Trigger warning: suicidal thoughts This is the darkest thing I have ever written, dear god. Usually I do some h/c and light angst, but when I say this is angst, this is angst. (Or at least I think so. I've been staring at this story so long, I don't even know.) It does have a hopeful ending, because I cannot. But Harry does have issues in this story, including suicidal thoughts/wishing he was dead. There's no attempts, but I thought it wise to warn anyways.
Holy shit. This is officially the longest thing I have ever written. Ever. It first started out as two scenes. Two. Just little Harry freaking out about his soulmate either being Draco, who hates him or Voldemort, who wants to kill him. And then it evolved into this. Not that I didn't enjoy writing it, but it was a pain in the ass. Seriously, a pain in the ass. So glad I'm done with it.
Kudos to those who spot the Carry On quote somewhere in the mix of the odd formatting I tried this time. Not sure where that came from either. (So done.)
9.10.18 Guess who's back? You know how I swore I was done with this story? Yeah well I lied apparently. I never really liked the epilogue all that well when I wrote it, but I posted it anyways. Now my brain has convinced me to write another one. And write I did. There is now another alternate epilogue that is 72k words. That's right, you're read that right. I added 72k words to this. On a whim. Let me tell you, got way out of hand. But I am much happier with this one than the last.
I am also dividing this up into chapters now because it is way too long not to. Chapters 1-5 are the original story. Chapter 6 is the original epilogue. Chapters 7-9 are the new epilogue. If you read it, I hope you enjoy.
When a person is born, a name is printed on their wrist like a tattoo. No wrist is the same. Sometimes there are two names instead of one. Sometimes there are none. But these names have a very special meaning. One name is your soulmate. The other is your enemy. There is no way to tell them apart. There is no way, if you only have one, to know which name you have. There is even a theory out there that states that if you only have one name, that means that that person is one and the same – both your soulmate and your rival. There are also whispers about broken souls, but those are only reserved for the bitter and those society deems unacceptable. Those who do not fit the social norms.
One of those people, a small child, resides at Number 4 Privet Drive. Harry Potter, the nephew of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, was deemed 'a Freak' as soon as he was discovered one cool November morning by his Aunt. For not only did he have magic, both of the names of his young wrist were male.
Now the Dursleys liked to think of themselves as normal, ordinary, respectable folks. So to have what they saw as a burden, a scuff mark on their charming reputation, did not set well with them. Not at all. They could hardly bear to look at the child. Minerva McGonagall was correct when she declared them the worst kind of muggles. Lily Potter's blood may have run through Petunia's veins, but her love and kindness most certainly did not. Not for the one who mattered. The one who needed it the most.
Dumbledore sent Harry there for protection. For as long as Harry called that place home, he would be protected. What the Headmaster failed to realize is that a house is not always a home. Not in all cases and certainly not in this one. Harry Potter did not grow up loved and spoiled and well cared for as everyone in the Wizarding World assumed. He was hidden, shoved away in the cupboard under the stairs. He repaid the Dursleys ten times over for his 'care' with chores – cooking, cleaning, yard work.
He would never call himself abused, but well... you don't lock a child in a small cupboard with a thin cot along with a thread worn blanket. You give him clothes that fit, not his cousins old cast aways that swallow his small body. You give him enough food to eat. You don't work him till exhaustion and beyond. You hug and reassure him, not cuff him on the side of the head and call him 'Freak'.
Dumbledore left Harry there to be loved and protected. He was left there so that he was free of all the political chaos and manipulation that surrounded him. He was left there so that his growing fame did not go to his head. He was left there, according to Dumbledore's plan. But the plan was destined to fail from the start.
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A house is the place you stay. A home is the place you are loved. There will always be a difference. The former does not guarantee the latter.
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Harry curls up under his blanket, shivering as another chill passes through his body. The nights are cooling off and it is not very warm in his cupboard. His blanket can only do so much, as worn as it is. His fingers gently run along the names on his wrists. He has long ago realized what they mean. He also knows he has to hide them.
During the day his Aunt and Uncle insist he keeps them covered with the rag they provided. Not everyone covers their names, but he has to. Because he is a Freak. His names are wrong. They set him apart. Something else to target him for. So he keeps them covered, wrapping the rag tightly around the names as many times as he can.
