Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Masks of Real Heroes	By : Aelys_Althea Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Slash - Male/Male Views: 17641 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 2
Disclaimer: Many thanks to the wonderful J. K. Rowling who offered such a beautiful world for amateurs such as myself to frolick in. This is a not-for-profit fanfiction and all characters and original storylines of Harry Potter belong to her!

Chapter List
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Summary: One desperate decision has unimaginable consequences. When Harry received his letter at eleven, he turned down the offer to attend Hogwarts. He had to; it was his only chance to escape. Six years later and, in the brief moments he recalls his decision, he feels nothing but regret. Until an incident causes the opportunity to arise once more, and he is finally given the chance to escape that which has smothered him for so long.
THIS STORY IS NOW COMPLETE!
Warning tags: Non-con, Child Abuse, Character Death
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - AU, Psychological, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Angst
Characters: Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Neville Longbottom, Pansy Parkinson, Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Ginny Weasley… and many more.
Prologue – The Choices We Make
                       The deafening roar of persistent traffic, interlaced with the haphazard buzzing of horns, the erratic chatter of crowds, gradually sank into a misty echo as Harry made his way home from school. Trudging slowly, dragging his shoes across flawless tarmac as he wandered up the hill, the boy drew out his trek to the utmost degree. He did not wish to be back in the House; not that school was much preferable, but the House entailed certain impositions that, even when absent of the presence of his fellow inhabitant, still retained the murkiness of discomforting memory.

                       It made relaxing, enjoyment, calm - any sort of pleasure, really - next to impossible.

Sighing, blowing the curling tips of his fringe from where they hooked on the rim of his glasses, he gazed down the street that led to the House. It was a quiet, typical suburban street of quiet, typical suburban France, reclining lazily along the outskirts of Paris. Each house was identical in their mediocrity, or near enough that it made little enough difference. The sole distinguishing features were the vehicles stationed idly in the driveways, yet even they held consistency; sleek and new, waxed and polished to a reflective shine, they breathed wealth more sincerely that a handful of solid coins.

                       The sun had long begun its steady decline, dropping inches each time Harry turned his back in a game of grandma’s footsteps. Before it had sunk completely below the horizon, Harry knew he had to be back. Knew because his uncle reminded him with a gentle cuff around his ear every morning before sauntering into his polished car and screeching into the distance in a cloud of smoke and the burnt smell of rubber. Barely a fingernail of the golden redness remained of the sun, a crown upon the uneven head of the city that sprawled beneath it. That was one positive, perhaps the only positive, of living at the House; its situation afforded him an almost perfect view of the town as it gradually faded into the distance, morphing into an indistinguishable greyness.

                       Sighing again, dragging fingers through his mane of dark hair, he wove his way up the final steps towards the House. The sleek, black Mercedes parked pompously in the drive bespoke his uncle’s return home. Hunching his shoulders slightly, Harry dropped his head as his feet drew him ever forward, as if against his will.

                       Why? Why did I ever choose to come here?

* * *

Ten years ago

                       'Stupid...pathetic...useless...brat!'

                       Harry cringed with each verbalisation, though more from the punctuated lashes of the leather than from the criticisms themselves. Rough red welts rose rapidly on his pale skin, quickly becoming a crosshatch of bloody cuts that stung as though garnished with lemon juice. Harry huddled tightly on the floor, arms wrapped protectively over his head and knees curled to his chest to leave only the bony yet resilient flatness of his back open to the raining blows. His body shook both from the dull aches and the force of the kicks.

                       'Can't you follow even the simplest of instructions?!'

                       Peering through the lank tresses of his fringe, Harry glimpsed the purpling face of Uncle Vernon as he spat his query. Spittle dribbled from his chin, only adding to the animalistic image he presented in his heightened fury.

                       'Well? What do you have to say for yourself?'

                       Harry closed his eyes, hiding from the swinging belt that once more caressed his back in a stinging slap. A faint whimper emitted from his clamped lips; the whip had hit another blossoming bruise and exploded in a shower of pain that shuddered along his spine.

                       'I...I'm...'

                       'Huh? What did you say?' The whale of a man, his face now a sickening mask of plum-red and pig eyes bulging as they strained from their sockets, leaned awkwardly over the tiny boy trembling beneath him. The heavy panting of his breath only seemed to emphasise the delight he failed to conceal with false anger, the euphoric pleasure of complete domination.

                       'I'm sorry. I swear, I won't do it again.'

