It's another Harry disappearing fic!
But this is no usual fanfiction, no- this is BETTER!
Read and Review, I assure you that you won't regret it.
Disclaimer: CRAP! I don't own this! DAMN J.K. ROWLING!
IntroYou are born for someone, and someone is born for you.
The moment the first whispers of your soul are heard on the wind, the first rays of your sunlight hit the earth; there is another soul just for you.
There are 6 billion muggles on the planet; three billion of them join with the other three billion. But amongst all of the people on the planet it's very hard for one little person to find their soul mate, and in most cases people simply settle for second best, or third best, going through hundreds, or thousands.
There are roughly 2 billion wizards on the planet; a billion of them join with the other billion. Their souls simmer with magic since the moment they are born, and the magic helps draw their souls to their soul mate. But again, it is a large world, and more often than not wizards just settle for second best, or third best, going through hundreds, or thousands.
Lily and James Potter were soul mates, from the moment that James saw Lily on their first day of their third year, he loved her. Lily's soul called for James, and James responded. They had Harry, whose darling emerald eyes already belonged to someone else, just as with everyone else on the planet.
On the rare occasion that people find their soul mate, they become amongst the happiest beings on the planet. As happy as the sky larks that sing to the skies, as happy as the unicorns that canter through the forest, never to be broken until death do they part.
And die they did. James died for Lily, and Lily died for her beautiful baby son, Harry.
But Lily did something that only a being that had found eternal happiness could do. She gave part of her soul to her child, her little Harry, the baby with her eyes, the baby whose jet-black hair belonged to his father. A little bit of Lily sunk into the depths of little Harry's heart, saving him from death on more than one occasion. Little baby Harry, from that moment on, became more than a wizard.
We are only designed for one soul; we are only designed to house one being within us, one bubble of life and love, of death and pain. We are not meant for two, we would die with two, but little Harry didn't.
A unicorn is the only being on the planet that has two souls. Their wondrous life giving blood, their unfathomable beauty, they are so in touch with the earth beneath their hoofs, the wind in their miens, that they can be blessed with more than one soul. If you drink a unicorn's blood, you drink one of their souls while the other carries onto the next life, and the body rejects it, giving a half-life.
Little Harry has more than one soul, little Harry is special. Harry is so pure, so innocent, kind, loving, caring that life let him keep the other soul, making him more than anyone shall ever know. But he is no unicorn, merely a unicorn child. Wizard blood still pumps through his veins, and although he no longer has the soul of any being on the planet, he is still human. Harry still cries, Harry still hates, Harry still lives and dies as every other being.
But Harry is more…
And upon the moment he was thrown into that cupboard, his angelic innocence was shattered. His purity was bleached by the suffering little Harry went through, his white clarity tinted by the bruises that marred his skin. Little Harry wouldn't be a unicorn any longer, he was something different, something blemished and spoiled.
Harry was special…
Harry was a new being, a new core in the body of a small child, with the ability to cause such love-
-And such pain.
Little Harry could have been an angel, little Harry could have been a demon, and little Harry could have been anything and everything he could have wanted.
Harry chose to be Harry
And Harry was something the world had never seen…
So pure, yet bruised dark, little Harry was more than a wizard, more than a child, more than a unicorn.
Harry was Harry, and the world wouldn't be ready for Harry.
"BOY!" Vernon growled from the other side of the cupboard, jerking the locks and banging against the wood as he tried to rip open the thin partition between himself and his cowering nephew.
Little Harry Potter curled himself up tightly against the bottles of bleach on the shelves above his cot, shutting his eyes up as tight as he could in the hope that the last of his blood would go away. Family, the word was supposed to connote love and affection, yet Harry didn't know what that was. Family for little Harry was being beaten and worked to the bone, going to sleep each night with aching muscles and waking up each morning with just the same.
The door finally ripped open and mid morning sunlight streamed through, making little Harry clamp his eyes shut tighter against the glare, against the huge looming shadow in its wake. Harry felt the huge fist coming toward him before it reached the scruff of his neck, before he'd even opened his eyes.
Vernon hauled his nephew out of the gloom, out of the smell of cleaning products and into the bitter, stale smell of their immaculate hallway. He ignored the child's whimpers as he unceremoniously dragged him across the smoothly polished floor, through the kitchen, and out of the back door.
The sun shone brightly, glistening beautifully yet wilting the plants beneath it as though a roaring inferno. Harry felt the sharp stones lining his aunt's rock garden cutting into his lower back as he was dragged over them, and bit his lower lip sharply with his little teeth as he felt his eyes prick. His back was raw from his uncle's belt merely half an hour before hand, and as he felt every small bump in the grass knock against his open wounds he couldn't hold the small wine at the back of his throat.