But at night, he likes to trace them. He imagines what they will be like. One of them will be his enemy, he knows. But the other... The other one will be his soulmate. Oh, how wonderful that sounds to him. He imagines finding his soulmate and being taken away from here. He won't care that he is a Freak. He won't care that freaky things happen around him when he is upset. He will love Harry just the way he is. He will rescue him and Harry will never have to see the Dursleys again.
It is a nice dream. It gets him through the days when he can do nothing right. It gets him through the nights when his stomach aches and the cold soaks into his very bones. It helps him when he is sick and exiled to the cupboard so he does not infect 'the precious Dudders'. It encourages him when he has to do worse than Dudley in school. It gives him hope when his very existence is too much.
He soulmate will love him. He will.
Draco Malfoy
Tom Riddle
One of those two men will save Harry from this life. He is still loveable to at least one person on this planet. He has to be. Because if he isn't... he has nothing left.
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Dumbledore's plan counted on love. He never thought it would be withheld. He never knew what he condemned the young Saviour to. Or maybe he did, but justified himself instead. For the Greater Good.
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"Yer a wizard Harry"
Those words echo in his head as he sits in his 'new room', staring out the window. At least it's bigger than the cupboard. And brighter too. The bed is old and uncomfortable, but at least it is off the ground. Farther from the cold. He even has a sheet and a blanket. It doesn't matter that they are old and worn. He now has two.
But he can't focus on this new treasure for long. Hagrid's words keep coming back to him. They repeat constantly in his mind. A wizard. He is a wizard. That's why he can do all those 'freaky' things. It's magic. His magic. He has magic and he is going to leave this place. He is going to go to Hogwarts and not have to see the Dursleys ever again. After all, surely he can convince someone to let him stay over the summer. He'll already have a bed. And he has no problem with doing chores in exchange for letting him stay. And he can cook his own meals.
Anything will be better than staying here.
He continues to stare out the window. He wishes he could at least have a few of his new books to read. They sounded interesting. He had even managed to sneak a few pass Hagrid. Not the ones on the curses, but others. Ones about this new world. Learning was never something that Harry was encouraged to do. In fact it was something rather heavily disapproved of. How dare he be smarter than his wonderful, darling cousin?
But Harry was curious. He wanted to know more. What was this new world like? And the words that boy in the robe shop had spoken stuck with Harry. Oh he may be spoiled and he may remind Harry of Dudley. But he can't help but think that maybe the boy had a point. Not about keeping 'the other sort' out. But in coming into this new world completely blind.
The idea doesn't exactly sit well with him. Knowing is power because that is how you survive. If you don't know the rules, what is expected of you, you will face the consequences. So you have to know them otherwise you will be punished. He had learned that long ago. Be aware of your surroundings, know what is expected of you, do as you are told, don't stand out. Those are the rules Harry lives by. But now, going to Hogwarts, he is going to have to learn a new set of rules.
So he had snuck a couple of books the looked like introductory ones to the wizarding culture, it's history, Hogwarts and a few other subjects. He had hoped he could sneak them past the Dursleys, but no such luck. They are locked in his trunk in his old room.
So now all he has is his imagination to keep him company when he is not working. Which, admittedly, is most of the time. Uncle Vernon was not pleased with Dudley's tail. He has been quicker to anger lately and his chores are starting to add up. But at least he hasn't been cuffed on the head since he came back. That is something. Now if only they would feed him better.
But he is having trouble sleeping, despite the work he does during the day. The words just keep circling. He can't help it. Does this mean his Aunt and Uncle are wrong? Does this mean he isn't a Freak after all? They lied about his parents. Could they be lying about this as well? And if they are, does this mean he has a chance to have a normal life? Well, not completely normal, he does have magic after all. But so do other people. Kids his age. Will he be able to have friends? What if... what if he is able to meet his soulmate?
He traces the two names on his wrist. Surely they are both wizards. It makes sense, doesn't it? Why would his soulmate not have magic? Soulmates are suppose to complete each other. They can hardly be complete if one of them lives in a world the other can't understand or be a part of. So maybe, just maybe, he will be able to meet his soulmate. The thought makes him grin happily.
Draco Malfoy
Tom Riddle
He will be seeing them soon.
