Chapter Text
When Hogwarts was founded in 990 AD, the four Founders realised that ripping Muggle-raised children from their families at age eleven and immersing them in magic too early caused catastrophic culture shock, obedience issues, and dangerous accidental magic surges during puberty. To protect both the children and their families, they cast the Concord of Maturity: deliberate magical training and wand ownership are forbidden worldwide until the witch or wizard's magic fully stabilises at seventeen. Instead, every magical community maintains a discreet Childhood Watch who monitor, gently guide, and Obliviate when needed until the child's seventeenth birthday. This is why Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, Durmstrang, and every accredited school on the planet all begin at seventeen; it has simply always been that way for a thousand years.
July 31st, 1989 - Privet Drive, Little Whinging.
It was a hot summers' day. The suburban lawns once green, were now parchment yellow. There was hardly any breeze, let alone a tree's shadow to shield oneself from the heat. A tall, lean teenage boy with broken glasses was walking down Magnolia Lane, drifting off in his own thoughts, ignoring his surroundings. He had black raven hair, piercing green eyes, and a lightning shaped scar on his forehead.
Harry Potter was, in all accounts a stellar student. Too quite for his age, some would say, but all in all kind and respectful. He attended Stonewall high, and was top of his class since he had started four years before.
Harry chuckled. His primary teachers could not believe it when they had heard of the Potter boy having the best scores in the district. What they didn't know was that Harry had to keep his scores low or face punishment at his relatives' place.
Harry grimaced.
Every time he thought of his living conditions, a sense of hopefulness took over his body and the air around him stiffened, almost as if it became charged with energy. He had learned the hard way to keep control of his emotions, or else have a disaster in his hands.
Ever since he turned seven years of age, strange and inexplicable accidents happened around him, things he couldn't possibly explain no matter how much he tried. They only got worse when he hit puberty; electronics exploding whenever he got distressed, glasses shattering when receiving a beating from uncle Vernon, furniture flying across the living room whenever aunt Petunia talked badly about his parents.
He made the connection that those accidents happened whenever he lost control and so he began researching for meditation technics and other activities that could help him gain some resemblance of control over himself.
He had to, or he reckoned his life would've been a very short one.
Vernon and Petunia Dursley and their son, Dudley. They were Harry's relatives, and for reasons he was never able to comprehend, they hated him. Not in the way a school kid hates his bully, or the way you hate the guy that steals your girlfriend. They hated him like nazis hated jews, or white supremacists hated colored people.
Yet, every day he had to return to his own personal hell. Number 4, Privet Drive. After all, Harry Potter had nowhere else to go.
He let out a sigh, trying to keep his composure. Today was his birthday and causing a accident by losing control of himself was not the way to celebrate it.
He had endured much physical pain throughout the years, he had become used to it. Belts, frying pans, sticks, punches, slaps, burns, bottles thrown at him. For some reason they kept referring at him as freak, what was that supposed to mean?
Another spike of energy surrounded him. Taking another calming breath, he kept walking down the neighbourhood with no specific aim, just trying to buy himself some alone time away from his abusers.
Harry had come to think of them as just a necessary evil, one he had to endure before he could finally start living. Sadly for him, he had to get back soon or face his aunt and uncle's wrath.
When Harry entered Number 4, he faced a familiar view. Vernon once had been a petulant but somewhat successful business manager at Grunnings selling drills of all things. However, he had fallen of the wagen when Harry was 12, due to aggressive behaviour in the workplace. After facing many lawsuits, he was finally fired. And so he quickly became the sorrowful excuse of a man that Harry was faced with everyday. Food and liquor stains in his shirt showed he was drunk again, and feeling sorry for himself. Again.
Uncle Vernon's outlet had been intensifying his nephew's punishment whenever he felt like it, specially when he was in that drunken state. In uncle Vernon's worldview, everything, including him losing his job, was Harry's fault. Vernon had been in between employments, but none of them ever stuck. Turned out nobody wanted a bully for an employee.
The next thing he saw was his aunt Petunia, loudly moving around in the kitchen, trying to cook whatever food she could with the little ingredients they still had in the house. She had point blank had refused to find work herself, so they had forced Harry into working for scraps since his early teens.
That fact was the only thing he was actually thankful for, in his life with the Dursleys.
