Title: Masquerade

Disclaimer: I do not own, wish I did, but I don't. Anything recognizable including all characters, places, and images are under trademark through JKR and the companies that publish the books and make the movies. I only own my plot line.

Author: ShaeLynn Teelle

Summary: Never ask questions. Never ask for anything. Hide the pain, hide the hurt. Do not discuss or mention magic. Do not trust those in power. Alt. Rea. OFC (non mary-sue) No slash.

If someone wants to archive, please ask first. You won't be turned down, but I would like to know where it's going. Thank you.

Polite constructive criticism is welcome; FLAMES WILL BE FED TO THE DRAGON IN MY BED.

Chapter 1

- 3 years old -

A little boy walked into the brightly decorated living room filled with pictures. But the pictures did not feature this little boy. Instead they were of another little boy, one that was truly not so little and whose cast-offs swamped the little boy standing there.

This little boy knew that his name was Harry, though no one around him now ever called him that. He had vague memories of a woman, hair so red the sunlight made it seem alive, calling him Harry and sweet names like his Aunt Petunia called Dudley.

There was usually a man beside her with dark hair like his own and big glasses that would pick him up and call him a good boy. Sometimes there was a big black dog that gave him sloppy kisses and made him laugh, unlike the small dogs that Uncle Vernon's sister had. They would chase him and try to bite him and the three adults would laugh when he cried because he was scared of them.

Harry summoned what little courage he had at three years old and approached his uncle. The large man looked at him and a scowl erased the smile that had been there. Harry swallowed quietly, but with the single mindedness of a child, he went ahead and asked his question.

"Uncle Vernon? Where my mummy and daddy?"

Vernon's face began to get purple and his hands balled into fists at his sides as he stood, towering over the small three year old. One hand picked up the boy by the neck, bringing him close to Vernon's face and his voice was cold when he spoke.

"Your parents were freaks, good for nothing drunks, unemployed wastes of space, and you are just like them."

With thundering steps Vernon walked over to the storage cupboard underneath the staircase, the only room Harry had ever slept in within that house. Vernon tore the door open and punctuated his next words with vicious slaps to the little boy's face where he still dangled by his neck from one beefy hand.

"Never! Ask! About! Them! Again!"

Then, Harry was thrown onto the threadbare cot in the corner and the door was slammed shut, the lock slid across ominously. Moments later Harry's sight went dark, his last thought was to never ask questions. Never.

- 5 years old -

The light entering the cupboard barely illuminated the small space, but the figure curled up on the cot didn't notice. He was used to being in dim light, but that wasn't what was taking his attention. No, that was the burning, gnawing pain in his stomach.

The cupboard had been locked for two days and for those two days Harry had been without food and without water. His mouth and throat were parched. It hurt to swallow and he had little moisture left to even do so. His stomach felt like it was tearing itself apart from the inside out and every time he moved it hurt worse.

'A piece of cake,' Harry thought bitterly, trying not to cry and waste more moisture. 'I just wanted to taste cake.'

Two days ago it had been Dudley's birthday. Everyone else had eaten their fill of cake and were watching the tele in the front room. Petunia was in the kitchen supervising as Harry cleaned the dishes, using a chair for a stool. He had long since gotten used to the scalding water Petunia made him use for cleaning and no longer made a fuss about it.

Only a little bit of the birthday cake was left and Harry had desperately wanted to know what cake tasted like. So, as he finished the last dish, he meekly asked his aunt if he could have a small taste of the cake she was already planning to throw away.

Harry had been cuffed around the back of the head and dragged to his cupboard. Dudley, Vernon, and Marge had come out to find what the commotion was about and had laughed as he was thrown into the small space. And he learned to not ask… for anything.

He curled tighter into himself as a particularly vicious grumble made his entire body quake. Dudley had taken to glorifying in his punishment and would taunt Harry each morning with how much longer he had. There was only one day left. One day before he could at least drink something to quench the pain in his throat.

'Please, let Aunt Petunia give me more than bread tomorrow. Please.'

- 7 years old -

Harry bit back another cry as the grease sputtered and flew. Earlier that week his aunt had decided he was old enough to earn more of his keep than his cleaning alone was doing. That first morning she had shown him what to do and left him in front of the stove with the bacon frying in the pan with only the caution that none of the food be burnt. Not even a minute after, Harry had gone looking for her, tears in his eyes from the grease splatters on his thin arms.

Petunia had clutched him by the shoulder and marched him back to the stove, forcing him to finish the bacon despite his pleadings. Then, he was sent to the cupboard without food and left there as the red spots from the grease began to blister.

Since then, every morning Petunia stood behind him, holding his arms near the stove and the boiling grease. This morning was no exception and though he had stopped pleading to have the burning on his arms stop, Harry couldn't hide the tears that still sprang to his eyes every time the grease landed.

"Soon you'll make every meal for my family. You'll earn your keep then. You'll learn to earn your keep," Petunia said harshly, her hands tightening on Harry's already bruised and blistered arms.

He held in his wince and forced his tears to stop. He learned, he always learned, and the lessons he learned in that house would do what only time should have done. That morning he learned to hide his pain, hide his hurt. And little Harry's tears stopped. That morning was the last time a tear was shed upon those floors from the boy that wasn't wanted. It was the last time Harry ever went to his Aunt or Uncle for anything. The last time for several years that he believed any adult would help him… or care.

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