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Nothing ever works out the way you expect. There is no way to meddle with the future. Even Prophesies are mere predictions, dependent on human action. It is one big game of cause and effect. How will you act?
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Harry sits in the compartment, curled up by the window with a book in his hands. He is happy to finally be able to read. At this rate, he is not going to be able to learn the rules in time. He just hopes the punishments aren't too harsh. He can handle cleaning and missing meals, but he doesn't know if those are the standard punishments or if it is something more.
He has heard stories of canings and spankings at his old school. Not that he had ever heard of anyone who ever was. But what if they do here? He isn't afraid of pain, but it is not something he relishes either. Dudley and his gang had caught him enough times for him to know that. Harry Hunting was only fun if you weren't Harry.
So he is reading as much as he can. He had thanked the two older boys for the help and then slipped quietly away from them. He did like them. They seemed nice. But he isn't sure about the rest of their family. The mother... hugged him. And the boy was talking excitedly about 'Harry Potter being on the train, can you believe it?' He is glad his scar was hidden beneath his hair.
He is glad his hair is long enough to hide it. It is always long enough to hide it. No matter how his Aunt tries to cut it, it always grows back. But he has long grown used to hiding it and that looks like that won't be changing.
He hopes he can talk to the twins again, though. He is curious about the tarantula. It might almost be as cool as a snake. Snakes are Harry's favorite animal. He likes talking to the grass snakes he finds in the garden. And talking to that big snake at the zoo was wicked. He hopes he is alright, with the climate difference here.
He also thinks they might have seen his scar anyways, but they didn't say anything.
"Hello again," a voice interrupts him. The boy from the robe shop. "Mind if I join you?"
Harry shake his head.
The boy sits down. "What a let down," he complains, "Everyone on the train is saying about how Harry Potter is on it, but no one seems to be able to find him."
"Do you want to?" he asks quietly.
"Of course I do, but it doesn't look like that will be happening. He is famous, he should be easier to find then this."
"What if he doesn't want to be found?"
"Why wouldn't he?" he sounds genuinely confused, "He is a celebrity! He can be the center of attention. I know if I were that famous, I would want to be. But enough, what are you reading?"
Harry holds up his book.
"An introduction to the Wizarding World? You said both of your parents were magic. Why are you reading that?"
"They were, but I was raised by my Muggle relatives."
He shudders. "Oh that sounds horrifying. How could you stand it? But I can tell you what you need to know. Both of my parents are magic and they raised me."
Harry looks at the boy for a moment, before saying in a soft voice. "Thank you, but no thank you."
The boy rears back, clearly offended. "And why not?"
"Because you have a strong bias. I want information, not opinions."
"They are facts."
"Not everyone is Slytherin and... Pureblood?"
"Pureblood yes. And of course not everyone is. We are the best and not everyone can be the best," he boasts.
Harry gives him a pointed look.
"Fine," he huffs, "if you think my opinion is so worthless, I'll leave." And he does just that, pouting like Dudley when he doesn't get his way. At least he doesn't cry and scream and hit. Harry usually ended up being the thing he hit.
Harry shrugs his shoulder and goes back to his book.
But in the back of his mind, he wonders if something important just happened.
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The more things change, the more they stay the same.
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"Malfoy, Draco."
Harry jerks his head up at the name. Draco Malfoy. One of the names on his wrist. There, walking towards the stool is the boy with blonde hair that Harry has met twice already. Oh no. He is one of them? The boy had ignored him in the Great Hall, not even glancing his way. What if he hates Harry? What if he is really Harry's soulmate and he already hates him? But then again, there is no guarantee. He could be his enemy instead. In which case, it doesn't matter if he already hates him. He was destined to anyways.
"Slytherin!" the hat shouts before it is all the way on his head. Well, he was right about knowing where he belongs. He struts over to his table, head held high.
More names and then "Potter, Harry."
Whispers break out across the Hall. Everyone cranes their head to get a good look at him. He stares determinedly down at the ground, trying to ignore them. Their eyes burn holes into him.
"Alright Potter?" the stern looking Professor McGonagall asks.
He nods and she place that hat down on his head. It cover his eyes and he can no longer see the Hall, only feel their eyes on him.
"Well, well, well. What have we here? Oh you are a complicated one, aren't you? Now where shall I place you?" a voice in his mind asks.
"Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin. Not Slytherin," he repeats.
"Why ever not? Oh I see, this is about that Malfoy boy. Let me give you a piece of advice. Never let anyone have that much control over you. This will shape the next seven years of your life. Don't let one encounter deter you from finding your place. You can be great in Slytherin."
"Can I be great in another House?" What the hat is saying makes sense, but he would still like to keep his options open.
"Mmmmm, you do have the bravery of a Gryffindor. But bravery does not always mean survival, does it?"
"No," He knows that very well. He has been taught that very well.
"Either House will teach you something different. It is all a matter of which you value more. In Slytherin, you will learn to survive. In Gryffindor, you will learn to be a hero. So which is it? A hero or a survivor?"
"...survivor..." he whispers, even in his mind.
"Slytherin!" the hat announces to the shocked crowd.
Harry walks to the table cautiously. Draco Malfoy turns his nose up at him. The others follow. He sits at the end of the table, a safe distance from the others. On the other side of the Hall, the boy Weasley looks away, but the twins wink at him. At the high table, the Professor with the long black hair and forbidding expression glares at him. His scar burns.
It is going to be a long year.
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Slytherin House Rule Number One: Slytherin is Family. You must look out for each other because no one else will. The rest of the school will be against you because of our 'Dark' reputation.
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"My Father was right. You aren't my soulmate, you are my enemy!"
"Ah if it isn't our very own celebrity, Mr Potter."
"House traitor. How dare you go to the slimy snakes?"
"Mudblood."
"You aren't welcome here. Why don't you go back where you belong?"
"Freak."
Freak.
New words echo in Harry's head now. Words of hate and bitterness. It is as if people are going out of their way to make sure he knows he isn't welcome. Nothing he does seems to be right. He cannot figure out the rules to this new world. The sorting hat was wrong. He didn't belong in Slytherin.
He didn't belong anywhere.
Draco led a campaign against him in Slytherin. The Gryffindors naturally hated him. The Ravenclaws looked down on him for some strange reason. The Hufflepuffs were indifferent towards him. His Head of House hated him. His DADA Professor gave him a headache that lasted through his entire class, as soon as he walked into the room, with the aftereffects lasting until lunch. The other Professors were cautious. Worst of all, he could find no student named Tom Riddle in the school. He had no one.
He had felt a small flicker of hope when the Prefects told them the Slytherin House Rules, especially number one. He couldn't help it. A family is all he has ever wanted – people who loved and accepted him. Or even just one. He doesn't mean to be selfish, really he doesn't, so even just one person who loved him would be fine. Or even just liked him for who he was – not because he was the Boy-Who-Lived, but just Harry.
But no. He should have learned long ago that no one would ever love him. He did learn that. But for that brief moment, he couldn't help the hope that bloomed within him. Naturally that's what made it even more painful when he was proven wrong.
His Housemates followed the letter of the rule. They always surrounded him during the day. He was never left alone. They would protect him if he was attacked during this time, no matter how superficial that protection was. They appeared to help him in lessons, helping him with tips and patience. To the rest of the school, he was just one small snake among many.
What they did not see was that the protection was paper thin. He did end up hurt in some of those attacks, even as he kept his mouth shut about it. They didn't notice that the supposed help in class were actually taunts and sneers about his intelligence. They were as bad as Dudley ever was. Worse because there was only one of his cousin, not a House full. They didn't know that he was tossed aside as soon as they entered the common room. He was unwelcome there, an outcast among those who were suppose to be his family.
In short, Harry soon realized that this so called family was more like the Dursley's than he had thought. It was ironic – those same Witches and Wizards who proclaimed to hate Muggles acted very much like the ones Harry knew. They hated him and bullied him and hurt him in all the same ways as his other so-called family.
Harry retreated to the library. He had never been one for learning before. Or rather, he was heavily discouraged from learning before with fists and hunger. But here, he was encouraged to do the opposite. He was told in no uncertain terms that stupidity was not tolerated and was considered a failure to Slytherin. Any failed mark was taken up with their Head of House personally.
So he found himself a hidden corner in the library and got to work. It was something he quite actually enjoyed. He had always been a curious boy, no matter how much of that curiosity he had to suppress before Hogwarts. And he hoped that some of this information would help him with the new rules of this world.
