Harry Potter "Starting Points" Chapter 1
Title: Starting Points
Word Count: 2515
Rating: light T
Fandom: Harry Potter
Warning(s): Slightly darker Harry
Character(s): Dursley family, Harry
Story summary: AU It was the beginning, the starting point, for the letters were written. They would never know who he truly was, despite being the boy-who-lived. They never saw him. They could never suspect it. Slightly darker Harry, Year One
First Chapter
Disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter, it is owned by J.K. Rowling. I only have my imagination and dissatisfaction.
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The Beginning
Words seemed so inapt to describe such things…
It felt more like ignorance on the tongue of the wise. It didn't quite make sense, but there is this sense of wisdom that slowly corrupts the mind, for when one chooses to listen to one's own conscience.
Dumbledore should have understood this, should have known to listen. But I suppose no one can listen to what one does not hear, and he does tend to hear only what he wishes. A fault perhaps, but for one so powerful, it seems like it was needed. A chance at the breaking point, they've never looked too far into my eyes to see anything but emerald. They never saw the shadows that glazed my eyes, the hatred, and the rare power hidden underneath those irises. Perhaps, they would have seen red.
Sometimes, in the deepest and perhaps darkest parts of my mind, I remember the feeling of betrayal that stung as sharply as any curse, or any Unforgiveable. But no one minds the horrors that we face. I've promised myself I would make them pay. How? I have no idea! But I will; I don't have the choice not to.
It all started at the small Privet Drive 4, in the little town of Surrey that I realized the potential I had. But I must remind you this: Tears are easily shed when one does not feel the exact emotions of the victim. I pray that I can convey that well enough.
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The moment Harry Potter had awoken that morning, a sense of anticipation tingled down his spiny back. To some they would have seen a severely scrawny child, but the child was actually quite malnourished. Perhaps if they had looked closely enough, or saw what was in front of them, they'd have noticed that this certain ten-year-old boy was unlike any ten-year-old they've met. Although quite regular in appearance, no one could have such darkened, sorrowful eyes. They blinked owlishly at the bright light, scraping away the sleep from his eyes and smiling benignly.
Two days…
The longest he had ever spent in that stupid cupboard.
Two days without the freedom of breathing in air not covered with dust or spider webs. It felt glorious!
Making his way down the hall, he was vaguely aware of the news blaring loudly from the living room and his cousin flushing the toilet; the hum-hum of his aunt as she walked inside the house while holding a stack of mail in her hands, and the grumblings of his uncle as he complained about the world in general. They were all familiar sounds to the young ten-year-old.
Suddenly, his aunt paused, glancing up to meet his rather bright-eyed face. An eyebrow curved and her lips twisted dramatically in a rather ugly fashion. Her long neck arched, looking down at the rather smallish boy.
"Well?" she asked impatiently, tapping her foot.
"Breakfast?" Harry's impossible big emerald eyes lifted to her face, unknowingly looking into her disdained dark eyes.
"Yes, well… can't you make your own?" she sniffed, passing him without another glance before settling beside her husband, who plucked off a piece of bacon from a plate and did not once look up from the newspaper hiding his face.
Dudley, perhaps one of the most irritating human's in all of England, entered from the hallway with a rather gleeful expression at the sight of the food. The flesh clinging to his neck and face quivered disgustingly as he all but waddled toward his chair before greedily serving him a large quantity of food. Disgusting…
"Mum, why isn't Harry sitting with us?" Dudley said, managing to spit out pieces of bacon between words, ignoring his mother's vain attempts at wiping the grease from his chin with a napkin.
"Boys that wake up late have to prepare their own breakfast." She replied, once again scanning through the mail.
No one said anything about the fact that Harry had been in the cupboard for two days! Or the fact that he usually was the first to rise and prepare their meals, or the fact that he had been up ready before Dudley was even out of the bathroom. But never mind that, Harry knew that arguing would result in nothing.