                       The boy choked out the words in little more than a whisper, but the hanging silence allowed his uncle to discern the words clearly. Straightening himself, he tugged the creases from his shirt, looped his belt back into his sagging trousers and wiped a single hand across his face. Sweat left a glistening sheen upon his flushed skin.

                       'Damned right you won't do it again. I'll beat the living daylights out of you if you even think of eating so much as the scraps off the floor before I permit you to.' Dusting off his hands, ridding himself of the matter, Vernon Dursely aimed a solid kick at the battered child before him turning from him. 'Get yourself back to your cupboard. No dinner and no breakfast. Half portions for a week.'

                       Harry cringed upon himself in an attempt to avoid the seeping pain that steadily made itself known throughout his aching body. Dropping his head to the floor once more, he closed his eyes, a sigh of mixed relief and forlornness whispering through his lips.

                       He had just been so hungry. So, so hungry, even for the scarce leavings off of his cousin Dudley's plate. He had pushed the boundaries of what his uncle deemed acceptable, however. Never again would he disobey a direct order from his guardian. No matter how empty his belly.

                       Groaning, he heaved himself to his feet, staggering and swaying both from the throbbing pains and the exhaustion of muscles held taut for too long. Suppressing a sob, he made his slow, painful way towards the cupboard under the stairs, regretting the loss of the next two meals almost as much as his punishment.

                       But he was a bad child, a freak. He deserved it.

* * *

                       Harry dropped the bundle of keys into the bowl beside the doorway, taking care to avoid jangling them overtly and drawing attention to his arrival. Slipping down the wide, dimly-lit hallway, he edged into the first doorway, closing the door with practiced quietness. The room beyond was small, yet not notably so, tidy and plain. Devoid of the chaos and personalised decorations of a typical sixteen year old. It was completely stark, just the way his uncle liked it. The sole personalised item lay in a small bundle of black fur curled in the centre of the bed, tufted ears perking towards him as he entered the room.

                       Harry dropped his satchel onto the bed, sinking into the softness of the pale quilted cover and dropping a hand lightly onto the back of the little cat beside him. Slipping toes from his shoes, he sank his feet into the rich thickness of the carpet, guardedly revelling in the comfort of expensive living. The faint streams of evening light cast golden halos on the walls, illuminating dust motes that danced lazily in the stagnant air of the room. Closing his eyes, he sighed in the moment that was the nearest to peace he would experience in the House. It wouldn't last long, but for now...

                       A faint click perked his ears. Cocking his head slightly, he glanced at the door as it swung gently open on well-oiled hinges. A pale, wide-set man filled the doorway, dark hair slicked to perfection across his scalp and mirroring the smooth trimmed beard the adorned his chin. The strong jawline yet weak chin, trademark of the Dursley family, alongside the faint gleam of innate malice in his pale blue eyes, were the only outstanding features on the man. And one had to look had to see through the veils he shrouded them in.

                       Raising his arms to prop on the polished edges of the door frame, he slouched his solid frame into comfortable observation of the teenager before him. Though dressed as a businessman, suit maintaining its pressed perfection, his loosened tie and untucked shirt suggested his slip into the ease of his own home. A deceptively welcoming smile spread across his face.

                       'You're home late.'

                       Harry turned his face away from the man that barred the door as effectively as a barbed wire fence. He felt a moment of loss as the little cat at his side grumbled discontentedly and fled the room, just visible disappearing past the man’s ankles on the edges of his periphery. He raised a single shoulder, shrugging, and fixed his gaze pointedly on the window.

                       'It's still light. I just had some things to do back at school.'

                       He didn't need to turn to look at the man but felt him enter the room. Like a warm, pungent cloud wafting its cloying tendrils, the man's scent, a heavy mix of aftershave, dry sweat and starched clothes, swept over him with increasing heat at he drew closer. He didn't need to turn to acknowledge his approach, didn't need to glimpse the man's proximity before he barely suppressed a flinch when cool fingers touched his cheek.

                       The man huffed, a heavy sound that was at odds with the gentleness of his caress. Harry closed his eyes, concentration focused solely upon repressing a reflexive shudder. He swallowed his nervousness; he hadn't lied. Fear was unwarranted.

                       'I saw a teacher. He was helping me with my chemistry homework. I just didn't understand one of the formulas so I-'

                       'Lies. Don't lie to me, Boy.' The man hissed like a viper in his ear, though bereft of the elegance of a snakes tongue. 'Don't think I don't know how you spend your time away from here. Studying? Don't make me laugh.'

