Prologue
Harry very vividly remembered the first moments of his life. It was as though every detail was etched into his memory, never to be forgotten. His mother was a beautiful green-eyed woman with long red hair flowing down her back in waves, with a smile shining brighter than a thousand stars. And Harry had absolutely adored her. His father had been a tall man with dark brunette almost black hair and kind brown eyes.
He remembered growing up loved and genuinely cared for, with his parents by his side. They would play games together, read books, and tell stories. But that all changed that cursed Halloween night when Harry was approximately one year old.
Every time Harry closed his eyes, he could hear the pleas of his mother ringing in his ears, begging for the intruder to spare her child's life. She had tried to shield him with her own body, but it was all in vain. Harry could see the flashes of green light, the deadly curse that ended her life.
After his parents' death, Harry was shipped off to his mother's relatives, left on their doorstep on a cold October night, wrapped in nothing but a thin blanket.
This was how he ended up here, in literal hell on earth.
His mum's family -he refused to call the, his own- prided themselves in being a perfectly normal family. Of course, having to adopt their freak nephew threw a wrench in that whole plan.
His aunt, a tall, despicable woman with a neck twice as long as it should be, usually just pretended that he didn't exist when she wasn't giving him a long list of chores that had to do if he wanted to stay with them since the age of three.
Worse was his whale of an uncle, who not only neglected him as his aunt did but also abused him physically. Because that's what all of this was. Abuse.
He was treated worse than a slave, clothed in his cousin's old clothes that were about three times too big for him, intended to hide his severely malnourished body. Not that that helped hide his scrawny stature, but it was not like anyone ever noticed, or cared for that matter.
But Harry knew that he was an extraordinary child. Other children couldn't do the things that he did. Hell, even some adults couldn't. He knew it was unusual to be able to recall every aspect of his life perfectly and to absorb information like a sponge. He knew it was more than unusual to make people forget things and to make water float.
He was also able to see people's auras, some of which were more pronounced. The boy supposed they were like him in a sense. Because upon seeing him those people mostly disintegrated into thin air or disappeared differently.
But not even those people could compare to what he felt. On some days he barely felt human, let alone some gender identity that society expected him to.
He, one day, mentioned this to his aunt, hoping to receive some guidance on what he was experiencing.
Harry quickly learned to never do that again.
---
The currently six-year-old now stood in front of the local library, finally having pick-pocketed saved up enough money to buy a few books on how to live alone, should the opportunity arise and he'd be able to get away from his loving relatives.
---
The opportunity indeed arose, and now old Harry could see was red
Crimson liquid dripped from the ceiling, running down the walls, and forming an ever-growing pool at the bottom of his their feet. An almost maniacal gleam formed in their eyes. All their life they had been a bird trapped in a cage, unable to leave, but now that their relatives were lying on the floor, being reduced to nothing but lifeless meat sacks, they felt that they had burst through the iron bars of their cage and could finally fly over the horizon.
Then came the realisation that they were actually standing in front of their relatives' bodies, whose eyes were glazed over.
'Murderer', their mind helpfully supplied as the adrenaline worse off and their blood went cold. The child looked down at their even more pale than usual hands that were dripping with the same crimson liquid that was running down the wall.
'They're just sleeping', Harry tried to reassure themselves, even as his hands were shaking and they unconsciously took a few steps back, tumbling into the cold stone wall behind him, which caused them to snap out of their dazed state.
Aware that the police would probably be called here soon, the child grabbed their uncle's wallet -it wasn't unethical if he was dead anyway, was it?- and a cloak which they wrapped around their small, shaking form and disappeared into the night.