With a sigh, he flipped over the egg and smiled at the sizzling noise it emitted. It was broken by a shocked and strangled gasp, which caused the boy to whip around.
"What!" the hoarse cry alerted all three males in the room, and soon all eyes were upon Aunt Petunia. Eyes rolled back as all the blood left her face, leaving it ugly and pale. Her mouth opened in a silent, horrified scream, but what really unnerved him was when the eyes snapped to attention and darted fearfully towards him.
"Pet, what is it?" Uncle Vernon reached across the table and jerked the letter from her. From where Harry stood, two beady eyes could be seen scanning the front of the emerald envelope, mustache bristling agitatedly as he did so. Those shrewd eyes, usually so narrowed and suspicious, widened in shock. Glancing between Petunia and the young nephew who stared curiously with eyes slit in mistrust, Mr. Dursley reddened.
Perfect, it's my fault! The boy thought with a grimace.
"V-Vernon, you…don't honestly believe we have to allow this?" Petunia whispered, horrified.
"O-of course not! Those freaks can't go against the law! And as the guardians, we have every right to say where he will attend school!" face still red and glaring at the mystified children, he sneered nastily while Dudley eyed the envelope with growing interest.
With a cough, Vernon stuffed the letter into his coat pocket and rose from his seat. With a vein pulsing in his forehead, he shuffled away with his briefcase, sparing his family with a rather strangled out, "Going to work!" before walking out the door and slamming it shut.
Immediately, tension eased out of his shoulders and Harry stared at the back of his uncle with a rather sinister smile. He was unaware that Aunt Petunia glanced his way, mouth twisting with disgust before turning back to Dudders' to wipe the bacon sticking to his chin. She did not miss the smile, or really, the rather gleaming light that entered her nephew's emerald eyes.
His size may fool many, but that did not fool her.
He truly was one of them.
A freak…
Not normal…
A wizard.
Just like his mother.
Flipping the egg over, scowling at the sight of the blackened egg, a plot twisted in the back of the mind of the ten-year-old. A plan to see that letter…
Anything that scared Aunt Petunia so much must mean something big is going to happen!
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In a typical day, Harry would not be plotting to steal something from his rather estranged family. Scratch that - since there was never really a bond between them, there could never be an estrangement. Their relationship usually only meant being isolated, ignored, and on the occasion, bullying from his oafish cousin. It was a non-existent relationship, and both parties were satisfied with such.
While Harry was picking weeds from the garden, an old gardeners' hat borrowed from Mrs. Figg atop his head, and sweat dripping down his face, a plan was trying to form.
Goal: The letter
Step one: Distract his uncle. How? Well…Harry wasn't quite sure of that. It would probably just come to him though, most schemes did. Like when he stole Dudley's money from Aunt Marge by making a pie, saying that Aunt Petunia made it especially for her "little Dudleykins"! It was actually for supper that night, but it wasn't like his aunt and uncle would scold Dudley for having a lack of impulse control when he saw the pie, conveniently, cooling off on the table with a plate, tub of whip cream, and a spoon. While he had been stuffing his face with the dessert, Harry had snuck inside his room. Predictably, his cousin had no qualms of keeping his possessions or money hidden. Instead there was a pile of cash sitting on top of his dresser. He did not even miss the twenty-pound note!
His uncle probably wouldn't be distracted by pie…or food for that matter, which left one option…his uncle's obsession.
The telly…
It could be really easy actually. Dudley had no idea how to fix the telly when something went wrong, and usually called his mother in just to retrieve the remote; Petunia didn't exactly have a knack with electronics, so there was little to no possibility that she could even manage to fix it before his uncle arrived from work. So that meant he would need to find the right moment to not permanently ruin the telly, probably between the time Dudley was bullying some kids in the park and when his aunt made her annual "rounds" peeking over the fences at their neighbors.
It could be very simple…if he managed it well.