                       He laughed regardless, humourlessly. Harry couldn't suppress the faint tremble of his shoulders as he felt the man’s welling anger build. It was not like when he was younger, different from Vernon’s typical aggressive violence. Quite the opposite. His uncle’s rage built slowly, coldly, and with overwhelming calculation.

                       'Uncle, please, I really was- aahh!'

                       Releasing a nearly inaudible cry, Harry raised his hand to his ear, fingers feeling along the bite mark that impressed into the lobe. He turned his face towards his uncle, eyes widening yet face otherwise blank in a mask of wariness. Not in surprise, for it wasn't unexpected. Nothing could ever truly be unexpected, not with his uncle.

                       'Don't think I don't know. Damn it all, if it didn't draw unwanted attention from the bloody school, you wouldn't leave this room!' Curling strong, thick fingers into the tresses of his hair, Stephen dragged Harry's head back, tilting it painfully. Leaning over his uncomfortably twisted form, he planted an almost painful on the boy's collarbone. There was no love in the motion. Only possessiveness.

                       'Why are you still wearing your glasses?'

                       Harry strained his eyes towards what little he could see of his uncle before him. The slicked crown of hair swam in a film of tears. Not pain, no, nor fear. He had moved beyond that. Utter hopelessness was left only in its wake.

                       'I'm sorry, uncle, I didn't think.'

                       Another kiss, followed by the slimed tracing of a tongue. 'Obviously. Take them off. They are for others to see, not for me. Don't let me catch you wearing them again.'

                       Attempting a nod, Harry unhooked the lenses from his ears and dropped them on the bed beside him. The motion enticed the man before him to grasp his head in his hands more firmly, fingers gripping his jaw as thumbs moved to stroke the overgrown fringe from his face. Harry met Stephen's depthless blue eyes through the fuzziness of his own, peering at him with their odd, familiar fascination. His eyes seemed to captivate the older man for reasons Harry couldn't understand. When staring at himself in the mirror, he simply turned repulsed from the flatness, the deadness, of his own gaze.

                       His uncle’s breath hitched, excitement increasing the tempo of his inhalations. Harry glimpsed a flicker of his pale tongue draw across his lips before his uncle crushed them firmly to his own. The same dry, tasteless kiss that was so familiar, lacking in passion and coloured only by his obsession. The man broke their contact only seconds later. Feverish light kindled in his eyes as he met those of his charge.

                       'Mine.'

* * *

Eight Years Ago

                       Harry edged uneasily past the bulk of his cousin, sliding into the kitchen with arms laden with scraped dishes and fingers curled tightly around empty cups. The other child was barely a year older than him, yet was easily three times his size. The scowl that accompanied his affronted expression, naturally at the proximity of the 'freak', did nothing to soften the hideousness of his unapproachability.

                       Resolutely ignoring the hard glare, Harry set to sinking his fingers into the suds and steaming warmth of the washing water. He didn't really mind cleaning. At least it was away from the family, and his only critic was the fanatically observant Petunia rather than the master chefs lounging at the dinner table who deemed it their role to judge every dish he prepared ill in his favour. Not that he really cared about that, either, but if the disgust were too overwhelming then Vernon would take a hand to him. Despite years of subjugation he could not grow accustomed to constant bruising and near concussions. He would have to work on getting over that.

                       '...said it was old enough and to let the mutt just die. Said he'd probably done him a favour!'

                       Laughter roaring with the intensity of a tumbling waterfall met the Grandfather's story, jowls shaking and feet stamping in amusement. Harry frowned, confused. He couldn't fathom the enjoyment of a story based solely the careless destruction of a dog, nor the obvious delight his family showed at the grandfather's response. Casting a glance at the table over the kitchen counter, he caught the eye of Aunt Marge. She appeared to be the only family member that was not shaking in hysterics. Her fingers trailed pointedly over the rump of the bulldog at her feet, fat lips pouted and small eyes squinting murderously at her father. It was apparent that her own canine affections led to disgruntlement regarding the ‘joke’ at hand. Harry felt the unfamiliar ghost of a smile curl his lips at the kindred spirit. It was entirely unexpected, both on his part and evidently on Marge's, for said disgruntlement morphed into disgust as she caught his expression.

