Number 4 Privet Drive, Surrey, England (1991)
Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were perfectly normal, thank you very much, or so they had disillusioned themselves into believing. Because to Hylas, who now had to go by 'Freak', 'Boy', or 'Harry Potter' thanks to the bracelet on his wrist, anyone who's nephew could be replaced by an entirely different person and they couldn't even tell the difference, could in no way be classified as normal.
But Hylas had no room to talk about normalcy. He wasn't normal at all.
He was stuck in a dimension not his own with a 'family' and 'relatives' that treated him like a slave and couldn't even tell he wasn't the child that they had housed for the five and a half years before Hylas had came.
Most children didn't have charmed bracelets that prevented him from telling anyone who he really was, or wasn't in some cases. At first he couldn't figure out why he was unable to say his real name, or could only choke when he tried to deny he was 'Harry Potter'; but, he had finally connected the tightening of the wrist ornament to the inability to speak the truth about himself.
Since that discovery he had tried everything he could think of to remove the blasted thing to no avail. The only thing he hadn't tried was outright attempting to amputate his hand, and that was only because he was not yet that desperate. And besides, he had logically reasoned with himself, where would he go? He didn't know how to return to his home and with the way the Dursley's treated someone who was supposed to be their flesh and blood, there was no way they would be more hospitable to a complete and utter stranger with no relation to them.
Normal children his age didn't have lightening shaped scars on their foreheads that they could not recall receiving. Hylas knew for a fact that he had not had that scar before he had arrived in this world. He had discovered its appearance soon after he had awoken alone, cold, hungry, and clothed in filthy rags ten times the proper size. And he had awoken in a cupboard under the stairs of all places.
After he fell unconscious while in the presentence of that devil of a man with the icy, blue eyes, he concluded that the man had to have carved the repulsive shape in his forehead. Which added another grievance he had against that despicable man.
And most people wouldn't be pulled unwillingly to a completely other dimension by old, mad, peculiarly dressed men. It just wasn't done. Unless, of course, your name was Hylas Jibril Potter.
So no, he wasn't your average, run-of-the-mill child.
Disregarding the Dursley's, Hylas had honestly been astounded at the sheer vulgarity, rudeness, and incompetence of this world. Both children and adults he had encountered here had nearly ruined his faith in there being any goodness or intelligence in the human race.
Every single child he had had the misfortune to be around here were either bullies, dreadfully uneducated despite having the advantage of free public education, or so cowardly they were deemed utterly and irrevocably useless by his standards. They were spoilt and most, especially in regards to Dudley Dursley, so obese that he cringed to view upon it. It made him so mad that these children, so rottenly spoiled though not even with the excuse of nobility in their veins, complained endlessly and were always in want of more, when he could clearly remember the starved eyes and emaciated faces of the poor beggars he had encountered in the repugnant gutters of his world's London.
The adults had faired his judgment only slightly better. They, like the Dursley's had been unable to differentiate between him and the late Harry Potter. In fact the only things any of his teachers had ever commented on was that his handwriting had improved vastly and his grades exponentially.
Inhabitants of Privet Drive seemed incapable of observing and inferring what they witnessed with their own two eyes.
It had been a particularly frigid day only a few months after he had been unceremoniously kidnapped then dropped into this world of strange oddities and insufferable relatives of 'Harry Potter'. And he had been out 'tending the garden' since the post had arrived that morning. A thing he found indefinitely stupid considering it was mid-December and any remnants of the plants he had learned to tenderly care for in the prior summer months were quite dead, and not to mention buried under at least a foot of snow.
Surprisingly enough, he hadn't been banished from the house on the coldest day of the year with nothing on other that a pair of thin, thread-bare shorts and equally worn shirt for burning breakfast. He wore no shoes, for, he hadn't the time to put them on before he had been plucked up by the back of his collar and literally thrown out the door, thankfully landing in the snow and not on the paved walk-way.
No, this time, he had not ruined the whale clan's breakfast; instead it was the post's arrival that had provoked his abrupt eviction from the residence. It had brought with it the first semester's report cards for both Dudley and himself.
For some reason Hylas himself could not fathom it came as an unpleasant and shocking discovery to the Dursley's when it came out that Dudley had managed to fail every subject and was tied for last place on the grade rankings. Even more alarming to the Dursley's was when their 'nephew's' report card was read, and thus, they discovered that he was ranked number one, which to them was unacceptable.
Which concluded why Hylas was outside, quite possibly catching hypothermia for all he knew, in ill clothing. As he huddled against himself, rubbing his near numb arms, he unconsciously licked his lips, wincing as the saliva met with the busted part of his lower lip. The blood was tangy and, disturbingly, he knew it was the only thing that he was going to have a taste of for the day, or, even, the rest of the week for out-performing precious Diddy-dinky-kins, or whatever rubbish Petunia had taken to calling Dudley now.
Hylas had known perfectly well that showing that he was smarter than Dudley wouldn't go over well with his 'relatives', but even with that knowledge and being well aware that he would be beaten and punished for it he still studied in the library at recess and after school, lying and saying that he had detention. For him it was a pride thing; the curriculum of this world he had see so far was far below his own standards and the thought of doing poorly with such dismal standards was repulsive. No matter the consequences he would be condemned before he performed subpar on anything, which was why he swallowed the gut wrenching feeling of dread that coiled inside every time he took an exam.
Anyway he had been contemplating his situation when the quiet rumble of a car sounded as it made its way down Privet Drive and subsequently into the drive of Number 2 Privet Drive, which was right next door. Green eyes watched absently as the man, a Mr. Charles Jones who was a short, portly fellow who had the unfortunate tendency to trim his graying mustache in the style a stereotypical pedophile would, emerged from the car.
The man slammed the door with unnecessary force as the sound of it was unusually loud, and he was just about to head to his house when his head jerked quite abruptly in Hylas' direction. A sneer appeared on his face, giving an impression of a confused bulldog. A look that would have made Hylas giggle at its silliness had he not heard the man mutter –rather loudly- 'Disgusting child, insane too, apparently. His mother must have drunk, or been high on something when she was carrying him. No child of any decent breeding would have that little common sense.'
Now Hylas had always thought himself to possess a fair temperament, and he had been better behaved and more calm than most people would have been considering the circumstances he had been unwillingly dumped into. And he felt he had taken the situation as well as was humanly possible, what with being seized and spirited off to another world, away from his family and all the people and things familiar to him being stripped from him.
And to have an insignificant nobody, most likely without carrying a single speck of noteworthy blood in his veins to commend him, say something to the effect of him having no proper heritage along with insulting his mother in the very same breath, was beyond irksome to him.
In fact, it bloody infuriated him.
While he was mentally asking his mother for forgiveness for his deplorably crass language, even within the confines of his mind, he didn't notice the air rupture from all four off Mr. Charles Jones's tires and equally failed to notice the front window have ice spreading rapidly across it eventually shattering the glass.
That incident had resulted in Hylas' acute distaste for this world's adult population.
An: I apologize for any error I am currently not even suppose to be on the computer so...yeah. Anyway thanks all of those who have reviewed, faved, etc. I haven't fully come up with how this is going to go so I don't know how frequently it will be updated due to the fact I am mostly just writing whatever comes to me. If you have ideas tell me if you want and I'll consider if they fit with what I do have planned.
Thanks all for your interest in my little story, I really do appreciate it.