A soft hoot and a flutter of wings snapped the young gardener's attention to a barn owl that had taken pleasure in stalking him since he had walked outside. Staring unblinking at the boy its' head ducked slightly, hooting and puffing up indignantly.
"What's wrong?" he asked, momentarily forgetting that normal people did not speak to animals, much less owls or…snakes.
Staring into the yellow, peeved eyes of the owl, it shook itself at him, giving out a rather angry squawk.
"Fine." Harry muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Picking up the pail of weeds he had pulled from the garden, his eyes narrowed as he heard the soft pit pattering of his aunt's feet making their way out of the front door and onto the sidewalk. With a sharp turn, it was unmistakable where she was headed; their neighbors, meaning, her annual spying.
Perfect…the thought purred. As such, when one sees an opportunity, one must seize it.
With a rather small, conniving smile, he moved silently across the grass, head turning left and right. Having not seen his aunt in sight, his tense thin shoulders lowered themselves, relieved.
Gripping the doorknob tightly, he felt it click underneath his hands before pulling it away. The deafening creak of the hinges paused him, breathing labored as he stole a quick glance around. Abandoning previous caution he slipped inside, willing himself not to make a noise as he scuttled across the foyer and to the living room. Apparently Dudley had already left for the playground, evident by the lack of presence on the couch. With a small grin, he moved swiftly towards his uncle's domain, the garage, where the tools and other meaningless stuff were held. On top of a box of tools, stood the one thing that would enable him to claim victory of his slothful relatives: large tweezers and a screwdriver.
Now to begin step two: temporarily break the telly.
Easy enough…Harry thought with just the slightest of smirk.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Definitely not!
Staring down at the collection of wires that had burst forth after taking off the back of the telly, it all seemed much more…difficult than what he anticipated.
Never underestimate something being simple…ever…He thought with a sigh while grabbing the tweezers in his overly large leather gloves. Best not get electrocuted…was the grim thought. Taking a deep, steadying breath he stared at the mass of colored cords. Fine…the blue one. It isn't as if they can't afford to get a new telly if I break this one. Tightening the grip on the tweezers, he placed its snout on a random blue wire. Adjusting his grip, and sucking in a nervous breath, he felt more than saw the wire snap in half. Stroking his fingers through his hair, he was only dimly amused to note the sweat clinging to his fingers.
Hopefully by the time I can read the letter, my uncle won't notice that it was purposefully cut. Heaving a heavy sigh, he began screwing on the backend of the telly again.
Step three: Wait for his uncle's return and snatch the letter from his pocket. After all, patience was a virtue and he had plenty of experience in that. Especially if it meant that he had a goal in mind.
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If there was one thing that his uncle hated more than Harry, it was having a rough day at work. When Harry noticed Vernon lumbering out of his car in a visible rage, muttering to himself, his task seemed more difficult.
Carelessly throwing the suit jacket in a kitchen chair, he stomped his way to the living room. "Pet, you wouldn't believe what happened today! Mr.-." Uncle Vernon paused, seeing the red-faced, tantrum building, and fist-clenching son while his wife vainly tried to soothe him with promises of buying a new telly soon. For a moment, mustache bristling he simply stood there. If he had turned around, he'd have noticed a skinny child reaching inside the coat pocket of his jacket.
"It's all right Dudley, see, your father's home and I'm sure he'll be able to fix it." She murmured softly, shooting Vernon a rather desperate look.
"Now, now, my boy, I'm sure we can do something about this." He muttered, all thoughts of work chased away by the big, fat tears streaming down his son's face
In the hallway, Harry grinned, clutching a rather wrinkled letter.
His plan worked. As he knew it would.
A/N Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I have to thank my brother for going over this chapter with me and correcting any mistakes I had. So if you see any, please tell me write away! Also constructive criticism is always welcomed. If any of you are wondering, yes, hopefully I'll continue past the first year. Will this be different from canon? Yes, I hope to add a few twists. Anyway, thank you for reading!
