Title: Marked
Author: Candyland
Fandom: Harry Potter: Boy meets giant. Giant tells boy he is a wizard. Boy discovers he is the hero of a world he didn't know existed. Boy is whisked away to magical school under the direction of an old, sage headmaster. Wacky hijinks (and teen angst) ensue. I DON'T OWN IT. Obviously xD
Wordcount: 503
Taunt: My fandom makes me feel dirty, and I can't figure out why.

A scar shouldn't really be that big of a deal, should it? Almost everyone had one or two of them somewhere on their bodies, the marks of an unusual occurrence or happening in a normal human life. Some were visible; others were hidden. But all had a story, be it mundane or extraordinary.

The scar on his forehead had been there as long as he could remember, a mark in the shape of a lightning bolt. It somehow managed to position itself right where the part in his bangs fell, making it full visible to anyone who cared to look. Most people didn't, though, and the ones who did were intent on pointing it out as yet another oddity of someone who could not defend himself.

When he had asked about it, he had been told that it was an injury he sustained in the accident that killed his parents. That story never quite sat well with him, though—how could, say, a piece of broken glass or something create such a perfectly-shaped scar like that? Still, he did not question.

Questioning meant drawing attention to himself, and that was not a good thing to do.

But on the night of his eleventh birthday, that changed when a cabin door crashed open to admit an enormous man into the shack they were hiding in from mysterious letters that seemed determined to spew out of every opening in the Dursley household. Not long after, he was getting the full story.

His scar was not the result of a piece of flying glass or some such thing in an accident, but the mark of magic. Powerful dark magic, a curse that had stolen his family and his chance at a normal life, and broken the power of the worst sorcerer to have ever practiced the Dark Arts. And he found that he was famous for it in a world that, until recently, he had not known existed.

And people recognized him because of it.

Suddenly his scar was not something he was teased for…but a badge of honor.

It set him apart in a way that was entirely opposite what he was accustomed to.

But it was not until years later that he would learn the true extent of what his scar meant, and how it truly connected him to his greatest enemy. He had been chosen by his adversary.

He was marked, and it had set his destiny in place. He was either to destroy the Dark One…or die.

Through it all, he continued to grow. And while he wore his scar a great deal more proudly than he had as a child dodging Dudley's abuse, Harry couldn't help but occasionally wish that it wasn't there at all. It would have been nice to have life be normal, rather than falling at an extreme—he was either ignored in the Dursley residence, or worshipped by those who had grown up on his legend.

There was no happy medium in the life of Harry Potter.

PS. …I think I had a point in this somewhere. Really, I did. I swear. But I think I lost it around, oh, paragraph one XD Thanks for reading, all! Much love!