Wishing on a Sticker by darkorangecat
Past Featured StorySummary: Harry makes a wish on a glow-in-the-dark star sticker that his teacher gave him on his last day of school before summer break.
Categories: Fic Fests > #18 Summer 2015, Parental Snape > Guardian Snape Main Characters: .Snape and Harry (required), Remus, Sirius
Snape Flavour: Snape Comforts, Snape is Kind, Snape is Loving
Genres: Family, Hurt/Comfort, Supernatural
Media Type: None
Tags: Adoption, Alternate Universe
Takes Place: 0 - Pre Hogwarts (before Harry is 11)
Warnings: Abusive Dursleys
Prompts: Wish upon a star
Challenges: Wish upon a star
Series: None
Chapters: 4 Completed: Yes Word count: 10749 Read: 25614 Published: 29 Jul 2015 Updated: 05 Aug 2015
Story Notes:
Written for the "Wish upon a star" challenge made by atiaahmed, and for the Summer Fic Fest 2015. Chapter lengths vary. Harry is about seven in this. I hope that he doesn't come across as 'too old' in his thinking. 
Falling by darkorangecat

"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight," Harry Potter whispered to the only 'star' that he could see, a glow-in-the-dark star sticker that his second grade teacher had given him on the last day of school.


He'd learned the anonymous poem from Mrs. Adams, who was the kindest person that Harry had ever met. She never made fun of his lisp, and didn't think he was stupid, like Miss Henry, his first grade teacher, had.


Harry had loved Mrs. Adams, and now she was gone. After the summer, he'd move up to the third grade, and his new teacher would be, Mrs. Mullins, who was known to dislike children, especially dark-haired little boys who wore glasses. At least that's what Dudley had told him, and so far Dudley had been right about everything else related to school.


Harry didn't have any friends, because he was a freak, and the boys and girls at school didn't like freaks. Harry, because of his freak status, was not allowed to play with any of the equipment on the playground, and he could never have seconds at lunch or snack time. Dudley had told Harry all of this before school had even started, just so that Harry wouldn't be disappointed when he went to school, and so he wouldn’t make any mistakes and get into any extra trouble. Harry was grateful for his cousin's foresight. It was a lot easier knowing what to expect ahead of time, so that Harry didn't draw attention to himself in a way that would embarrass the Dursleys.


But Mrs. Adams had been his friend, and hadn't treated him like a freak. Once, she had even shared her milk with Harry, and she always smiled at him, even when he did something wrong, like write the letter ‘d’ backwards, or color the sky green instead of blue.


Harry's eyes blinked back tears as he looked at the star that he'd placed in a dark corner of his cupboard, where no Dursley would ever find it. It was the first present he could remember getting, and he didn't want to give it up. Ever. It reminded him of Mrs. Adams. She was like a star, all nice and shiny. Perfect.


What do you wish for, Harry?


The voice came to him in a soft, musical tone, and, startled, Harry sat up on his thin mat and squinted in the darkness of his cupboard. His heart pounded like mad in his chest, and he held his breath. Surely no one else could be in his cupboard with him. No one else would fit. It was much too small a place.


"Who said that?" Harry whispered, not wanting to disturb his relatives who were watching television in the living room.


He could hear an occasional rumble of voices as Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia made a comment about something that had happened, and laughter, but couldn't really follow whatever television program they were watching tonight, because it wasn't on loud enough, which was unusual, but Harry had learned, long ago, not to question these breaks from the usual.


Asking would only get him into trouble, and he really didn’t want to have a fresh set of bruises to go along with the ones that he’d earned the first day of summer vacation by accidentally oversleeping, even though, as he had foolishly tried to point out, Aunt Petunia hadn’t come to get him earlier, and everyone else had slept in as well.


When Harry received no answer to his question, he lay back down on his mat, and sighed. There'd been no voice. It was just his imagination playing tricks on him. Mrs. Adams had explained to him what an imagination was, and told him that he had a very big one. It wasn’t a bad thing, she’d said, but Harry didn’t think his relatives would agree with that. They did not like anything that was not normal, and Harry had a suspicion that a big imagination was not normal.


