Chapter Text
Life has never been kind to Harry Potter.
Ever since he learnt what a schizophrenic was, that is what he believed himself to be. Someone hallucinating, deluded, and psychotic. At least, that's how his relatives have described him. Perhaps they knew too, but didn't care enough to get him diagnosed, 'too expensive' perhaps.
He was eight when he learnt that, skimming through a half-torn dictionary he received as a 'gift' just days before his actual birthday. The Dursley's didn't actually remember, it was all a dirty coincidence to get a free meal at a restaurant. It was the one and only time he received a gift and had his relatives celebrate him for.. well, anything.
They didn't bother congratulating him when he got first place in a baking competition in school; nor did they give him a glance when he had to walk through his middle school graduation alone. That was just few of the many stories he'd experience at Privet Drive.. but its enough to show just how neglected he's been.
Years passed and he's learned to be rebellious and sarcastic rather than sit still and remain compliant. It made no difference, really, whether he scrubbed the house clean or rolled his eyes every time Dudley acted like a prat. Yesterday, today, tomorrow, and until people learned how to fly, he would just be the freak anomaly burden his parents left off at their doorstep. Nothing more, always less. He'd be scolded, slapped, and beaten up no matter what he did.
He'd grown used to it anyway, just like how he got used to living in the cupboard under the stairs. He'd play the cards he was dealt without knowing the rules of the game. Was it terrible luck he'd survive all these years?
Or was it the cunning he didn't know he had? How he 'accidentally' burnt the bacon, 'forced' to eat it. Dudley didn't know how to count, he could steal a chocolate from that fancy Ferrero Rocher box and his pig of a cousin would never notice. Harry Potter doesn't know just how smart he is after being belittled his entire life.
One uneventful morning, he received a letter. It was like any other day with Dudley scr—
Wait… He has a letter? Harry 'nobody' Potter has a letter addressed to him? He truly was going crazy.
He rubbed his eyes—maybe it was just the morning fog— and read it again, still his name. Dazed, he walked into the dining to hand off the rest of the post to his uncle, forgetting the fact that nothing in this household was his, even with his name written on it.
Dudley screamed like pig being butchered, hastily snatching the mail with his fat fingers.
"Harry's got mail! Dad- DAD!! LOOK!! He's got MAIL!!"
Tried to, were the right words, as Harry's grip held on tightly onto the piece of paper. He tugged and tugged until Vernon had had enough and snatched it from both of them.
"Give it back! It's addressed to me!" He burst into a temper.
"Like hell anyone's gonna write to you! We're your only blood left, idiot boy!" He spat with much venom, it was hard not to see him as a fat viper. "It's disgusting, really. How in the hell my wife is related to your disgusting, freak of a mother." Vernon screamed while Petunia reluctantly—giggling— tried to stop him.
Harry had never known his parents, died in a car crash. Yet he found himself angrier than he had ever been. I mean, who the hell was he to insult his mother when he probably never even knew her? He closed his eyes and grit his teeth and— SMASH— something inside him broke. Fists clenched and ears ringing and— BOOM— nothing else to do but implode.
Only, he didn't just implode, really, he exploded. When he opened his eyes, everything was a mess. Dudley's face was red from crying, Petunia was pale from fear. Dishes were shattered, utensils digging into the walls, chairs and tables turned upside down.
But all that could happen if they refused Dudley any diabetic shit. What struck him the most was Vernon, lying unconscious on the ground with a bruise and cut to his forehead.
Had he… Had he done this? Were they really right in calling him a psycho? How come— How much time had passed? How could he have done this if he just blinked?
"I—"
"SHUT UP, BOY!" Petunia screamed from the top of her lungs. "YOU'RE GOING TO BE LOCKED IN THAT CUPBOARD FOR A MONTH! THREE MONTHS!!"
He bit his lip, looking down at the floor. He tasted blood on his tongue, biting harder than he thought.
"You're going to clean every speck of this. I swear you'll join your parents in hell! You stupid ungrateful child!"
She kept spitting out words but the only thing he could think of was the letter on the ground. He had only one chance. He grabbed it at locked himself in the cupboard like he always did. It was the only only place he was remotely safe.
Days would pass before he could muster up the courage to read the letter, and in those past few days, there seemed to have been a flurry of mail. He could care less, though, finally opening the envelope to find a crsip and long piece of parchment.
He couldn't wait to rip open the envelope, really. Yet he head been dreading it at the same time. What if it contained his fate set in stone? What if he learned his parents really were the drunkards and freaks the Dursleys made them out to be?
Better to just get it done with, then. At least he would know he had something written to him. An item that was his and his alone. So he skimmed through the letter quickly and—
.
.
.
…Was this a joke? Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? He scoffed, crumpling up the paper and throwing it against the wall. Like such a thing could ever exist. Yet… maybe it was better than here. Anything was better than here. He'd take his chances with drug addicts and maniacs if it meant being free from them.
He uncrumpled the piece of paper and took note of everything, and by midnight, he had stolen just enough money to get to King's Cross Station(And hopefully find wherever the hell Platform 9 ¾ is).