Summary: What if JKR had never intended the Harry Potter series to be for children? How would Harry’s time at the Dursleys been written? This story focuses on the years Harry lived in the cupboard under the stairs at number four Privet Drive, as well as his first appearance at Hogwarts. The treatment he receives during his decade there is not described in fairy tale terms. The boy who initially develops is not the Harry Potter we know. The story is liberally AU, with different personality traits, events, and relationships used to reflect the changes in this very different Harry and the environment in which he grew up. In the end, through the assistance of a certain redheaded young lady, Harry ultimately finds the life he should have had and rediscovers the qualities he always had inside of him. While I am not a psychologist or child development expert, the symptoms, actions, and behaviors portrayed reflect the realities of child abuse. Appropriate disclosures will be contained in the Author’s Notes above the chapter when warranted.
Rating: R
Categories: Pre-OotP, Alternate Universe, Buried Gems
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2007.11.10
Updated: 2008.09.13
Saving Harry by The Seeker
Chapter 1: The New Arrival
Author's Notes: “Oh, Albus, they’re the worst Muggles imaginable.”
“I understand your concerns, Minerva, but he’ll be protected here better than anywhere else.”
The silver-haired elderly wizard didn’t notice the witch’s sour, tight-lipped reaction as he bent over and gently placed the fifteen-month old baby on the front porch of a suburban house that looked remarkably like every other house on the street named Privet Drive. A thick, warm blanket swaddled the child, exposing only his pale face and a lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
“Good luck, Harry Potter.”
The witch and the wizard left, sealing the boy’s fate for his next ten years.
Harry Potter lay on his paper-thin mattress in the cupboard under the stairs, absently scratching a spider bite on his left arm. The cupboard was located in the house owned by his aunt and uncle, Petunia and Vernon Dursley, who, along with their son, were his only remaining relatives, but not his family, by any stretch of the imagination.
The boy had been protected through the years by a blood charm conjured by Albus Dumbledore, the very same man who had brought him to the house nearly ten years earlier. The wizard had created the strongest protection possible for young Harry, based on the sacrifice Harry’s mother had made when he was just fifteen months old. The magic world’s worst Dark wizard had come to Harry’s house in Godric’s Hollow on Halloween Night with the intent of killing him. His mother, however, had willingly given her life for her son, and it created a bond of protection so strong, that Lord Voldemort’s Killing Curse rebounded from the baby and destroyed the evil wizard’s body, leaving him to exist only in a faint, mist-like form. Harry quickly became the wizarding world’s most famous citizen, known as The-Boy-Who-Lived.
But Harry didn’t know any of this.
He didn’t know where he had lived previously. He didn’t know how his parents died, what they looked like, or even their names. He didn’t know who Albus Dumbledore was or the blood protections he had created. He didn’t know he was famous. And he certainly didn’t know he was a wizard.
What he did know, without a doubt, was that his aunt, his uncle, and his cousin, Dudley, hated him — though he had no idea why they felt that way.
The morning of that long-ago early November day dawned crisp and cool, as it usually did that time of year. The only noise was the rustle of discarded Halloween candy wrappers that swirled in the light breeze that made its way down the otherwise pristine street. That is, until a scream involuntarily escaped from the lips of the lady who lived at number four.
A baby — that baby — lay, no longer sleeping, on her porch, though he was not welcomed with the same enthusiasm that the lady of the house normally reserved for the daily bottles of milk and other dairy products that sat beside him. Quickly realizing both her scream — and the baby lying on the porch — broke the rules of decorum that guided the residents of Privet Drive, the woman grabbed the milk bottles and other items, put them in the refrigerator, and returned for the now squalling infant. As she brought the child inside, she noticed an envelope addressed to her lying on top of the blanket. A second scream rent the air inside the house, as the woman read the brief contents of that letter.
Her screams and the infant’s crying soon disturbed the other inhabitants of number four. Dudley, the much loved nineteen-month old son of Petunia and Vernon Dursley, was now also howling, already adept at getting exactly what he wanted from his doting parents. Hearing her son’s cries, his mother put the other baby on the entry floor and raced up the stairs to her Duddikins. While she soothed her already overweight son, her husband poked his head into the nursery.
