18Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the other characters, concepts, places, items, or events that are referenced or that appear in this story.
Hey guys, I've had some serious life problems I've been dealing with, and though I know that will most likely seem as no excuse to you all, I am finally writing again after over a year. I have a quick question for you all, well, a couple really. First, should I go back through and edit my old work? Reading through it, I have grown as a writer (I hope) and believe myself to be a better author now than I was then. Second; Should I update stories one by one, or only post updates when I have an update for EVERY active story on my profile? Just a couple of questions so I can gauge how to handle updating my stories in the future. Finally; is there any stories that should just be taken down and completely re-done or just scrapped? I have 7 active stories on my profile as I write this (this will be number eight) and I just wanted to get the opinions of my readers. Do I focus on one of them and finish them one by one but potentially let some sit for years? Or do I update them as soon as I am able as a group, leading to all of them finishing much later, but with all of them being updated? Please let me know what you all think in the reviews or by private message. Thank you.
Anyways, I was reading a book of Norse Mythology, and I had recently read 'Child of the Storm by Nimbus Llewelyn and A Third Path to the Future' by Vimesenthusiast and I got inspired to write this. I am also in need of a BETA reader for this so anyone that thinks they would be up to the job can PM me or review here and I can reach out to them. (A BETA reader would also be able to give me a kick in the pants when I haven't updated in a while!)
Anyways, now that that is handled…
ON TO THE STORY!
Harry sat alone in his cupboard, staring blankly at the spider making its way across the wall. Releasing a breath of air forcefully, he laid his head back, wincing when he heard the thud his skull made as it came into contact with the wood. Breathing a sigh of relief after a moment of brief prayer, thanking any deity that would hear him that his uncle hadn't heard the noise.
Turning his eyes back to the spider, he watched as it carried on with its task, ambivalent to the turmoil within the young child before it. Harry gazed at it longingly once it passed through a miniscule crack in the wood, passing from the confines of the boot cupboard into the walls of number four privet drive. Turning his eyes from the sight so as not to anger himself, Harry glared at the door to his prison, willing it to be burned to ash. With a disappointed sigh, he turned back to his blanket, the sole possession he knew of that reminded him that there was a life beyond the property lines of the house.
Caressing the threadbare cloth like a cherished friend, Harry carefully pulled up the loose floorboard in the back of the cupboard. Folding the blanket with care, he placed it on top of his treasures, intent on keeping his few sources of comfort out of sight of his family. With a snarl at the thought of them finding him, he gripped the board tightly, the knuckles on his hands whitening. Taking a deep breath, he replaced the board carefully and then rubbed his palm over the area, making the dirt on the floors surface uniform in grain.
Sprawling himself over the much-too-large overcoat his cousin Dudley had outgrown, he pulled a pair of uncle Vernon's old dress pants, too threadbare for official functions, over himself. Shivering to himself under the illusion of warmth he was tricking himself into, Harry James Potter slipped into a fitful nightmare of echoing cold laughter and a bright green light racing towards him.
Harry Potter was 4.
-line break-
Dragging the rake across the tough clay that made up the ground around Privet Drive, Harry swiped at his fringe, the sweat-saturated-locks hanging over his face and making his eyes sting. After managing to force his hair back he continued the harsh work, tilling the ground and readying the land for the garden his Aunt wished to have built. After removing or breaking up enough of the clay that his Aunt was satisfied, Harry was sprayed down with the hose by his Aunt, the dirt running off of his frame as the harsh stinging water hit Harry's eyes and momentarily prevented him from drawing breath,
After the initial surprise Harry managed to catch enough water in his mouth without his Aunt noticing to make a few mouthfuls before she deemed him clean enough to not stain her precious rugs. Shooing him into the house, she followed him inside and marched him straight to his cupboard, where he was locked in with a thin slice of bread and an apple core.
Devouring the grain quickly, Harry soon reduced the remains of the fruit into a pile of seeds, the skin, core, and remaining apple consumed by the malnourished child. The seeds were quietly slipped through the crack between the door and the wooden floor onto the carpet. A petty and unnoticed revenge for the raven-haired child, but revenge nonetheless.
Harry fought to contain his mirthful grin when he watched under the crack as the seeds were ground to a pulp beneath his relative's shoes, the bits of seed being tracked throughout the house and being ground into the carpet. It would be a month at least before they would notice. They would inevitably punish Harry for it, no matter if it was because of him or not, but the small act of rebellion reminded Harry that he wasn't helpless. It reminded him that he was Harry James Potter, and not a member of the Dursley Family.