Word Count: 2515
Rating: light T
Fandom: Harry Potter
Warning(s): Slightly darker Harry
Character(s): Dursley family, Harry
Story summary: AU It was the beginning, the starting point, for the letters were written. They would never know who he truly was, despite being the boy-who-lived. They never saw him. They could never suspect it. Slightly darker Harry, Year One
First Chapter
Disclaimer I don't own Harry Potter, it is owned by J.K. Rowling. I only have my imagination and dissatisfaction.
--------------------
--------------------
The Beginning
Words seemed so inapt to describe such things…
It felt more like ignorance on the tongue of the wise. It didn't quite make sense, but there is this sense of wisdom that slowly corrupts the mind, for when one chooses to listen to one's own conscience.
Dumbledore should have understood this, should have known to listen. But I suppose no one can listen to what one does not hear, and he does tend to hear only what he wishes. A fault perhaps, but for one so powerful, it seems like it was needed. A chance at the breaking point, they've never looked too far into my eyes to see anything but emerald. They never saw the shadows that glazed my eyes, the hatred, and the rare power hidden underneath those irises. Perhaps, they would have seen red.
Sometimes, in the deepest and perhaps darkest parts of my mind, I remember the feeling of betrayal that stung as sharply as any curse, or any Unforgiveable. But no one minds the horrors that we face. I've promised myself I would make them pay. How? I have no idea! But I will; I don't have the choice not to.
It all started at the small Privet Drive 4, in the little town of Surrey that I realized the potential I had. But I must remind you this: Tears are easily shed when one does not feel the exact emotions of the victim. I pray that I can convey that well enough.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The moment Harry Potter had awoken that morning, a sense of anticipation tingled down his spiny back. To some they would have seen a severely scrawny child, but the child was actually quite malnourished. Perhaps if they had looked closely enough, or saw what was in front of them, they'd have noticed that this certain ten-year-old boy was unlike any ten-year-old they've met. Although quite regular in appearance, no one could have such darkened, sorrowful eyes. They blinked owlishly at the bright light, scraping away the sleep from his eyes and smiling benignly.
Two days…
The longest he had ever spent in that stupid cupboard.
Two days without the freedom of breathing in air not covered with dust or spider webs. It felt glorious!
Making his way down the hall, he was vaguely aware of the news blaring loudly from the living room and his cousin flushing the toilet; the hum-hum of his aunt as she walked inside the house while holding a stack of mail in her hands, and the grumblings of his uncle as he complained about the world in general. They were all familiar sounds to the young ten-year-old.
Suddenly, his aunt paused, glancing up to meet his rather bright-eyed face. An eyebrow curved and her lips twisted dramatically in a rather ugly fashion. Her long neck arched, looking down at the rather smallish boy.
"Well?" she asked impatiently, tapping her foot.
"Breakfast?" Harry's impossible big emerald eyes lifted to her face, unknowingly looking into her disdained dark eyes.
"Yes, well… can't you make your own?" she sniffed, passing him without another glance before settling beside her husband, who plucked off a piece of bacon from a plate and did not once look up from the newspaper hiding his face.
Dudley, perhaps one of the most irritating human's in all of England, entered from the hallway with a rather gleeful expression at the sight of the food. The flesh clinging to his neck and face quivered disgustingly as he all but waddled toward his chair before greedily serving him a large quantity of food. Disgusting…
"Mum, why isn't Harry sitting with us?" Dudley said, managing to spit out pieces of bacon between words, ignoring his mother's vain attempts at wiping the grease from his chin with a napkin.
"Boys that wake up late have to prepare their own breakfast." She replied, once again scanning through the mail.
No one said anything about the fact that Harry had been in the cupboard for two days! Or the fact that he usually was the first to rise and prepare their meals, or the fact that he had been up ready before Dudley was even out of the bathroom. But never mind that, Harry knew that arguing would result in nothing.
