POV: Harry Potter
For as long as Harry could remember, he had been haunted by a persistent feeling that something was missing from his life. He felt it in the dark cupboard under the stairs when the lock clicked shut behind him, and in the moments when he hurriedly prepared greasy breakfasts for his "family." At first, he naively thought he was just missing a name – after all, he couldn't possibly just be called "Rat," "Freak," or "You there."
When he started school and the letters became a jumbled mess before his eyes, he believed he was stupid. It didn't take long, however, to realize that all it took was a little effort. Very soon, he surpassed his lazy, spoiled cousin in knowledge, and in the back of his mind, he hoped that this would finally earn him at least a shred of recognition. Instead of praise, however, came punishment. Days without food and hateful rants claiming that his success was only due to his cursed "freakish" behavior. But school gave him something more valuable than top marks – that was when he first discovered his name was Harry. Harry Potter.
The realization warmed his heart like a smoldering ember. He had a normal name. School became his only sanctuary, even though it was painful to watch happy families laughing every day as they picked up their children. He had no family, though in his dreams he still saw someone waiting for him with love somewhere in the distance.
Before he started school, Uncle Vernon took care not to hit him in the face. He only beat him on his body – with a belt, a wooden spoon, or the vacuum cleaner cord, which left unbearably burning marks on his skin. But Harry got used to it. He learned that the key to survival was not to draw attention, to be invisible, and to better not try too hard at school.
Sometimes, however, inexplicable things happened to him. Once, when Dudley and his gang of cronies were chasing him, he suddenly found himself on the school roof. That was quite a beating as soon as he crossed the threshold of the house! Even now, he shivered at the memory of his uncle's purple face. Another time, Aunt Petunia cut his hair almost bald, but by the next morning, it had grown back to its original length. A week of starvation followed. But Harry had learned to snatch food whenever the opportunity arose, hiding supplies in his safe kingdom – the cupboard. He suffered from hunger, but because he was prepared, it was bearable.
He didn't want to be a "freak," so he ignored those strange occurrences. Until that envelope arrived. The first letter addressed directly to him! He knew he would pay a cruel price for trying to get it, but this time, he didn't care.
Unfortunately, a malnourished boy stood absolutely no chance against an uncle the size of a whale. But how lucky he was when he found out that the sender had no intention of giving up. Was it perhaps from his family? Would they take him from this hell to a place where he truly belonged?
It wasn't long before he was sitting on the train to Hogwarts, his head full of questions. Why, if he was so famous, did he have to grow up in that filth at the Dursleys'? How was it possible that Aunt Petunia hated him so much, even though his mother was her own sister? Why did that dark scum want to kill him?
He knew, however, that he mustn't ask. Questions attracted attention, which was better avoided. Questions meant pain. It wasn't until he arrived at Hogwarts that he discovered what the word home truly meant. It was a perfect place, and he never wanted to return to Privet Drive again.
The original plan was clear: do not draw attention to yourself, stay mediocre and forgettable. Don't ask questions and stay in the background. It was only later that Harry realized how stupid he had been. He was the most famous child in the wizarding world; attention was simply impossible to escape. But he wondered – if he remained unremarkable enough, wouldn't they eventually forget about him over time?
From the first day, Harry sensed gazes full of expectation. What did everyone actually want from him? He was just an ordinary boy shaped by a cruel home. Snape was the worst; he saw only his fame but refused to see Harry himself. It certainly wasn't Harry's fault that he had lost his parents and gained a fame he never asked for. How was he supposed to be a brilliant potioneer when the Dursleys hadn't even let him open a textbook before?
It was safer to remain a mediocre, even poor student. Although the Dursleys were hundreds of miles away, ingrained habits were hard to uproot.
At the same time, Harry was immensely happy to finally have a friend he could talk to. Even if he sometimes felt Ron was jealous, he ignored it – everyone has their flaws, after all. Ron was an equally subpar student, and a burning question troubled Harry: if he himself were better, would their friendship last? The choice was simple – keep your head down, don't stand out, and preserve the only bond he had ever known.
Later, after they saved Hermione, she somehow joined them. Harry had to admit she was brilliant, but it was obvious she came from a good home. She didn't realize that the rules didn't apply to everyone equally and that someone could have a much harder time in life. However, it had its advantages – under her influence, Ron improved in school, which allowed Harry to do the same. Finally, he no longer had to pretend so blatantly that he was incompetent.