Besides that, it was the only time he felt truly safe. It was the only time his Housemates would leave him alone for one thing. They would sneer at him and abandon him as soon as he set foot into the room. Apparently they decided he was safe enough. And if he did get in trouble, the most Professor Snape would do was take his displeasure out on the boy through detention. He wouldn't punish the rest of the House by taking points. So what did it matter?
The other Houses left him alone as well. The librarian was fierce, although she seemed to develop a soft spot for him. It made his lips twitch sometimes, because he was the only one. With everyone else, Madame Pince was strict and scary.
He could be himself within that hidden corner where no one ever found him. Even if being himself wasn't all that great, he was away from the expectations and the sneers and the taunts and the attacks that plagued him through the rest of the school.
Books became his haven. Soon Harry was sure he could rival a Ravenclaw with his knowledge and the time he spent in the library. Or maybe not quite. But he certainly knew everything that the noisy bushy haired Gryffindor did, even if he never showed it off like she did.
Harry thought she was trying to prove her intelligence in the wrong way. No one likes a know-it-all. He almost felt sorry for her, but she had to learn that on her own. Knowledgeable people are not hated, but show offs are. And those who make other people feel stupid just by being around them. Besides, how has she not figure out she is not letting other people learn by stealing all the answers?
And so a routine of isolation and loneliness and knowledge is formed.
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A House divided cannot stand. But is it really divided if it is one against the rest?
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One month in and he ignored them.
Two months in and bore it.
Three months in and it begun to wear on him.
Four months in and he walked around face blank and forward.
By Christmas break, he broke.
He was the only one who stayed in his House. That detail had been heavily emphasized in the past week. The laughter haunted his sleep. And then, on Christmas morning, he had woken up to find two gifts sitting on his trunk. One was an invisibility cloak that had apparently been his Father's. The other... it was what he had thought was a present. He had been so excited. At least two, or maybe one very generous, person cared enough to get him something.
But no.
It had been a prank. Inside had been a number of dug bombs that exploded across the room. Not only that, but... shite... had gone everywhere. Including him. He had scrubbed his skin until it was red and raw. Little creatures called house elves assured him they would take care of the room. But at that point, he didn't care. He couldn't take it anymore. This was worse than the Dursleys because at least there he hadn't had any hope. Here... here he had and now it was crushed.
Once his skin started to bleed from his washing, he dried off and fled the room. He couldn't bare another moment there. It was clear he didn't belong. He didn't go to the Great Hall, but wandered the halls for hours. He lost track of the time after a while. He also became lost himself. He resorted to simply opening doors in hope of finding someone. Anyone. Even Filch.
And that's when he found it. The mirror. The first time he had seen his parents. The first time he saw people who loved him. He sat down and stared. Just stared. This is where he belong, with them. Not out there. He would never belong out there.
A hand startles him. He falls forward to get away from it.
"Careful now," a voice warns.
Harry turns and gasps. There, kneeling behind him is Professor Black, Professor Snape's partner. He is a handsome and charming man, the opposite of the Potions Master. Harry has never interacted with Professor Black much outside of astronomy class. In fact he didn't interact with him at all. He never signaled him out like Snape did, but he never helped him either. He was just another student in that class. It was nice.
But if his partner hated Harry, surely he must hate him as well.
He backs away slowly until his back hits the mirror.
"Easy now, it's fine. I'm not here to hurt you," Professor Black reassures in a soft voice. "We were worried when you never showed up for any of the meals today. I volunteered to come and find you. Are you alright?"
Harry looks down and nods. "Sorry," he murmurs, "I didn't mean to be a bother Sir."
"No, I'm sure you didn't. Tell me Mr Potter, do you know what this mirror is?"
He shakes his head.
"It is the Mirror of Erised. It is a dangerous artifact that shows you your heart's deepest desire."
"How is it dangerous Sir?"
"Tell me Mr Potter, how long have you been sitting here?"
"I'm not sure. Not long Sir?"
"Supper has past."
Harry looks up, startled. "It has?"
"Indeed. Now let us get you some food and then to your bed. I will have the Headmaster move this blasted mirror to a safer place. Come along now."
"Yes Sir."
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Happiness can be found, even in the darkest of times, if one only remembers to turn on the light.
