I wrote something a year ago and I think I've gotten better

I got good advice, although that was the only response to it and it felt empty. It wasn't the best writing, I admit, and I'd like to share something I wrote based on Harry Potter and the Philosopher's / Sorcerer's stone (not supporting JKR, this was written in spite). Last year, I was 12 and wrote something based on weirdcore stuff. I'm 13, turning 14, and I've written a little more. I may miss some warnings, so just tell me to update it and I will. I'll list it below!

TW: Child abuse, child neglect, mentions of child labor via family members, suicidal Harry Potter, my own headcanons inserted, favorited child, possible mischaracterization (idk, tips are appreciated).

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The houses were all identical, cars the same model but of different colors. No house truly stood out until an elderly man and woman dressed in long robes that went down to their ankles stepped in front of 4 Privet drive. A baby was swaddled in brown cloth, cooing at the unfamiliar face who held him. A lichtenberg figure marked his forehead and crawled down his face. It was still fresh, but the little baby boy didn't mind. His tiny hands grabbed at the long white bears of the man who held him, marveling in the new texture.

The woman in long black robes with her hair in a high bun, Professor Minerva McGonagall, looked solemn beside the older man, Headmaster Albus Dumbledore. “Albus,” she whispered, looking down at those big green eyes that once belonged to Lily Evans, “are you completely sure about this? They couldn't be any more different than we are! They may not even accept him!” McGonagall hissed like an old cat defending her young.

Dumbledore set the cooing baby, Harry James Potter, down on the doormat. Little Harry didn't understand what was happening and looked up at the two senior wizards with curiosity. McGonagall seemed pained to leave the tiny baby there. Dumbledore seemed to know more than he let on. Harry's little rounded and plush hands reached for the stars, not knowing that one day he would reach them.

McGonagall and Dumbledore would walk away, the professor turning to look over her shoulder every couple of minutes. She had only known Harry for such a short amount of time, but her heart had already gotten attached. The little Potter had her heart and soul and didn't even know it. Once Dumbledore and McGonagall stepped foot on the other side of the street, their heads dipped as they stepped behind the Privet Drive sign as they apparated.

Dumbledore had already taken his mind off of the baby boy as the first molecules of his being felt the Hogwarts air. McGonagall, however, would never stop thinking about the boy she thought of as her grandson.

For the next eleven years, McGonagall would look at the framed Muggle and Magical newspaper snippings in her office every once and a while. James Potter & Lily Evans would never leave her mind for as long as Harry Potter was alive.

Circa 1991, 4 Privet Drive with the Dursley Family and Harry Potter.

The background noise of Rex the Runt played loudly as Dudley, Harry's cousin, chewed with his mouth open. He had always resembled a pig with how he always loved to get dirty when bullying Harry and eat like one. Vernon was sitting at the rectangular table on the opposite side of Dudley, eyes locked on the daily newspaper. Dudley was too busy stuffing his face with all the pancakes he could get on his plate and watching the colors dance on the TV screen.

Harry was stuck in the kitchen, Petunia's judgemental brown eyes locked on him as he flipped the next pancake. Little marks and scars were all over his forearms from his early days of being the Dursley's secret slave. Most of them were from accidentally knocking things over due to the first time he cleaned being when he was just barely four years old. Other dots were from early oil splashes when he was six and forced to make breakfast. At the time, he had used too much butter and the moment he flipped the pancake the bubbling butter splashed on his arm.

Petunia had always seemed conflicted no matter how much make up products and routines she used to cover that sour and bittersweet expression of hers. No matter how she tried to hide and suppress her feelings, her maternal side always saw Harry and Dudley as equal. In fact, she had always seen Harry as the one who needed protection. She knew Dudley could handle himself.

Vernon nudged her, sensing her discomfort and conflict. “That's not your son, ‘Tunia. He never will be, so stop looking at him like that. Remember, he's the product of those two.” His gruff voice grumbled under his mustache, not even distracting Dudley. Petunia had distracted herself, looking over at Vernon and then Dudley. ‘Like father, like son.’ She thought, looking at how the two were both distracted by the media.

Bookmark Harry looked over with almost yearning eyes before looking back at the pancake he flipped. It was burned on one side. He slid it onto the plate, drowning the flapjack in overly processed maple syrup. He carried the plate with his two skinny and bony hands, sliding it in front of Dudley.

Vernon was never an observant person until it was Harry making a mistake. Vernon snatched the plate right from under Dudley's thick hands, fork still held like a crayon in a toddlers’ hands. The overly sweet syrup dripped onto the tablecloth, the scent making Dudley look over at the one whole pancake he impaled on his fork. He saw the burnt side.

“Mummaaa!!” Dudley groaned, pointing a chubby finger at the thin boy. “He burned my food! It was on purpose—I can tell!”

