Sometimes, Harry thinks life isn't worth living.

There are good days, bad days, and days when getting up feels like giving up. There are days when a smile graces his face at the slightest of things and days when dispair cloaks him like a blanket. There are days when Ron and Hermione are the bestest friends he's ever had and days when insecurity is seductive and drags his confidence in them through the dirt.

When his second year of Hogwarts ends in a bang and feels like a dream, Harry is only reminded of this fact. The brightness of the magical land of Hogwarts that sweeps him away every year only serves to provide contrast on Harry just how dark home is.

Home. That godforsaken place.

He watches the sunset through barred windows, makes breakfast that he gets only a fraction of, and does his chores with the apt diligence of someone who had already given up. He sometimes wakes up screaming, which gets him a scolding from Uncle Vernon, and sometimes wakes up shaking but always, always wakes up crying.

He has dreams of a rat, who he knows he should be able to recognize but just can't, breaking into the Headmaster's office and stealing files about he and a certain alchemist's research. He dreams of a rat who's too cowardly for his own good and submissive like no other. A rat who's aura reeks of betrayal and is thick with something oh so vaguely familiar.

Those are the worst dreams. They're worse than when he falls asleep to find himself in the cupboard under the stairs, or when he falls asleep to the sound of destruction and a flashing green light. They are worse because they seem so real-- they are vivid. With his other dreams, those echoes of reality, of memories best forgotten, he knows the ending because it is his present. The events of them are haunting but he can almost (almost, never quite manage completely) pretend they are a lifetime ago.

The dream with the rat is not like that. It's eternal. It's mockingly so.

The week before the life Harry thinks isn't worth living falls apart is normal, save for a letter from Hermione saying that her parents have fallen deathly ill and a letter from Ron saying his rat is missing. Aside from that, life continues on with its continuous relentless pace. Harry makes breakfast. Harry gets insulted. Harry does chores. Harry does chores and gets insulted. It is the way life has been for twelve years and it showed no signs of changing.

Then Hagrid arrivies. Harry's worried, at first, for the Dursley's safety because of Hagrid's track record of cursing them. But it soon becomes apparent that they're not the one he should be worried about.

Harry stands stiff with his back to the wall, eavesdropping on a conversation he wishes wasn't real. He wishes, not for the first time, he had a subscription to the Daily Prophet because the events described are equal parts scary as they as confusing.

Albus Dumbledore, his respected mentor and a man who's lived too long and knows too much, has told the world that his cousin, who is as Muggle as can be, is the "real boy who lived." On the night of Godric's Hollow, Voldemort killed Harry's parents but thought Harry himself too weak to pose a threat and sout after Dudley, of which the killing curse rebounded-- and the rest is history.

Harry is... astonished, to say the least. Not really at Dumbledore-- though that betrayal does sting-- but at the wizarding world as a whole. From what Harry can gather, Dumbledore's message is generally believed and even more so generally well received. Why? Why do they believe him so easily? The story could technically happen, but, if it did, why did Dumbledore come out about it so many years later? The story is rough-- the tale does not run smoothly.

Wizards, Harry thinks, are sometimes very stupid.

So Harry quickly gathers his belongings, kissing Hedwig gently on the forehead as a way to say stay quiet, will you? as he makes his way down the stairs. Uncle Vernon slaps Hagrid on the back, exclaiming, "My boy is famous, would you look at that?" and says jokingly that "We'll kick him out to the orphanage since Albus said we don't have to keep the brat anymore. And we'll give him one last beating for the road!" Harry isn't much for testing fate and broken bones, so he thinks it's in his best interest to leave before they notice he's trying to.

In an act of unpracticed unintentional magic, he unlocks his cupboard door. The place reeks of bleach and bad memories so Harry wastes no time in grabbing his school supplies and closing it softly. This is the last time he'll see the cupboard ever, he realizes.

Good riddance.

He feels his wand in his pocket, a constant grounding weight, and adjusts his items so he's able to carry them. He walks to the front door, trying to keep his steps silent, and catches a glimpse of Dudley in the living room.

He looks at Hagrid with an expression of awe on his face-- he's finally getting to touch the forbidden magic that he'd only ever been able to see-- but there's confusion there, too. He's out of depth in this world and sooner or later, it'll swallow him whole.

You were never meant for the wizarding world, Dudders. Just like I was never meant for the Dursley's, Harry thinks without malice. You'll try and fail to fit in, to play a part you were not given the lines for, just like I did here. Take my place and you'll see regard so easily won feels like and is a death sentence.

Good luck, Dudley. I think you'll need it.

He slips out the door and considers for a moment going to stay at the Leaky Cauldron-- didn't Tom sell rooms there?-- but thinks it best to stay away from the wizarding world for a little while. With a heavy heart and heavy trunk, Harry begins the long trudge to the local orphanage.