Scattered Fragments of Illusion by MellarkandArt

To put it quite plainly, primary school sucked.

There was no reason to pretend or to be evasive about it, it was an absolutely horrendous way for a child of eight years old to spend his waking hours, only slightly less bad than being at the Dursley household.

Because at school, he could at least run away from his bullies. He didn’t have that luxury at “home.”

Maybe some children enjoyed school, maybe some of the kids at the early recess were there because they actually wanted to be and not because their cousin wanted to be and therefore had to be himself. If he wanted to have a ride to school, anyway.

It was exhausting to have to play the same game of cat and mouse (but wait, he thought he heard one of them calling it “Harry Hunting” a few days ago) every single day.

Harry wanted to play games, sure. He wanted to do what the other children did, he wanted to swing on the swingset, slide down the slide, roll around in the dirt just for the heck of it. He wanted to have fun for once in his miserable life.

But no, that wasn’t allowed. He was a punching bag, or a laser light for the big fat cat that was his cousin Dudley Dursley, and his rat-faced friends to chase.

You’d think that the rats would be the target for the cat, but no, Harry was the target. Always.

So, he would spend recess all alone, hiding away in a big oak tree overlooking the playground. Well, it wasn’t exactly hiding, it was just that Dudley and his gang were too fat and too stupid to bother with chasing him up the tree.

Everyone knew that cats got stuck up in trees, anyway.

He was lonely, in some ways. Not that he craved the company of the other children, exactly. Even if they weren’t pathetic little minions and were actually willing to be his friend, they really just weren’t on the same scale as him. Harry didn’t consider himself to be overly intelligent, but he did feel that he was in a bit of a different headspace than his peers.

But one day, everything changed.

Harry was brought out of his typical melancholic musings when a girl with auburn hair appeared on the branch beside him. He hadn’t even noticed her scaling the tree and was more than a bit startled to find her blue eyes piercing him intently.

“Who are you?” Harry asked, just a bit rudely. She looked to be about his age, how he was supposed to look at his age, anyway, since he always seemed to look a couple of years younger than he actually was, due to his disappointing height and overall scrawniness.

Harry attended a school with a fairly small number of students, he knew who all his classmates were, (and just how horrible they were) he even could recognize the children from other classes as he had often passed them in the hallways.

But he had never seen a girl quite like this, he was certain.

If she was his age, eight, that was, then he definitely thought that she was too young to be wearing red lipstick. He didn’t have a sister or a female cousin, but Aunt Petunia was always going on and on about what was and wasn’t proper for young ladies.

Sometimes he wondered if he were a girl if she might be just a little bit nicer to him, because she seemed to really want a little girl to dress up and do all those girly things that Dudley just didn’t go for. He was more of the violent video game type.

Harry doubted that his gender really mattered though, Aunt Petunia would hate him simply because he shared his mother’s blood. Which she did as well, but that bit of logic didn’t seem to register with her.

The girl also had a vibrant shade of blue eyeshadow covering her eyelids and Harry was certain that she wasn’t only just too young for that, but also that it was definitely improper for a lady to wear such a color. Sometimes I Dream of Jeannie reruns would play on the telly while Harry was dusting the living room and Aunt Petunia was having her afternoon wine destresser. She could go on and on about Jeannie’s slutty outfit and trashy blue eyeshadow.

“No wonder women are being raped at every turn when they put themselves out on display for all the world to see!”

Aunt Petunia never said words like that in front of Dudley, but Harry was fair game. For someone who liked to pretend that her nephew didn’t exist, she sure seemed to talk around him more than she talked with her husband and son. Her garden club, her book club, the neighbor directly on the right, the neighbor directly on the left, the one three doors down, across the street, even her best friend Yvonne showed up in the complaint box every now and then.

He was the ear for his aunt to rant into and his cousin's favorite punching bag. He was an excellent stress reliever all around.

He probably wouldn’t even know what the word meant if not for the crime shows his aunt and uncle sometimes liked to watch late at night. Not that he was allowed to watch them, or anything, really, but those shows were even off-limits to Dudley, which meant that they must be really bad because the only other thing Dudley wasn’t allowed to participate in was anything having to do with the M-word.

But, as Harry’s cupboard was positioned in somewhat close proximity to the living room, if the television volume was turned up loud enough he could often catch snippets of some programs through the door, which was how he picked up on the meaning of the word.

Harry still didn’t know all that much about rape, but he thought that there was a bit more to it than what the person was wearing. It seemed a bit unfair to blame it on the victim but then again, Harry was always being blamed for things that weren’t his fault so what did he know? He was only eight, after all.

“Alexandra Rose Carpiniello,” the girl said in a perfectly lovely accent that confirmed that she was not from Surrey. “But you can call me Alex.”