Working since early teens, had enable him to find his own persona, and thankfully gave him much life experience and tools he wouldn't have gotten otherwise. Talking to one of his co-workers in a chinese supermarket, he learned what abuse was, and had begun identifying it in his own life.
"I tell you man, Audrey's family are sick fucks." Brandon, a tall blond fourteen year old, was ranting none stop about his girlfriends issues, and Harry could not comprehend what was wrong with it.
"What do you mean?" Harry asked tentatively.
"What do I mean? Jesus fuck, Harry, haven't you been listening?" Brandon let out an exasperated breath before continuing. "They beat her, Harry. They fucking beat her, and she's scare for her life every time she has to go back to that house."
So, it was wrong for your own family to beat you? Harry felt something shattered inside of him and he couldn't keep up with the conversation anymore.
Thinking back to that moment, that conversation, it had sparked his path to freedom. Next day, he walked straight to the counselor's office at Stonewall high, Mr. Brown, and asked for a meeting. After that day, he had gone regularly to his office and started his journey to healing himself mentally and emotionally.
After about three months into counseling, Mr. Brown suggested self-defense classes, a suggestion he took to heart. Ever since, he had begun taking control of his life, what little he could get anyways.
Harry was brought out of his thoughts by a shriek. Startled, he saw Vernon lunging, surprisingly, at Petunia. Harry was in shock, his mind in overhaul racing through millions of thoughts at the same time.
His aunt Petunia had been horrible to him, for sure. The constant comments about him being a freak, or the silent approval of her husband' punishments, or her spoiling nature towards her own son, Dudley. Everything hurt, at an emotional level. But she had never raised a hand at him. Sometimes he even got the distinct feeling, she was also surviving, same as him.
"Freak!" Uncle Vernon had lost his mind when he saw through Harry's satchel and found his school reports. He was being rather pompous about Dudley coming back from Smeltings, and seeing his son had passing grades. As it was back in primary school, Vernon quickly took Harry's own report to show that his son was smarter than his freak nephew. Only this time was different. Harry didn't had to hide his brains, didn't need to run from Dudley's gang all the time.
"There's no way you could've scored higher than Dudley, you cheated!" It didn't matter how many times Harry screamed he hadn't cheated, Vernon kept hitting him with all his might. Across the room he locked eyes with Petunia and Dudley. His cousin was looking smug, like an early Christmas present was being handed to him. But Petunia, Harry could've sworn she had a tear in her cheek.
Harry passed out, and thought it had been an illusion.
His brain engaged again, and he knew he hadn't imagined it. Petunia was putting up an act to survive, she was as much a victim as a perpetrator to Harry's abuse. She had to spoil Dudley or get beat, she had to call him names or get slapped, she had to rationalize his meals or she would be on the end of Vernon's belt. It all clicked into place in Harry's brain.
Before he knew what he was doing, he let out a roar that seemed to have stopped time itself. In the blink of an eye, Vernon turned to him and before one step was taken in Harry's direction, Vernon flew across the kitchen and into the backyard.
Glasses shattered, and lights flickered. Harry was standing at the front door heavily breathing, whilst Petunia was silently crying and shivering.
Calm down. Breath. Settle your emotions.
Harry's chest was moving up and down fast, adrenaline porting through his veins. With each breath he took, his heart grew calmer, and the energy surrounding him began receding. Slowly, he took a few steps towards his aunt.
Seeing her up-close, he confirmed his earlier thoughts. Petunia was as much a victim as he was. She was crying, shaking and visibly pale for what almost happened to her.
"Aunt Petunia?" Harry's voice echoed across the silent kitchen, cutting through the tension that had been built with Vernon's aggression. Harry was confused by what had happened, uncle Vernon usually lashed out against him, not his aunt. Petunia locked eyes with him, and he saw her regrets in them.
"H-Harry, c-call the police." He widened his eyes, in all of his fifteen years he had always wanted to report them, but Vernon's words that nobody would believe a freak had left him discouraged. Now, aunt Petunia was giving him the small push he had needed to report everything.
He dialed 999. In the next ten minutes, he and his aunt sat in the kitchen with their eyes firmly looking into space instead of each other, neither of them dared to go outside looking for Vernon. The doorbell rang, and they jumped in surprise at the sound. Walking slowly towards the front door, Harry began dreading what would happen next.
