As a side note, this is not only the first fanfiction I've ever written but my first ever real work of fiction. Apologizing in advance for any mistakes or poorly designed sections of the story, I'd like to mention that any constructive advice, or even general feedback, will be gratefully received. This is first and foremost a learning experience for me, and I can't learn if no one speaks up and points out my weaknesses, so please, don't be shy.
Side side note, while I will gratefully welcome specific, well reasoned reviews, simply typing out "it's bad" or "you suck" doesn't exactly help anyone, even if it may be quite true. Instead, tell me what was bad, or tell me why my writing sucks, and then I can see if I want to make a change in the future. A symbiotic relationship people, let's get it going.
I own none of these characters. Obviously.
(-)
There was a time when Harry looked forward to school. Years ago, before he started Year 1 at St Grogory's, his head was filled with visions of the friends and fun he'd find away from the Dursley's. Three years on and those visions were as much dreams as they had been back then.
It had been Naïve to expect school to break the Dursleys' grip on his life. It had taken all of one day for Dudley to convince half their class to ignore him. By the end of the week the other half had followed. The worst part was that it didn't change, the start of each school year marked by its own version of that little drama.
Harry hated it. Hated Dudley for forcing the other children away, hated the other children for listening, and hated himself for caring. But he did care. Maybe that was why, one recess, when he saw Dudley sitting on a mousey haired classmate's back rifling through his bag, Harry decided to do something about it. He pushed up the oversized sleaves of his hand-me-down coat and stepped toward his cousin.
O-O-O-O-O
Harry's eyes blinked open and he was immediately aware of the ringing behind them. With a sigh he pushed himself to a sitting position, feeling at the newly acquired bruise he sported across his left cheek. He winced as he prodded himself, before sighing and shaking his head. He didn't know what he expected. Dudley had a head of height over him, and that extra helping of breakfast each morning put some weight on both him and his fists. As if summoned by his thoughts, another hand appeared before the nine-year old's face, this one open-palmed and stationary. Harry blinked, glancing up and recognizing the boy whose back his cousin had occupied earlier. Still slightly dazed, Harry took the offered appendage and hauled himself to his feet.
The boy was steadfastly avoiding Harry's gaze, but from the fidgeting in his stance he was clearly undergoing some sort of inner deliberation. Harry just watched him, unsure of the situation, and the awkward silence dragged on. Eventually though, the other boy seemed to reach some verdict. Tilting his head to look Harry in the eye, he held out his hand to shake.
"I'm Conner," he offered with a quiet voice belaying a shy personality. "Thanks for helping me."
Harry blinked, things moving too quickly into uncharted territory for his mind to process. Suddenly Conner's fidget began to make a return, nervousness over his still extended hand and Harry's lack of shaking it. Jolted from his stupor, Harry reached out to return the gesture.
"Harry" he returned, before trailing off, unsure of what to say. The two just looked at each other, neither quite sure what to say or do, until a sudden ringing of the school bell sent them each jumping a foot in the air. They both hurried toward the door of the school, but before they could reach it Connor stopped and seemed to gather his courage to ask a question.
"Do you wanna play with me tomorrow. Like at recess?" He asked, eyes fixed down as if his shoes were the most interesting thing in the world.
Inside Harry was jumping for joy but his voice stayed calm and cool as he answered with a quick yes, voice moving almost on autopilot. Connor nodded and resumed his rush toward the classroom, while Harry took a moment to collect himself before falling into step.
O-O-O-O-O
The recess bell couldn't come soon enough for Harry. It kept him up the night before; he couldn't get over yesterday's events. He had a classmate that would play with him, a classmate that wanted to play with him, and all it took was helping him out when he needed it. Harry was over the moon and, for the first time ever, was the first student out the door at the sound of the bell.
Harry paused after stepping outside, looking around with a twist of nervous energy and anticipation. He watched the crowd of children squeezing out of the door after him, eyes peeled for a familiar head of Mousey hair. His wait wasn't long. About a minute after Harry reached the schoolyard Connor was standing next to him. Connor still seemed nervous, but the boy pointed toward an area with less people and started walking toward it. Harry, for his part, understood the nonverbal message and fell into step behind his new companion.
It took a healthy helping of pauses and fidgets, but Connor eventually managed to propose hide and seek as his game of choice. Harry accepted instantly, there were very few games he wouldn't have accepted. Connor then all but demanded that Harry seek first in what was likely the firmest voice Harry had yet heard from the boy. Again, Harry accepted, because frankly he couldn't care less how they played, he was simply overjoyed that they were playing. He closed his eyes and began to count, distantly hearing his new playmate scurrying away.
"100!" Harry called out, eyes snapping open and a grin snapping onto his face as he began his search.
O-O-O-O-O
Five minutes later, Harry felt something was wrong. The school yard at St Grogory's wasn't big, and neither was it blessed with a wealth of objects or crannies capable of hiding a 9-year-old from sight. He should have found Connor by now, there was nowhere left in the schoolyard that he hadn't checked. The result was a slightly distraught year 3 staring at a gap in the fence that ran along the schoolyard's border. The teachers had warned them to stay inside the fence repeatedly, saying the hole would be fixed soon and to just ignore it for the time being. But after scouring every nook inside the fence, Harry was as certain as he could be that Connor was on the outside. A child's desire not to disappoint his teacher warred with the part of him that would do anything to keep his first playmate. Ultimately, he sniffed back any fear at what he was about to do and darted through the fence.
