The Isolation Belonging to Harry




Isolation. That was all he knew from being abused by the Dursleys, by his own house in Slytherin and forever.

. . . .

"SLYTHERIN!" the hat roared.

The Great Hall fell into a deafening silence. Shocked faces with their mouths wide open were staring at Harry. A deep sinking feeling was taking place in his chest. He looked to Hagrid who seemed crestfallen and as shocked as the woman standing to Harry, Professor McGonagall.

Finding a seat was hard at his own house table. People kept telling him to bugger off and to go away.

Honestly what had he done wrong?

When Harry caught a tall greasy-haired man with a long hooked nose wearing robes of black staring at him, the man sent a look of utter disgust and superiority like the Dursleys did. The man introduced himself later as Professor Snape, head of Slytherin house.

Harry went to bed later that night. That cold feeling had never left his heart.

He was lonely.

. . . .

"Get away from me you slimy Slytherin git!" Ron screamed in Harry's face, spittle coating his face. Harry stood there, stunned and flabbergasted at his words in the Great Hall. The first friend he had ever made turned his back on him. Harry turned to go back to the Slytherin table.

Draco Malfoy was sniggering at him with a few other First Years. "What's matter? Can't even make friends with a piss poor Weasly? Pathetic."

Harry felt anger rise in chest and tears sting his eyes. Friends? Both Ron and Malfoy spread rumors about him that no one even dared approach him to make friends. School was the same as his primary school. Hell.

He could only be strong for himself.

He spat, "Fuck you Malfoy."

Malfoy turned an unnatural shade of red with his followers staring agape.

Harry left the doors of the Great Hall to somewhere private to unload his feelings.

. . . .

After having what could be called the most awkward conversation in the universe with Hagrid, Harry gave up trying to fit in.

He just gave up trying to make friends.

Harry went back into the same weak state he had in the Dursleys. Keeping his head down and taking pain as it came.

. . . .

During the Christmas holidays, he found the Mirror of Erised.

The mirror showed him visions of his mother and father smiling at him, people – friends beaming and waving to him. The cold feeling in his chest left him momentarily.

He would've loved to lose himself in that fantasy.

It was gone when Harry tried to find it again after Christmas.

. . . .

Someone left a book on his bed. Advanced Potions Making. Not only there were instructions to make simpler better potions but also spells like levicorpus and sectumsempra.

He could not put the book down for weeks until Snape found the book in his possession, snatching it out of his hand and giving him detention.

Harry became better in his grades- charms, transfiguration and potions, all of them. He ordered a leather bound journal from Flourish and Blotts and began to write in it. Everything to how his days went, making improved ingredients on potions and the new spells he learnt.

. . . .

When Harry returned from classes to his dorm room in the dungeons, Hedwig's dead corpse laid on his bed. Her wings were ripped off and her head was twisted on a weird angle.

He could hear King Malfoy and his court laughing behind him.


That hit him straight in his chest – his heart – several times.

He was all alone.

Harry lost it.

. . . .

The dark spells he learnt from that potions book proved useful. Mafloy, Zabini, Parkinson, Goyle and Crabbe were sent to St. Mungo's. For a month.

Harry had received a trial for this with Dumbledore defending him. He managed to get off scot-free though Harry was more fierce and depressed than ever.

Wherever he walked, people moved out of their way from him, afraid of meeting the same state as Harry poor weak victims. Malfoy attacked him still but indirectly.

Flint wanted to talk to him. As well as Avery. The whole Fifth Year class wanted to talk to him. Although Harry didn't know the Slytherin Fifth Years were the one fully prepared to become Death Eaters.

. . . .

Harry became more interested in the Dark Arts afterwards, reading more and more, craving more knowledge. Even stealing from the Restricted Section.

He needed to know.

He needed to know how to harden himself and never feel lonely again.

. . . .

"Why do you come here every day?" asked Moaning Myrtle in her bathroom. He did come here every day, bringing an enormous pile of books and homework with him. "No one bothers with silly old Myrtle."