"Good evening, Mr. Potter I take it?" The broad, tall, bald officer addressed Harry in a familiar tone, something he wasn't exactly used to except for his counselor at school, or his self-defense teacher.
"Good evening, officer." Harry took one side step back letting the officer into Number 4.
Everything that came next was a blur for Harry and Petunia. The moment he crashed on his bed, he tried to list the highlights of what had happened. Vernon had been severely injured, and due to his intoxicated state when it happened, his body just gave up in its entirety. Vernon Dursley was found dead at 7:39 pm on July 31st 1989.
The next thing he was mostly sure of, was the fact that Dudley had been arrested for juvenile delinquency, with a possibility to do time in a correctional for the next three to five years. His entire gang had been caught up in their schemes to nobody's surprise; not even his aunt Petunia seemed all that distraught by it.
Harry, however, felt strange about the entire incident. His memory of the fight with uncle Vernon was fuzzy. He looked at his knuckles and they weren't injured, if he had hit his uncle the way he remembered it, then there was no way his knuckles wouldn't be bloodied.
His daily meditations since he had begun self-defense lessons had taught him that his mind was and would always be his greatest tool. And he felt that it had been tampered with, but no matter how much or how hard he tried, he couldn't figure out a way to untangle it.
Everything had been to... neat. To easy. Harry knew for a fact that things in life hardly went that way, specially for him. If he had killed a man, how was it that the state hadn't taken him in? How was he able to lay in his own ragged bed, and Dudley was in prison? It didn't make sense for Harry.
Forcefully he decided to just sleep and see if the morning brought more sense to what had happened.
====
It was a restless night. On top of the summer's heat driving him insane, and drying up his mouth, his mind was even more convinced that something had been done to him, and he couldn't understand why or what had happened.
Turning to his side, he saw the time. It was 5:49 am. With a deep sigh, knowing he wouldn't be able to go back to sleep, he decided on a morning run before coming back and make breakfast as he always did since he could remember.
Not bothering with his glasses, he put on his trainers, a pair of sweats and a shirt, and began his stretching routine. This was something he had taken accustom to since he began his physical training at school and at his defense classes.
Thinking fondly to those few adults, Mr. Brown mostly, that had actually cared for him put a small grin on his face. Regardless of the hour, the heat was still overwhelming, but he didn't care, he needed the run, needed the outlet.
Something he couldn't explain had happened the day before, and he couldn't remember what it was. Maybe it had something to do with the energy within him that always threaten to surface whenever he lost control of his emotions. Even if there were other people like him, he just knew that was different.
Deep in his thoughts, organizing the alleged events from the previous night, Harry began to calm himself and more importantly, convince himself of letting the topic go. One thing he had learn in counseling was that if one didn't have an answer, or sufficient facts to find an answer, then it didn't do any good to linger on it, wasted energy as Mr. Brown often told him.
Sweat crept his back and chest, drops falling down his forehead. He had run faster than he was used to, but he felt calmer because of it. Entering Number 4, he was assaulted by the image of aunt Petunia waiting for him in the living room. That wasn't so surprising, what shocked was how relaxed she seemed. For someone who had quite literally lost her husband and son not even twenty four hours before, she was almost... happy? No, that couldn't be right, could it?
"How was your run, Harry?" She called him by his name? What exactly was going on?
"Alright, I guess." Harry answered as truthful as he could be.
"That's nice." Petunia's voice was soft and apologetic. Locking eyes with him, the lips of her mouth crept upwards in a slight smile, the first she had genuinely giving Harry since forever. "Go and take a shower, we're going out today."
That shocked him even more. Not trusting his voice to say anything, he simply nodded, and went upstairs to his room.
A cold shower, and clothes later, Harry found himself standing in front of his aunt, wary of her new attitude towards him. In all of his fifteen years of life, she had never once treated him with affection, let alone, love. Not even with cordiality. And all of the sudden, one death and one imprisonment later she was a decent person?
Aunt Petunia took his silence for what it was, and simply grabbed her purse and exited the house knowing Harry would follow shortly after. Taking a car ride to London, they stopped at Piccadilly street in a small cafe, first one he had ever went to.
Black floors and dark green walls, it was a private setting, almost as if saying 'your business is your own'. They ordered a small English breakfast, Earl Gray tea and some orange juice, and ate in silence, which was enerving for Harry.
