A Portrait of The Black Heiress (Harry Potter)

Chapter IV: Do The Ends Really Justify The Means?

Privet Drive was a completely average street in a completely average neighbourhood. In fact, the whole world was so average that it was not average at all. It was one of those suburban places where the newspapers fell onto the doormat at exactly five in the morning. Where the windows were always washed, and the cars always shone. The dogs were always perfectly behaved, leashed and left no litter, neither did the people. Everyone knew each other and were polite at face value but also enjoyed many dinners behind closed doors talking about the way a son from next door would not leave his room. Or how that one man at the end of the street tended to shout at his bleak-looking begonias. Nothing ever happened here but the people still had so much to talk about.

The one, not perfectly average aspect of Privet Drive, was the boy who lived at number four. Small, scrawny, with wobbly knees and equally wobbly glasses, Harry James Potter was somewhat of an anomaly. Not because the boy looked very different, or in any way foreign. In fact, his face was quite pleasant, even for the standards of his neighbours. But they found him odd, nonetheless. He wasn't the perfect little orphan people expected. One of those apple-cheeked, wide-grinned children to dress up and play with and who would pray every night for the immense mercy his adoptive parents had shown when adopting him.

No, Harry Potter was a little off. He was quiet enough. Obedient, even. Far more obedient than the other children that occupied the street. However, something in that frown on his forehead and the way he would purse his lips. And most of all, that horrific face-altering scar. He made the people around him uncomfortable because Harry Potter distinctly did not belong with them. There was something about his air, his aura, the inner workings of his soul that unnerved people. As if they could feel he was not one of them. That he was something else entirely. Like how a mouse automatically fled from a cat. And how a peaceful flock of sheep were unsettled by a barking dog.

Harry Potter never said much. Never did much. He had his head permanently lowered. His posture inconspicuous and humble. Everything about him screamed submissive. And yet, those eyes. Those poisonous eyes said something else entirely.

There were also those things that sometimes happened when he was around. Those things that could not be explained. They tried though. Oh, how they tried. The way flowers would grow bigger in the garden of number four was probably due to some expensive compost Petunia Dursley refused to share. And the many toads that would jump up on the window sill, as if to look inside – they were just attracted by the many cakes Petunia Dursley would bake. The owls attracted to Vernon Dursley's car probably liked the smell of his wax. And no, do not be silly, Carol, of course, Harry Potter didn't fly. That must have been a mirage. I told you to drink more water.

Of course, the housewives of Privet Drive would occasionally gather and discuss their children and complain about those of others. And, of course, Harry Potter was mentioned during these discussions. Because, yes, it was odd that his books had once flown off his desk when he got startled. And okay, him falling off a playground jungle gym and simply bouncing on the grass was a bit of a miracle. And fine, the teacher among them had once confided that Harry's assignments would, on occasion, simply vanish from the paper on which they were written. But that could all be explained away. Sort of...

And yet, no one really believed it. They tried to tell themselves that Harry Potter was just an ordinary boy, if not somewhat troubled and traumatised by his parent's death. However, deep down, they all knew that to be untrue. Harry Potter just didn't belong there.

They didn't mean to actively avoid and ignore him. They just hadn't noticed they did. And they definitely hadn't noticed that absolutely nobody else paid the boy any mind whatsoever. They just didn't want to see any more behaviour that couldn't be explained.

Harry grew up without friends. Even if their parents had let their children associate with Harry, despite his peculiarities, children were cruel and even they picked up on his lack of belonging. A few times, he had made tentative allies with children in his class. However, as if Fate was actively thwarting him, they were always taken away. Some moved, others went to a different school, or a more gifted class. Harry had tried once, to get into one of those gifted classes to be with the one person he had ever trusted with more than a few words of conversation. His scores had been high enough but the Dursleys had simply refused. A gifted child in their household would cause talk and no one should talk about Harry in any other way but in the negative. That's how it's always been.