Legal Disclaimer: I own my stuff, but not the original source material. That belongs to whoever. Also, the opinions and interpretations I use here may not reflect the same in said whoever that owns the source material. Look, I'm just a poor college librarian. Suing me isn't going to get you anything but tears.

Warning: This work may be offensive to some readers. It also includes canon-typical child abuse that concludes in the onscreen death of said child. Feel free to back out if need be.

Author's Note: This is a dark one, y'all. Still within the bounds of the T rating and there's nothing that isn't already alluded to in canon. It is still dark.

Submitting Info:
Stacked with: Quidditch League (Season 10); RAVEN (2023); MC4A (Sp-Y6)
Individual Challenges: Quaffles (Y); Colors of the Sky; MoD It (Y); Magical MC; Sandbox; Reader; Cinematic; Gamer; Tiny Terror; Nonhuman MC; Ethnic & Present; Neurodivergent; Rian-Russo Inversion; Short Jog; Bucket Listing; Eating Cake (Y); Two Cakes (Y); Vial Collector; Outer; Lunar Era; Rainbow Connection; Hold the Mayo
Team (Position): Wigtown Wanderers (Seeker)
Round (Prompt): Round 10-06 ("The Song of the Seven" from Games of Thrones)
RAVEN Challenges: Settings [46](Death); Items [30](Chalkboard); Colors [117](Pitch)
Other MC4A Challenges: SpB [2E](Center); TrB [3C](Blue & Orange Morality); Chim [Oak]("Bonfire Heart" – James Blunt; Race Bend); Hunt [Sp Set (Orchard)]
Representation(s): Desi Harry Potter & Death; Dursley Family Dynamics; Multiple Song Prompts
Primary & Secondary Bonus Challenges: Nontraditional; Bee Haven; Machismo; Peddling Pots; Second Verse (Ladylike; Not a Lamp; Persistence Still; White Dress); Chorus (Odd Feathers; Pear-Shaped; Pocky Pockets; Wabi Sabi)
Tertiary & Generic Bonus Challenges: T3 (Tether); SN (Rail; Negate); Once (Moses Supposes; Santa Fe; Inchworm)
Word Count: 1851 words

(^^)
The Seventh One
(^^)
"Just close your eyes; you shall not fall."
– The Song of the Seven, George R.R. Martin
(^^)

Bess Carmichael stood at the front of the brightly decorated classroom, looking out at her new crop of students with a cheerful greeting written on the chalkboard behind her. She had been teaching for many years, and she knew that she had found the perfect niche for herself. The children were still young enough that they typically wanted to learn but having already had at least one year of formal education, they already knew the general rules for how to behave in a classroom setting. She was eager to start the year off on the right foot. She smiled at the children and began to call out their names as she took attendance. She made sure to look at each child who answered so that she could start to put faces to the name.

"Dudley Dursley?"

"Here," the boy replied. He was surprisingly rotund for a six-year-old, but Bess figured that would be something for the school nurse to worry about. Bess continued through her roster. Each child answered politely and simply, just like they had been taught in kindergarten.

"Piers Polkiss?"

"Here," came the answer from a boy sitting near the Dursley boy. Bess mentally noted to never comment on the boy's rat-like features where the students might overhear. The very next name on the list went unanswered, but that happened sometimes. Registration was typically in the late spring for school the following fall. Families moved during the intervening time and failed to notify the school.

Bess continued, calling out names until she reached the end of the list.

"And lastly, Yasmine Yarrowhart?"

The answer came from a Black girl sporting braids with plastic pony beads of various shades of blue. Bess looked between her clipboard and the group of children, her brow furrowing. There was an Indian boy sitting towards the back corner who she couldn't remember answering. He had pitch black hair that looked like it had never even seen a comb let alone had one used on it. He also had shockingly green eyes and a scar on his forehead shaped like a jagged lightning bolt. He was wearing worn clothing that was at least three times too big for his tiny frame.

"Is there anyone that I haven't called?" Bess asked in an increasingly stern voice. She should have known. There was always at least one troublemaker in the bunch. Bess sighed, feeling her annoyance rising. "You there in the back. Are you Harry Potter?"

The boy startled as if he hadn't expected to be called out on his little joke. He blinked his eyes at her, clearly debating how far he could take the prank. Fortunately, he decided to not continue it. He gave a hesitant nod instead.

"You must answer when I call your name, Potter," she said firmly. She would tolerate no shenanigans in her classroom. That was especially true for foreign riffraff. Why good taxpayer money was wasted on them in the first place, she would never understand. But her duty was just to teach them, not to worry about their shortcomings.

Potter finally spoke up, his voice barely audible and weirdly flat. He also refused to look at her in the face. No doubt he was abashed at being scolded, as was only proper.

"Here," he said softly.

Bess suppressed another sigh. She just knew that his failure to answer during roll call was a sign of something greater—a lack of interest, a disinterest in learning, or even worse, a lack of respect for her authority. She wasn't racist, but she could already tell that he would be just as much trouble as others of his kind. She would definitely need to keep a close eye on the boy.

"Very well, class," she said, determined to recapture a positive tone for the year. "Let's move on."

