A decade goes by.
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30st July 1991, Central London.
Harry Potter hated London. The grimy streets make him cringe and the teeth chattering cold, only made worse by the constant rain and his lack of layers, made him want to shrivel up into a ball till his feet felt numb and his fingers turned blue in a hopeless attempt to stay warm.
Yet, he still came back. Every morning of every day.
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The CPS corner of the tall brown multi purpose building was a place that many had come to dread. A place where both the hopeful and the hopeless had many times crossed paths but by the end, a lucky few left the building in good spirits.
Harry Potter never had been or ever will be in his opinion one of those lucky few.
As he stood, shadowed and miniscule compared to the impending brick tower in front of him, he couldn't help but repress another shiver pulling his ratty jacket closer in a vain attempt to stop the cold from getting through.
With a old and broken phone in one hand and a small but handy bundle of cash in the other, he sighed.
It was time to face the noise.
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The pristine white walls and endless stale food smell had never been on ones favourite senses to experience and to Harry, they just felt one thousand times worse.
He felt suffocated. The spotless white walls, the uncomfortable metal grey chairs, the insistent clanking of the keyboards keys being pressed, they all seemed so fake and always seemed to drive him to the edge.
It felt like he was in a hospital.
Though, they weren't far off.
Harry slumped further in his chair. Reaching behind sighing once more, he gently massaged his aching shoulders and once again cursed himself for making the decision to carry such a heavy bag.
He had gotten kicked out of another home. Again.
Great.
It wasn't his fault. It never was yet he was always told it was. It always made him think, was it really his fault? Was he the one who had it all wrong?
Harry shook his head. No, there was no point dwelling on the past. What's done is done.
And he'd just have to live with it.
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The receptionist had sent yet another dirty look his way.
Her brown eyes had narrowed, her nose twitched and her lips curled up in disgust.
Harry had only bit his lip and looked up at the peeling ceiling.
He needed to get out.
How long would he play along?
Till however long it took to get out.
"Mr Potter." A high pitched voice called out jolting him out of his thoughts. He had only shifted and looked down fidgeting with his fingers not wanting to face the receptionist just in case she'd give him another one of her glares.. "Mr Bentley will see you now."
Harry nodded slightly. Slowly standing up, he swung his back across his shoulders and walked down the narrow corridor. Strolling past the many blue doors, he stopped and tilted his head slightly when he reached a particular one. This was it.
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Room 201. Mr Bentley's office.
Gently reaching up and rapping his knuckles on the door, he waited and watched till the door was wrenched open.
Ambling in steadily, his lips twitched and curved into a barely visible smile when he stopped a familiar face sitting at the desk. Then, hoisting himself up upon a clear table nearby, he cleared his throat.
"Mr Bentley." He whispered inclining his head slightly.
"Mr Potter! Ahh! Good to see you! I just hoped it would have been in better circumstances." The man spoke kindly with a prominent Scottish accent . His wispy blond hair greying and his face rapidly ageing with many wrinkles forming slowly never failed to make Harry feel at home.
"Don't we all Mr Bentley. Don't we all..." Harry answered quietly. He perked up suddenly. "Anyway. You said you had a home for me."
"Oh! Yes of course! I do! Hopefully, this one will end in better circumstances hmm?" He asked questioningly raising his eyebrow.
"Mhm. Sure."
"Wonderful! Now! Onto some other business. This is the address of your new foster parents along with their names, images ectera ectera...you know the drill." Sliding over an overturned sheet, he watched and waited as Harry timidly took it and turned it over. Several emotions flitted across his face yet you couldn't tell exactly how he was feeling.
Letting out a noncommittal hum and nodding his head in agreement and understanding, Harry gently folded the piece of paper and slipped it into his front pocket.
"Anyway! Now that's over and done with...onto some more pressing business." Mr Bentley's voice suddenly turned serious. His once happy and carefree expression turned into one of sorrow, regret and disappointment. "This is your 8th foster home Harry."
"I know."
" You can't keep going on like this."
"I know."
"Soon there's not much I'm going to be able to do. I can only protect you to an extent. And when you cross that line, there's no going back. You're life would be ruined kid, and there's not much anyone could do."
Harry sighed and once again repeated his previous words wishing so desperately once more in vain that there was someone out there. Someone out there that'd be his knight in shining armour. Because he knew he wouldn't be able to keep at this much longer. It would only be a while before the cracks would start widening and he'd break; shatter into a thousand tiny pieces and like glass wouldn't be able to be fixed again.
He's dreading when that time will come because he knew exactly what it would look like..
And he so painfully wished he didn't.
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When Harry Potter had trudged back to his run down and overcrowded group home, it was evening.
The sun had begun to set and the once stormy grey and blue sky had erupted into hues of gold and orange. The air, once bitter and lighter on your chest, had now turned frigid and adopted a turgid chill to its atmosphere. The heavy downpour of rain had long ago stopped and was now replaced by the small droplets of drizzle that softly landed and made a small tapping sound whenever it hit the ground.
The summer weather had decided to retreat long ago and a frisky spring had been coming steadily in its place. Harry could only dread the upcoming months when summer would slowly inch by inch move out and winter would inch by inch move in.
It would be cold.
He couldn't stand the cold.
He couldn't huddle up by the fire for warmth nor could he bundle up with hot chocolate and sit covered in numerous jackets and blankets.
He would just have to face it head on.
And everyone knew, no one was strong enough for that.
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Everyone had fallen asleep by the time he had reached.
His insistent knocks on the door had by no means been enough to wake them and neither were his shouts. The banging on the window had made a loud thumping noise yet no one heard. They all lay tucked away in their beds upstairs and the only sign of life was the soft squeaking of the mice and the loud snoring of the bloodhound that the owners had just adopted.
So he waited.
And he watched.
Till it became too cold for him to stand and he slid down leaning against the filthy walls of the home and curling up on himself in an attempt to preserve any heat. Till his teeth chattered uncontrollably and his fingers slowly turned into various different colours. From a fiery red to a depressing light blue that made him feel numb and his body to tremble once again with a vigour.
The incessant beeping of his old and worn down watch reminded him bitterly of reality.
It was 12:00.
It was his birthday.
Yet what came only was the bittersweet triumph of having lived in a world so riddled with death.
It was his birthday.
And all he felt was sadness because the large cake smothered in frosting was once again only a hopeful dream and the party full of relatives and family who loved him was once again a hopeless fantasy.
It was his birthday.
And once again he didn't feel like he had accomplished a thing. He was still the same. And so was the world.
So he closed his eyes and let the world slip away not knowing that on this very day, as he lay in the cold wishing for another life, 4 people gathered round a large table with a frosted cake and teary eyes missing his presence once again wishing that he was there.