The unintended gate led into a thicket of trees about the width of a football field and half the length. The miniature forest was populated with a combination of Sycamores and London Planes. Maybe it was the knowledge that he wasn't supposed to be here, but to Harry the usually majestic trees had taken on a sinister quality. He felt his eyes begin to water under the stress of it all, but quickly used a floppy sleave to wipe away any moisture. It wouldn't do to let Connor see him distressed; what if that made him change his mind about Harry?
His small figure cutting and weaving between trunks, Harry kept his eyes steadfastly scanning for his errant playmate. It took a minute and three dozen steps, but his eyes caught a flash of brown hair occupying a branch about fifteen feet in the air. The boy looked as nervous as Harry felt; nervousness that only seemed to increase the moment Harry stepped into his view.
"Found you," Harry called out, hoping his relief didn't leak into his tone.
"Nuh uh," Connor called down petulantly. "You gotta touch me for it to count."
"No I don't, I can see you, so I found you!" responded Harry, dredging up all the reasoning skills his nine-year-old mind could offer.
"That's not how I play it though. You gotta touch me or it doesn't count, and I won't play with you ever, ever again," his playmate called back.
Harry blinked. He was quite certain he was right. He may not have played too many games himself, but he was an expert at watching others play them. Every Sunday (the day when Aunt Petunia kicked him out and told him to run to the park) he would spend hours cataloguing the games of the other children, hoping for a day when he could take part. He had seen them play hide and seek, and he didn't recall a touch being needed. One look, though, at his playmate and Harry realized he was in no position to argue. He finally had someone to play with! He wasn't going to lose that for anything, not even an argument where he was clearly in the right. Glancing at the tree, Harry began to scramble up to the branch that held his classmate. It cost him a few scrapes, a corner of his pant leg that tore off, and a new scratch to his glasses but Harry was soon standing eye to eye with Connor. Harry reached out, tapped Connor's shoulder, and smiled in satisfaction.
"Got you," Harry beamed, before turning and preparing to descend. Maybe it was that he turned too quickly, or maybe the satisfaction distracted him, but whatever the cause Harry missed the sudden movement from his playmate.
Just as he prepared to descend the tree Harry's body jolted forward, tumbling over the edge. He landed with a sharp crack and his arm flared to life like never before. It had extended naturally, a reflex to guard his face springing to life. Now his left arm hung uselessly at his side, elbow bending at a sickening angle and Harry distantly felt the tears streaming from his eyes. Above him Connor stared down in horror with arms still outstretched, before scampering down the tree and sprinting off toward the school as fast as he could, trying desperately to ignore the boy he left lying on the hard ground.
Harry didn't even notice him go; his arm felt like nothing he'd felt before. Even when Uncle Vernon got physical after a night of drinking it never went this far. He probably cut a pitiful sight, curled around his damaged appendage desperately wishing the pain away. It didn't listen. It was with supreme relief then, sometime later, that Harry registered a voice calling his name.
"Harry! What were you thinking! You know this is off limits and don't get me started on…" The voice, belonging to a teacher named Ms. Smith, trailed off as she took stock of him. Panic began to tinge her voice; "Your arm! This is why you shouldn't have…oh god…Dudley, run back and find Mrs. Hopkins. Tell her to call an ambulance. Now!"
Somewhere deep in his mind Harry noted that yes, Dudley was there. He had been leading Ms. Smith, guiding her to Harry. The pain wracking Harry's mind didn't leave much room for critical thinking however, and thoughts beyond groaning and whimpering were too difficult at the moment. He was vaguely aware of the arms that carefully wrapped around him, hoisting him up before setting off back toward the school itself.
The journey was a less than pleasant blur to Harry, but he quickly found himself carried through the school to the front entrance. After what felt like hours but was likely minutes a flashing and wailing ambulance rounded the corner, opening to emit two paramedics. One quickly relieved Ms. Smith of his body while the other readied a sterile bed for a small passenger. The last thing Harry heard before the ambulance doors shut was a remark from Ms. Smith to another teacher: "Mrs. Dursley warned me he was a troublemaker. Honestly, something like this was only a matter of time. Thank god his cousin saw him leaving! That Dudley is an angel, always so ready to help others."
O-O-O-O-O
The hospital kept him for two nights, running test to puzzle out the nature of his injuries. Outside of his arm Harry had 2 bruised ribs and a nasty gash above his ankle. Even his arm, despite its initially grotesque appearance, wouldn't require surgery. By the second day the arm was fixed in a cast and Harry was given a list of actions to avoid until the cast could be removed in a months' time.
All in all, the hospital was dreadfully boring, but Harry was more than fine with that. Petunia had been forced to give up a day and a half to deal with hospital staff and Harry had no illusions over what reception would be waiting for him back at Number 4. Plus, his drab room had given him time to think, something he needed.