(^^)

Leo Noland was in his back garden, enjoying the warm sunshine and the fresh fall air. Magnolia Crescent was a nice neighborhood. It abutted the Privet Drive neighborhood, with only a graveled alley between the backs of properties on either street. He had more problems with the dotty old lady across the street than anyone from Privet Drive. Arabella Figg had at least a dozen cats that she allowed to run wild.

Just as he was finishing raking his leaves into a pile, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and squinted over the short picket fence at the back of his property. A young boy, no more than eight and wearing ill-fitting clothing, was rummaging through his trash. Leo watched, offended. The boy should go eat at home if he was hungry. And if his parents wouldn't feed him, then who was Leo to judge their parenting choices? He knew if he didn't do something, the child would just keep coming back, or worse, get it in his head to break into Leo's house! Who knew with these criminal types?

Leo raised his rake and started running towards the boy.

"Leave my trash alone!" he shouted.

The boy immediately dropped the container of takeaway he was holding and ran off as fast as his legs could carry him. Leo stopped at the edge of his yard, panting from the short sprint. As the boy raced away down the alley, Leo felt a strange satisfaction.

For a moment, the world seemed to make sense. He had chased the boy off, and justice had been served. He felt powerful. More importantly, he had done his civic duty.

(^^)

Karen Simmons had been watching the library like a hawk since she arrived this morning. It was her duty to make sure everyone was behaving properly and following the rules. She prided herself on her vigilance, and it kept the library a safe and orderly place.

Suddenly, something caught her eye. Across the room, a young boy with dark skin and a blue Henley that clearly didn't fit had started running recklessly through the aisles. Karen felt her face harden in disapproval. She marched over to the boy's path. When he tried to pass her, she grabbed his arm and started dragging him towards the main doors of the library.

"Let me stay, please!" he begged, struggling against her grip. He kept looking worriedly back at the way that he had come, as if he had an accomplice that would help him. She made a mental note to go check when she had expelled the boy. Karen shook her head.

"No," she said, giving the boy a shake sharp enough to make his teeth snap together. "I won't have that kind of behavior in my library. If you come back, I'll call security." With that, she released the boy and watched him slink away in the drizzle that had been falling all day.

Karen wiped her hands against each other before heading back to check the stacks. She was disappointed in the boy's behavior, but she was confident that her sternness had sent the message that such behavior was not tolerated in her library. With a sense of satisfaction, she returned to her post, ready to keep watch over her beloved library once again.

(^^)

Harry trudged through the thick blanket of snow covering the ground of the orchard outside of Aunt Marge's little property. The icy chill seeped through his thin coat, stinging his skin. He was exhausted and had been walking for what seemed like hours, though it couldn't have been more than just a couple. It was incredibly cold outside, and the icy wind was cutting through every inch of his body.

He had just been kicked out of Aunt Marge's house for burning dinner, and now he had nowhere to go. He had hoped he would be able to find sanctuary somewhere, anywhere, but he couldn't seem to find it. The snow obscured the road that would have led into town, and he wasn't familiar enough with the area to find his way around without it. So he was left with no shelter except for the dormant apple trees and snow.

Harry was scared and confused, but he knew he had no other choice. He curled up into a ball at the base of a tree, trying to stay warm. As he lay there, he could feel the snow beginning to pile up around him and noticed how dark the sky had become. He realized he was in for a long night, but it wasn't like this was the first time in his eight years of life that he had been forced to sleep outside as punishment. He was just usually in Little Whinging and knew a few well protected hiding spots.

He tried to think of something to keep his mind off the cold, so he began to think of his aunt, specifically his Aunt Petunia who he lived with alongside his cousin Dudley and Uncle Vernon. He thought of how Aunt Petunia had always been so strict with him, and how angry she was when he made mistakes with any of his chores. He felt guilty and knew that it had been a beginner's mistake, but he hadn't been any more familiar with Aunt Marge's kitchen than he was the area surrounding her home.

The night seemed to go on forever, with Harry frequently waking with violent shivers. At some point, he must have slipped into a deeper sleep, because he woke to gentle fingers stroking through his hair. He rubbed his eyes, nearly knocking his glasses off his face. Whoever was petting him chuckled kindly.

"Time to wake up, little one," said someone. Obediently, Harry opened his eyes. A beautiful woman was crouched near him, smiling warmly at him. With hair and eyes as dark as the clothing she was wearing, she was in sharp contrast to the snow-covered landscape behind her. The only light-colored thing about her was the silver of the strange pendant she wore. "There you are. How are you feeling, ducky?"

"Fine," Harry answered automatically. Then he blinked as it hit him that he actually did feel fine. In fact, for the first time in his memory, he didn't feel any pain, not even the ever-present ache in his belly. His mouth dropped open in shock as he focused on the face of the stranger. "I feel great!"

"I'm so glad," she said, her smile gaining a sad edge to it. "Are you ready to go?"

Now it was Harry's turn to be sad.

"Do I have to go back to my relatives right away?" he asked, careful not to sound like he was arguing with her. Arguing or whining only worked for other children, never for him. Other children weren't freaks like he was. The woman slid her hand from Harry's hair to cup his cheek.

"You never have to go back," she promised. Even though she was a complete stranger to him, Harry believed her as if they were the oldest of friends. Hand in hand, they both walked out of the orchard.

Because he never looked back, Harry never saw the frozen body left behind at the foot of the tree.