The lost heir.
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
15th October 1988, the Attic, Privet Drive.
Harry Potter never liked the rain.
The wet weather always brought along with it harsh wind that would make you shiver and watch cruelly as you yearned to curl up inside with a blanket near a warm fire.
So naturally, today, on one of the rainiest and coldest days of the month, he stood cooped up in the attic shivering and stuttering wishing for once his aunt would take mercy on him and send him back to his cupboard.
A dark, lonely place yes, but warm and adopting a familiar feeling of home to it.
"Potter!" A loud rambunctious voice called out. "I want the attic spotless! Not a speck of dust in sight understand!"
Harry only curled up even further in the corner, pulling his thin and ratty coat closer together in an attempt to fend out the frost.
"Y-yes uncle Vernon." He answered back in a raspy voice, curtesy of his sore throat, stumbling over his words as he tried to convince his teeth to cease their chattering movement.
Slowly, shakily, he stood up, taking a look around and surveying the room.
It would take him forever.
A photo frame had fallen out of a broken cardboard box full of broken trinkets.
A photo frame he had picked up and found himself staring at.
A photo frame he couldn't seem to put down.
He had turned it over gently and traced the cursive writing engraved at the bottom.
Lily and James Potter.
Potter
He turned the frame over once more.
Potter
"They're your parents." A voice whispered from behind him making Harry jump up and turn around nervously only to be met with his aunt's face peering down at him in sorrow. "James and Lily. I still remember their ecstatic expressions when they brought you over for the first time. Dudley had thrown a fit because of the lack of attention being given to him but you didn't seem to care. You just sat there happily munching on whatever teething ring they had given you. They loved you. That's all I could think of when they left. They loved you entirely."
Harry let out a small sigh and looked back at the picture he had held onto carefully. "I look nothing like them." He stated holding back any rogue tears that always seemed to want to escape when his parents were mentioned.
"No. You don't. Because they couldn't have children."
"What-"
"They adopted you. A new-born fresh from an old orphanage with nothing. They felt connected to you. For some stupid reason they did. But they loved you the moment they saw you."
Petunia sighed. "The orphanage was called Wools Orphanage. A creepy place down ridden with mice and spoilt bratty kids. But you won't find anything there. I've already tried." With that said, she closed her eyes and once again sighed before her expression changed to one of hatred like it usually was when concerning him and she spoke. "Now, get on with it then! This attic isn't going to clean itself! Honestly, just wasted my time." She spoke with venom making Harry recoil in shock at the sudden change. Taking one last glance at him, she turned and marched down the stairs leaving Harry alone in the darkness.
Like he would be for a very long time.
1991. 1st September, Hogwarts Express.
Harry Potter gently turned the old photo frame in his hands and ran his fingers over the cursive writing.
Lily and James Potter.
He never seemed to get tired of those names.
"Uhh...mate?" A nervous voice called out. Harry looked up and his dark blue eyes met light blue ones belonging to a gangly kid with ginger hair and an unusual number of freckles. Little did he know his life would never be the same. And not for the better.
"RAVENCLAW" The old sorting hat screamed.
A loud cheer erupted from the table donned with navy blue and silver.
"We got Potter! We got Potter!" they chanted excitedly and Harry found himself smiling with glee.
He might just fit in after all.
He had made a friend.
That was the only thought going through his head as he sleepily walked with all the other first years to their dorms for the first time.
He had finally made a friend.
And this time, there was no Dudley to chase them away.
17th December 1991. Kings Cross Station.
It was almost Christmas.
Harry knew he should be happy. That most kids would be jumping up and down in glee at the prospect.
But as Harry tiredly sat on his trunk in defeat, he once again thought of the headmasters scary twinkly eyes and fake smile as he told him he had to go back to the Dursley's for the holidays. Looking down at his hands, he sighed at their scarred appearance and the numerous bandages wrapped around them curtsey of Ron's aversion to rules and bullies accidental harm, and once again hoped he didn't have to go back. That someone would show up from behind and tell him it was a joke but when he turned, there was no one there.
And Harry was once again consumed by sadness.
They had come late.
Bustling and huffing at the extra time he had wasted. Dudley surprisingly had come along screaming and having a tantrum glaring at him threateningly when his parents refused to drop him off at his friends house because they were too tired.
A hurried threat had been sent his way curtesy of his aunt and a painful slap that echoed off the train station walls was soundly given to him. His trunk was something he had to haul to the car and his owl cage was something his uncle had picked up mockingly before throwing it at him violently causing him to stumble and fall to the floor as on lookers laughed at his expense never knowing what truly had happened.
He was alone. Once again.
And when he sat squashed in the car timidly with a sinking weight on his chest, he couldn't help but miss Neville's quite company and the bossy extroverted nature of Hermione. Even Draco's boastful cocky nature would have been long ago welcome. Anything but this.
As he watched his uncle glare at him continuously and his aunt smiling cruelly at him holding up an admissions letter from stonewall, he wondered if he would ever feel at home again.
They had pulled up onto their driveway and Harry stepped out inhaling in the fresh air.
Looking around, he once again was greeted by the plain sight of the many identical rows of houses. And watching his uncle with difficulty squeeze out angrily pointing at the car boot and snatching each item from his hands and marching inside putting them god knows where, he felt a wave of remorse hit him.
He was back. And for the hundredth time, he found himself wishing he wasn't.
25th December, 1991, Privet Drive.
It was Christmas.
A tree had been put up long ago and today, in the morning, many presents had adorned the floor nearby.
Yet no matter how much larger the pile continues to get every year, never amongst those presents is one addressed to anyone but the residents of the Dursley family. Certainly not for one Harry James Potter who would watch with jealousy and misery as he sat on the steps of the creaky staircase when Dudley cruelly ripped the wrapping paper and greedily eyed what was inside without a simple thank you to his parents.
Certainly not for the same Harry James Potter who had slaved away at Christmas Dinner only to be given a measly crap that left him holding his stomach to stop the hunger pains. And definitely not, the same Harry James Potter who currently is perched on the top of the rickety stairs peaking through the handrail trying to get a glimpse of the news without being caught.
"And now! From Her Majesty Herself...we have the annual Christmas speech!" An eager reporter spoke loudly holding his mic up.
Sighing, Harry gently removed his father's invisibility cloak from around his shoulders and hugged it close to his chest, desiring like he did every Christmas to have a family who truly cared about him.
As he pivoted and leaned against the handrails, he let the Queen's words wash over him again as he did every year and closed his eyes.
Her British accent and kind words always seemed familiar and so once again, he let himself get lost in the minimal Christmas joy he did feel not knowing it would be one of the last Christmas's he'd ever spend like this.