He couldn't puzzle out what happened to him. Connor had pushed him, he knew that. What he didn't know was why. Adding to that, how had Dudley known where he was? Petunia had said that Ms. Smith had said that Dudley had seen him run through the fence. Harry blinked, suddenly feeling like he was playing a game of telephone. Focus. So, Dudley saw him go through the fence, and went for a teacher. Except, Harry didn't think that was true. Dudley's favorite pastime was tormenting Harry, and Harry had gotten good at keeping an eye out for when his cousin was nearby. Avoidance was his only effective weapon against Dudley. He was confident that had Dudley been near enough to see him leave, Harry would have noticed. He knew something was up, he just couldn't figure out what that was.
O-O-O-O-O
Harry entered the classroom on Monday morning smarting from his weekend back at the Dursleys. They wouldn't touch him after his return from the hospital Saturday morning, scared the doctors would notice on his next visit. Starvation was still on the table though, and Harry's stomach ached for a full meal. His new cast was drawing eyes from around the room, but none approached him. He expected that. He was the weird, quiet, gloomy, troublemaker according to his reputation. No one would be asking to sign his cast, that was only for people you actually liked. He put his head down and braced himself for the school day to come.
The morning blurred by, leaving him in the corner of the playground sitting under the watch of a staff member. His injury, combined with the staff's certainty that it was caused by his own recklessness, resulted in the current arrangement. He wasn't to stray from his bench until the bell. The staff member was added insurance in case he "continued with his disregard for rules and placed his health in further jeopardy." He didn't know what that meant exactly, too many of the words falling outside his grade-schooler vocabulary, but he did know the results weren't all that bad. Sure, he couldn't roam or play by himself like he usually did, but at least Dudley couldn't bother him either. It gave plenty of time to watch the others play, and it was during this time that he first noticed the new member of Dudley's pack. Trailing behind Piers Polkiss, chatting with the others, was Connor himself. He didn't quite look like he fit, flinching at noises, and laughing a bit too hard at every joke, but he was clearly part of the group. Harry lifted his glasses and rubbed his eyes before lowering them and looking again; nothing changed. Somehow Connor had gone from one of the group's victims to a member.
It wasn't a one-time thing, either. For the next week Harry watched Dudley's gang strut around the playground and Connor was locked in step each time. If anything, Connor began to fit in more. Those nervous ticks began to disappear, even when he was alone in class. It wasn't until Harry overheard Connor bragging to another classmate after school one day that he realized what had happened.
He had been walking for the bus stop when he heard Connor's voice coming from around a corner ahead of him. Almost without thinking, Harry stopped before he came into view and began to take in the boys' words.
"Things have been awesome this week!" Connor's voice rang out. "Dudley's pretty cool when you get to know him. Piers too. All of them really!"
"How'd you end up with them, anyway?" another voice queried. "You weren't close before. Plus, he used to be mean to you! He was always hitting you, or taking your stuff, or calling you mean things…"
"Oh, Dudley isn't like that, not really. I had just been pissing him off," Connor answered quickly, trying to downplay his friends' words. "It was all my fault. Once I made up for all that, they all accepted me super fast! And all I had to do was trick that Potter kid one time!"
"Why'd he want to get Potter, anyway?" asked the other voice.
Connor's voice took on a slight nervous tremor as he chuckled and responded; "He, uh, tried to hit Dudley a few days ago. For no reason too." There was a strain in his voice, the only sign that he did know the reason, and that the reason was Dudley's treatment of him.
"That kid must be crazy. You know what they say about him," the other voice added back.
"Yea, but we got him good. You should've seen!" Connor returned, bravado returning to his voice. "It was all Dudley's plan. I lead him into the woods and ditch him, then Dudley brings a teacher, and bang! Potter gets in biiig trouble."
"Then how'd he get hurt?" the other voice responded skeptically.
The voices were beginning to fade as the two moved further away from Harry, but even with the added distance Harry could make out Connor's response and his blood went cold: "He musta slipped. Or done something dumb. I don't know! He was fine when I left!" The words were stated defensively and followed by a nervous laugh, but whether the other kid called him on his lie Harry would never know, the next reply too distant to understand.
Harry himself had stayed frozen behind the corner, locked in place until long after the other boys had gone. Outside his body was still, but internally his mind was racing. All the things that didn't add up suddenly made a sickening sort of sense: it was all a set up. Dudley had offered Connor an out at Harry's expense and Connor had snapped up the offer. He had put himself at risk to help out someone who needed it and all he got for it was pain.
When Harry finally resumed his walk, his face was marred by a scowl. For all the anger in his chest Harry found himself agreeing with Connor on one thing; they had got him good. Harry was hurt and any attempt to get back at Dudley could only result in death by Vernon. No teacher would believe him, after all he was the troubled kid; even his foster family said so!
No, Harry couldn't get even, but he could learn. He was a smart kid, and he wouldn't make the same mistakes twice. He would create a rule for himself, one that wouldn't let him be so stupid again. So it was, as he angrily stalked toward the bus stop, that he formed the first of Harry Potter's 3 Rules For An Optimal Life:
1. Help yourself first, only you can be trusted to look out for your best interests.
Sunlight wafted through Harry's extended fingers as he held his hand above his head. He moved the fingers to and fro simply enjoying the sensation. The cast that had coated his arm was over a month in the past, but the joy of unhindered movement remained a novelty. Reluctantly diverting his attention away from his hand, Harry noticed the crowd around him thinning and pushed himself up with a sigh.