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The months after break were better. He was still ignored, but the ridicule and the jeers stopped. He was still alone, but at least no one made fun of him anymore. Not in his hearing anyways. They must have gotten bored with him. And he is fine with that. He will take what he can get.
He thinks he is finally getting some of the rules right. Keep your head down, don't draw attention to yourself, don't stand out – those are still the same. But, learn how to write with a quill, always do your best work, learn all you can, explore the school so you do not get lost again, be nice to the house elves, expect to be found wanting in everything, don't react, don't let them see your weakness – some of those are the same, but some are different.
Another thing has changed as well. Professor Black now invites him to his office for tea and a chat every week. He helps him with his homework, shows him how to use a quill, lets him talk about the things he needs to, offers him support. It is the most help he has ever received from any adult. It is... nice.
But Harry keeps his eyes open. Because he can't be doing this for nothing. Everyone wants something. Nothing is free in this world. Every adult has let Harry down eventually. So he will take advantage of him now and watch so he will know when this goodwill will come to an end. When the price will become too high for him to pay.
That is when he will run. Never let them catch you, it never means anything good. It is a very Slytherin outlook. The hat was right. He is learning to survive in this House. He is not sure about becoming great, but he is surviving. But there was one thing the hat did not mention.
Survival does not mean happiness. It breeds endurance, but not contentment. He may be alive, but he is not truly living yet.
Still, this is the lot he chose. He will see it out. He will watch and he will observe and he will wait. Because no one cares for him for long. Case in point: the end of this school year.
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Danger lurks around every corner. Always be on your guard.
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"Ah, M-mr Pot-potter," his DADA Professor stutters as he walks towards him.
Harry turns. His head starts to ache. He had been wandering the halls by himself, having given his Housemates the slip. Not that it was terribly hard. They still don't care for him, even if they uphold the image they do. "Yes Sir?" he asks quietly, eyes down.
"I am in need of some assistance. You will do nicely."
The boy looks up, startled. Professor Quirrell's voice just... changed. He didn't add one extra syllable to that sentence. He has a bad feeling about this. The feeling is proven right when Professor Quirrell raises his wand and he is hit with a flash of light. Everything goes dark.
He wakes up in a stone cold chamber. His head hurts even worse than before. He feels disoriented.
"Good, you are awake. Welcome Mr Potter," his Professor greets, still talking in a different voice.
He looks up from where he is laying on the ground.
"Come," he is grabbed and dragged in front of a mirror. The Mirror of Erised. A chill goes through him. Why is he here? As he looks, the scene is different than before. Instead of seeing his parents, he sees himself, older, with another man beside him. He instantly knows this unknown man is his soulmate. The man smiles at him and reaches into his pocket and pulls out a stone. He then drops it into Harry's pocket and winks.
Harry feels something heavy land in his own pocket, as if his soulmate put it into his instead of his reflection's trousers.
"I am told you have some experience with this Mirror. What do you see?" he demands harshly.
He instinctively knows not to mention the stone. Something is wrong here. Very, very wrong. "My soulmate," he whispers, "me and my soulmate. We're happy."
"And what else?" the hold on his shoulder tightens, going from tight to painful.
"Nothing."
"Foolish boy," he is thrown away, landing hard on the stone floor, "Do you even know why you are here?"
He shakes his head.
"This is the last protection keeping the Philosopher's Stone safe."
The Philosopher's Stone. The Stone that grants immortality and riches. Why is it here of all places? In a school full of children. Why isn't it someplace safe?
Professor Quirrell scoffs at him. "You don't have a clue in the slightest, do you boy? What a disappointment. But you're use to that by now, aren't you? The Boy-Who-Lived, a Slytherin, an outcast, a Freak. You don't belong anywhere. You are shunned by the entire school. Why would you know about this?"
The words hurt, but they are true. This isn't anything Harry hasn't heard before. Hasn't thought of himself. The truth can be a powerful weapon. It can cut deeper than any knife. It certainly does in this case. It is a wonder he hasn't bled to death by now. He has heard it so many times.
"Shouldn't the precious Boy-Who-Lived by able to get the Stone? If you do, I'll give you a reward. I can bring you fame, fortune. I can show you the place you belong."
