You broke my heart the first time you looked at me without love in your eyes. I saw you gaze down, after I had fixed the vase Dudley had knocked me into, with hate and a little fear, though I was too young to know what it was at the time. I didn't know why the vase had knitted itself back together without any glue, all I knew was that I had looked at the broken shards and wished it was whole again. How little I knew back then. How was I to know that by fixing that blue vase I would leave my life in the fragments it was supposed to be in? How could I know that my room would be changed to a small cupboard under the stairs? How was I to know that you would raise your hand against me in the months to come because I broke a dish or burned a piece of toast? You broke my heart when you looked down on my without love in your eyes.
From then on I was just 'boy' to the family. I no longer got presents at Christmas, or candy at Easter. I didn't get a cake on my birthday or even a smile. I was five. You'd think I would have forgotten already, but I can't. I didn't know why you suddenly hated me, not really. Not until Hagrid came that year and explained it all to me, how my mother had been a witch, my father a wizard, how they had died and left you with me. But I still didn't understand why you loved me those first few years. I didn't understand what made you hate me. Was it just the magic? Was that all you hated about me? The magic? Part of me-a very small part-wishes that I was never a wizard. I wouldn't have this weight on my shoulders, Cedric's death on my hands, and I would have had your love. I would have had a family. But then I look at the Weaselys, at Ron and Hermione, and even Neville and think-they won't abandon me, not for magic, or lack of magic, or my connection to an evil lord. They love me. This is family.
But that little part of me still wonders, what if…