Chapter 1
He was different.
He had always know that to be true. Since the day he could form a cognitive memory he had been told he was ‘abnormal.’ Most would say that being unique, different, or even abnormal was a good thing. Something to be proud of, even.
He did not.
In this family, different was a crime worse than death. The Dursley’s hated to stand out in any way that was not to gain them popularity or wealth. When they had their son, the perfect child for the perfect small suburban family, they had believed their world perfect.
Then came that dreadful day that a little bundle of unwanted chaos had been dropped unceremoniously onto their doorstep. They had made it their mission in life to remind him of that little fact every chance they got.
He had thrown their perfect world upside down before he could even speak. Not only did they suddenly have an orphan child, one that stood out like a cactus in a rose garden, he also looked every bit abnormal.
Ever since he could remember he had had a rats nest of black hair. It refused to obey any attempt at taming it, almost rebelled at the very idea. If that was not bad enough, on the right side of his head was a large patch of pure white hair that started at his hairline and was the size of a 2 euro coin. From stories his aunt mumbled about, she had once tried to dye it black, only for the dye to slide off like ink and stain everything he had touched that day.
On top of the odd hair, right at the base of the white streak started a scar that scattered down the right half of his forehead like a bolt of lightning. It was jagged, with branching edges the reached in all directions and consumed half his forehead. The body of it cut through his eyebrow where hair never grew.
The scar stopped just shy of his striking green eye, as if it were an arrow pointing out the two features no one could ignore. Even now, as he poked at a branch of stark white against otherwise tan skin while he looked into a broken mirror, the scar led his gaze up to his hair. It was unusually messy today and he raked a hand through it to try and get some sense of normal.
“Boy, what are you doing? Get in the car! We are going to be late because of you!” Uncle Vernon’s voice boomed down the hall. It did not matter that Dudley was also still in the house.
Today, he was finally starting school. It was a year later than he should have. His aunt and uncle had raged about the very idea of sending him into school early with his cousin. Claiming he would simply mess up and embarrass them all with his ‘unusual behavior’ like last time.
Last time happened to be last year, when he had attended a summer school with Dudley. They had fought the normal amount, Dudley throwing punches and Harry finding any way to hide from the other boy. No matter how badly he wanted to punch back, it never made anything easier. He had found a hiding space that he had thought to be pretty great. No one came looking for him, they never did.
He had been safe for a while, until the door to the laundry shoot he was perched on nicely was ripped open and the face of an extremely worried woman had appeared. She had been old, wrinkly, yet her smile and eyes were always kind. He had liked her.
“Harry! There you are.” The lady had said. Her voice echoed in the small space and helped him to hear the words without a film of fuzz that often cut through the world. He had looked around to see who else had been in there with him until he felt arms grab tight to his middle and pull him out.
“Harry, you had us all worried sick about you!”( She had said and he had looked back towards his hiding spot.
Without thinking before he spoke, which was the root of the trouble later his aunt had drilled into him, he asked. “Who’s Harry?”
Until then, he had thought his name had been ‘boy.’ Un-creative, as it was, his parents had been drunks so he had assumed that they had forgotten to give him anything like a true name. Not that he had deserved more than the one he thought he had. He had never heard another name so frequently, even Dudley’s little nicknames never lasted long, yet he was called ‘boy’ more often than the neighbors dog was called ‘Speckle.’
Soon after that incident, strange men came to the house to talk with his aunt and uncle a couple times a month for at least a year. The visits were always unannounced and most had been met with his aunt hurrying him away from his chores and onto the couch or to the table with some snack or coloring book shoved into his hands. Harry had liked when those men visited.
He had been sad when they had stopped visiting.
After that, he heard ‘Harry’ mixed in with ‘boy’ in scattered amounts mostly from his aunt. It had been weird, having a real name, and he had spent many nights mouthing the word to himself in the darkness of his cupboard.
“My name is Harry.” He had said until he had believed those words to be true. Then, he said it some more because it was something that his family had given him. A true name.
As they rolled up to the large school building, Harry felt his excitement grow despite himself. There were so many people, surely someone would be able to see beyond the flaws of his being and become his friend. Dudley was a monstrous child, yet he had managed to find people easily enough so it couldn’t be all that hard.
The sounds of children screaming and playing muddled his ear as Harry tried to take in every new sight. His oversize glasses threatened to fall off with the speed as he whipped around to hear every new thing.
Added to the list of how wrong and defective he was, the car crash that had killed his parents had left more than a visual reminder. His right eardrum had been damaged beyond repair from the events of that night. Harry could hear nothing but a deep hum from the right side if he tried hard enough. A fact that his aunt and uncle loved to exploit.