And oh, how tempting that sounds. A place to belong. Somewhere he fits in. It's too bad he doesn't believe his Professor in the slightest. No one has ever done anything nice for him. Only Professor Black seems to care, a little. But he is still waiting for the price for his support, so that doesn't count. Not until he knows what he has to pay.
That is lesson number one in his life: Trust no adult.
It is shortly followed by: Trust no one at all. Always be on your guard. Nothing is for free. Those four rules at the core of his belief. His view of the world. He hasn't been proven wrong once. Those rules always hold true. So why should they be wrong now?
The pain in his head increases even more. He has to grit his teeth to keep from whimpering. He is use to pain, but this is getting bad. It is getting intense. How much longer can this go on?
He is seized again and brought in front of the Mirror. "So what do you see?"
"I don't see the stone," he whispers. And he's telling the truth. He doesn't. He's already seen it.
"He's lying," a voice hisses.
The voice sends a shiver down Harry's spine. It sounds like a monster. Where is it coming from?
"Master," Professor Quirrell whimpers and oh, this isn't good.
"Let me talk to him," the monster repeats.
Harry is released and he tries to make a run for it. But he is frozen before he can. He can't move a muscle. He can't even blink. The feeling of dread that has been building even since this began increases to the point that if Harry could move, he would have sicked up. His stomach is in turmoil. He head feels like it is about to explode.
Professor Quirrell removes his turban and what Harry sees will surely give him nightmares. There is a face in the back of Professor Quirrell's head. A face. And a deformed one at that.
"Harry Potter, we meet at last," the voice says to him.
"Who are you?" he asks softly, barely even a whisper.
"Don't you know who I am?" he sneers arrogantly, "I am the Great Lord Voldemort."
Harry doesn't know about the great part, but Lord Voldemort. This is the evil wizard that killed his parents. Who tried to kill him. He trembles internally.
"Yes, take a good look. This is what you have reduced me to. But no more. With the stone I will be great again. I will continue my reign. And I will not be denied by the outcast of my glorious House. You are a smear to the name of Slytherin. Give me the stone."
He just stares in horror and a tiny bit of exasperation. What does the monster expect him to do? He can't move. He is still frozen. But then he is hit with another unknown spell and he can move. "I don't have it," he insists.
"I have heard what Quirrell said to you. I will uphold that promise. I will show you where you belong. Just give me the stone."
He shakes his head.
"Idiot child," he hisses, "you are no match for me. I will have that stone, one way or another."
That tiny part of Harry's mind kindly reminds him that clearly he is more of a challenge than he seems. How else did he defeat him the first time. Harry always ignores that part of him mind. It gives him nothing but trouble. He has long since learned never to act on it. But it does make itself known rarely. And now is certainly not a good time. He just shakes his head harder.
"Insolent boy!" Voldemort thunders and for one brief second, he sounds exactly like Professor Snape. The thought terrifies him even more. As much as this monster scares him, Professor Snape scares him more. He wonders what that says, about the man.
Quirrell, or is it Voldemort, stalks over to him in a fit of rage. Harry now knows he is going to die. He just hopes it is quick. Voldemort, or is it Quirrell, grabs him by the neck. But before he can squeeze too hard, he jerks back.
"Ow!" he exclaims. His hands are burnt. Quirrell had always touched him on his shoulder, where his clothes covered him, before. Now that he has touched bare skin, it seems as if he is unable to.
"Do it you fool," Voldemort orders.
Professor Quirrell grips his neck again, squeezing it tightly.
"This is where you belong boy. Dead," Voldemort sneers, although it sounds strained. It must be because Professor Quirrell is in pain.
Harry claws at the hands, trying to pry them off. But it is no use. His vision is beginning to fade. Desperately he reaches up and touches Quirrell's, Voldemort's, face. The man screams in pain, but doesn't release him. Neither does Harry. The last thing he hears before he passes out is the monster screaming.
.
.
Life is filled with the unexpected. The strange. It is impossible to explain, to understand, everything. No matter how hard you try. Somethings happen for a reason. Some reactions don't make sense, no matter how hard you try to explain them.
.
.
Harry wakes up in the Hospital Wing. His entire body aches. It feels as if his cousin has played three games of Harry Hunting with him. Right in a row. He makes a soft noise at the back of his throat. What happened? Why is he here? Did someone curse him?
