WARNING:

I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I profit from this story. Not sure the exact direction this story is heading, maybe mature themes entailed. I thought about this story as I was yet again psycho-analyzing myself. Pretty sure I have paranoid personality disorder, at least at the moment. Evaluating all of my own idiosyncrasies, I thought what would the wizarding world make of a savior who is 'broken', how would the Dursley's handle a child with mental instabilities, what happens to a mind that's been corrupted by the killing curse? While the Dursley's certainly didn't welcome Harry with open arms, Petunia enjoys the attention she gets for being the care giver to such a 'frail' child (some of it is exaggerated, making her have a munchausen by-proxy type feel), while Vernon is still an ignorant bigot yet feels protective of Harry due to his fragility, making Vernon feel strong. As for Dudley, at first he is jealous and spiteful, then his parents encourage him to be protective of his weak cousin, giving him a purpose. Mostly ignorant but not evil Dursley's, mentor Snape possibly.

In a dilapidated shack on a godforsaken hunk of rock in the middle of the sea, a small boy cowered in fear. He was tucked away in the minuscule coat closet off the living area, knobby knees drawn up to his scrawny chest.

Harry had been much too anxious to sleep near the fire with his family. He felt insecure in the open area, needing to be somewhat boxed in to be comfortable. The creaking and groaning of the old shack scared him, causing a whimper to escape pursed lips. He was struggling to remember his breathing exercises, attempting to purse his lips while breathing to avoid a full blown breakdown.

While the unknown, unfriendly shack wasn't ideal, it was better than the alternative. Harry remembered back to the letters that caused this whole mess. In his 10, nay 11 now, years of existence he had never received a single piece of mail. That morning nearly a week ago, he had been instructed by uncle Vernon to fetch the post. Upon sorting the stack, he stopped abruptly at seeing his name on a thick vellum envelope. Mr. Harry Potter, cupboard under the stairs, Number 4 Privet Drive, Surry he read. After a moments pause, he reminded himself to breath, slowly re-entering the breakfast nook and approaching his gargantuan uncle.

Edging up to Vernon, Harry leaned in and whispered, "They've got us under surveillance". He slightly tilted the envelope towards the now alert man, allowing him a glimpse of the addressee.

Mustache twitching in agitation, Vernon snatched the envelope, crumpling it into his pocket. "Damnable freaks cant leave well enough alone," he muttered in condemnation.

Tittering in anxiety, Petunia wrung her hands, "What shall we do, Vernon?"

"Ignore them," he grunted, proceeding to return to his rasher of bacon and half dozen eggs.

The next day there was a dozen letters, and the day after two dozen. Everyday proceeding the first, Harry's anxiety mounted higher and higher. The dilemma came to a head when the house was flooded with letters, causing Vernon to rent them this charming cottage by the sea.

The flimsy front door crashing to the worn floorboards with a booming thud brought the bespectacled boy out of his reverie. A giant shadowed figure loomed in the entryway, causing Harry to panic, muscles tightening, arms clutching harder around his knees as his overwhelmed mind began conjuring the worst scenarios from his paranoid imaginings. As the Dursley's all clamored around the rifle pointed at the doorway, Harry gasped out shallow, labored breaths. Vision tunneling, he barely caught the bearded monster bending uncle Vernons rifle into a twisted mass of useless metal.

"Wer's 'Arry?" Demanded the ruffian in a thickly accented timbre that sounded like so much gravel, peering around for the lad.

"He's probably hiding, scared senseless I'm sure," barked out an indignant Vernon.

"Why'd he be scared, I've known 'im since he was a wee bairn," questioned Hagrid in confusion.

"He's mental, this would set him off on an episode for certain," bluntly stated Vernon in exasperation.

"He has anxiety problems and is probably in a right state," Petunia informed more delicately, heading to her nephews likely safe space, a small coat closet on the far side of the room. Reaching the slatted wooden door, she cautiously reached in and began soothingly patting the boys trembling form, attempting to reassure him.

Hagrid attempted to step towards the closet, causing Vernon to sputter in rage and step towards the closet protectively, "You just leave him alone now, he doesn't need you scaring him worse."

Guiltily shuffling, Hagrid watched as Petunia turned away from the open closet door, a small body clinging to her like a life line, heading towards a rocking chair to help soothe the still trembling boy. Settling herself and her burden into the creaky old rocker, Petunia proceeded to whisper reassurances against a head of long, unruly black hair as she gently rubbed Harry's back and rocked.

"May as well sit down and get this mess worked out," offered Vernon begrudgingly, heading to a threadbare divan his son was hiding behind.

"Didn't mean to startle poor 'Arry," Hagrid mumbled apologetically.

"What did you think would happen, harassing normal folks and barging in where it's not warranted?" Demanded Vernon.

"Dumbledore asked me ter come fetch 'Arry to school. Said somin 'bout 'is muggle relatives not givin 'him 'is letter," admitted the half giant.

"Those letters scared the lad out of what little wits he has," fumed Vernon.

"He has PPD, with severe anxiety to complicate the matter. Its what your lot would call a 'muggle disorder'," Petunia scoffed lightly. "He assumed you magicals had our home under surveillance. Then the continuous barrage of letters had the poor boy having a breakdown and refusing to come out of the broom cupboard, his safe space," informed the emotionally exhausted caregiver.

"We had to promise him we would find a quieter, safer place without threat of being drowned in a torrent of parchment," she stated quietly as Harry finally began to calm, peeking over nervously at the giant man settled tentatively on a hazardously rickety armchair, pink flowered umbrella perched across tree trunk legs.

"I 'spose tha might be a tad scary to the lad," Hagrid admitted, "M' sorry, 'Arry, didna mean to scare yah. Here on Hogwarts business I am. Vera important yah get yer school things an be off to the train an such."

"The boy doesn't want to attend your 'school'," Vernon sneered. "He's scared out of his mind at your mere appearance, what makes you think he would want to be stuck in a school with your kind?"

"Besides," Petunia interjected, "He has special needs that need met, our Harry is very delicate in health and does not take well to change."

"If Bumbledee or whatever his name is wants my nephew to attend his school he needs to meet with us to discuss how Hogwash will meet those needs better than his current school, Vernon ordered snidely.

Sighing in defeat, Hagrid stood abruptly, knocking his boulder sized head on an exposed beam.

"Ach, I guess I'll let 'im know. Sorry again, didna mean to startle yah 'Arry, happy birthday," Hagrid mumbled discontentedly, leaving a smashed bakery box on the trestle table before heading to the doorway, pulling the detached door back into the frame as he exited.

Clambering out of his aunts lap, Harry quickly approached the box, peeking under the lid. A very squashed cake lurked menacingly in the box. Eying the 'cake' warily, he quickly deposited the confection in the rubbish bin. It was probably laced with LSD.

"Let's get some rest. We'll head back home at a decent hour," grumbled Vernon, yawning as he headed back to his pallet by the fire.