If that wasn’t bad enough, his left ear was hardly any better. While he could hear, most days, it was usually muffled as if hearing through an earplug. Some days it was clear and every sound was so crisp and sharp it was almost painful. Those days were far and few between when you lived with a people whose base volume seemed to be far above the average. One loud noise, or unexpected pressure change, and he was hearing nothing but a deep ring for hours, and if he was really unlucky, days.
Harry had voiced this problem once or twice, but had been told not to lie about not listening. He had even been punished for claiming such foolishness more times than he could count.
One particularly bad time, Dudley had set off a firecracker from his dads storage and the crack had been so close to Harry’s face that he had felt the heat of the explosion dance along his skin. The deep ringing that had followed lasted almost two weeks. During which he had been burned severely while cooking as the pan had been ripped away from him without his knowing someone had been anywhere close.
Uncle Vernon had said something about ‘burning money’ and taken over the cooking.
Harry had hidden away, not wanting to face punishment for the burned food, and watched the blistered skin right itself within moments. He had kept that a secret, too.
Since then he learned to read lips. Not hard, when the people you live with always screamed and exaggerated their words. He had gotten nearly perfect at reading their lips while faking eye contact in about half a year.
Harry was almost excited to try reading the lips of other kids and adults. To really put his skills to the test.
A loud honk from the Dursley’s car behind him startled Harry back into reality. He spun to see aunt Petunia kiss Dudley’s forehead as she passed him a homemade lunch and he hurried back to the car. When he stretched his hand out and was met with a glare he deflated. That deep ringing was back, the horn had made sure of it, so he watched her lips.
“You didn’t think to make your own lunch, that’s not our doing.” She spat.
Harry recoiled and shuffled away from the car with a tight nod. Some more words were exchanged but he had turned back towards the school, sparing quick glances behind himself to make sure he kept a eye on Dudley. Good thing, for as soon as the car had pulled away from the curb Dudley had charged him like a bull.
Harry bolted, not knowing where to go, and tucked himself into the first tight space he could find between the climbing house and school wall. Dudley had stalked the space, probably laughed, and eventually vanished from view leaving Harry in the dark ringing of his hiding space.
When he had thought to brave the world, he had been shocked to find the playground void of any other soul. It was silent, with only a single swing twisting in the wind. Harry’s heart sank as a familiar churning of his stomach threatened to toss up his small breakfast. He had missed the call to enter the school, and thus was already causing problems.
He did not have long to panic, however, as a young woman was running for him saying words he could not hear. The ringing was always worse when he felt like this, and her lips were being jarred as she ran. When she finally reached him she dropped to her knees and pulled him fully from the spot he had been hiding. Her lips moved in odd ways and only a few words stood out.
harry - thank goodness - what were - why - inside
Harry didn’t need much more than that to know she had been looking for him. That he had caused a scene. He was in so much trouble.
Harry let his head dip and closed his eyes tight. Tears stung as he fought to hold them back. The world was dark and silent around him as he tried to control the storm inside that threatened to explode outwards. He would have stayed that way, until a light shake of his shoulders had him looking up again.
The woman, younger than aunt Petunia with bright blue eyes and light brown hair tied back tight, was watching his every move. She had said something, Harry realized, and he hurried to get rid of the tears so he could try to see her lips moving.
When he looked back up, however, she was not moving her lips, but her hands. He stared, almost in awe, as they flicked from one complex motion to the next. Harry knew she was not dancing, but it looked like it.
Harry looked back to the woman and she mouthed very deliberately. ‘Harry, can you hear me?’
Harry blinked, shocked. No one had asked that before. He didn’t know how he was supposed to respond to that question. The Dursley’s never believed him, but she was not them. Maybe, she would actually listen?
“I’m sorry.” Harry said, he had no idea how he sounded at the moment, but it felt rough. “I can’t hear you.”
Her hands moved again and Harry followed the dance with his eyes. He had never really desired much in his short life, but he wanted to learn those dances so badly. He looked back to the woman and she smiled a sad sort of look.
“Do you know sign language, Harry?” She asked slowly as she pulled him tighter into her lap. Harry shook his head. Her smile tightened and she looked over her shoulder to say something to a few of the other adults that had gathered.
“Harry, you are not in trouble.” She said to him once she looked back. “I need to make a few phone calls and I am going to bring you to your class now, okay?”
Harry tensed but nodded. He knew what that meant. He was in far too much trouble to say anything in front of others. He could practically feel the meals and chance at any free time bleed away with every step into the school. When he entered his class, all eyes were locked onto him and he flushed with shame.