"Mr Potter," the nurse, Madam Pomfrey, greets, "how do you feel?"
"Fine Ma'am," he knows better than to complain.
"Do you remember why you are here?" she asks.
He shakes his head slowly.
"Well, hopefully it will come back to you. Although I wouldn't be surprised if it didn't. You have been unconscious for five days now."
Five days? What in the world happened to him?
"Now time for your potions. Here," she hands him the first of four. He makes a face at the taste, but swallows them without a word of protest. No whining.
"Very good. Now get some more rest," she tells him as his eyes slide shut, "you need the rest."
The next time he wakes up, someone is sitting beside him. The Headmaster. "Harry, my boy" he greets, eyes twinkling. His eyes always seem to twinkle. "It is good to see you finally awake. We were getting worried."
Harry is instantly on guard. 'Harry'? 'My boy'? The Headmaster has never paid any special attention to him before. In fact, he has always had the impression that the Headmaster is one of those who are disappointed with the way he turned out. He feels deeply uneasy around the man and wishes Madam Pomfrey would ask him to leave. His gut twists. This is not a wizard he wants to cross, but he is afraid he already has. Why is he paying attention to Harry now? Is it because he has shown he can be useful? He doubts that anyone was actually worried, but doesn't say it. "Thank you Sir," he says instead, looking down.
"Now, Madam Pomfrey has said you do not remember what has occurred, last she spoke with you. Do you remember now?"
Harry thinks hard on it. "Professor Quirrell, Sir," he says slowly, "he... did something and... the Philosopher's Stone? Then... Voldemort, yes, Voldemort was in the back of his head. He tried to use me to get... the stone. And then he tried to kill me. But I... I burnt him."
"Very good my boy. Yes indeed, Quirrell and Voldemort united to get the Philosopher's Stone. We found you both in the final chamber some time later. I see my plan worked as well."
Plan? "Sir?"
"Only those who do not seek the stone could retrieve it. I had found it in your pocket and have already returned it to its original owners."
"And Professor Quirrell, Sir? What happened to him?"
"I am afraid he is dead Harry."
What?!
"This burning you spoke of. It is an effect of your Mother's protection. You see, when Lily sacrificed herself to save you, not only did it reflect the curse, it also put a powerful protection spell over you. Voldemort will be unable to touch you. This protection is also what enables you to be safe at your relative's house. Because Petunia is of Lily's blood, blood wards can be cast. As long as you call that house home, you will be safe."
Harry stares at the sheets, determined not to think too hard about what the Headmaster just said. He nods his understanding. "Thank you Sir," he says.
"Get well soon my boy," the older man says as he leaves.
When he is gone, Harry allows himself to think. Professor Quirrell is dead. Harry killed him with his touch. He is a murderer for a second time now. First he killed Voldemort as a baby. Now he has killed his Professor as an eleven year old.
Murderer.
Freak.
Obviously Uncle Vernon was right to tell him he has bad blood running through his veins. Uncle Vernon. Aunt Petunia. Blood wards. As long as he calls the Dursley's house home, he is safe. Does he call that place home? He must, or the protection wouldn't have worked. But what if the protection and the wards are separate things? Harry doesn't consider that place a home. It is where he lives, yes, but it not his home.
He has no home.
But maybe that is enough? He does live there, sleep there, work there. Maybe that is enough for the wards? Because that place is not home. A home is a place you are welcomed and loved. He is neither. He is an unwanted burden and a Freak besides.
Voldemort was right. There is only one place he belongs. Dead.
.
.
Even the smallest acts of kindness can have great effects. It's a shame that so many people don't bother.
.
.
No one cares about Harry. Not for long, if ever. He spent two extra days in the Hospital Wing before he attended the Leaving Feast. The Headmaster was his only visitor during that period. Not even Professor Black came. Or even sent a card. Nothing.
He is shipped off to his relative's house without a thought. No one cares. No one cares if he has nightmares about what happened. No one cares if he is scared about what he is capable of. No one cares he killed a man. His Professor. No one cares about Harry Potter.
He is not worth it.
.
.
There is a difference between placing a child in a home where you know he will be safe and not grow up arrogant or self-important and placing him in a home where he is raised to have no self-esteem. The first is practical. The second is deadly. Too bad no one bothered to check which one it was.