"Aunt Petunia," Harry broke the silence, hesitant of the answer, "Why are we here? What's going on?"
His aunt smiled, but he could see her face was saddened not only by the events of the previous evening, but by years of pent up regrets and sorrows. He didn't know how he knew it, but it was true nonetheless.
"Harry..." A single tear fell from the corner of her left eye, and Harry couldn't help the need to comfort her. He moved his chair next to hers, and slowly but steadily he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. The damme broke down. He had never seen his aunt behave this way. She was sobbing her heart out, trying to be as quite as possible at the same time.
Harry began to panic, he had no idea what to do in that situation. This was a women that had stood by watching him get beaten and tortured his entire life, and her she was breaking apart in his shoulder, clinging to him for dear life.
He didn't know how long it was, but after what had seemed to be an eternity, she relented her crying and let him go. When he saw her face, it was swollen and red-eye from crying. Fuck, what do I do now?
"H-Harry," she began again after pulling herself back together as much as she could, "I'm sorry."
There it was. The words gave him a flashback while he stared at his aunt's pleading face.
"What is forgiveness, Harry?" Mr. Brown asked nonchalantly. It was the second year of their counseling, and Harry had made steady progress in his emotional growth.
"I don't know, I assume you'll tell me?" His cheek was already known as an endearing treat for Mr. Brown.
"Funny, but not this time, chap." Harry saw his seriousness. It was one of those sessions.
"I don't know, Mr. Brown. Just forget what happened, and move on?" Harry looked at the floor.
"And how would that make you feel if you did that?"
Harry took a few moments to answer. He felt a surge of rage inside of him.
"Angry. I will never forget what they have done to me, or what they will continue to do to me. Fuckers deserve to die." Harry spat the last bit almost to himself, hoping Mr. Brown didn't hear it. He did.
"Many people who live deserve to die, yes. Many who die deserve to live. Can you be the judge, Harry?" Mr. Brown's soft voice made Harry's anger deflate as if a balloon had been pinched.
"... No." Harry had the feeling this session would change his life forever.
"So, if trying to forget their abuse to you makes you angry, that's probably not the answer, right?"
"Then I honestly don't know, sir. This topic is not one that is often talked about in class, you know?" Harry tried to lightened the mood. Mr. Brown chuckled.
"Come on, Harry. Search deeper. I'll give you a clue. I think you already forgave them."
"What!? No! How can you say that?" Harry stood from his chair and had the feeling of wanting to punch his counselor. The energy from inside him began to stir, and he had to take a few calming breaths to avoid destroying everything around him.
"Alright, let me try a different angle, then." Mr. Brown motioned for him to sit down again. When Harry did, he continued. "Answer with yes or no, Harry. Do you want their abuse to define you?"
"No."
"Alright, do you want to carry their abuse with you forever?"
"No!"
"Perfect!" He smiled as if he was getting to his point. "I think we've established before, that since you are no judge, you don't get to decide if they deserve to die, right?"
"Yes." Harry was getting annoyed, now.
"So, if you don't get to decide if they live or die, you don't want to and you won't carry their abuse of you forever, and you certainly will not let that abuse to define you, what is the only thing that is left for you to do?"
Realization hit Harry like a brick. He hadn't let their hits break him, he hadn't let them change who he was, he didn't define relationships like they did. He was different than them. He didn't want to punish them, he didn't want revenge, he just wanted to leave them behind and never look back.
"Forgiveness." Harry answer was but a whisper, too chocked up in the realization that his relatives didn't have a hold on him, that no matter the hits, the insults, the degrading, he was already free from them.
Mr. Brown smiled warmly at his charge. He had always known Harry was made of harder mater than anybody else. The kid's resilience and heart was completely overwhelming at times. He was kind, brave and compassionate. Still kept to himself, not many friends. But he was a kid, he had time to build relationships. Yes, Harry was going to be alright.
Harry focused back on the present, seeing how his teary aunt was just staring at him. He wanted to yell at her, wanted to scream and ask why she had left him alone against her husband, why she had stood by and let him get beaten up. He was hurt by her inaction.
Mr. Brown's words brought him back to calmness. He wouldn't let his aunt define his life. He said the only words that his heart could speak.
"I forgive you, aunt."
Harry finally had broken free.