"I know that feels. To have no one bother with you. To feel like no one gives a damn about how you are or even who you are. To have people walked past you and saying things behind your back."


"You just feel so helpless."

Moaning Myrtle became silent, looking as though she understood his pain. "It's the worst pain in the world."

"The worst." He agreed.

. . . .

He didn't know what possessed him but he went after the Sorcerer's Stone.

Harry managed to get past Fluffy, stumbling upon the dog in his first weeks at Hogwarts and reading up on the Cerberus later. He had sung the Hogwarts school song until the three-headed mutt fell asleep.

As well as the Devil's Snare because he paid attention in Herbology.

The flying keys were spectacularly easy. He never knew he had talent for riding on a broom.

The chessboard was where Harry's Slytherin cunning came into place, defeating the white chess pieces with no mercy.

Professor Snape couldn't have been more obvious with his damn riddle.


It was Quirrell who was after the stone. He even came to face with Voldemort though he was possessing the no longer stuttering professor's body. The Mirror of Erised was there, a reflection of Harry dropping the stone in his pocket. Quirell burned and crumbled into dust, coming into contact with Harry's body from trying to get the stone.

Harry blacked out afterwards, the stone destroyed.

. . . .

Why did Quirell burn?

Love, Dumbledore told him.

Harry's mother, Lily, placed some sort of shield over Harry with her motherly love. Not that he could ever feel it.

No one had known Harry brave attempt at saving the stone. They just carried on ignoring him.

Slytherin won the House Cup much to their delight.

The end of school came and it was time for Harry to return to the Dursleys.

At the Hogwarts Express, Harry's anxiety turned into fear when the Gryffindors attacked him. Seamus shot him with petrificus totalus and Ron and his friends went on to beating the crap out of Harry.

. . . .

He stayed with the Dursleys for three weeks. And he couldn't take it anymore. Vernon attacked him viciously and Dudley left his friends to do his dirty work. He placed an undetectable extension charm on his bag, packing all his school trunk and a months' worth of food inside. Not to mention money he took from Uncle Vernon's wallet.

Godric's Hollow.

That was where he was heading. He could Apparate there. He did before without Splinching from trying to get away from Dudley's friends, why couldn't he do it now?

With a loud crack, he Apparated to the last place where the Potter family was alive.

. . .

Harry Apparated without losing any body parts or have his arms and legs rearranged.

Godric's Hollow held a sad mournful feeling to it as he walked through the village.

He asked directions to the cemetery from a cold passer-by. The cemetery wasn't different from the rest of the village.

Harry couldn't contain the tears that fell when he saw his parents' grave. They shared one head stone and were buried next to each other. They loved both each other and him to the end.

How the hell did his life get to this?

. . . .

Harry travelled to his parents' home. It was in a state of ruin, the roof on the top floor blasted off and crumbling away into dust.

The inside of the house wasn't any different. Harry wondered to his nursery, taking in deep breaths to keep him calm.

He sat on the floor, near his broken crib. Harry pulled out his parents' photo book from his bag, opening it up. He had no idea how it ended up as a Christmas gift to him.

The images of people smiling happily with the innocent baby version of himself taunted him.

What if he had been sorted into Gryffindor?

What if Voldemort had never came to his home in Godric's Hollow?

What if isolation wasn't the one thing Harry knew his whole life?

Tired from crying, Harry laid on the floor.

He was so tired.

Of everything.

He let out a small shuddering gasp.

Harry closed his eyes, dreaming of what Harry could have been if that feeling of loneliness in his chest didn't exist from all the people that loved him.

. . . .


I hope you know I cried while writing this. I CRIED! CRIED! I was not happy writing something like this.

Isolation and exclusion of children is a serious mater, affecting them their whole lives. If you do know someone distant from all the others, please talk to them and ask if they are okay.

This is my first try at angst. Please review and tell me how I can make this better.

Review for all the salty tears I had because of this?