Chapter Text
Once upon a time, there was a boy. He was small, probably a consequence of malnutrition, and had a distinct scar that began in his hairline and crossed his right brown.
His relatives called him Freak. Yes, they named him after the freakish really embittering aberration known to humankind he represented by being simply alive, for he filled their lives with an atrocious sentiment only one of his kind could induce.
But “boy” was shorter and more accepted by people not forced to live in their dreadful context, so they used that too.
It was a normal thursday, for all thursdays are presumed as such until proven unbearable, when a woman, who should never have dared set foot in a neighborhood as normal as Little Whinging, rang the doorbell and waited a few minutes for one of the homeowners to open the door.
Petunia looked her up and down, bemused by the unusual style of the young woman before her. Her shoulder-length, loose copper hair complemented the orange beret on her head. Her almond-shaped face wore minimal makeup, highlighting her round eyes and dark blue irises. Her attire consisted of a high-waisted floral-print skirt, a red puff-sleeved blouse, and white, high-heeled platform boots, all impeccable as if they'd never been worn.
She was a freak, spawn of the devil, and probably a witch too, but Petunia, no stranger to social norms, would never say that within the attentive ears of the neighborhood.
"How can I help you?" She asked with a smile as false as the pearls she wore.
"I'm looking for a boy around five years old. I have orders to take him immediately." The girl smiled, handing her an envelope that had definitely not been in her hand before. "Something leads me to believe he's here," she asked, reluctantly accepting the envelope. "Harry, Harry James Evans Potter."
Noticing the older woman's lack of reaction, the woman continued.
"Personally, I would have named him Hippeastrum or Aster, at least Bellis." She considered, shaking her head. "But you must know what it's like..."
"No."
"Excuse me, what did you say?"
"I said there's no one here with that name." He looked her up and down.
Well, to better understand, it's necessary to go back to exactly one day, when a five year old boy actually lived in this house and, sitting under one of the trees on the property, read aloud to a wooden horse with only three legs. The story told of a princess with long, golden hair who had been kidnapped by a terrible witch and imprisoned in a tower, all to be saved by a handsome prince riding his horse. After finishing reading, he wondered if the same thing had happened to him, and if one day a prince charming would also rescue him from his cupboard tower and they would live happily ever after.
Harry loved fairy tales, even though his cousin Dudley vilified him for it, telling everyone in the neighborhood and anyone who would listen or not that he was a sissy. He read, reread, and then read some more from his battered copy of a compilation of various fairy tales, before, after, and during, if possible, his household chores, entirely appropriate for five-year-olds who have to pay for the food, shelter, and laundry they so generously receive from their only living relatives until proven otherwise. That's why, even though his curfew had been over an hour ago and the sky, which had been shrouded in heavy clouds all day, now displayed the most beautiful and brilliant stars, Harry used the faulty lock on his cupboard for his nocturnal escape. By some miracle or fate, the boy and his horse managed to sneak up to the attic, sitting on the ledge of the room's large and only window.
As he watched the small points of light amidst the vast darkness, he fantasized about the day someone would come for him, perhaps even give him a last name. They would tell him bedtime stories, remember his birthday, and they could eat all the cake in the world, or at least as much cake as his little belly could hold.
As if feeling sorry for the boy, at that very moment a shooting star burst across the sky. Harry had once read in his book about a princess and a frog, and that if you made a wish upon a shooting star, it would grant it. In a clearly childish attempt to change his fate, he pinned all his hopes on this wish. Pressing his body as close to the window as possible, while clasping his hands and closing his eyes, he begged.
"Answer me, answer me, answer me…" he whispered to the star.
I wish all human laments could be solved by a little star.
But the one in question fortunately seemed to be able to, for the mysterious and eccentric young woman let out a humorless laugh. Glancing out of the corner of her eye, she saw the exact moment a tuft of black hair hid behind the wall again. She had an audience, and if there was one thing the woman deeply loved, it was possessing spectators, like at a great show perhaps.
"Now, if you had reviewed the paperwork I brought as I indicated earlier, you would know that you will find everything you deem necessary for me to remove him from here as soon as possible, yes?" she insisted, pushing the envelope a little further. "I value the veracity of the facts very much, and as stated after my letter of intent, two boys are under your guardianship, your son, Dudley, and your nephew, Harry."
With a grimace etched on her face, she roughly took the envelope and tore the seal. Looking at the younger woman, who wore a slight smile but defiant eyes, she began to read the thick, impeccably printed papers, scented with the scent of rosemary.
Shock seizing her face, Petunia almost let her mouth drop open and the documents fall to the ground.
"B-but... h-how?" Still in shock, all she could do was follow the woman's index finger with her gaze, as she tapped the top section of one of the papers.
"However, of course, I insist you call me Rae." She placed his left hand on his chest, the smile still plastered on his face.
"Now, may I have the pleasure of meeting my client?"
With little intention of making another fool of herself, Petunia turned around, and in a shrill voice shouted, "Fre- I mean, Harry!"
The little boy rushed to the call and crouching down to equal their height, Rae extended her hand.
"It's a pleasure to meet you."
Still staring at her, Harry returned the handshake, a little hesitant.
"Do you know who I am, Harry?" The woman smiled affectionately.
"My fairy godmother?" To which she shook her head. "My godmother?"
"Nope."
"A witch?" He spoke quickly, avoiding his aunt's scathing gaze.
"I'll get there, but not yet. You can call me your lawyer."
"I have a lawyer?" He didn't quite understand what a lawyer was. Of course, at five and a half years old, he was aware of the existence of lawyers as a whole, he'd even heard his uncle complain about a particularly annoying one once, but when he tried to conjure up exactly why anyone would need a lawyer, his mind went blank.
"Actually, the firm I work for was responsible for advising your parents, and now that they're no longer in that realm, I've been put in charge of you."
The boy simply nodded, still trying to get his bearings.
"As part of your parents' will, if there are no longer any guardians designated capable of caring for you, that duty falls to me."
"Go get your things," Petunia's voice interrupted her rudely.
Needing no further orders, Harry ran to retrieve his meager poses, his three-legged horse that had once belonged to a set of his cousin's toy soldiers, his beloved fairy tale book, and a small star-studded blanket that had the same age as his own.
"Tell me he has a room and I'm not seeing him going into the cupboard under the stairs to get his things…"
"You're one of them, one of those disgusting, freak ones-"
"Yes, I'm a witch." She approached with a mischievous smile. "Now, I could say nothing, but I really want to savor the look on your face when you hear the news, so know that you will be subpoenaed within the next few business days. Neglect, abuse, child abandonment, child exploitation, and embezzlement of funds intended to cover your nephew's expenses are some of the minor reasons why my client, Mr. Harry Potter, is suing you and your husband."
Harry returned just as his aunt was about to lose her temper. Grabbing the boy's hand, Rae turned to leave as quickly as possible.
"It was a displeasure meeting you. Take care." She waved with her free hand.
Having moved far enough away from the Dursleys' residence, waving their hands back and forth, Rae paused in her walk. "So... how about some cake for lunch?"
"Promise?!" Harry smiled, a few teeth missing.
"Swear."
Like few days in anyone's life, this one had a happy ending, but the story of the boy who lived, Harry Potter, was far from over. And the story of Harry Evans, wizard-in-training, Lord of many surnames, and protagonist of this story, is just beginning.