It wasn't hard to notice that Hermione Granger was in a similar situation to his – at least regarding friendships. She was just as lonely, and like him, she was exceptionally observant.
They were sitting in the library again, this time without Ron, who was in the common room crushing Seamus at chess. Harry appreciated that their stubborn and sometimes tactless friend wasn't with them. He could see that something was bothering Hermione. She had been staring into a magic book for a long time, but hadn't turned a page in minutes.
"What's wrong, Hermione?" he finally asked quietly.
Hermione looked at him silently and bit her lip, as if gathering her courage.
"How does Rosier know so much about the Muggle world when he comes from a pure-blood family? In the history of the last war, his family openly supported You-Know-Who!" she burst out after a moment. "How can he call me stupid and naive?! I have better grades than him! My theoretical work is a class above his! He's only more powerful because he's had access to magic his whole life and comes from an influential family. That's why the practical part is so easy for him, but without that? Without that, I would definitely be better," she finished indignantly.
Harry just shrugged. He knew life wasn't fair and some people were dealt better cards. He couldn't even bring himself to be angry at Rosier. His family may have supported the murderer of Harry's parents, but he had other worries at the moment – for example, his unceasing hatred toward his own relatives. He wondered how he could break away from the Dursleys for good.
He preferred to remain silent, though in some ways he had to agree with Rosier. Muggles really were destroying the planet; it was on the news every day. And since Uncle Vernon loved to claim that global warming was just a myth, Harry was certain it was true.
"And did you see that look of his?" Hermione continued, offended. "I felt as if he was looking right into my soul. He looked at me like I was some kind of fool. And to call me naive? Me?! I've read more books about the world than he has!"
Harry knew that friends needed support, so he just nodded in agreement, though he kept his reflections to himself.
After a while, Harry noticed that Rosier's friend, Agnes DeMille, was looking at him strangely. Red hair, a slender athletic build, and piercing blue eyes – she was impossible to miss. He knew she wanted something from him. Sometimes she appeared in the library, other times she followed him after classes. Harry found it suspicious. Why didn't she approach him if she clearly needed something? Did she like him?
He still remembered how Aunt Petunia warned Dudley about girls who allegedly matured earlier. But how could they mature earlier when they were smaller than the boys? It was confusing, but Harry decided to wait patiently. He thought DeMille was afraid to confess her love because he was always surrounded by Hermione or Ron. If she wanted something, she would speak up. In his heart, however, he hoped she wouldn't – she was pretty, but Harry was sure he didn't love her.
After a week of watching, she finally made her move. She approached him in the library just as he was picking out a book. He was already disgusted with History of Magic and was looking for something to distract him. That was when Agnes took her chance.
"Potter, shhh!"
Harry jolted. He didn't expect someone to pop out at him from behind a shelf. He decided it would be best to reject her before she had a chance to confess.
"What do you want, DeMille?" he asked, feeling his cheeks burn with embarrassment. „Good thing she can't see me," he thought with relief.
"Patrik Rosier wants to meet you," she whispered through a gap between the books. "He has an offer for you."
Oh, so it wasn't love. A weight lifted from Harry's heart.
"What offer? I'm not interested!"
Harry knew that Slytherins weren't just pure evil. They were still just people... Some were like Uncle Vernon, truly wicked and bitter, others like Mrs. Figg, who occasionally slipped him a sweet. But he was sure there was nothing Rosier could offer him, and likewise nothing he could give him. That's why he quickly refused.
"Potter, you should at least listen to him! It's important," Agnes urged in a whisper.
"I'm not interested." Harry blindly pulled out a book and headed for the table. He knew she wouldn't pursue him further.
Over the next few days, the situation repeated itself. DeMille was persistent until Harry finally gave in. Rosier didn't look like a monster or someone who wanted to hex him right there in the corridor. If it were Malfoy, he would certainly have told him to go to hell... But Harry felt that listening wouldn't cost him anything.
When he finally accepted the offer, Agnes almost jumped for joy. Harry was momentarily terrified she might kiss him out of excitement, but fortunately, nothing of the sort happened. Silently, he followed her to an abandoned classroom in a remote part of the castle.
Upon entering, Harry immediately noticed Nott and Yaxley occupied with something, but then his eyes fell on a golden dome in the center of the room. It surrounded Rosier and radiated incredible power – magic of a kind one would only expect from the most experienced wizards.