Before Petunia could even react, Vernon had already gotten up and grabbed Harry roughly by the forearm. No matter how much Vernon and Petunia loved each other and their son, Petunia would never forget the bruises left on Harry's thin arms.

Harry had learned to stay completely quiet as he was dragged by Vernon. His legs didn't stumble, only catching up to Vernon as to avoid being punished for ‘scuffing the floors’. Harry opened the cupboard under the stairs, ducking inside and closing the door behind him. He had stolen candles in there, the tiny window on the door blocked to avoid people noticing Harry's existence.

Harry grabbed a lighter he pickpocketed from Vernon, flicking it open and rolling the tiny gear quickly. It took him a couple of quiet tries and little prints on his thumb to light the lighter. The tiny flame drifted as the fingers of a child brought the flame to meet the burned candle wicks. They lit with a warm glow, leaving a ghost of warmth upon the tiny thumbs that rolled the gear.

Harry closed the lighter, cracking the door of his cupboard open to slide the lighter across the wooden floor right where Vernon was sitting. He closed the door as Vernon looked down at the lighter, picking it up with rounded hands. Harry cupped his hands right over the warmth that couldn't be conformed in any socially acceptable manner, just like him.

The slowly growing boy looked at where the light kissed, glancing at an old Polaroid of those two. Their happiness echoed in a piece of paper that had been torn by Dudley but taped together by Petunia. Harry touched the scar on his forehead, fingers tracing the outlined lichtenberg figures on his face that he had done hundreds of times before. He felt as if his parents weren't only in that photo but also immortalized in the scar on his face that had also made home of his skull and soul.

Harry looked at the photo over and over, up and down—top to bottom. Every single time, it seemed as if James & Lily had moved just a millimeter. Harry looked away, his throat growing painful and sore before the tears could even think about pouring. He couldn't remember how many times he wanted to be in that photo with his parents even if it meant he died too.

Harry sniffed quietly, hugging the buck plushie that he somehow got. He doesn't remember how he got it—all he knows is that he has it. Despite the plastic flowers decorating the antlers and lack of genitalia, the boy had always known the buck was a male. The big brown eyes stared up at Harry even though it had no life or soul.

Harry set the photo and buck stuffed animal to the side with a stick he collected during his little time outside. He took his round glasses off, cracked from being shoved around by Dudley at school, and folded the thin metal arms together. He had scratches behind his ears due to the rough metal. He took the protective rubber off when he was five and chewing on it. He remembers being yelled at by Vernon and scolded by Petunia for doing so.

Harry stuffed his small baby blanket under the door of the cupboard in an attempt to keep the heat inside the small space. It lacked circulation, but he was used to it. His joints popped every time he adjusted in the cupboard. All he had was a single lightbulb on the ceiling of the cupboard that sparked on occasion. The glass was broken from the time where Dudley tore Harry from out of the cupboard, his head hitting and breaking the bulb.

A plastic Tupperware was taped above the live spark and to the ceiling to try and lower the chance of a fire occurring. Harry tried to be grateful of the worn and dirty plastic, but it was hard. How could he be grateful to the people who locked him up? He knew that from cartoons, Dudley, and school that normal kids didn't live like this.

His legs got thinner as a black smoke wrapped around them. Vernon got up, hobbling over with the fire extinguisher to rip open the cupboard door and douse Harry in the cold foam. Harry coughed, hands coming over his mouth and nose as he curled in on himself. The obscurus smoke receeded like a snake being beaten into retreating.

Vernon slammed and locked the tiny door shut, ignoring Harry as he shivered. Harry's thin frame shivered and shook as the freezing foam settled on everything it touched, extinguishing the candles. Foam covered the photo of James and Lily as well as the stuffed buck. It wasn't the first time Vernon did this and it certainly wouldn't be the last for as long as Harry would be confined, tortured, and hidden from the world in that box.

Harry finally wiped himself off with his tiny blanket, realizing that now he couldn't light the candles. He had slid the lighter to Vernon earlier, completely signing himself away from warmth unknowingly. The boy grabbed his baby blanket, curling up on his side on the cupboard floor covered in stolen newspapers. He draped the small blanket over his curled and folded legs, wrapping his thin arms around himself.

The cold ghosted over his exposed skin, making him shiver as he ducked his head down. His thick, jet black hair covered the back of his neck like threads of obsidian. That was the little warmth he had, so he often put his hands in his outgrown hair to keep his fingers warm while his knees stayed to his chest. Harry curled his fingers together while keeping his arms wrapped around his knees.

Just days later on July 29th would Harry receive some of the best news of his life. At least that would be the first time someone would try to contact him.

A letter came in through the gold plated mail slot in the dark oak door. Harry twisted the handle of the old doorknob to his cupboard, pushing the door and its hinges to see through the new one inch gap between the doorframe and the door. Plant green eyes peeked through as Vernon stomped and brought his large frame to the front door. He leaned over, losing his balance for a moment before catching himself, left hand pressed against the door. His thick fingers on his right hand picked up the letter.