He had been laying outside his school waiting for the bus to arrive and now moved to board with the rest of the students. But while his body moved himself into a random seat, Harry felt his mind wandering. There was an important test coming up, a cumulative one before the students were released into winter break.
Harry didn't usually give tests, or grades, much of a thought. The first one he had ever taken he passed with flying colors, if the elementary questions asked of a year 1 could even qualify as a test. When returned, that test had featured a nice little complement next to his score as evidence of his teacher's approval. But while his teacher may have been pleased with him his family certainly wasn't. Two missed meals and a day of solitude in the cupboard were enough to burn any sense of pride from his mind. In the years since, he had made an effort to keep his marks between extremes; high enough to avoid outright failing but low enough to keep the Dursley's appeased. His little system had been largely successful, too, but it was beginning to wear on him.
His last teacher had seen him as a struggling student, but not one requiring direct intervention. She had favored him with the odd glance of condescending pity now and then, but it had been a quiet sort of pity, one easily ignored. His current teacher however – a young and overly motivated woman who went by Mrs. Kaltenbach in the classroom – was not so easily looked past.
By the second test she had seen enough to pull him aside, sitting him down after school one day and laying out a multitude of reasons to focus harder on his education. Her attempts to "help" him became a biweekly occurrence, and her lack of progress only seemed to motivate her more. But while those meetings were irritating, they were an annoyance he could stomach. No, what really got under his skin was her looks. Every time her eyes fell upon him, they filled with an insufferable combination of pity and determination. Where his old teacher had held a passive pity towards him Mrs. Kaltenbach's pity was fiery and constantly apparent. Her looks made clear how she saw him - as a dim and dependent little child in desperate need of guidance - and it ground on him something fierce.
Harry wasn't stupid, he knew that much about himself. The library was a haven to him, and he was no stranger to advanced schoolbooks. He had read material covered by students years his elder, and while he hadn't understood all of it he had grasped more than a child his age had any right to. Language, in particular, came easily to him. His vocabulary far exceeded that of his classmates, of that he was sure. But vocabulary wasn't what attracted him to studying language, at least not English vocabulary. No, what really grabbed his imagination has the creation of language. A language, a properly constructed one, was such a fantastic machine. So many pieces, parts, and rules working together in beautifully intricate systems. It was his dream that he would create one for himself, but a dream far from being realized. Harry's life under the Dursleys allowed him neither the time nor the resources to father such a creation. He would do it one day, he promised himself that, but that day would not be soon.
It was his intellect that allowed Harry to ride the border like he was so fond of. He knew most questions on each test and it was because of that knowledge that he could score exactly the low-but-passing marks he aimed for. But now his system was growing irritating, and that same intellect was to blame. Harry didn't have much he could take pride in, lacking both personal possessions and meaningful relationships, but his intelligence was an exception. He was smarter than his classmates and some part of him, repressed though it often was, couldn't be happier with that fact. But now he had a teacher who saw him as so dim that he, out of all his classmates, required her direct intervention. Some logical part of him knew that was a good thing, it meant he had been successful as he tried to appear an unremarkable student, but that knowledge couldn't quell his irritation. He wanted to prove to Mrs. Kaltenbach, and all her pity, that he was anything but what she thought of him. So it was, as he sat on a school bus lurching toward Privet Drive, that his thoughts stayed focused on his class's upcoming test.
Mrs. Kaltenbach had warned the class that his test was meant to be hard, very hard. It was intended to give the students a taste of what later years were like, and because of this it would mimic the tests given to upper year students. It wasn't completely beyond their class, that would defeat the purpose, but Harry and his fellow Year 3's were not expected to get every question correct. Which is why Harry was pondering doing exactly that.
He was no stranger to advanced material and in truth doubted that even this test would pose much difficulty. The question wasn't whether he could score well but rather whether he should. There was a reason he always held himself back. The Dursleys never enjoyed it when he outshone Dudley and their punishments weren't something he was eager to deal with. But even as he weighed his options Mrs. Kaltenbach's look flashed through his mind and determination filled him. He was tired of being looked down on and he was going to show her, consequences or not.
O-O-O-O-O
It had all worked so well; until it didn't. Harry had stuck to his guns and aced the test. He had watched, gleefully, as shock covered Mrs. Kaltenbach's face while she graded his test, her disbelief apparent as she found his every answer correct. She had congratulated him when she handed it back, a look filled with pride replacing the old one of pity. She had been under the (false) impression that her incessant lectures were what had caused the change. Harry couldn't care less about her little misconception; he was simply pleased to have soothed his ego. Except, Mrs. Kaltenbach had been a little too proud of his performance. So proud that she had phoned his home to inform his family of his achievement.
Harry was washing the dishes when it happened. The kitchen was down a hall from the living room and the family phone lay halfway between them, sat on a small table. So, when the phone rang and his uncle lumbered off the couch to answer it, Harry could just make out the voice on the other end. Harry recognized the voice and stiffened, slowly twisting his head to watch Vernon's reaction. It wasn't pretty. The longer Mrs. Kaltenbach talked, the more closely his uncle began to resemble a tomato. Yet, it wasn't until her final line that Vernon snapped.
"His improvement was just so sudden; it was like magic!" Mrs. Kaltenbach's voice rang through the receiver. The words were spoken glowingly and seemed like just another in a long string of praises to Harry. But something in that line was the absolute wrong thing to say. Vernon's face shifted from an angry red to a putrid purple and, in the most dexterous action Harry had ever seen his uncle make, he whipped the phone from his ear and ended the call in a flash of movement.
