When Harry Potter was one, he understood what love was. It was warm and soft. When he cried, someone picked him up. When he smiled, they smiled back. When he babbled, they babbled too. He was taken care of, coddled, and adored. He knew that red was his favourite colour, even though he was too young to know it was red. He had the arrogance of all babes in that he felt safe, secure, and knew that whatever he wanted would be provided.
There were softly hummed lullabies as he was rocked to sleep. Warm bottles in the dead of night to ease the pangs of hunger inside. Soothing baths filled with giggles, splashing, and the gurgling indignity as water cascaded over his head. The horrid taste of peas. The sweetness of peaches. Squishy, squirmy feel of his cereal in the morning. The fresh scent of morning flowers as his mother approached and the crisp, sweaty smell of his father after a day spent in the garden. Whatever else he was, Harry was a happy baby.
His days were filled warmth, sunshine, and tickles from laughing faces. Being thrown up in the air and caught by trusted, broad hands perfect for aerobatics. Those same hands as soft as his stuffed toy as they wiped his tears when he fell after taking his first steps. He wasn't really hurt. It was the shock of momentarily losing his breath as he hit the ground. He was scared and this time, there weren't any hands to stop him as he came down.
Harry felt betrayed.
Then he was surrounded by worried, panicked voices. Hands that ran over his tiny limbs looking for wounds that weren't there. He settled, basking in the steady thrumming beneath his ear. He hadn't been betrayed. Warmth surrounded him again. He was loved.
You may not think a baby would know, but it does.
Then they died for him. Pulled away by a brilliant green light with the world crashing around him. Dark, dangerous laughter that filled him with fear. There were no hands to save him now as he fell. He cried. No one came. He fretted and searched for the warmth he was so familiar with and found stillness. Coldness. Silence. Until a roar broke the quiet aftermath, causing him to shake in fear again.
He huddled next to his mother, patting her hair, trying to get her to pay attention to him. She wouldn't answer his whimpers. It hurt. Everything hurt.
Then the familiar smell of leather and oil washed over him and he looked up. He remembered this man. Laughter. Tickling. Teasing. He was whisked up tightly into strong arms. "There, there, Harry my lad. Uncle Sirius will take care of everything." The pulsing under his hand, his ear lulling him into calmness. Someone had come. Someone heard his fear. A moment, a kiss to his forehead, and then darkness took hold as Harry slipped into sleep, secure in the knowledge that he was loved.