Harry Potter and the Price Of Fame
Disclaimer - I own nothing. All belongs to JKR, with the exception of my OC's.
Chapter 1: Different
Harry Potter was different. He knew that for sure. How, or why, he didn't know. No one else he knew saw the things he saw. Strange people in robes staring at him as he walked through the streets. Big, black shaggy dogs following him home from school. Faint twinges in the lightning bolt scar that had always been on his forehead. He didn't know why he attracted these odd occurrences. All he knew was that he wasn't normal.
For eleven years, he had to tolerate these unexplained abnormal happenings and he seemed to remember each encounter most vividly. When he was only seven, a tall blonde-haired, cloak-clad man who was asking him a whole bunch of random questions about his scar, some Lord, and his opinion on snorkels or something. All he could remember was that the man represented a newspaper of some kind, and his name started with 'Z'.
Another man with brown hair, scars all over his face and dressed in normal clothes, seemed to appear almost every year on Halloween and Christmas, and always said hello to Harry. Some years, the man seemed a sickly pale, but his smile was always beaming whenever he saw Harry. His name was never mentioned during any of these chance meetings.
There were others, of course. The man with the top hat. The man with the long blonde hair and cane. The older lady with a vulture on her hat and a boy around Harry's age attached to her leg. The red-headed ones. The one with the monocle. The man who reminded him of a lion, who walked with a slight limp. The lady with the stern look on her face, scrutinizing him from behind her glasses. For some reason, even though the stares and smiles mad him uneasy, he felt he had a connection with these people. But that was silly. He didn't wear cloaks. He didn't have top hats, monocles, or scars all over his face. He was just Harry Potter. Just Harry.
For his eleven years at Number 4, Privet Drive, he'd learnt a few things. One, don't eat excessively, or you'll have a heart attack. His Uncle Vernon was never kind to him in the slightest. Uncle Vernon at least tolerated Harry, most preferably from a distance. Despite this, he was still his uncle, and when Harry was nine years old Uncle Vernon died of a severe heart attack, Harry was saddened immensely. Even though he was there when Vernon's body was found in his study, his grief was nothing compared to that of his aunt and cousin.
Aunt Petunia, after Uncle Vernon's death, locked herself in her room and cried for a week, leaving Harry and a grief-stricken Dudley under the care of a woman called Mrs Figg who came to the house each day, even though Harry couldn't tell when Aunt Petunia had asked her to. Harry heard her tell someone once that she felt empty inside. Like a piece of her heart was torn out. Despite what people said about how abnormally normal Vernon and Petunia Dursley were they were most certainly in love. The one thing they adamantly disagreed about, however, was Harry.
Harry knew he was never his uncles' favourite person, but Aunt Petunia was a different story. For reasons unknown to Harry, he was treated like an equal by his aunt. Not like family; more like a permanent guest. However, he didn't have a room. His uncle's study was a prominent feature in Number 4, and Vernon refused to remove his sanctuary, not even as a second room for Dudley's never ending pile of toys. Even after Vernon died, the room stayed the same; Petunia refused to empty, or even change the room, as constant reminder of her dead husband. Vernon wanted to force Harry into the cupboard under the stairs, but Petunia refused to let her nephew sleep anywhere she wouldn't. Harry, usually, slept on the lounge, which was fine by him. At least he was never kept under the stairs.
Dudley, however reacted differently. Firstly, he was stronger than Petunia. He didn't get depressed or upset, he just became, strangely detached. Secondly, he started to deviate from the Vernon-like path he was taking; he ate healthier, he exercised, but most prominently, he treated Harry better. He started treating his cousin liked his mother did, as if he was no more than a house guest that never left. He even let Harry play with his toys, which was unprecedented.
Harry didn't know why these thoughts were going through his mind. The images of all the strangers greeting him, his uncle's unusually pale face as he lay motionless on the carpeted floor of the study, the first time Dudley had let Harry play with a toy robot, all flooded his memory like a tsunami. Shaking his head to rid his mind of his recollections, he decided he'd get the mail for his aunt, who was cooking the family breakfast.
Harry walked past the cupboard under the stairs, and then stopped. He remembered, before Vernon died, whenever Dudley was being particularly mean to his cousin, Harry would always seek refuge in the cupboard. The place was supposedly haunted, Dudley's friend Piers said, so they steered clear of it. What they didn't know was that it was Harry banging on the stairs and howling.
Harry smiled as he walked into the small space. He knew that he shouldn't, but he missed it. Not for why he used it, but for the solitude, the feeling of being alone. As he sat on the makeshift seat – a spare wooden box – he heard a faint squeak. Harry's eyes lit up.