His uncle was on top of him in the blink of an eye, pushing him to the ground and yanking off his belt as he bellowed an incoherent rant about unnaturalness, ungrateful bastards, freaks, and unnatural ungrateful freak bastards. Harry could barely hear the words coming from his mouth, preoccupied as he was with what the rest of his Uncle's body was doing. The belt began coming down, screaming across his back leaving welts and pain in its wake. Vernon apparently retained enough sense not to mark anywhere that would be outwardly visible, but all other bets were off. From his position on the floor, Harry wailed. Tears were streaming down his face and shouts of pain followed each stroke of leather and metal. A mixture of pain and fear filled Harry's mind, the moments stretching to feel like years as he desperately weathered the sudden assault. When relief eventually came, minutes after the assault began, it was from an unexpected source.
Craning his neck to see why the blows had stopped, Harry watched as Petunia desperately held back her husbands' arm, fear filling her eyes.
"Vernon Please!" her shrill voice rang out. "What if they find out!"
Who exactly they were Harry had no idea, but in that moment he had more pressing concerns. The strikes may have stopped, but damage had already been done. His back felt like it was on fire, strips of flesh practically bubbling with pain. A world away he could hear his uncle and Aunt begin conversing.
"C'mon Pet" Vernon said, rage faded at his wife's words. "There's no way those freaks could know. They can't see everything. They haven't done anything before, after all." But while his words were confidant, his tone showed some worry. Even as he was speaking, he began hastily refastening his belt to his waist, as if sheathing the improvised weapon would erase the damage it had done.
Petunia merely nodded tersely in response. Both shifted their gaze toward Harry's prone form, the back of his shirt slowly coloring red, and flinched back slightly. Even Vernon, whose handiwork it was on display, seemed shaken by the sight. There was a pause and for a moment the two merely watched their downed nephew before sharing a glance and coming to a consensus. Petunia stooped down and shifted Harry to a sitting position, easing the ruined shirt over his head while Vernon left to retrieve some cheap bandages from the bathroom. A hasty and thoroughly amateur patch job later Mr. and Mrs. Dursley showed themselves to be believers in the saying out of sight out of mind and stuffed Harry's battered form away into his cupboard of a room.
When Harry woke up the searing pain had abated, but it had been replaced with a constant ache. It took him a few seconds to remember what had happened. His uncles' assault was like nothing he had dealt with before. Vernon had struck him in the past, but never was it so unrelenting and brutal. He tried to shift his weight and was cut short, hissing in pain. Movement rekindled the older, more fiery pain, apparently. Slowly, more carefully now, moved himself into a sitting position.
Harry knew from the moment he heard his teacher on the phone that it wouldn't end well for him. Not only was it an example of him outshining Dudley (who would certainly not be receiving any personal commendations from teachers anytime soon) but it was a situation where Harry stood out from his classmates. Abnormality, even cases of outperforming the average, were scorned in the Dursley household. But even considering all of that his uncle had reacted too strongly. That reaction had been beyond anything Harry had expected, and he still wasn't sure what had caused it.
But while the severity of the reaction puzzled him, he knew one thing for certain: he had made a mistake. His pride had demanded he show what he could do, demanded that he throw everyone's expectations back in their faces. He'd listened and look where that got him. Harry recalled that satisfaction he'd felt at Mrs. Kaltenbach's shock and scowled. Was that it? He went through all of this, suffered through all of this, just for that one silly little moment?
He hated how people saw him. From the dumb kid his teacher saw, to the weird loner his classmates avoided, to even the Dursley's demands that he remain on the bottom side of average in every facet of life. But busting through those preconceptions wasn't worth it. Harry had his little rebellion against the program and his back bore the scars for it.
It wasn't just tonight, either. Connor's betrayal, that little trick of Dudley's, had only caught him so easily because of his desire to break expectations. It was his desire for a friend, desire to change how even just one of his classmates expected him to be, that blinded him to Connor's real motives.
No, this wouldn't do at all. Better to seem as people expected, play to their misconceptions, than deal with the consequences of breaking them. The more Harry thought about it, the more he liked it. In a way, it would allow him the element of surprise. If he could keep his feelings private, while playing off people's expectations, it would be like a permanent ace in his sleeve. His old scowl was forgotten as the ideas raced through his mind. If you can convince people that you are who they expect you to be, they aren't likely to recognize you for who you truly are. It wouldn't exactly be true freedom, but it may be the next best thing. Sitting in his cupboard, grinning through the pain of his ravaged back, Harry formulated the second of Harry Potter's 3 Rules For An Optimal Life:
2. Play to people's expectations so that no one will recognize who you really are.
Harry liked trees. They're pretty, they provide shade, and their branches always felt like a haven from the world. Nearly any chance he got to escape the Dursley household would see him as he was now, laying on a thick branch, lounging high off the ground. Even the incident in year 3 and his subsequently mangled arm hadn't managed to kill his appreciation for trees and climbing them. Besides, it wasn't like there was a traitorous little bastard waiting up every tree to push him off. It had been almost 2 full years since his little not-so-accidental fall, but even still he could feel his hands clench in anger at the memory. The old angered quickly sputtered a moment later though, unable to sustain itself in the face of the calm atmosphere of his little sanctuary.