Harry wondered how it was possible that Rosier could conjure something like that. Where did he learn it when they were still grinding away at basics like Wingardium Leviosa, Lumos, or Flipendo in class?
As soon as Rosier noticed him, the dome vanished with a flick of a wand. Rosier immediately sent everyone away. It was fascinating to watch how the boys obeyed him without a word; only Agnes managed a faint protest. Why did he want to be alone in the room? Did he want to hurt him?
Harry gripped his wand tightly in his robe sleeve as the door closed behind Agnes with a quiet click.
Patrik Rosier was visibly taller. As he stepped closer, Harry had to tilt his head back to see his face. His gaze was positively X-ray-like. Brownish-green eyes, dark brown hair, an immensely confident expression, and broad shoulders – Harry knew that if he could, he would want to look exactly like him. Perhaps then he would have more courage. This way, however, under that piercing pressure, he preferred to lower his gaze and wait.
At Rosier's very first words, Harry's blood began to boil. How could he talk about Harry's life with the Muggles with such god-like ease? Had he called him here just to mock him? Did he want to brag that he knew his darkest secrets, or was he planning to blackmail him?
But to Harry's surprise, Rosier admitted without a hint of fear that he himself had grown up in a Muggle orphanage. From a young age, Uncle Vernon had frightened Harry with the orphanage as the worst hell on earth. Only now did it dawn on Harry that it might have been the opposite. A heretical thought crossed his mind: that it might have been better to run away to a children's home than to stay with the Dursleys.
„How did Rosier know that Hermione's parents are dentists?" Harry wondered. He didn't even know exactly what they did, he just felt she came from a loving family.
Rosier continued, and a mix of emotions swirled in Harry until he didn't know what to do with them. He just clenched his fists tightly in his pockets. Suddenly, he could understand Voldemort's actions – if he had lost everything because of Muggles, his whole family... Harry himself would do anything just to be with his parents for even a single hour.
Then, however, he gasped in surprise. When Rosier, after a hysterical laugh, declared that it was Dumbledore's story and not Voldemort's, Harry's head spun. Dumbledore was supposed to be the embodiment of good! Hagrid would lay down his life for him! And in the end, it turns out he started similarly to the Dark Lord... The wizarding world was clearly much darker and more complex than Harry had imagined.
The conclusion, however, was clear – Harry was not the only child who had suffered in the Muggle world. It was unjust. Perhaps no one had helped him, but he felt he had to do something. Rosier, however, quickly cooled him down – they were still just children.
When Rosier briefly outlined his lineage and family history, Harry's knees began to shake completely. Suddenly, it made sense why Snape hated him so much. His entire family, dating back to the twelfth century, had been potion masters! And yet, he had behaved like an incompetent bungler in class. Snape likely saw Harry wasting his heritage. He actually cared about Harry's success!
Harry's heart warmed. He knew from Muggle school that teachers' smiles were often fake and they had never helped him. Snape's behavior suddenly made perfect, albeit twisted, sense. Harry promised himself he would start working like a mule in Potions and make his family and Professor Snape proud.
And finally, that ritual... Harry knew it was the answer to all his prayers. With magic, he could defend himself against the Dursleys and perhaps he would never have to run from them again. He was determined to agree immediately, but he knew it would be a tactical error. He had heard Vernon say more than once that in business meetings, you have to play undecided, even if you want the deal more than anything.
The information about his parents' talent awakened pride in him, but also a bitter doubt. Would they be proud of him even now? The answer was as clear as a slap in the face – they would be disappointed.
From now on, he would work hard on his education. Rosier's ritual would save him, and he would finally show everyone what was hidden inside him.
„Rosier is actually a decent guy," Harry thought gratefully as he hurried toward Gryffindor Tower.
***
Author's note:
So, here we have a third-person POV, which is my first time writing one—was it okay? I really tried to step into his shoes and feel what he's feeling... :D. Now Harry actually thinks Snape is great and is just showing him some "tough love"! Muahahah.
***
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The shadows are shifting, and the story goes much deeper... If you can't wait for the next update, Advanced Chapters are already waiting for you.
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Upcoming Chapters – Already Written:
40. Theory, Tears, and Hidden Things
41. A Potter's Ambition
42. Pain as a Teacher
43. Blood and Runes
44. Blood, Sweat, and Special Editions
45. Precision of Water, Chaos of Rage
46. The Unseen Blade
47. The Blood Connection
48. The Ghost of a Friend
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