“What in blazes was that racket downstairs?” he groused, upset by the disturbance to his daily routine.
Petunia winced at his words, and then took a deep breath. “My sister, Lily, and her husband were killed last night. Someone left their son, Harry, on our porch.”
Vernon’s eyes narrowed, and his voice took on an ominous, soft quality. “Why would anyone in their right mind leave that . . . that . . . freak with us?”
Petunia closed her eyes. “I’m his last living relative. We have to keep him. I’m sorry, Vernon.”
Her husband stared at her, rage rolling off him in waves. Then he turned without saying another word, walked down the hallway to their bedroom, and continued getting ready for work. A few minutes later, Petunia went downstairs and picked up the infant, tears in her eyes.
She whispered, “How could you do this to me, Lily? You know how Vernon felt about you and James and now Harry. This will never work. I’ll never be able to treat him the way you would want. Vernon would kick me out on the street, along with Harry, if I did.”
Vernon eventually came downstairs and ate breakfast without a word. His eyes were still narrowed, occasionally staring at the unwanted addition to his family, then turning to his wife as he attacked the scrambled eggs and sausages, as if they had offended him. Once finished, he left for work, without giving his wife his usual goodbye and kiss on the cheek.
He blames me, was Petunia’s recurring thought throughout the day, and it scared her to death. Vernon was not a prize, she knew that, but he was her prize, and what pounded at her was that he may be the only man who would consider being her husband.
Lily never asked me if I would take Harry, she fumed. She just assumed I would. How could she? They are so different than we are.
Her breath caught painfully in her chest, feeling like a chunk of ice had lodged there. They were so different . . .
Sobs finally wracked her body. They’re dead. There’s no chance of ever reconciling with them. Mum and Dad are gone; Lils and James, too, and we’re left with Harry. Vernon hates anything or anyone different. This is going to be absolutely horrible. Lils, I can’t do this. I’m so sorry.
Petunia broke down, grieving for the sister she had disowned due to her own jealousy and Vernon’s intolerance. Her grief eventually turned to anger at her sister and her ever-so-wonderful and loving husband. Her decision was made.
Harry can live with us, but he can never be part of our family. Vernon would never allow their child to be treated as an equal to Dudley, so we’ll just do the minimum. She never asked me. I can’t jeopardize my marriage for their son. How could Lily do this to me?
Petunia quickly washed her face, then stared at her image in the mirror for a brief second before she squared her shoulders and pursed her lips. Her mind was made up. As the two boys slept, she pulled clothes that Dudley had outgrown from a box in the spare bedroom, cleaned out the cupboard beneath the stairs, and wrestled a thin mattress down the stairs and placed it in the cupboard.
The boy will stay there, she thought, and will not be allowed to disrupt our normal life.
Harry, of course, had no idea he’d been raised in a world entirely different than the one he had just entered. He had been surrounded by magic and magical people for each of his fifteen months. Brooms that flew, levitating objects, household chores that did themselves, and healers that could take care of almost any injury or illness quickly and painlessly were everyday facets of his world. Being that young, the wizard did not think about these marvels; they just existed and he accepted them without question as part of his life.
In the same way, he knew he was loved.
His tall, dark-haired dad and his smaller mum, with the auburn tresses, were the reasons he was so loved. They knew the sun rose and set on their son, that he was special solely because he was theirs, created by their love. Lily and James felt it was important for Harry to know how much they loved him each and every day. They would read and share books with their son, hold him, play and sing to him, tickle and talk with him. They helped their beloved son learn to talk, rejoicing when ‘ma’ and ‘da’ were the first two words he said. They made sure he had lots of friends, so he played regularly with Ron and Neville, and even baby Ginny.
His parents and their best friends, Sirius, Remus, and Peter, also made sure he learned magic. They knew he would be a powerful wizard, when he quickly learned to banish foods he didn’t like, throw and summon toys, and levitate first small, then increasingly larger objects. While the Ministry of Magic called these events “accidental magic” — something that magical children did unknowingly, without thought or wands — Harry’s parents and friends knew better. They were sure Harry knew, at some level at least, exactly what he was doing.
