Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything else copyrighted by someone, blah blah blah.

I know it's short but I'm leaving myself leway in case I don't get permission to use something from someone else.

He saw them sometimes, usually while he was at school, but sometimes he would glance out the window and there one of them would be, standing across the street by the house or sitting on the roof of the shed.

There were twelve or so individuals, but only three appeared together and never for long.

They all had dark eyes.

As he grew older and began to attend school, he would sit under a tree in the corner of the playground and, sometimes, one of the people, a small woman with golden-brown skin and long dark hair, would drop a paper lunchbag down from the branches.

This would often be the only food he would receive for days.

They never spoke to him and he almost never spoke at all.

They never came more than ten feet of him, but their presence was oddly comforting, despite, or perhaps because of, their completely neutral feelings for him. Every other person he had met was either hostile or uncaring; their views tainted by the Dursleys or word-of-mouth. Some even pittied him.

The people with dark eyes just accepted, waited, left him unjudged.

By the time he was seven, they had become such a permanent fixture in his life, the dark-eyed people were like the neighbours and kids at school to him; people who were there with little impact on his life.

By the time his Hogwarts letters arrived, he barely gave them more attention than he gave a passing cat, so it never crossed his mind to tell anyone about them.

Even when they followed him to school.

He never questioned why no one noticed them. No one ever had.

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