The day was Sunday, or Park Day as Harry had come to think of it, named after his Aunt's habit of banishing him from the household at the end of every week. As he got older, he had learned just why his weekly day of roaming happened. This was when the Dursleys went to church, somewhere that Harry had been assured "people like him had no place." Harry knew better than to ask for further explanation after that, and frankly he had no wish to change the current system. Park Day was the slice of freedom in a life filled with overbearing oversight. An opportunity to wander, to laze about, and even to practice his hobbies. Thinking of his hobbies, Harry decided his rest had been long enough. Rising reluctantly from his supine position he began picking his way down the tree he had scaled.
He had quickly found, after deciding on his second Rule, that it was not so easy to practice as his first. His first Rule hadn't required skill after all, just look the other way instead of sticking your neck out when you saw someone struggling. The second on the other hand, well that was another matter entirely. Sure, matching some people's expectations was easy enough. His classmates – and most of the neighborhood in fact – expected a troubled loner. That was easy enough to pull off, just pull on a moody expression and lash out once or twice a month. It was in dealing with strangers that the trouble began. To act as they expected him to, he had first had to figure out exactly what it was they expected. Over the months after he adopted his second Rule he had slowly learned to pick up on the hints people dropped. Facial expressions, whether they went for a casual or formal greeting, even whether they made eye-contact told a story. He had yet to master the art of reading people, but he had come a long way from being clueless.
That was when the next problem reared its head. It hadn't taken long to discover that acting wasn't easy. Far from it, in fact. Even when he knew what people expected he often found portraying it to be beyond him. He had lost count of how many strange looks he had earned from strangers when his attempt at an innocent smile came out as a psychotic grimace or vice versa. The best remedy Harry could find was simple practice; a process that proved effective and infuriatingly slow going in equal measure.
School was a constant practice dummy for him, what with its consistent stock of both children and adults to try and sell his fabricated emotions to. But it came with significant limitations. For one thing, that stock population was limited. There were only so many teachers and students he could interact with, and he couldn't very well act the innocent child and the witty prodigy to the same person without being labeled as unequivocally insane. He was convinced that some of his teachers still thought he was bipolar, despite his efforts to avoid double-dipping in his acting practice, but some sacrifices had to be made. If anything, his practicing was probably helping him achieve his second Rule given how much garbage the Dursleys had "informed" his teachers to look out for with him. But while school was helpful, it was the days Petunia released him onto the town where the best progress was made.
Park day had become Practice Day as much as anything else at this point, not that he was going to change his name. The opportunity to roam and interact with strangers was a god send, even if it only came once a week. Seeing an old lady walking toward him down the street, Harry drew upon his best innocent smile and started toward her to ask directions. She would be the first test subject of the day, but certainly not the last.
O-O-O-O-O
A few hours and a few dozen conversations later, Harry found himself taking a break in the local park. The practice was necessary, but that didn't make it any less tiring. He sunk onto a bench with a sigh, glancing around to take stalk of his company.
The park was a small thing, serving only a few suburban neighborhoods in the sprawling sameness that was Surrey. It was a simple affair, a play structure surrounded by a smattering of benches, ringed in by some open grass and there was even a wooded area at one end. There was access from two sides, each leading to separate but parallel suburban streets, though one street was largely blocked from view as it ran behind the end with the trees.
There were children smaller than him clambering over the play structure, half-attentive parents loitering around while their children entertained themselves. A few older girls were huddled across from him under a tree, giggling over whatever it was capable of amusing girls. Harry kept scanning casually, searching for anything, or anyone, that should worry him. Normally he would have stopped already, contented that nobody here wished him harm, but he had a feeling that something was off. It took a few minutes more, but he eventually managed to spot him, loitering a full fifty meters away on the sidewalk running adjacent to the park.
It was Connor, and he had clearly seen Harry before Harry had seen him. He was trying to act like he hadn't, looking at the sky in a poor attempt to seem distracted. But every few seconds, like clockwork, he would sneak a glance toward Harry and his bench.
Harry let out a sigh, well aware that his little day out had suddenly gotten more complicated. To say Harry and Connor didn't get along was like saying water and electricity were bad for your health. Connor was always eager to bully Harry, eagerness that was likely only outstripped by Dudley himself in his cousin's little gang. Harry figured it was lingering guilt over how they met, guilt that he was overcompensating for. Harry didn't care much why he was such a motivated antagonist to him though, occupied as he was dealing with the consequences.
Honestly, Connor wasn't much bigger than Harry himself, which was saying something consider the not-so-filling diet the Dursleys had him on. If he timed it right, hit him from behind or something, he could probably take him. He spent a lot of time thinking about this, particularly after intense games of Harry Hunting- Dudley's violent cross between tag and hide and seek of which Harry was the sole victim. The problem wasn't Connor himself though, but rather who had his back. Dudley's gang was more than capable of paying him back in double if he tried anything. Even if, by some miracle, he got the better the better of Dudley he knew Vernon would make sure that was his last action.