Harry Potter was 5.
-line break-
Digging the trowel through the freshly laid soil was, while infinitesimally easier than breaking up the clay that comprised the soil, equally as miserable a task. The clay had been broken up in early spring when the breeze was still cool and the sun had seemed so far. Now the breeze too had abandoned him, and the sun had come closer, standing behind him as if to crack a whip, letting him know of its presence through the burn that was forming across his neck and arms.
Wiping the sweat from his brow in a familiar gesture, Harry placed the last of the rose seeds into the hole, watering them slightly before covering it again with the soil. Smiling softly, Harry pulled a wad of old cloth from his waistband where it had been stuffed. Opening it reverently, he pulled out the sole remaining apple seed from the last time Aunt Petunia had given him the fruit. Moving to the far side of the Dursley property, Harry took a bit of the remaining soil and water and planted the seed, already imagining the taste of the fruit on his tongue. Smiling at his cunning, he walked off, content in his plan to be able to feed himself.
As the months went by and the tree did not grow, Harry grew sad and depressed. Finally able to sneak into his uncle's study, Harry looked up how to grow apples. He learned that you needed to be in a deciduous region to grow the fruit. He also learned that Privet Drive was not in or near such a region.
Harry Potter cried. Harry Potter was 7.
-line break-
Having discovered earlier on in his life that he was not to go to school for a reason his relatives would not share, and found himself therefore with an overabundance of chores. The list only grew exponentially, as he aged and grew to be able to perform more complex tasks. He had been sent to the store to purchase milk and eggs for the household so that Aunt Petunia could force him to make breakfast for the coming week. He had been given a ten pound note.
When he got to the store, Harry immediately sought out the items on the list, and found himself with two pounds of change. Seeing an opportunity, Harry bought himself a bottle of water and some pretzels, leaving him with 34 pence. After devouring the pretzels, Harry placed the change into the bag. Stowing the bag in his waistband, he continued on to Privet Drive, sipping the water and disposing of the bottle in the trash can of number ten.
Arriving at number four privet drive and knocking politely and in the specific knock he had been told to use, Harry was ushered inside. His Aunt took the groceries after giving Harry a dirty look. When his uncle got home later that afternoon, Harry received 34 lashes from his uncle's belt. Dudley eagerly counted his shiny new pence coins and added them to his piggy bank. Harry went to his cupboard afterwards and was not let out for 48 hours.
Harry Potter was 9.
-line break-
Harry Potter awoke to his Aunt beating on the side of the cupboard door, being screeched at to get up and make breakfast. Dragging himself out of bed, he put on the cast-offs from Dudley, and made his relatives their breakfast.
His relatives all had eggs benedict with French toast and homemade jam. Harry had a burnt bread crust and some rainwater that had collected in a flowerpot on the back porch.
Hearing his uncle grumble about freaks in the paper, Harry flinched, expecting his uncle to lash out. When no hit came, he saw his uncle still reading the paper. Thanking his good fortune, he quietly retrieved the mail for his uncle when sent. As he picked up the stack of papers, he noticed something odd. One of the letters was address to… him?
Keeping the letter on the bottom and walking back into the kitchen, Harry attempted to place the stack on the table while slipping the letter out from under the pile. Dudley loudly yelling that his eggs were too hot had the whole family focused on Harry, where they noticed the letter. A moment later Harry was sent crashing to the floor as his uncle grabbed the letter and slammed the back of his hand into Harry's chest. Nearly growling out the word 'cupboard', he turned and stalked out of the room, heading up the stairs to his study, breakfast forgotten.
Harry got up, wincing as he felt the tender skin under the shirt where he knew to expect a bruise, and entered the dark space, his aunt locking it as she walked by, on her way to speak to his uncle. Harry later saw his Aunt and Uncle looking rather smug after they coaxed an owl to take a new letter, surprising Harry that they would even indulge in such behaviors not normally deemed 'acceptable'. Shrugging it off as one of the weirder moments his relatives had shown, Harry drifted off to sleep, unaware to the havoc such a letter was going to being.
It was July 31st, 1991. It was Harry James Potter's eleventh birthday. Harry James Potter was not going to Hogwarts.
I know this has been rather short but I wanted to end it here rather than end it in a cliffhanger by continuing into places and locations that would serve much better in the following chapter (which will have already been started by the time you read this. Anyways, what do you think so far? I tried writing this a bit differently from how I would normally write things. Did I do alright?
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