You should make a wish, Harry.


This time Harry knew that the voice had come from inside his own head -- his imagination -- and he settled down onto his mat; it was the only explanation that made sense. The only explanation that wasn't scary. It sounded like Mrs. Adams' voice, cheerful and light, like the sun or a full moon in an inky, black sky.


Harry looked at the glowing star thoughtfully, and played with the edge of his ratty blanket -- the blanket that had been with him when he’d been left on the Dursleys’ front porch as a baby, the only thing that he had from his deadbeat parents.


He turned the thought around in his head, wondering what to wish for.


A wish was a pretty big thing, and, from what he understood of them in the stories that he'd heard at school, most of the time you only got one of them, so you had to make it really good. And you had to be very careful with your wishes; you couldn't tell anyone else about them, or make them without thinking them through really carefully first. Making a wish was very serious business.


Harry had never gotten to make birthday wishes, like Dudley did every year, and Harry doubted that he'd find a genie's bottle (Three wishes would be too many, Harry thought), so this was it. His big chance. His only chance to make a wish.


World peace sounded like a good wish, and Harry had heard Mrs. Adams mention it very tearfully one day. It wasn't a selfish wish, which Harry would think would be a good thing in the world of wishes. But Harry doubted that him making a single wish on a fake star, even with the big imagination that he had, would bring peace to the world. It was too big a wish on too tiny a star, and he wasn't anybody important enough to influence the entire world like that.


What about something just for you, Harry? the voice inside his head suggested, and Harry frowned. He was very uncomfortable thinking about himself. He was a freak who would amount to nothing, like his parents had. He'd die an early death, probably from drinking too much alcohol and crashing a car into a tree or something, like his parents had. His Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon hadn't actually said it like that, but they always cautioned him not to be like his parents whenever he did something wrong, or whenever something strange happened around him, so he knew, deep down, what his aunt and uncle really thought about him, and what he'd amount to. Not much.


Sighing, Harry turned on his side, facing away from the door to the cupboard, so that he could have a better view of the star. It seemed to be sparkling, and Harry smiled. He reached toward the star, but, from where he lay, his arm wasn't long enough for him to reach it, and he imagined that it was up in the sky, rather than stuck to the ceiling of his room.


"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight," Harry sang quietly, and he pondered wishing that his parents hadn't been the terrible, irresponsible drunks that his relatives had told him they were. If that wish was granted, though, would it make any difference? Harry would still be a freak, right? He couldn't bring people back from the dead by wishing on a sticker, could he?


Just wish from your heart, sweetie, the voice whispered in his head, and Harry felt a strange warmth, like Mrs. Adams' kindness, and his love for her, spread through him. For some strange reason, Harry felt like crying, but he bit his lip and clenched his hands into tight fists.


Crying was for babies, and he was too old to cry like a baby. He'd been too old to cry since he could remember. It was something that his uncle told him time and time again when he was punishing Harry for something that had gone wonky, or when he'd accidentally burnt the bacon, or made the eggs too runny or too hard, or when he wasn't quick enough, or didn't do one of his chores well enough.


Dudley wasn't too old to cry, though, Harry thought, and for the first time, he wondered why Dudley was allowed to cry, when he wasn't. Dudley was allowed to do a lot of things that Harry wasn't, though, and Harry suspected that it was because of his parents, and because of the fact that he was a freak, and Dudley wasn’t.


Dudley was normal. Normal boys could cry whenever they wanted to, and wish on birthday candles.


Freaks, though, weren't allowed to cry when they hit their heads on the inside of their cupboards when being pulled out by their elbow to dust the living room. Freaks weren't allowed to have birthdays, or get presents, or eat cake. Freaks weren't human. Freaks shouldn't even consider making wishes, even on fake stars.


The light of the star seemed to dim as Harry's thoughts grew darker. Yes, he had a very big imagination, but it could, and often did, run away with him, as Mrs. Adams had cautioned, and now Harry couldn't seem to stop thinking of all of the bad things that he had done since he’d been sent to live with the Dursleys. He couldn’t remember his life before the Dursleys. He’d been too little, just one when he’d been dumped on them.


