The Price of Being Forgotten

Harry wished he could take more. He knew he could carry more books and run back to his room, but the portraits would likely tell his parents. In the off chance that the books he was taking weren't allowed to be removed-

'This will be okay,' Harry agreed, eying the actual thickness of the books. They would certainly offer him plenty of reading material.

He didn't need anything else. This would be fine.

(He wanted more, he easily squashed the desire and let it shrivel into something ugly.)

He gathered the three books in his arms and clutched the stack to his chest. He rushed out through the hallway and over the stairs back towards his room.

The trunk had plenty of room, the three books were set with loving gentleness amidst the rest of his knicknacks. His clothing provided a soft cushion for the rest of his objects.

He closed the trunk and locked it with the fluttering guilt of having stolen something.

He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the wood. The biting cold of the clasps brought some form of clarity to the foggy haze of his mind.

He was being sent away.

(Because he wasn't as important as Skylar.)

His jaw clenched and fingers spasmed around the wood. Why was it fair that he had to go?

Why was it that Skylar was the one who was allowed so many privileges and royalties?

What had Skylar ever done, that Harry hadn't?

"I'll be better." Harry muttered under his breath, eyes prickling and stinging as he fluttered them wildly. "I'll be better." He hissed under his breath.

What right did they have to throw him away?

Why was it, that Skylar got preferential treatment over something he did as a baby?

Harry had not ever asked for better treatment, or complained about favouritism. He accepted the unfairness and he said nothing.

And now they were going to just...get rid of him?

He scoffed quietly, he didn't want to stay with them if that was what they wanted.

Harry would learn and be a better wizard than Skylar ever would be.

(He would show them wrong.)

....

The Dursley household had been grossly underprepared - or they hadn't been notified - of their new obligation. An older wizard, whose name and whose relationship to his parents Harry didn't actually know, arrived that night to side-along apparate Harry to their small abode later that evening. When they arrived, the old wizard knocked on the door, and started explaining the situation to the large, baffled man who opened the door.

Vernon Dursley, the man who opened the door, was as daft as he was large. It quickly became apparent that he was confused, infuriated, and then openly hostile. He grabbed a nearby lamp and brandished it like a weapon, pointing the bulb threateningly in the face of the exasperated wizard.

Harry's mother was rather firm with raising her children with the knowledge of muggle gadgets and father had been amused and had laughed at the many lessons that she taught their children, although he did end up learning a lot too. Those lessons were the only reason Harry was aware that the lamp was, in fact, a lamp and not a weapon as the older wizard seemed to believe.

Vernon Dursley was quickly making a scene, his large face going red and his cheeks vibrating with the viciousness of his shouting.

A new woman appeared, dressed in a mint green robe, looking just as frazzled as Mister Dursley. When she caught sight of Harry, she grew pale and then rather dramatically swooned. Her body hit the ground loudly, her hair curlers rattling as her head hit the floor.

Harry's escort made some sort of objection and tried to make his way into the house. The large, loud man roared something angrily and tried to force him back out.

A child, roughly Harry's age but many times bigger, screamed something in shock and nearly the entire neighbourhood woke up in hushed confusion.

Harry exhaled slowly, straightened his back, firmly grasped his trunk, and bit back the growing sense of regret in agreeing to come to the Dursleys'. He was both surprised and frustrated with how quickly things had unfolded, but what was the worst thing that could happen?

It couldn't be any worse than what he'd already been through, could it?

The Dursley's, were a family of the worst people that Harry had ever met. They were as snobbish, rude, and arrogant as the nastiest of Skylar's friends.

Vernon Dursley, the head of the household, prided himself on being a successful, respectable provider for his family. In truth, he was greedy, selfish, and judgmental.

His wife, Harry's aunt Petunia, was a horse-faced liar who was always looking for rumours and gossip, obsessed with social status and maintaining the appearance that they were a perfectly normal family.

Their son, Dudley, was a greedy glutton and they spoiled him terribly. He'd learned exactly how to get what he wanted, throwing screaming fits if his parents didn't immediately capitulate. Harry knew that, although Skylar had been spoiled a bit, he was nowhere near as rotten as their obese cousin.

Behind closed doors, the Dursleys made absolutely no effort to hide their blatant hatred for Harry and "his kind." A growing part of Harry's own heart felt the same way about them.

Harry's trunk and a small cot had been thrown into a hastily cleared cupboard under the stairs. The ventilation flap was clogged with dust and, when he complained, Aunt Petunia gave him a nearly-clean rag and a bottle of noxious chemicals and told him to clean it himself.

....

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