With a sigh, he flipped over the egg and smiled at the sizzling noise it emitted. It was broken by a shocked and strangled gasp, which caused the boy to whip around.
"What!" the hoarse cry alerted all three males in the room, and soon all eyes were upon Aunt Petunia. Eyes rolled back as all the blood left her face, leaving it ugly and pale. Her mouth opened in a silent, horrified scream, but what really unnerved him was when the eyes snapped to attention and darted fearfully towards him.
"Pet, what is it?" Uncle Vernon reached across the table and jerked the letter from her. From where Harry stood, two beady eyes could be seen scanning the front of the emerald envelope, mustache bristling agitatedly as he did so. Those shrewd eyes, usually so narrowed and suspicious, widened in shock. Glancing between Petunia and the young nephew who stared curiously with eyes slit in mistrust, Mr. Dursley reddened.
Perfect, it's my fault! The boy thought with a grimace.
"V-Vernon, you…don't honestly believe we have to allow this?" Petunia whispered, horrified.
"O-of course not! Those freaks can't go against the law! And as the guardians, we have every right to say where he will attend school!" face still red and glaring at the mystified children, he sneered nastily while Dudley eyed the envelope with growing interest.
With a cough, Vernon stuffed the letter into his coat pocket and rose from his seat. With a vein pulsing in his forehead, he shuffled away with his briefcase, sparing his family with a rather strangled out, "Going to work!" before walking out the door and slamming it shut.
Immediately, tension eased out of his shoulders and Harry stared at the back of his uncle with a rather sinister smile. He was unaware that Aunt Petunia glanced his way, mouth twisting with disgust before turning back to Dudders' to wipe the bacon sticking to his chin. She did not miss the smile, or really, the rather gleaming light that entered her nephew's emerald eyes.
His size may fool many, but that did not fool her.
He truly was one of them.
A freak…
Not normal…
A wizard.
Just like his mother.
Flipping the egg over, scowling at the sight of the blackened egg, a plot twisted in the back of the mind of the ten-year-old. A plan to see that letter…
Anything that scared Aunt Petunia so much must mean something big is going to happen!
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
In a typical day, Harry would not be plotting to steal something from his rather estranged family. Scratch that - since there was never really a bond between them, there could never be an estrangement. Their relationship usually only meant being isolated, ignored, and on the occasion, bullying from his oafish cousin. It was a non-existent relationship, and both parties were satisfied with such.
While Harry was picking weeds from the garden, an old gardeners' hat borrowed from Mrs. Figg atop his head, and sweat dripping down his face, a plan was trying to form.
Goal: The letter
Step one: Distract his uncle. How? Well…Harry wasn't quite sure of that. It would probably just come to him though, most schemes did. Like when he stole Dudley's money from Aunt Marge by making a pie, saying that Aunt Petunia made it especially for her "little Dudleykins"! It was actually for supper that night, but it wasn't like his aunt and uncle would scold Dudley for having a lack of impulse control when he saw the pie, conveniently, cooling off on the table with a plate, tub of whip cream, and a spoon. While he had been stuffing his face with the dessert, Harry had snuck inside his room. Predictably, his cousin had no qualms of keeping his possessions or money hidden. Instead there was a pile of cash sitting on top of his dresser. He did not even miss the twenty-pound note!
His uncle probably wouldn't be distracted by pie…or food for that matter, which left one option…his uncle's obsession.
The telly…
It could be really easy actually. Dudley had no idea how to fix the telly when something went wrong, and usually called his mother in just to retrieve the remote; Petunia didn't exactly have a knack with electronics, so there was little to no possibility that she could even manage to fix it before his uncle arrived from work. So that meant he would need to find the right moment to not permanently ruin the telly, probably between the time Dudley was bullying some kids in the park and when his aunt made her annual "rounds" peeking over the fences at their neighbors.
It could be very simple…if he managed it well.