His uncle grunted as he hauled the small boy before him and pushed him onto his knees before the flowerbed, cutting his small knee on the edge of a trowel making him whimper quietly as he curled up against his knees. The huge man's moustache bristled as he puffed out his chest and looked down with his purple face, glaring with his small squinty blue eyes. Harry slowly twisted his little body around and looked up against the glare of the sun at his uncle, seeing his large chins wobbling with distaste.
"The Sprocket's will be arriving at any minute, and we don't want you anywhere near them to cause more of your catastrophes. Go out the back gate and be back before Dudders, do you understand?" he grunted, and Harry nodded furiously in return.
"Good," he huffed, and kicked open the back gate before throwing his nephew onto the gravel, slamming it shut behind him. Harry picked himself up shakily, pushing himself up onto his knees and using the fences lining either side to get to his feet. His knee was bleeding freely, running down the leg of his too large shorts and into his dull white socks. He sucked in a breath and pushed down the small alleyway, glad to get as far away from his 'home' as he could.
Harry heard the squeals of laughter form children from one of the other gardens, and his wide emerald eyes lifted up to a small knot in the wood as he looked through on his tiptoes. There were three children, perhaps his age although one looked slightly younger, playing in a sprinkler that cast a rainbow against the pearly droplets.
The small boy stared, transfixed, as he felt a small bubble of foreign emotions well inside of him. They were laughing so happily, squealing as they ran over the stream in their bathing costumes and giggling as they tried to catch butterflies in small home-made fishing nets made from the bags oranges come in. His shining emerald eyes, the eyes of lush forests and venom, dulled and saddened as he watched. He felt like an outsider of that sort of happiness, he felt as though he didn't belong there with him.
He didn't, he was a freak. Just as his aunt and uncle had said many times before, just as he had proved with all of the strange things that he did. The little boy sighed quietly and dropped back onto the soles of his battered leather shoes, bowing his head as he walked quietly away. Away from the love and happiness he deserved for yet another day, away from how a child's life should be.
Harry didn't know what he had done, how he had been bad, yet he was always punished. He supposed he was just a misfit, a bad seed or black sheep, so terrible that he didn't even realise he was doing it. But there was a time that he hadn't been punished; he remembered little bits of it. He remembered a man with hair slightly shorter than his own, with shining eyes and glasses that weren't stuck together with masking tape. He remembered a woman with hair as red as flames, with his own emerald orbs. He remembered them smiling down at him or cooing at him as he giggled. He could see two other men, one with kind eyes and hair the colour of copper gold, reading him stories, and he could see a man with a happy smile and funny hair that he loved to tug.
Little Harry looked down sadly as he entered the main street and began making his way towards the park, keeping to the bushes and corners in the hope of disappearing all together. He was probably just imagining those people, because he remembered his aunt and uncle screeching that his parents were terrible people. He had heard his aunt Marge telling him that his father was a drunk and his mother was a whore, whatever that was, so they couldn't be them. He didn't know the other two men either, so perhaps they didn't exist and it was merely his imagination.
The small boy pushed open the red gates leading into the park, wincing as he felt the bones in his arm that had healed wrong cracking softly under the strain. Had anyone seen him, they would not have guessed that he was nearly eight. His small frame and innocent face, bright green eyes and messy mop of hair, made him look more around five than his actual age. His skin was a little too pale; it was burned from gardening making his skin go raw on his back and arms. His glasses were held together with brown masking tape, making them stand away from his face because of the large ball over the bridge, and there was a small crack in the right frame.
Harry scuttled past the children playing happily without drawing any attention to himself and made his way over to the small clump of woodland and into the shade. His worn shoes crunched over the woodchips as he pulled his hair over his eyes to hide the scar on his forehead and the two emeralds that drew so much attention. Harry curled up against the trunk of a tree, the dry dirt underneath cushioning him and creeping into his bloodied socks, and sighed quietly as he tried to put little pressure on the sores over his back.
For what could have been hours little Harry sat in the shade of a tree, too still to be noticed and too quiet to be a normal child. Shrouded in shadows that wrapped around him under the braches shielding him protectively form the heat of the day, the only things that shone out were the two burning eyes that searched the park in silence. So much age to eyes so young following a hard life with lessons that were learnt far too soon, they had so much depth that it could make many gasp, and many others become entranced. His eyes observed those around him, figuring out the people that played and how they thought, why they did different things and why not others. People fascinated him, but for some reason he didn't feel like one, he was just an outsider. People were happy and normal, and Harry Potter was neither happy, nor normal.
For little Harry wasn't a normal little boy.
A bird's song broke the noise of children laughing, and Harry almost felt as though their voices were drowning under the spell of the little bird's voice. Harry brought his eyes up cautiously, moving for the first time in minutes, and peered up into the branches through his cracked glasses in an attempt to see what creature could be so happy to sing such a melody. The canopy shone against the sunlight, rendering Harry's sight useless as the leaves swayed and planted the patterns over his small frame. The singing stopped and he let his eyes drop again, slumping his shoulders foreword slightly in defeat.