There were always bad things happening around him that he couldn't explain. Things that he hadn't meant to happen, and didn't even know how they had happened, but they did, and his relatives told him that these things were his fault, because he was a freak, and he needed to stop being a freak, stop  making these things happen.


Harry didn’t know how to make these bad things -- his hair growing out overnight after his aunt had cut it, the teacher’s hair turning blue, Aunt Petunia’s flowers turning into a rainbow of colors -- happen. If he knew how to make them stop happening, he would, but it seemed to Harry like those things had been caused by magic, and not him.


Harry shuddered as he thought the word, magic, and he quickly craned his neck, wincing at the ache that it had caused as he looked toward the cupboard door. His heart thundered as he waited for the telltale sound of his uncle's feet stomping toward the door of his cupboard, to yank him out by his hair and punish him for thinking the ‘m’ work. Harry hoped against hope that his thoughts hadn't caused something freaky to happen, drawing unwanted attention from his relatives.


Magic was a forbidden word, and Harry feared even thinking it, let alone speaking it. The one time that he'd said the word, magic, aloud, Uncle Vernon had taken a belt to him and Harry hadn't been able to sit for over a week. He'd been locked in his closet, only allowed to use the bathroom once a day, and hadn't been fed at all for a solid week. Harry did not want to repeat that experience ever again, and tried hard not to even think the ‘m’ word, but he had slipped up tonight.


The sound of barking laughter reached his ears, and Harry let out the breath that he'd been holding. He turned back toward his star, which seemed to be winking at him.


"That was close," Harry whispered the words aloud. His heart was still hammering in his chest, and he felt a little shaky, like the time he'd somehow ended up on the roof of the school when he hadn't climbed up there.


Trust your heart, Harry, the voice murmured, and the star grew brighter, making Harry squint. You already know what you want, don't be afraid to wish for it.


Biting his lip, and twisting the fabric of his blanket in his fingers -- gaining comfort from it -- Harry took a shuddering breath, and let his heart rule his mind.


"Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might, have this wish I wish tonight," Harry whispered. He felt the words tugging at his heart, and the wish bubbled forth from his lips as though someone else was trying to push it out of him, "I wish that..."


Harry's breath hitched, and a tear rolled down his cheek. He clenched his eyes shut and bit his tongue. He couldn't wish for what his heart was telling him to. It was too selfish. It wasn't right. Not after all that his relatives had done for him in taking him in and putting a roof over his head, teaching him right from wrong, punishing him when he needed it, protecting him from a world that hated freaks like him.


Harry, it's alright, the voice promised. It's okay to wish for what your heart wants. You've got a good, kind heart, and it will never steer you wrong, sweetie. Wish.


Harry's eyes popped open, and his breath whooshed out of him. The star's light surged, like a light bulb does before it burns out, only, instead of going out, the light seemed to reach out to Harry and touch him. It didn't burn, but reminded Harry of the way that Mrs. Adams' hand had felt when she'd brushed the hair out of his eyes while checking him for a fever one day, or when she rested her hand on his back when he'd stood in front of the class to deliver a speech about bugs. He'd been nervous, and her light touch had taken the butterflies away from his stomach, and had made him feel better.


Throwing caution to the wind, Harry took a deep breath and made his wish, "I wish that I was loveable. That someone would love me and take care of me. That I wasn't a freak. That my mom and dad didn't die in a car crash because they were no good drunks. That, if I can't not be a freak, I could live with a family of people like me, so that I wouldn't have to be alone." The words left Harry's mouth in a rush, and he was breathless when he'd finished making his wish, and he worried that, because he'd crammed so much into the wish, that he'd ruined it. To him, everything that he'd said was linked together, and it all came down to one thing -- and he added the words, "I just want a family who loves me."


The star's light grew so bright that Harry had to place a hand in front of his eyes to keep from going blind. He thought he could hear his uncle's voice bellowing from the other side of the door, and thought, Oh, no, I'm really going to get it this time, and summer's only just begun, before the star's light swallowed him up, and Harry felt the floor drop away, and he fell, and just kept falling.

The End.


This story archived at http://www.potionsandsnitches.org/fanfiction/viewstory.php?sid=3240