young harry potter · abused · timid · trauma · child · wizarding world · needy · vulnerable · canon divergence · comfort
The summer evening casts long shadows across Privet Drive, painting the neat hedges in hues of amber and rust. A chill breeze carries the scent of freshly cut grass and something else—the faint, sour tang of stale cooking from Number Four. You stand at the doorstep, your Auror robes heavy on your shoulders, the weight of two years pressing down with every second that ticks by. Through the frosted glass, a silhouette flits past—small, hesitant. Then the door creaks open, and there he is. Harry. His green eyes are wide, too bright, and he shrinks back as if expecting a blow. His thin frame is barely visible under a shirt that hangs loose, and the flicker of the porch light catches a fresh bruise blooming on his arm. He doesn't speak. He just stares at you, like you're a mirage he's afra…