He could tell that she was an American, southern if he had his geography right. Ripped jeans, bright pink hoodie with the word PRINCESS stamped across it in yellow letters with a little sequin crown resting on top of the “R”, green polish messily applied on her nails. She seemed determined to incorporate every color of the Crayola 64 pack into her outfit.

She looked absolutely ridiculous and Harry thought she was the most amazing sight he had ever seen.

“Harry James Potter,” he said in response to her introduction, slowly drawing his hand out of his oversized sweatshirt pocket and offering it to her.

She shook it more firmly than Harry would have expected from a girl, or well, any child of any gender his age, and he had to resist the urge to massage it once she had let go. He didn’t want to come across as a wimp, even if that was his reputation at school and she was sure to hear all about it soon if she hadn’t already.

Maybe he could make a good impression and have a friend for the first time in his life before she got all the dirt about him from the cool kids. He might even be able to make it last a couple of hours before it all went to hell and he had yet another classmate making fun of him.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” she said with an air of maturity well beyond her years that was obviously picked up by adult watching. Harry did a lot of that himself.

“I hope you don’t mind my joining you in your hiding spot,” she said in a softer voice now. “It felt a bit overwhelming to be out there with all the kids I don’t know.”

Harry felt overwhelmed being with the kids he did know, so he could definitely relate.

“So you’re new here,” he said, feeling a bit more comfortable now that he had an answer to his internal question of never having seen her before. Well, of course, he had practically known, but it was still nice to have his suspicions confirmed rather than just go on assumption.

“Yes, my stepfather and I moved here just a week ago. I hate starting school in the middle of the year, it’s so awkward.”

Harry nodded, feeling bad for her. It was bad enough to start the school year at all, starting in the middle of it would only make him stick out more. “You moved here all the way from the states?”

“Oh, is my accent really that obvious?” she said, giggling. She snorted a bit towards the end. “It’s annoying, I know. Yours is really great though.”

“I have an accent?” Harry asked, surprised. It didn’t really seem like it, he talked just like anyone else. It was actually one of the few normal things he did.

“Of course! A British accent, they’re so lovely. I’m hoping that I’ll pick it up. But I don’t wanna fake it, it’s very annoying when people on TV fake southern accents.”

“I think your accent is cool,” Harry offered quietly. “So, erm, why did you move here?”

Alex shrugged, the blue in her eyes seeming to dull a little. “Little Whinging is supposed to have a good school district, nice neighborhood or something. So we moved here.”

Is it? Harry wondered absently. Personally, he felt that Little Whinging had to be one of the worst places in the world to live, his school and the neighborhood both were quite awful. “Oh. Just you and your stepfather, then?”

She nodded slightly. “Yes. Anyway, enough about me, what about you? Why are you hiding up here?”

“Oh,” Harry tried to shrug casually but he had been shivering a bit from the cold so it came across as more of a spasm. “I just don’t get on with any of them.” He gestured to the children on the playground below them. Today Piers Polkiss brought an old pumpkin for Dudley and the gang to smash on the concrete over someone’s chalk hopscotch court. Harry long ago had stopped trying to understand the brain functionality of that guy.

“Oh, bullies, then?”

Harry laughed a little. He had never heard anyone besides himself describe them to be exactly what they were. “Bullies, and pushovers,” he confirmed. “No one wants to stand around with the target during practice.”

“Well, it sounds as though you could use a friend,” Alex said, lips turning upwards. Harry decided then and there that it was the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. And he had on occasion caught sight of Winnie Cooper while Dudley was watching the telly.

“Yeah,” Harry said, smiling a bit himself. “I guess I could.”

The bell rang, alerting the playground inhabitants that it was time for yet another lovely day of classes.

Harry climbed down the tree and jumped to his feet with ease, offering Alex a hand when she seemed to struggle with making it all the way down.

***

“Where do you live?” Harry asked once they had exited the school. He wanted to carry her books and walk her home like a gentleman would (or so Aunt Petunia said), but he did still want to get his chores done before dark.

It was the weirdest day of school Harry had ever experienced, in the sense that it was not absolutely horrible. Dudley and his gang were as bothersome as always, but today he actually had someone by his side at recess and someone to sit next to him during class.

Harry had long ago stopped dreaming that the stars would one day shine in his direction and he would live to see a day where he didn’t absolutely loathe his existence, but today had been kind of not so bad.

“#10 Privet Drive,” answered Alex.

“No kidding? I live at #4!”

“Cool! So we can walk home together,” Alex grinned.

"Home" was not exactly the word Harry used to refer to #4 Privet Drive as, but he supposed it was a decent enough synonym.

“Yeah. Do you, erm, want me to carry your books?”