But most of all, they knew he was a flyer. James and Sirius went behind Lily’s back and bought a toy training broom for Harry as soon as he was able to sit up. The two best friends were exciting flyers, and they were committed to seeing their son and godson, respectively, become an even better broom jockey than they were. So, at a way too early age, James and Sirius sat Harry on his first broom, lightly holding him and covering the ground with Cushioning charms. Of course, they did this only when Lily was out of the house.
They were right. Even at that young age, Harry had extraordinary flying skills. Soon, he’d progressed from flying slowly in circles just a foot off the ground to as high as his father’s head, with curves and quick changes in altitude. Best of all, their son laughed the entire time he flew. These unofficial lessons extended uninterrupted until one day when Harry’s increasing vocabulary got his two fathers in big trouble with his mum.
“Ma! Ma!” he yelled, grinning widely. “Broom!”
Lily looked startled at the words, but before she could turn to James, Harry had summoned the broom and ran over to his mum, holding it proudly in his small hands
“Fly!” he laughed.
Lily smiled at Harry, and then nailed James with a redhead’s death stare. “Tell me, James, that you haven’t been teaching our son to fly behind my back.”
He replied by closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’d rather not lie to you, Lils.”
Since James’s eyes were still closed, he missed the smirk on his wife’s face. “Don’t you dare ‘Lils’ me and try to weasel out of this, James Potter.”
He opened his eyes and raised his eyebrows in a pleading fashion. “Sirius bought the broom for Harry. I didn’t want to hurt Sirius’ feelings and tell him Harry couldn’t fly it.”
Lily couldn’t hold the death stare any longer and started laughing so hard she ended up gasping for air. Finally, she calmed down. “James you’re a horrible liar, thankfully. You know how much I love flying. I would have loved seeing Harry learn how to.”
James winced. “I’d prefer you yelling at me, instead of making me feel rotten.” Then, his face brightened. “Do you want to see him fly now? He’s incredible. Of course, with my genes, that’s to be expected.”
By this time, Lily had walked over to James, with Harry beside her, holding her hand.
Whack!
“Don’t do that again, James Potter! I want to see everything Harry learns. Got it?”
James just nodded as he rubbed his sore shoulder.
“Good! Let’s take him outside. Want to fly, Harry?”
“Yeah, Ma! Fly!” he yelled and pulled on her hand.
Once the Cushioning charms were cast, James whispered in Harry’s ear, and the boy kicked off, flying slowly in circles about two feet off the ground.
After about a minute, Lily ran out of patience. “Harry, fly high,” she raised her hand above her head, “and fast,” while she made rapid circles.
Harry screamed with joy, a huge smile lighting up his face. James braced himself for Lily’s explosion as Harry raced around his parents at increasing speed, then added dips and twists, figure eights, and even a dive toward the ground. As Lily screamed, James ducked his head, knowing he was going to be hexed into the middle of next week. Instead, he heard laughter, his wife’s melodic notes in counterpoint to his son’s raucous sounds.
Lily smiled at James. “He’s brilliant, isn’t he?”
A relieved smile spread across James’s face, “He’s going to be an incredible Seeker. I .can’t wait to see him play.”
Lily crossed over to where James was standing and wrapped her arms tightly around her husband. “I can’t wait, either. No more hiding things, right, dear heart?”
“Never again, Lils.” He kissed the top of her head and pulled her close. “This is so much fun. I can’t believe it’s real. There’s so much to look forward to.”
Their world changed drastically after that. A prophecy was made and partially overheard, forcing the Potters into hiding. A Secret Keeper was selected, then deception, sacrifice, and a miracle.
Harry Potter’s life would never be the same.
Hours later, he was delivered to the Dursleys. Even though they were his relatives, he’d never met them before. Whether he would have remembered them didn’t matter, he would have plenty of time to learn about his only remaining relatives.
Harry had no idea why he was there, where his parents were, what had happened to the fun and laughter and love that had been in his life each and every day. He certainly didn’t understand the concept of death, that his parents were gone, never to be seen again, never to talk, sing, hug, kiss, teach, or love him. He didn’t know that the magic had left his life, but he would, all too soon.
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