                       'Vernon, the Boy is smirking at me. Send him off.'

                       The laughter muted slightly as Vernon turned furiously towards his nephew. Harry ducked his head, attempting a demonstration of his regret, but could not entirely escape the fumes of hatred his uncle emitted at having the good humour disrupted.

                       'Boy. Cupboard. Now.'

                       Swallowing nervously, Harry bobbed his head in recognition of the order. He paused only to pull the plug from the sink before slinking around the walls of the cluttered living area, back pressed to the wall.

                       'You should punish the boy, Vernon. Won't learn anything from a simple scolding.' Marge's petulant tone whipped his back as he retreated down the hallway.
                       Harry cringed. No, please don't push him, don't-

                       ‘Yes, you are absolutely right.’ Harry could practically feel the malice spearing him in the back as it rang in his uncle’s tone. ‘No one ever learnt anything from a few hard words. I should-'

                       'Please, allow me, dear cousin.'

                       A new voice interrupted the conversation. It carried a lilting melody to it, almost that of a songbird given the beauty of its accent. Harry paused only briefly to wonder at the source of the voice before slipping into the darkness of his cosy cupboard.

                       The darkness remained only briefly. Within moments the wooden door swung outward, groaning loudly and shedding a puff of sawdust from the stairwell overhead. Harry raised his head from where they had pressed his face into his knees. The figure in the doorway was only a shadow, framed by the light of the hallway and shining around him like an aura into the darkness of the little cupboard. His features were indistinguishable.

                       'Bonjour, Harry.' A smile floated on his tone, that lilting accent that captured the ear like a faintly hummed tune. It was captivating, yet even so Harry felt himself sink further into the safety of the depths of the cupboard. The man was new, different, and if experience had taught him anything it was not to touch the new, the shiny, the appealing.

                       The man chuckle good-naturedly, shuffling slightly further into the reaches of Harry's sanctuary. Shadow's still masked his face, yet the illumination of the hallway light was shrouded by the bulk of his adult form.

                       'Please don't be scared of me. I'm not going to 'punish you' as Vernon so eloquently phrases it. How crude.' A strange scratching noise filled the quiet of the little nook. It took a moment for Harry to realise that the man was picking awkwardly at his chin, fingers grazing over the short hair of a barely visible goatee in the dim light. 'I don't believe in violence as a punishment. Violence and punishment just...don't seem to complement one another.'

                       It was too late to withdraw before Harry realised the man had reached out a hand towards his head. He cringed slightly, flinching under the weight that fell atop his head and sinking his teeth into his bottom lip to repress the cries he knew would bubble up his throat. Except they never came. Nor did the hard-handed cuff, nor the torrent of curses and harsh scolding. Instead, the hand drew slowly through his hair, trailing fingers in the thick, messy mane and running tresses through fingertips before renewing their stroke at the top of his head.

                       Harry was immobilised. He had never felt something so gentle in his life. A touch without pain, more intimate than the accidental brush of a passer-by on the shoulder and infinitely more satisfying. It was the best feeling he had ever had. He couldn't get enough of it.

                       He didn't know how long he sat in absolute stillness, praying for the stroking to continue indefinitely. He didn't know how long had passed, but he knew how many caresses the man placed upon his head. Seventy-three. Exactly.

                       As his hand rose for the seventy-fourth, the shadowed man seemed to pause, catching himself. 'Hmm,' he hummed through his nose, raising his hand to scratch idly once more at his chin. 'I think that was probably long enough. Au revoir, petit garcon.' The door swung shut behind him as if by his own accord.

                       Harry sat in his continued state of frozenness, reliving each touch, each generously bestowed gift as though they were a pearl upon a beach of sand. He couldn't hear the ragged breaths nearly tearing his nine-year-old chest, wasn't aware of an entirely new trembling that shook his body.

                       That family gathering was the first time he had ever happened upon Uncle Stephen.
* * *

                       The man heaved a strangled groan as he abruptly halted his erratic motions, a moan that faded into a sigh of relief. Harry lay limply beneath his uncle, caught in his arms like a moth in a spider's web. Though his own arms wrapped loosely around Stephen's shoulders, his legs locked high across the man's back at the ankles, and despite what he might otherwise desire, Stephen had to acknowledge that the boy by no means indicated satisfaction or welcome of the man's embrace. The blankness of his expression could have rivalled that of a doll’s.