Alex gave him an odd look before shaking her head. “I’m okay, thanks. I have my backpack,” she said, wiggling her shoulders a bit as if to prove it.

Harry inwardly groaned at himself. “Oh. Sorry. I watch too many old reruns on the telly.”

She giggled. “I do that too.”

“Yeah? What are your favorite shows?” Harry was far too invested in television for someone who had never once in his life sat down in front of one to watch a program. He did, however, spend a lot of time locked in his cupboard and heard a lot of things through the vent. The Dursleys almost always had the telly on. When not in the cupboard, he was able to catch a few glimpses of the screen as he did his chores.

“Ohh, let’s see. I love Bewitched the most, I think. And Leave It to Beaver, though it is a bit ridiculous. I suppose most sitcoms are, though.”

Harry nodded. He had of course never even listened to Bewitched for obvious reasons but he understood the gist of it from the promos. It was almost funny that she thought Leave It to Beaver was more ridiculous than Bewitched, but he understood what she meant. “They all seem to depict a picture-perfect family life.”

“Exactly!” said Alex. “And like, I enjoy watching them, but…”

“They’re unbelievable,” Harry agreed. “Nobody…”

“Lives that kind of life,” Alex finished.

They passed #4 but continued on to #10 before stopping.

“Well,” Harry said. “It… it was nice meeting you.”

“Yeah! I was really worried I wouldn’t be able to make any friends here… um, would you like to come in?” Alex asked, casting a somewhat wary-looking glance at the house behind her.

Harry wanted to, he did, but he knew he’d be dead if he didn’t get to the Dursleys soon. “Can’t,” he said, looking down. “I gotta do my chores and stuff.”

“Oh,” Alex said, looking downcast. “Okay.”

“I’ll um, see you at school tomorrow though, right?”

She nodded. “Yeah. Tomorrow.”

Harry smiled and waved at her as he walked back down the driveway. As he watched her turn into her house, he couldn’t help but notice that she looked about as happy to be entering her home as he felt walking towards the Dursleys.

***

The boy was silent.

He could speak, Severus knew, for he did so on occasion. It was just that more often than not, he chose not to partake in such normalities. Severus kept finding himself to be feeling quite unnerved by the silence.

He didn’t do anything, either. Not that Severus had expected someone in such a state to do anything in particular, but still. He didn’t even lay about on the couch, he simply sat on the floor in front of the fire staring into the flames. Severus was a bit surprised he had come downstairs at all, and of his own violation. He had expected him to take to sulking alone in his room.

Could it really be called sulking though, if it was due to a great mental disturbance?

This was one of the few times in his life that Severus truly felt as though he had no clue what he was doing and often wondered if it had been a good idea to remove Harry from the ward at St. Mungo’s. But he had been rotting away there. So better for him to leave the residue here on Severus’ furniture than one of the hospital beds?

Severus shook that thought from his head and glanced over at the boy, noticing that he held something in his hands. Fearing the worst, he leaned over to take a closer look. Then he breathed out a sigh of relief. It was just the cassette tape he had taken out of the bag the day that Harry had arrived. Harry seemed to be transfixed as he stared down at the tracklist written on the back in glittery pink ink.

Severus sat back in his chair, his potions book laying open over the armrest, abandoned as he pondered the boy.

A nervous breakdown was the main terminology the healers had used. Depression, Anxiety, dissociative tendencies. Triggered by the events leading to the Dark Lord’s downfall, but it had likely been coming on for a long while, taking into account the childhood trauma.

Childhood trauma that had gone unnoticed by Severus and everyone else. They didn’t even know now what the trauma stemmed from exactly, but the medical reports had been fairly clear that there were plenty of things to choose from.

It was inevitable, in that case, that the child would reach a breaking point.

The question was, what now? He had been making absolutely no progress at St. Mungos so Severus had offered to step in, to try and help. But he wasn’t helping very much at all, now was he? A therapist was scheduled to visit once a week, but the appointments were rendered near useless when Harry refused to speak. Past that, Severus didn’t have any ideas as to what to offer the boy and the healers didn’t seem inclined to share with him any helpful tips past nothing sharp, nothing long, nothing that could be used as a tool to cause himself harm.

Severus scowled. He deemed the Wizarding World to be fairly hopeless when it came to addressing mental health issues, which often made him feel pretty hopeless about Harry’s recovery. How could he fix what had been broken without the tools to do so?

Severus sighed, standing up from his chair and stretching. Heaven only knew. There likely wasn’t much he could do, but he still felt that there were many things he should be doing. Figuring out what those things were was the difficult part.

He noticed that Harry seemed to be shivering even as he sat in front of the fire, and so Severus draped a woven blanket over the boy before going into the kitchen to prepare dinner.

He would figure it out, somehow. Maybe.