As he searched the floor with his eyes, and instantly found him. Looking up at him with small, beady eyes was his first friend; a friend he thought was lost forever. "Wormtail!" Harry whispered happily.
Whenever Harry was hiding in the cupboard, Harry would see the rat. The rat's eyes never left him, even when he was leaving. At first, Harry was nervous around the rodent, as he thought a rat living in this house was unsanitary, but, as time went on, Harry grew attached to the little guy, and ended up naming him Wormtail. The name, as far as Harry knew, came from nowhere, but was quite fitting.
However, after Uncle Vernon's heart attack, Harry didn't need the cupboard anymore. He forgot about Wormtail up until this point, and was saddened by the fact that, for nearly two years, his tiny friend was alone. Deciding to redeem himself, he picked the brown rat up, and put him in his pocket. "I'm sorry, little guy," Harry said sadly, "but I'll look after you from now on, okay?"
Feeling Wormtail getting snug in his pants pocket, Harry continued with his self assigned task of retrieving the mail. As he picked up the mail, he heard another faint squeak from his rodent companion, and smiled. Walking back to the kitchen, where he could smell the breakfast Aunt Petunia was cooking, he sorted through the mail, and, at the bottom of the rather large pile, he found a letter addressed to him.
Now, that was strange. Harry never got mail. The sight of the pale white envelope with his name on it written in green ink filled his heart with something like hope. Hope that somebody actually cared.
He left the other letters on the table, and looked at his letter.
Mr H. Potter
The Lounge
4 Privet Drive
Little Whinging
Surrey
The accuracy of the letter's address worried Harry. What if it was a stalker? Or one of those strange cloaked people who stared at him? Harry was slightly frightened by the letter, but eventually decided to open it.
"What have you got, Harry?" Harry looked up to see his Aunt Petunia looking down at him, craning her overly long neck to get a good look at the letter in his hand.
"Just a letter, Aunt Petunia," he responded as casually as possible.
"A letter?" she asked in a strangely nervous tone. "From who?"
"Uh... I don't know, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, looking over the picture, seeing only a large H stamp on the back, and the address.
"May I see it?" Aunt Petunia asked, looking quite worried.
Harry looked at his pale Aunt, quite perplexed about her reaction to a simple letter. Maybe she's worried about the same things I am, Harry thought. "Here."
She grabbed the letter with a shaking hand, and inspected every part of the envelope, looking longer at the stamp, before handing the letter back to Harry. "Harry, whatever that letter tells you, I... I didn't want to... Vernon said..."
"Aunt Petunia? Are you okay?" Harry asked, looking his Aunt in the eyes.
"Just remember Harry," Petunia started, tears in her eyes, "I'm only human. I made a mistake. I... I'm sorry, Harry." She then left the kitchen in a rush, crying openly for the first time that Harry could remember since his uncle's death. He looked warily at the letter, the feeling of dread filling his chest once again.
Harry had not been this scared since before his uncle died, and he had dreams. Not nice dreams. Nightmares.
He saw people. He saw one of them men who he saw staring at him, the man with the scars. A bearded man who reminded him of a dog. A smiling, chubby, wiry haired man who had a calming effect on Harry. A greasy haired man with a hooked nose whose smile didn't seem to suit him, but was present all the same. And a red haired woman, with bright green eyes like his. The six of them were standing around Harry, smiling down at him. Then, a green light filled Harry's vision, and a high pitched laugh, followed by darkness and a faint sobbing. And Harry always awoke drenched in sweat with his scar prickling.
But after his uncle's death, Harry stopped having these dreams. He was shocked by this, thinking he was scared by his uncle. But, he eventually figured that he was traumatized by his uncle's anger towards him, and his death relieved that.
Harry was shaking as he attempted to open his letter. He had the envelope unsealed, and closed his eyes as he took out the letter inside.
Opening his eyes, he couldn't believe what he read.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Headmaster: ALBUS DUMBLEDORE
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Harry Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry . Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Professors Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall
Deputies Headmaster and Headmistress
Harry stared, shocked. Witchcraft? Wizardry? What?
Suddenly, the front door flew open, and Petunia cried out in shock.
A/N: Hi! About time I updated! I know it's short, but that's just my writing style. I can't write a seven thousand word epic of a chapter like my brother, but I can still write. Hopefully.
I hope you enjoyed my first real chapter! I shall award a jar of nothing to anyone who can name all character alluded to in this chapter. Also, I'm gonna need the jar back.
I hope to update more often from here on out, but until then, please take the time to read Beletrium's stuff! He's really good!
Peace,
Kuhal