                       Stephen raised his head dazedly, dropping his face onto the pillow beside Harry's head and gazing at the boy that lay half buried beneath him. The discrepancy in their ages could not be the only attribution for the difference in their sizes. The boy was neglected and shunned on a daily basis for the first eleven years of his life and as a result was now barely the size of a boy three years his junior. A small one, at that. Stephen stared fixedly upon the boy's delicate profile, the faint rise and fall of his chest that faintly heaved his shoulders and wore the faint impressions of ribs like a tattoo. Food didn’t seem to stick to the boy, made no impression on his skinniness at all.
                       There was something so satisfying about dominating such a fragile creature that refused, point blank, to fight back. In his curiosity, Stephen had pushed and prodded the boy through various forms of hell and back to see just what would make him twitch, but to no avail. The boy was a blank slate, freely open to the tarnishing of whatever paints he chose to streak it with. Such experimentation was purely exhilarating.

                       Shifting his body directly above his charge, Stephen propped his elbows on either side of the slender chest and peered at the boy's face. Unconsciously, his hands rose to run fingers through the boy’s hair. Slowly, gently. A caress.
                       Harry appeared either to be pointedly ignoring him or lost in the depths of his mind for his eyes remained glazed at his uncle's motions. Stephen hardly cared anymore. Of course, it would have been amusing on a different level had the boy kicked and writhed every time he had taken him, yet the simple acceptance of the undeniable held its own appeal. Stroking a hand downwards, across the boy’s forehead, he flicked the dark hair from pale skin, trailing fingers through the length as it curled across his collarbones. Sliding fingers across cheeks bones, down the dip of a nose and tracing the soft hairs of eyebrows. And finally, gaze locking onto the enchanting greenness of the boy's eyes.

                       Stephen could not have said exactly why he found it so captivating. Unusual though they were, the colour itself was not exactly unique. Large and wide, almost cat-like, they even lacked the vibrancy, the sparkle of life that was so intoxicating to behold in a willing recipient. Yet even staring into their flat blankness triggered a sharp response that Stephen could comprehend about as effectively as he could control.

                       The stirrings of lust resurfaced with his contemplation. It had been barely minutes, not yet half an hour, since his last bout, yet the uncontrollable wave flushed his skin nonetheless. His urge was only fuelled by the fact that he hadn't withdrawn from the boy upon completion. Another groan heaved from his lips as he felt himself swell, heat flooding his groin.

                       Grasping the boy's thighs, pressing himself more firmly into the soft body beneath him, he planted a kiss upon parted lips. Tongue sliding into an unresponsive mouth, licking, tasting, grazing along teeth in an assault that met as little resistance as that upon the boy's entire body. Drawing back, he buried his head into the crook of the boy's neck, breathing in the young scent of him and closing his eyes.

                       '...Mine...'
* * *

Five Years Ago

                       'Dear Mr Potter,

                       We are pleased to inform you that you have a place at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry...'

                       Harry scanned the letter, skimming the script briefly before rereading with greater intensity. It was a simple letter. Too simple. Words jumped out at him. Witchcraft and Wizardry... Merlin... Warlock... Each glimpse of the cursive letters shocked him like an electric current thrumming beneath his skin, worse even than physical blows in their unfamiliarity. They dug intrusively into his brain like nails embedded mercilessly into dry wood. Wrong, wrong, it was bad, so wrong, freakish...

                       Harry raised his head slowly to gaze at the giant towering above him. The giant's face, barely perceivable through the thick tangle of beard and curling hair, beamed expectantly at him. Harry swallowed anxiously, turning to glance at his Uncle Vernon pressing firmly against the cushion of his wife and child, crushing them against the solid wall behind him. The darkness of the sea-bound cabin they had fled to in an attempt to escape the endless flurry of acceptance letters nearly shadowed even his bulk, but somehow his expression was still visible. The man met his gaze and through the darkness Harry could make out the tightening of his jaw, the steady throb of a vein in his temple. The man's words of only the day before echoed faintly in his mind.

                       'It's a school for freaks, for madmen. They are all lunatics, I tell you! I will not pay for some crackpot old fool to teach you magic tricks.' The man had huffed with exertion, heaving gasping breaths with the force of his emotion.

