A redheaded woman, urging, begging, pleading for her son's life. Cold, high-pitched, maniacal laughter, saying 'no' in a tone that was undeniably snobbish. A bright, sickly, yellow-green light rushes toward the woman. It hits her so strongly that she flies across the room. She falls to the floor in a heap, in shock, and dying, and dead.

Harry Potter knew that love wrought pain unto him.

A thin-necked woman, hissing, shrieking, screeching orders at him to scrub harder, and harder, and harder-yet-harder. Her son, his cousin, taunting and mocking him for having to do manual labor, something that the fat child has never been forced to do. The woman's husband, undoing his belt, whipping it at him because he needs to go faster.

Harry Potter knew that family wrought pain unto him.

A titanic troll with greyish skin, hitting everything in its path. Bashing doors, breaking pictures and portraits, shattering bones. A destroyed arm was what the boy got, while his friend ― now friends, he supposed ― got away without a scratch. The monster fell, and a mighty creaking noise sounded, and he needed to run, but he―

Harry Potter knew that friends wrought pain unto him.

A giant Cerberus, silently guarding a trapdoor. A man-eating plant, sitting in the dark, waiting for its prey. Thousands of flying keys, zooming around the air. A giant chessboard remained silent, the pieces guarding the door to the next room. A giant troll, requiring a victim to smash. Finally, a mirror awaited its next victim.

Harry Potter knew that being a hero wrought pain unto him.

The isolation was terrible. The benefit of speaking to snakes turned from a gift into a curse. A basilisk, prowling the corridors, petrifying anyone who saw its eyes' reflection. The Chamber of Secrets. Poison and phoenix tears, mixing together to cause an unnatural reaction. And for what? A little girl, one whom he barely knew?

Harry Potter knew that being a savior wrought pain unto him.

A psychopath ― the same one to betray his parents ― on the loose. He was trying to kill him (isn't this fun?). The loneliness abated, but the cold touch of soul-sucking monsters made that a neutral thing. Innocence and death, opposites in this context. A broken time-turner, blasting light everywhere, and he―

Harry Potter knew that having a close one die wrought pain unto him.

Harry Potter woke up in a cold sweat. There was something wrong, he knew it instinctively, and― he paused. The familiar scent of frying oil that he knew from only one place.

The time-turner broke, which meant... what?

He idly played with a strand of hair, and, upon seeing its length and color, froze. His hair wasn't that long. It wasn't scarlet.

He didn't like time-travel.