Hadrian Peverell: The Immortal Stuntman

Acr 1: The beginning part1

Chapter 1: The beginning

(Author's note: Trigger warning: there is Neglect and Physical Abuse and mention of a Pedophile. I do not condone these things at all but it's for the story though it won't be graphic. And I hope for those who were kind enough to give a review, that this is to your liking. Also, word vomit, sorry not sorry.)

"Talking"

'Thoughts or emphasis'

'Separate voice inside head'

~Parseltounge~

Whispering or emphasis or sarcasm

Extreme emotion/extreme emotion

^ inspired by another author's fic (Info at the bottom)

(Author's note or extra info) marked accordingly

.~*..*~.~*.

August 3, 1985

Harry's POV

  I'm so happy! Today I start primary school, which means I can make some friends! I never have time to go to the park or just go outside to play because Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon give me so many chores; and I'm not allowed to go out to play until they're done. I never understood why they give me so many chores when Dudley doesn't have to do anything.

  I even got some new clothes, granted its only three shirts, one pair of pants, a jacket, a pair of running shoes, and from a second-hand shop. But at least they aren't hand-me-downs and they fit with a bit of room to grow. I even got to take a bath with warm water today!

  As I dry off, I look at myself in the mirror. I have an oval-shaped face, with soft delicate features, full pouty lips, and a slightly upturned button nose. My hair is a mess of blue-black curls and waves that stops just below my ears. I'm also a bit on the small side with a lithe, willowy build and you can slightly see the outline of my bones. But the thing I like most about my appearance is my eyes, they're an emerald green color with small flecks and swirls of silver in them and they're almond-shaped (A.N.: he doesn't need glasses). My least favorite part would have to be the lightning bolt scar on my forehead. It's not like I'm being vain or anything like that! It's just that whenever I look at it, I see a flash of green and then it starts to throb in pain.

  Today I'm wearing a soft olive-green tee-shirt, dark blue jeans, and my new shoes. I grabbed my backpack, also from the second-hand store, filled with the bare minimum of usual school supplies and the large lunch I made for myself. Granted it was only one pb&j and a ham and cheese sandwich, but I usually get much less because Aunt Petunia usually forgets about me and only makes enough for three people or I get punished for whatever thing I did, or Dudley pinned on me. I'm used to it because it's always been this way, but that doesn't mean it hurts any less.

  They always pretend that I'm not even there, and when they do its usually to give me my chores list, to occasionally hit me, or yell at me for some stupid reason (i.e.: "Boy, you missed a weed!" "Freak, you missed some dust!" etc..). That's another thing, they never call me by my name! For the first three years of my short life, I thought my name was Freak Boy. You read that right, that's what I thought my name was.

  I only learned my name when I was first babysat by Mrs. Figg, because it was Dudley's third birthday and they were going to London and didn't want the 'freak' to ruin it. The only way I'd ruin it is because when I am allowed to go with them, instead of people oohing and awing over their precious 'Dididums' (A.N.: Which never happens, like ever) they begin to coo over me instead, telling my relatives how 'pretty' or 'handsome' I am. They then start comparing me to either their children or Dudley and putting me in a good light, because I'm 'so much better behaved' and 'so polite' and 'so kind' and 'you're so lucky to have him'.