                       Evidently seeing the terror building in Harry's trembling form, Vernon made his first and final concerted effort to calm himself on the boy's behalf. 'Listen, boy. I am not clueless. I have no doubt you loathe me almost as much as I detest your worthless little self.' He wiped a hand across his face, smearing the gathered pinpricks of sweat and failed to notice his nephew flinch violently at his words. It was not as though they were surprising, but hearing them stated so bluntly, so factually and without the heat of emotion, ripped wide a jaggedly healed wound that Harry had not even been aware existed. A shaking hand clutched to his chest, twisting into the folds of his oversized shirt. His gaze was downcast when Vernon once more turned his attention towards him.

                       'Now listen,' he repeated, struggling to verbalise his intentions in a semblance of civility. 'I will not let you take your ruddy self to a school that revels in this…this… insanity. However, the thought has also crossed my mind that, even if only for a portion of the year, you would be removed from my household.'

                       Vernon paused, as though awaiting a reply. Peering nervously at his uncle, Harry nodded a hesitant reply. A sigh escaped silently from his pouted lips as Vernon continued, satisfied his nephew was listening.
                       'As soon as the first letters came, it got me thinking. I don't want you charging off to dabble in the insanity of witchcrafts to try and remove yourself from our care, only to come back and wreak havoc. You've seen the danger it causes with your own hands. I know you’ve used it before. As such, I offer you a proposition. Do you remember Stephen? Stephen Defaux? He's a distant relative of mine. You would have only met him once.’
                       Harry froze, even his nervous, imperceptible trembling immobilised in silent wonder. Careful questioning and quiet, offhand comments on his part had finally uncovered the name of the man who had shown him the first gleam of kindness he had ever experienced. The beauty of the sensation had been relived thousands of times in the years since. He had assumed his hesitant questions had been subtle enough. Evidently not.

                       'Of course you do, it was the only thing you talked about in the weeks following the dinner party.' Vernon cleared his throat, his discomfort playing across his face like the exaggerated expressions of a stage actor. A twitch quirked one eye; he seemed to be physically struggling with civility. 'Well, I so happened to get in contact with him. Refuse the school and you can go and live with him. No questions asked, guardianship fully handed over. From what I can gather, his position in his business bestows a certain amount of leeway in terms of legal circumstances. He's already assured me he can gain custody.'

                       Harry could barely breathe at the possibility. More than the faint excitement of attending a boarding school, the possibility for permanent freedom from the Dursleys was a dish that could not be left untasted.

                       Shifting his gaze once more to the giant leaning above him, the wide grin stretching only more broadly across rosy cheeks, he gradually shook his head. It was with something akin to sadness that he watched the confusion, then the building anxiety that overcame the tall man’s friendly expression.

                       'Harry, what are yeh-'

                       'Thank you, sir. I really appreciate you coming out to see me and all but... I am happy with where I am. Please sir, I don't wish to leave. I-I have a high school lined up and everything. Please don't make me abandon my plans for the future.'

                       Harry bowed his head, hiding from the scrutiny of the giant. It was a lie, through and through, and he had never bee very good at speaking lies. He could feel the falsehood ringing through the formality. He clenched his eyes shut, praying that the man would not be able to read through his feeble attempt at a fabricated story. Silence hung heavily in the air, the tension pervasive. Harry felt almost as though he would snap under the force until the giant-man finally heaved a sigh.

                       'Alrigh' Harry. I don' want teh push yeh into doin' somethin' yeh don' want teh.. I'll just -' The giant paused, turning slightly and taking a step towards the door of the cabin. An audible swallow preceded his parting words. 'Think abou' the offer, would yeh? Yeh don' have teh take it up if yeh don' truly want teh, but I, and Dumbledore o’ course, think it's an opportunity that shouldn' be missed!'

                       The force, the confidence of his words, sounded nearly aggressive to Harry's already shredded nerves. He barely suppressed a flinch, dropping his eyes to his feet and only raised them again when the door to the cabin slammed shut. Glancing once more at his uncle, Harry caught a glimpse of Vernon's satisfied smirk before the man led his wife and son back to their beds.

                       Three more times the teachers of Hogwarts approached Harry to press the admittance upon him. With each revisit of the various teachers, and finally the elderly, regal headmaster himself, he only became more confident in his decision. He wanted, no, needed to escape the Dursleys. Even attending boarding school would not grant him eternal reprieve.

                       When the closing date had finally passed, Vernon proceeded with the transfer of custody. Harry passed into the clutches of the French bachelor, swept from the streets of Little Whinging and into tumultuous Paris.

                  He had never made a poorer choice in his life.
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The Masks of Real Heroes