OK, everyone knows this one. Sing along if you want to, just like in Hogwart's you decide the melody.
I don't own Harry Potter, never really did.
J.K Rowling didn't share with me, not one bit.
So I thought I'll write some, just to fool around.
I say it again, that world isn't mine.
I'll write it anyway, I want my work look good.
That won't win with her owning it, nothing really could.
What is the meaning of life?
Most people don't approach that question throughout their lives. Just like few are interested in studying philosophy and unraveling the mysteries of the universe. The truth is, the bulk of population is content with going about their daily lives.
Buth that's only possible because everyone already knows. Each and every person instinctively know what is most precious in life. Just like we all have our own life philosophies, sets of rules, codes of honour. All that without anyone ever asking one philosophical question.
Much of that is due to parents, explaining basic facts of life and showing you how to percieve the world. Some of it comes with the rebellious phase, when you start seeing though all those half truths you've heard before, and make your own mistakes in order to find your own way of living. Your friends, your teachers, movies you see and books you read. Everything you come in contact with, in one way or another, adds up to your world view, your mindset – your personal philosophy.
But what if you didn't have that?
What if you found yourself in this world without anyone to look up to, and nothing to treat as your own?
Harry Potter didn't have to ponder what that kind of life would look like, for the simple reason that he lived such a life.
The first the world saw of him was just a baby wrapped in blankets, left on a doorstep with nothing to prove he existed, other than a letter written in a mysterious green ink. After that, he vanished from sight just as suddenly as he appeared, kept under the watch of his aunt and uncle, and punished for anything and everything.
His school wasn't that much more fulfilling. Teachers rarely spared him a glance because of his low grades, which no amount of talking with his relatives helped, or all the troubles happening with him in the centre. Of course, who could have known that his homework was largely influenced by all the chores he had to do around the house, or him being locked in his cupboard as a punishment for another thing Dudley managed to pin the blame for on him. For instance, all those nasty accidents that made Harry to be friendless for as long as he could remember.
That was the world Harry Potter lived in. Without any adults he could look up to. No friends he could complain to. Even without anything he could call his own, as all of his earthly possessions were hand-me-downs from Dudley, and some of the broken toys he managed to scavenge.
That's why throughout most of his early life Harry simply did as he was told. He learned the hard way that it would do him no good to raise his voice, as no one would listen to a child. Especially not his relatives, who would simply punish him for even opening his mouth.
But while on the outside it seemed that he had nothing to share, what was in his mind was entirely different story.
Even with all children being different, the way that a young mind works is relatively universal. Childish curiosity and the need to ask questions, those sharp eyes watching every move of the adults, and that deep and instinctual need to belong.
From his youngest years, Harry couldn't understand why he was the one constantly singled out. So, while his peers wondered why the sky was blue or if the moon could possibly be made of cheese, he asked himself: Why? Why me? What have I done this time to deserve this?
And without any answer, even the vaguest "You'll know in time" coming his way, Harry took it upon himself to learn what really was important, and what he could do better to deserve the attention of his relatives.
But like stated earlier, he had no one who would be his guide in this journey. He didn't have that small voice in the back of his head telling him "wash your hands before dinner", or "take your scarf. It's cold outside."
His mind was blank and unmolded in any way. And while everyone seemed to pass him by, treating him as air, he observed them very closely. Using his sharp eyes, he noticed all those little details, simple things people try to hide away under the facades of their life. Those little white lies. Places where people stepped over the line. Moral dilemmas of everyday life.
He didn't pick one thing as the ultimate truth, but took everything in as it was, and tried to think of resons for their existence, rather than argue why they canceled themselves out. Thus, "You should play nice," the children heard so much, and "It's not so simple" that was mentioned during disturbing times stood right next ot eachoter. Just like "Listen to other people," and "No excuses."
And while doing it, he constantly tried to find something which would answer it all. Was it a matter of truth? Being right over being wrong? Constant battle of good versus evil? Or simply a matter of necessity...
He watched, remembered everything he saw and learned from it. In time, he became adept in reading people. How simple things could state life-long dreams, or personal defeats.
Early on he became aware of just how little information was passed through verbal means, and it wasn't long before he could call out a type of person observing only how they walked. How some people strode towards their goal, with others being only a background for their march, and crowds unconciously parted to give them way. Or how, even when couple of people made their way in a crowd, you could still tell that they were a group.
He opened his mind to the movement in the world, the constant dance of seemingly irrevelant elements, and those subtle tones that most people missed.
But no matter how much time he spent on his studies, it didn't help him decide what the most important thing really was in all of it. Whose goals were more noble, and what was the proper path to achieving them.
And it was during one of his musing sessions – his favourite pastime while being locked in his cupboard after yet another thing he did wrong – while being seriously sleep-deprived and not having anything satiating to eat in quite a while came the time that he stated it outright.
'I just wish I had someone who would explain it all.' Harry thought to himself, finally feeling his fatigue.
Before his eyes closed of their own accord he became aware of someone sitting at the end of his mattress, hugging legs and chin on knees.
'Well, I'm delusional now. Hope for being normal died today,' he thought with a bitter laugh. 'Will have to note this date as "The End"' he joked with a yawn, too tired to be bothered with thinking just how serious his condition was. Even before the sentence fully ran through his mind, he was fast asleep.
"It isn't the end," whispered Harry's guest, watching the sleeping boy curiously. "Just a slight transition".
AN: Here I come straight from the future... Wow, it's seems such a long time since I started this story. And finally came the time to slowly rewrite all the crappy parts I called writing when I didn't have a clue what to do.
Give a great applause to The Bitter Kitten who is smacking me over the head with a rolled newspaper for all the stupid mistakes I made in the past. " :3 ", she says.