The rest of the morning he had slumped into a corner and refused to engage with anyone. He had not been the only child to do this, but the others had been pulled from the corner and redirected. No one had even touched him. He was not surprised, why should they bother with a freak like him anyway.
Harry was fully ready to spend the day in his corner. He had tucked his face into his crossed arms and balled up tight. It wasn’t until a gentle hand shoved at his shoulder did he bother to look up. The light of the room stung his eyes, which already burned from the silent tears he had let fall into the darkness.
“Harry Potter.” The man in front of him mouthed slowly. He was old, gray hair grew from everywhere but the top of his head and his brown eyes were hidden behind deep wrinkles. “You are going to have a special class, I think you will like it.”
‘Special.’ The word felt like a brand on his soul.
He had been in school less than one day and already he was different, unique, special, something to stand out in not good ways. Harry had simply hung his head and let the man guide him from the room. He had ignored the looks and probable whispers as he was led down the long hall.
When they stopped at a door that had no fun pictures or class numbers Harry’s stomach sank. Was he bad enough to be put away until the end of the day like his cupboard at the Dursley’s home?
The door swung open to reveal a hidden classroom, one with objects and toys littered over every available space. Aunt Petunia would have had a fit just by the look of the place.
It was clear just what they needed from him. Harry moved more on muscle memory, starting to pick up the mess to pile together until he learned where he was to put everything. He had almost cleaned away a full corner when that gentle hand from earlier grabbed his hand.
The young woman smiled and shook her head, instead leading him to a small chair next to a half circle table. On the table sat a picture that looked like hands next to the letters of the alphabet. Harry new those. He had even learned to read some by using Dudley’s old books and listening when he could to aunt Petunia read. It had taken awhile, but he at least new the alphabet as well as his cousin.
A hand appeared in his line of vision and made a weird shape before it tapped the letter ‘a’ and repeated. Belatedly, Harry realized that the shape of the hand meant an ‘a.’ That meant that the alphabet could be said with hands instead of voices and that thought made his heart constrict.
He wasn’t the only one who sometimes couldn’t hear, he couldn’t be. Not if there was something like this.
Harry scrambled onto the chair and dragged the large paper to himself. He struggled to move his still far too small hands to match the pictures but he was determined to learn. If he could do this, and teach others, maybe he could stop being called a liar or a freak.
The paper was tugged away just as those kind hands help angle his fingers to match that first picture. Harry relaxed and let the woman, Ms. Lace, lead him through the shapes. She had told him to relax, and that they would have at least two hours a day to work together from now on, and something deep in Harry broke.
He had cried far too much his first day of school. But those memories were ones he held tight to. Even when the Dursley’s had yelled him into that ringing void for weeks after that day for causing such a scene, he looked forward to Ms. Lace’s classes.
It was funny, he didn’t even care that they made him a freak to his own classmates. Words he was positive Dudley had instructed the others to use were always circulating but Harry ignored them. Whenever he got a free moment he instead spent the time working his hands into shapes and reciting the meaning.
It was because of the funny hand signs he was practicing and all the attention at school that his aunt pulled him aside one day and shoved a bag into his hands with the order to ‘use them.’
Harry pulled out an old box, the first present he had ever been given by anyone, and stared at the strange thing inside. It had cords and buttons but none of it made sense. Ms. Lace had been just as shocked to see them when he went to school the next day and asked her about the weird things.
Hearing aids, she had called them. A device made to help those who were hard of hearing. After that they had spent the day cleaning up the old device and getting it working again. According to his aunt, they had been his grandmothers and just for that he loved them. No matter how heavy they were, or how poorly they fit around his tiny ears. He had to rubber band them to his glasses to keep the back from falling off and pulling the whole device painfully out of his ears but it was worth it.
The fuzzy sounds faded and things close by became clear. They also had an odd echo and often sounded like they were being pushed through a moving fan, but they were for once not painfully loud. Harry could learn to ignore the extra stuff, he could hear out of his left ear and that was all that mattered.
The next few years of school were not easy, by any means. Dudley found more ways than one to make sure of that. Other classmates had been turned against him as well. The whole grade seemed to find ‘Harry Hunt’ to be their favorite past time, despite the teachers words against it.
On top of the physical strangeness, Harry also had bizarre things happen around him. One day his desk had cemented itself to the floor while he used it to hide during an indoor recess day. It had taken the fire department to be able to break it from the floor. Another had him running so hard that he almost ran off the roof, which he suddenly found himself on. No amount of ‘I don’t know what happened’ got him out of having to scrub the Dursley’s house four times from top to bottom for that one.
No, he was not a normal kid. Normal had never been in his vocabulary. As they approached Dudley’s 11th birthday, he was being reminded just how much he needed to work on his appearing ‘normal.’