No, the best thing Harry could do was avoid the other boy. With that thought in mind, he quickly stood and began to walk the opposite direction of his tormentor. He made sure to keep his stride casual and resist looking over his shoulder, he didn't want to tip off Connor that he'd been spotted. He hoped the other boy wouldn't follow him, that he would just carry on with his day, but it didn't hurt to be careful.
His precautions paid off. Connor was following him. Harry had wrapped his path into the small forest that separated the park from the houses behind it. Harry snorted; calling it a forest was more than it deserved, but it had served his purpose well enough. The area of trees was only about 30 feet long, but it was enough to hide him from the sight of those in the park. The second he passed behind a tree he had pressed himself to the back of it, peaking around for a sight of the other boy. He had been there, hurrying through the park at a trot as he abandoned his "stealth" so as not to lose track of Harry.
Harry stopped only long enough to gather that he was being followed before he darted from his hiding spot. Years of being chased did wonders for stamina, and Harry was quick when he needed to be. Slipping between trees at a sprint, he could just make out a shout of surprise as Connor saw his quarry making a break for it. Harry began to pull away, clearly faster than the other boy. He would have gotten away then and there if it weren't for his misfitting wardrobe.
Suddenly, before he could realize what was happening, his foot came down on his own pantleg, the rolled-up end of Dudley's old jeans falling to its full length and tripping him up. He felt his ankle twist, not enough to be a serious injury but enough to stop him from springing back to his feet. Twisting to look behind him he could make out Connor bearing down on him, far too close now to be able to hide. Connor had seen his slip as well, and his face had lit up in a satisfied smile. Slowing to a jog and trying to hide his heavy breathing, Connor opened his mouth to speak.
Harry wasn't sure exactly what caused the feelings that came over him then. It could have been the smug expression of Connor's face, or the shock over his sudden fall, or maybe it was just the old anger from Connor's double cross boiling over. Whatever the cause, Harry felt something snap. He was tired of running, of hiding, of accepting whatever shit anyone wanted to do to him. Rationally speaking he had no chance in this situation, the element of surprise he would need to beat Connor being long since passed. But Harry wasn't thinking with the rational part of his mind in that moment. He felt all that anger he had for the boy in front of him, harnessed it, and threw his arms out.
Connor had started to chuckle at what he saw as a desperate attempt to fend him off. His humor didn't last long. Before his laugh could fully escape his throat, he was hurtling backwards, striking a thick trunk with jarring force. Harry was lucky; the shock of the flight and impact meant Connor could only muster a pained moan, rather than a full-fledged scream. No worried adults would be rushing over from the adjacent park; not yet anyway.
There was a moment of peace in the little grove, Connor's muted groans providing the only human noise. Harry simply stared at his hand in befuddlement. He had wanted to hurt Connor, he had wanted something to happen, but he hadn't really expected anything to come of it! What was he? Emperor Palpatine?
The groans from the clearings other occupant rose slightly in volume and Harry dragged his attention back to the other boy. For a moment fear gripped him, the reasons he hadn't ever fought back before springing to mind. But that fear was quickly supplanted by anger. Everyone always thought they could pick on him, do whatever they wanted to him, and he could never do anything about it because of that stupidly strong whale he called an uncle. Vernon controlled so much of his life, all because Harry lived in fear of what he could do to him!
Harry blinked. Fear. That was how his Uncle kept him in line, but what if Harry used it to keep his Uncle from ever knowing that he'd broken his rules? An idea springing into his mind, Harry scooped up a sharp rock and made his way over to his felled classmate, the pain from his foot largely forgotten.
The boy was clearly injured, clutching his midsection as tightly as he was, but he still seemed coherent. Harry's trek across the clearing towards him drew the boy's attention and he inhaled, preparing to call for help. Harry nipped any such attempt in the bud.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Harry intoned casually, as if they were having an innocent chat. "The people over there would get to us pretty quick, but I would get to you quicker."
The entire time he spoke his face held a friendly smile, a sight somehow scarier than any expression of rage could manage. His words worked, and Connor's mouth quickly shut with a clack.
Harry stopped when he was directly above his downed classmate, smile still fixed firmly in place.
"See, me and you don't like each other, we can agree on that. But I have a problem with our current arrangement. You insult me in the classroom, torment me on the playground, and now you even chase me on the weekend. I think I've had quite enough with you." Suddenly Harry dropped to a kneeling position, knee pressing firmly on Connor's neck. "That is about to change."
From his position on the ground Connor's eyes were filled with fear, consistently drifting to the sharp rock clutched in Harry's hand. Internally Harry let out a sigh of relief that his little performance seemed to be working, though he was careful not to let any hint of that relief show on his face.
"You broke my arm, you know? Pretty nasty introduction that, especially to the bloke who tried to help you. So, I'm thinking to myself, if that's your idea of a thank you, what could I possibly do to you that would register as a punishment?" Harry paused, glancing down at the rock in his hand before bringing it to rest an inch above Connor's face, point facing down. "This is the best I can come up with; you fuck with me again, and I stab you out your eye."
The words were filled with cheer that didn't match their nature, and the threat echoed across around the little clearing in the silence that followed it. Harry's nose twitched slightly as he caught a whiff of urine on the air. It didn't surprise him looking at Connor's face.