A soft hoot and a flutter of wings snapped the young gardener's attention to a barn owl that had taken pleasure in stalking him since he had walked outside. Staring unblinking at the boy its' head ducked slightly, hooting and puffing up indignantly.
"What's wrong?" he asked, momentarily forgetting that normal people did not speak to animals, much less owls or…snakes.
Staring into the yellow, peeved eyes of the owl, it shook itself at him, giving out a rather angry squawk.
"Fine." Harry muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. Picking up the pail of weeds he had pulled from the garden, his eyes narrowed as he heard the soft pit pattering of his aunt's feet making their way out of the front door and onto the sidewalk. With a sharp turn, it was unmistakable where she was headed; their neighbors, meaning, her annual spying.
Perfect…the thought purred. As such, when one sees an opportunity, one must seize it.
With a rather small, conniving smile, he moved silently across the grass, head turning left and right. Having not seen his aunt in sight, his tense thin shoulders lowered themselves, relieved.
Gripping the doorknob tightly, he felt it click underneath his hands before pulling it away. The deafening creak of the hinges paused him, breathing labored as he stole a quick glance around. Abandoning previous caution he slipped inside, willing himself not to make a noise as he scuttled across the foyer and to the living room. Apparently Dudley had already left for the playground, evident by the lack of presence on the couch. With a small grin, he moved swiftly towards his uncle's domain, the garage, where the tools and other meaningless stuff were held. On top of a box of tools, stood the one thing that would enable him to claim victory of his slothful relatives: large tweezers and a screwdriver.
Now to begin step two: temporarily break the telly.
Easy enough…Harry thought with just the slightest of smirk.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Definitely not!
Staring down at the collection of wires that had burst forth after taking off the back of the telly, it all seemed much more…difficult than what he anticipated.
Never underestimate something being simple…ever…He thought with a sigh while grabbing the tweezers in his overly large leather gloves. Best not get electrocuted…was the grim thought. Taking a deep, steadying breath he stared at the mass of colored cords. Fine…the blue one. It isn't as if they can't afford to get a new telly if I break this one. Tightening the grip on the tweezers, he placed its snout on a random blue wire. Adjusting his grip, and sucking in a nervous breath, he felt more than saw the wire snap in half. Stroking his fingers through his hair, he was only dimly amused to note the sweat clinging to his fingers.
Hopefully by the time I can read the letter, my uncle won't notice that it was purposefully cut. Heaving a heavy sigh, he began screwing on the backend of the telly again.
Step three: Wait for his uncle's return and snatch the letter from his pocket. After all, patience was a virtue and he had plenty of experience in that. Especially if it meant that he had a goal in mind.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
If there was one thing that his uncle hated more than Harry, it was having a rough day at work. When Harry noticed Vernon lumbering out of his car in a visible rage, muttering to himself, his task seemed more difficult.
Carelessly throwing the suit jacket in a kitchen chair, he stomped his way to the living room. "Pet, you wouldn't believe what happened today! Mr.-." Uncle Vernon paused, seeing the red-faced, tantrum building, and fist-clenching son while his wife vainly tried to soothe him with promises of buying a new telly soon. For a moment, mustache bristling he simply stood there. If he had turned around, he'd have noticed a skinny child reaching inside the coat pocket of his jacket.
"It's all right Dudley, see, your father's home and I'm sure he'll be able to fix it." She murmured softly, shooting Vernon a rather desperate look.
"Now, now, my boy, I'm sure we can do something about this." He muttered, all thoughts of work chased away by the big, fat tears streaming down his son's face
In the hallway, Harry grinned, clutching a rather wrinkled letter.
His plan worked. As he knew it would.
A/N Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it. I have to thank my brother for going over this chapter with me and correcting any mistakes I had. So if you see any, please tell me write away! Also constructive criticism is always welcomed. If any of you are wondering, yes, hopefully I'll continue past the first year. Will this be different from canon? Yes, I hope to add a few twists. Anyway, thank you for reading!