Chapter 1
Severus always hated his ‘first words.’ Mostly because they weren’t Lily’s, but it didn’t end with that. No, there were many reasons he had to despise the words he was cursed with at birth.
They were scribbled across his wrist in an almost illegible chicken-scratch, meek and small, making him certain that like most things he got in life it would be subpar and disappointing. As far as words went, they were simple. Four words. One sentence, though there was no period, which once again went to show the type of person who might say them would be. Often times, he would take his own quill and place one there just to make himself not go insane at the need to complete it.
“I Don’t Know Sir”
It was obvious to Severus, that whomever the words belonged to, they probably didn’t know much at all. An illiterate imbecile.
Then he grew up, and of course, his dear friend Lily finally accepted the words on her wrist with the man she had known they belonged to so long ago, and he was left alone.
The man who shared words with her was everything she deserved. Handsome. Smart. An ass, obviously, but protective and loving in a way that the ever bitter Severus never would be.
His anger at fate for placing those stupid words on his wrist led him into the self destructive path of the Dark Lord. Then, lead him to destroying the one thing he had once loved; Lily.
The only proof of what a despicable person he was; a small, orphaned boy he would have left to die if only he could have her back in his arms for one more minute.
Then he took a vow, and was somehow pardoned for his crimes and entrusted with the safety of young, incompetent students.
The number of times he heard the words on his wrist, or a variation of them, made his irritation for them and the person they must belong to soar. Perhaps he had met his ‘one’ years before and just never recognized it was them? Maybe they were too frightened to admit that his first words were on their arm because of what a git he was?
He didn’t mind. Whoever it was, they certainly weren’t of any worth.
Nothing in his life ever was.
Not since Lily.
———
Harry had very few things to help him get through his day as a child. Living in a home where he was locked in a cupboard, often crying into the night of hunger pains, fear of the dark, and wondering if the prickly feelings on his skin were caused by spiders or his own imagination was so hard on his young mind and body. The only thing that helped get him through the day were those elegantly scripted words on his wrist.
The letters were bold and italic, and penned there in a dark, blood red ink that had a flare of the dramatic. He imagined that those words were just a physical placeholder for the one who would speak them one day. Surely, weather a man or woman, they would say them with a deep, demanding, dulcet voice, flowing softly like the elegant cursive he traced daily on his skin.
He imagined the scenarios that the words must have brought with them. The situation in which they would be spoken in.
Despite what he was now, how meager and humble his beginnings, obviously one day he would be important enough to earn the words so enticingly written on his fragile wrist.
It gave him hope that even though the world was cruel and filled with undeserved punishments and suspicious glances from neighbors due to the lies his aunt and uncle spread, one day he would escape and make a place for himself. One day he would strike fear into others the way they struck fear into him.
He smiled from his place in the tree, tracing his thin, nine year old fingers over his mark as the other children in his cousin’s gang yelled insulting names at him, threatening for him to come down so they could hurt him.
One day they would regret what they did to him. They would be ashamed. Because one day, he would be powerful and strong, and a force to be reckoned with.
He would be famous.
“Mr. Potter… our new celebrity.”
The words made his heart stutter and a smile flicker on his lips whenever he began to doubt if living day to day was really worth it. Because somewhere out there, someone was waiting for him.
Then again, even if he never became famous and those words were different, he was delighted to know someone was out there with a soul-mark like his, waiting to hear their first words, too.
And he would be loved.
For the first time in his life, he would know he was loved when those words graced their lips, and he would love them back unconditionally. Love was such a foreign concept for Harry, but it was something he would never stop dreaming about. Being held by another who wasn’t intending to do him harm. Seeing a smile grace someone’s lips for something other than his own misfortune.
He would make someone happy one day. Those words proved it. No matter how much his supposed family told him otherwise.
The bearer of his words would have to love him. That’s how it worked! He would be loved one day, all he had to do was push forward no matter how hard.
It would all be worth it for the sound of those perfect words being spoken one day to him, and him alone.
“Mr. Potter… our new celebrity.”
It would be worth it. One day, he would be worth it.