Slowly, gradually, Harry shifted his weight off the other boy and stepped back. The instant he could rise Connor did so, staggering for the edge of the clearing as desperation tried to overcome the pain in his injured midsection. Before he could pass out of the clearing however, Harry's voice called out one final time; "Tell anyone about this, about anything that happened here today, and I'll stab out both your eyes."
Connor nodded hastily to show that he understood before stumbling away back into the park. Once he was out of sight Harry turned and made off in the opposite direction, not wanting to be found anywhere near where the injured boy had come from. The cheerfulness he had forced onto his face faded away, replaced by a worried expression.
That had been a risk. He knew he scared the boy, but he didn't yet know if it had been enough. One comment from Connor about anything that had just happened, and Harry was well and truly fucked.
His misgivings began to fade as time passed however, satisfaction rising in its place. That had felt good, damn good. If the rat ratted him out, he would deal with the consequences then, for now he could bask in his memories of Connor's petrified face.
He doubted he would be able to follow through with his little threat, even if given the reason and opportunity to. Given Connor's reaction though, he highly doubted the boy had realized that. Shaking his head ruefully as he walked, Harry realized that his break in the park had instead become the most intense bit acting practice he had ever done.
Exiting the trees onto the quiet suburban street that ran behind the park, Harry could see the stun was still stuck high in the sky. He had a few hours yet before Petunia would expect him back to start on dinner and it wouldn't do to waste half of Park Day. Shoving down his feelings over his impromptu rebellion, he glanced around for the nearest stranger and pondered what personality to aim for when addressing them.
O-O-O-O-O
Glancing across the classroom Harry briefly locked eyes with Connor. He couldn't suppress the smirk that spread across his face as the other boy hastily looked away. Nearly two weeks down and the boy hadn't uttered a peep about the events in the clearing. At least Harry assumed so, after all that was the only explanation for why no one had confronted him about it. Whether it was his threat with the rock or his little Sith Lord impression Harry would never know, maybe some combination of the two, but ultimately whatever it was had worked.
Thinking about his little bout of telekinetic violence his smirk faded to a more neutral expression. He hadn't a clue what that had been about. Since that day there had been no reappearance of any supernatural capabilities. He had tried to recall and recreate that moment in every way he could think of, but no luck. Hell, he might've decided he imagined it all if it weren't for Connor's bandaged midsection that first Monday. It was a source of constant frustration for him, knowing that there was something more holding itself just outside his reach. Frustrated, Harry was once again forced to table those thoughts with no visible path forward.
Instead, he shifted his thoughts to another project that had been on his mind: the development of a third Rule. His thorough demolition of Connor had worried him at first; even now he could see it was reckless. Sure, it seemed to have worked, but that didn't mean those sorts of risks would pay off if he tried his luck again. But despite his misgivings about his approach Harry felt better than he had in years.
He had grown accustomed to his hatred of Connor, hatred born after their rather terrible introduction, and it wasn't until after that Park Day the Harry realized how much it had affected him. All of a sudden it felt like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders, and all it took was scarring a twerp till he pissed his pants. Harry twitched as he realized the irony of him calling anyone else a twerp and quickly pressed on with his thoughts. The point was, getting some of his own back had lifted his spirits like few things before it. After so many years of turning the other cheek, he had finally managed to turn the tables and he was relishing the feeling.
He wasn't about to go on some revenge spree striking back at all who wronged him in some melodramatic vainglorious crusade. He was lucky to get away with that one act of revenge, he wasn't about to push his luck anytime soon. But he had gotten a taste of retribution and with it came the realization that he wasn't the type to forgive and forget. He didn't know how it would come, and he didn't know when, but he would find a way to even the score with his family.
So, looking back at his first two Rules he now saw a problem with them. They would protect him, keep him from being backstabbed or attracting negative attention, but would he enjoy a life following only those two? No, something new was needed, a third Rule.
He would make a rule that would remind him to always get even with those who fucked him over. It was all well and good to get even with the Dursleys, but they weren't the only people to have wronged him and they certainly wouldn't be the last. There was a good chance they would be the worst, but that didn't mean he should limit his thinking to just his next of kin. No, he needed it to have a broader scope, to cover anyone that had or would wrong him.
Frowning, Harry scaled back his thoughts a measure. Stepping on gum someone had dropped would count as them wronging him, but it wouldn't do to go swearing vengeance against someone's entire family tree for such a silly little offence. No, just saying wronged was too vague, he would replace it with seriously wronged.
His musings continued in a similar vein, puzzling out wording and specifics until he had a finished product that he was pleased with. Unlike his first two Rules this one wasn't spawned from a place low point in his life. It wasn't anger over a betrayal or physical pain from a prideful mistake, instead it was born to feelings of satisfaction and vindication. This wasn't something to avoid like the others, this was something to seek out.
He wouldn't know it at the time, but this would also be his final Rule, the third in Harry Potter's trifecta of maxim's. Three lessons internalized by an intelligent child in harsh situations. The wizarding world would not be getting the Boy Who Lived that they were expecting, though on the surface he would seem to be exactly who they expected. He would face challenges, discover new enemies, and even forge a bond or two along the way. But he would do it his way – no one else's – and the wizarding world would never forget his name.
But this was far in the future, and none of it was known to the precocious child sitting in a classroom at St. Grogory's Primary School. He was smiling while memorizing and internalizing his third Rule:
3. No matter how long it takes, always get even with those who have seriously wronged you.