Nothing could be that happy, he had just been imagining it, he must have. He sighed and played quietly with his hands, looking at his raw fingers from hours of scrubbing the floors and digging up weeds in the garden with his hands. He wished he could have a family that were like the ones in the park, he longed to see what it felt like in comparison to what he had at the moment. Was he happy where he was? He knew that he didn't like being beaten, didn't like his small dark cupboard and slaving away until his hands were raw, but was he happy? Truthfully Harry didn't know what happy was, so he wouldn't be able to tell.
The small boy jumped, eyes widening in sudden fright as he saw something small drop before him. His back scraped against the bark of the tree and he choked back a small sob that threatened to escape, his breathing erratic as he steadied himself and curiously looked over his legs to see what it was. Harry's emerald eyes widened and dimmed as he looked down to see the body of a small blackbird, lying lifeless and bloodied on the ground before him. Laughter rang from the other side of the park and the child looked up to see Dudley high five his best friend with one hand while holding his brand new BB gun in the other.
Harry looked back down, frightened, and Dudley disappeared knowing that his mission of destroying Harry's fun was completed. The little bird had been happy, it had sung with such a beautiful voice that it made Harry's soul well with joy, and now it was dead. It died at the hands of his cousin, at the hands of the BB gun that would be abandoned within a week.
A lone tear slid down the child's cheek as he gently gathered the limp bird in his hands and brought it to his chest. He had managed to hold back his tears when he'd been beaten this morning, when he'd scraped his knee earlier, even when he as locked in the dark that he hated so much. But upon seeing something so pure die, upon seeing someone die for no reason at all, for no reason other than the amusement of a boy, it was sickening. Harry clutched the little bird softly, feeling the soft feathers between his fingers from the rapidly cooling body.
This bird had died because of him; this bird had died because Harry had liked its song. If it weren't for him the bird wouldn't be dead, the bird would be happy and would sing to make other people happy too. More tears joined the first and dripped between Harry's fingers, onto the small black body in his gentle hands, and wished with all of his might that he could take it back, that the bird were alive again.
Harry jumped as he felt something wriggling between his fingers, and snapped open his eyes as he heard the sound of terrified chirping from between his hands. He gasped and let go of the small bird, which only just managed to flutter to its feet before him, and leant back against the tree as he stared at it wide-eyed.
The bird had been dead
And now it was alive
Harry let out a small frustrated noise as he clamped his hands together, a wind rustling through his unruly hair and the leaves in the trees as he did so. He was being a freak again, he was being abnormal and abnormal was bad. But that bird and alive now, wasn't that good? He frowned and wiped the tears furiously from his cheeks as he put his head in his hands. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why couldn't he be normal so his family could love him, so that he could be as happy as that little bird?
A lone sob escaped his fingers as tears began to run freely between his fingers, no longer aware of the attention he would have gained had anyone been there. Why couldn't they just love him? Why couldn't they hug him like those children in the park and tell him that it's okay when he misses a spot on his cleaning? Why couldn't they be there to put a plaster on his knee when he scrapes it, why couldn't they be the ones to read him bedtime stories and leave the light on so that he didn't have to stare into the darkness with the smells of bleach all around him?
Harry became dimly aware of the small weight that landed on his left shoulder as he shook quietly, wishing that his life were different. He sniffed and wiped his nose on the back of his sleeve as he turned to see what it was.
The little black bird held his gaze with its intense golden eyes, before bursting into a quick note of song that made him smile.
"Hello Turdus," He said quietly as he reached out with his finger and gently ran it over the birds shining black breast. He didn't question how he knew the little birds name; he was merely entranced by its shining golden eyes and feathers that almost glistened red in the sun. The bird let out a small chirrup and jumped off his shoulder and onto the dirt below, where it began hopping towards the tree line.
Harry watched sadly as his first friend disappeared, watching it's coppery feathers as it hopped into the trees. He shut his eyes and began to push himself awkwardly to his feet, leaning on the trunk for support, and looked up to see the sun low in the sky, which meant he should be getting back, should he not want to be punished. Harry wiped away the last tear streaks from his face and took a steadying breath, he'd need all the preparation he could get, he'd usually done something wrong even if he didn't remember doing it.
But something stopped him, just as he brought his first leg foreword to take him towards his home, towards his dark cupboard and the smells of chemicals, he felt something drawing him back. Harry turned around slowly, peering into the plants even though he didn't know what for, and spotted the small form of the little bird staring at him from between two thin trees. Harry stared at the small creature, wondering why such a pretty little bird would want anything to do with him. He was a freak, so why would this little bird want to be near him?
The small blackbird hopped backwards for a few feet over the undergrowth of dried leaves and high grass, and Harry could do nothing but follow him.
The small boy disappeared into the trees, and didn't come back out.
From that day on, Harry Potter was dead to the world.
With it went the wizarding worlds only hope.
But appearances can be deceiving…