The letter had a maroon wax stamp with an odd logo. It was a shield sort of thing with four different plates with different animals on each one: a lion, a serpent, a honey badger, and a raven. It seemed intricate and elegant as if from an esteemed school for the rich. Dudley and Petunia quickly walked over, peeking over Vernon's shoulder.

Petunia's face paled ever so slightly, eyes widening. She never thought she'd see that specific Coat of Arms again ever in her life as a muggle. “DRACO DORMIENS NUNQUAM TITILLANDUS” was stamped into the seal, barely legible. Those words haunted her ever since she was first rejected from Hogwarts.

Dudley snatched the letter with greedy and grubby hands, tearing it open in excitement. He jumped up and down as he accidentally tore a good chunk of the page off, vases and paintings shaking just enough to be noticeable because of his weight. He read the letter, face glowing as Vernon read the page over his son's shoulder. Dudley didn't bother clearing his through, accidentally coughing while reading. “Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and–”

Dudley couldn't finish the name before Vernon ripped the page from Dudley's chubby hands, tearing it into places as he practically growled with fury. Petunia didn't try to stop Vernon, putting a hand on Dudley's shoulder to keep the child back from being the spoiled brat he is.

“PETUNIA! They're trying to take Harrey! We don't allow wizards in our home!” Vernon snarled, letting the torn pieces of paper fall onto the floor. They were spread out, some of them smaller than a square inch. Dudley almost screeched in shared anger, not knowing anything about wizards other than his father's hatred and his mother's envy covered in disgust. Petunia clicked her tongue, waving a finger to keep Dudley from snapping and biting.

“Harreyie! Clean this up!” Dudley snapped his fingers. Him and his father both had a penchant for mispronouncing names of the people they deemed as unimportant or in their words—trash. Petunia went back over to the dining table to finish her salad, letting her fat husband and son handle the yelling. Vernon and Dudley both stomped back to the couch to watch Rex the Runt. Nothing would ever change Vernon's love for children's shows despite having been spoiled as a child.

Harry pushed the cupboard door open, crawling out to scoop the messily shredded paper into his small space. He snuck over to the couch unnoticed due to his small size. He was quite small for an eleven year old boy due to malnutrition. He lifted a thin and frail hand, pickpocketing Vernon of his lighter before scurrying back to the cupboard and locking it from the inside using a plank he pulled from the floor of his cupboard and carved with a stolen pocket knife.

The plank had a semi-circle carved out from the side to fit around the ball door handle and keep it from opening due to outside forces. Harry used the lighter to light his old candles with the almost burned wicks. His nimble fingers closed the lighter quietly and slowly before anyone else could notice. The small boy tugged the baby blanket from the bed onto the floor and to cover the crack in the bottom of the door.

He put a hand on the floor and unintentionally on the pieces of paper to prop himself up as he did so. He didn't even notice the paper sealing itself back together until he finished tucking the baby blanket in. He put his broken glasses on, looking down at his hand to see the paper fixed. Those big green eyes widened as he looked at the TWO pages.

“HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.

Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress”

The page was worn and tea stained with an elegant border. Harry looked at the second page with interest and awe. Seeing the paper in perfect condition after he looked away from a pile of shredded pages made the idea of magic seem very real now.

“HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

UNIFORM First-year students will require:

1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
4. One winter cloak (black, with silver fastenings)

Please note that all pupil's clothes should carry name tags.

COURSE BOOKS

All students should have a copy of each of the following:

The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)

by Miranda Goshawk

A History of Magic

by Bathilda Bagshot

Magical Theory

by Adalbert Waffling

A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration

by Emeric Switch

One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi

by Phyllida Spore

Magical Drafts and Potions

by Arsenius Jigger

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them

by Newt Scamander

The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection

by Quentin Trimble

OTHER EQUIPMENT

1 wand 1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2) 1 set glass or crystal phials 1 telescope 1 set brass scales

Students may also bring, if they desire, an owl OR a cat OR a toad.

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS

ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICK

Yours sincerely,

Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus

Chief Attendant of Witchcraft Provisions”

Harry had never even heard of such names. He was so used to generic muggle names that names like Lucinda Thomsonicle-Pocus and Newt Scamander. Harry was always a smart boy, so he thought wizards must be bad at secrecy due to the blatant latin on the wax stamp and obvious stereotype of witches riding brooms with feline familiars.

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There are direct excerpts from the actual Harry Potter content, only the letters, though. I sourced them from the Harry Potter wiki. No official characters or items from Harry Potter are mine, this was just written to spite JKR with hoping to write better than her. I do struggle with inconsistency, if that's not obvious (I hope it isn't lol).