As it Was | H.S

HARRY S : BACKSTORY.

"Come on, Harry, we wanna say goodnight to you." His mother called out to him, from the front entrance of their house. Harry quickly ran down the stairs, leaping into his mother's arms. She whispers a goodnight to him, and his father simply looks away instead of saying anything. 

Harry noticed the lack of attention that his father gave him, but it was nothing new. His mother gently pushed him away, waving goodbye as she and his father left for another one of their outings that seemed to get more and more frequent. Harry never understood how his mother did it. How she always seemed happy even knowing what his father's job was. 

Bertram, Harry's butler, ushers him to his bedroom where he tucks Harry into bed. Bertram, like his father, says nothing when he leaves Harry's room, and turns off the lights.

Harry felt restless. His room felt too large, and he felt too small to be there. Finally making up his mind, he eventually pushed the covers off himself, his bare feet meeting the cold wooden floors. 

Harry, as quietly as he could, tip-toed towards his bedroom door, wincing at the creaks when he attempted to open it. Light flooded into his bedroom as he made his way around the house, mindlessly wandering. 

He passed by paintings and photos that were hung around the house, excitement in his eyes as he peered at each expensive piece of art that was hung on the walls. Harry and his mother always enjoyed strolling around the long corridors of the manor carefully examining each piece, embracing the company of one another even though most of it was spent in silence.

Harry slowed his pace, right in front of his father's study, a place that he had constantly been told not to go into, no matter the circumstances.

But he was just a curious little boy, and his father wasn't home. He wondered silently to himself what mysteries and treasures could lay behind the door. 

Placing his hand on the doorknob, he gently tried to twist it, only to find out that it was locked. 

Frowning, Harry's sharp eyes surveyed his environment, before they located a little bump in the carpet next to him. Bending down, he found the key under the maroon colored carpet, wondering why someone like his father would have placed the key in such an obvious place, but nevertheless, pride visible on the little boy's face he picked up the golden key.

He inserted the key into the lock, clicking the lock into place and pushed open the door to his father's study with anticipation and nervousness.

He had expected it to be much grander. 

It looked like any other study. There was a dark wooden desk in the center of the room with papers scattered covering the surface of it. Bookcases covered the perimeter of the study each filled with unique books and notebooks.

However, there was one thing in particular that caught his eye, and it was the bulletin board, with red string connecting pictures, and red marker drawn all over. It looked like an interactive painting to him. 

Harry even recognized some of the people on the board, and his curiousity brought him to his father's desk. He pulled open drawers and opened boxes, many of them with writing that he didn't understand. 

But there were many, many cruel words on those papers, ones that a child should never have to see.

Harry was aware of what his father did for a living despite his mother constantly trying to get him to stay away from it. She didn't want Harry to be like his dad when he grew up. 

But being the only son of a prominent mafia boss and being able to experience a genuine, happy childhood was completely out of the question. 

And Harry had long ago accepted it. 

The little boy tried to put everything back as it was, so his father wouldn't realize that his son had been snooping.

Harry's eyes were soon drawn to the piece of paper that was placed onto his father's desk, loud and proud. 

The names 'Samanatha Y/L/N' and 'Matthew Y/L/N' were printed onto the paper in bold, their pictures right next to their names. A red circle was drawn around both pictures, and it looked as though someone had tried to rip the paper up. 

Harry was confused as to why they had been circled in such bold ink, but an eight year old would pay no mind to that. And Harry didn't.

Instead he moved his attention to the many other things that resided within his father's study, his eyes traveling across books, and many other items. 

However, his fun soon ended after he heard his father's car roll up into the driveway, and he hurriedly moved to put all of the items he had touched back to where they were. He quietly exited the room, placing the key back where it was, and hurrying back to his bedroom. 

Harry hid behind a wall upstairs, watching his parents return home.

His green eyes landed on his father's hankerchief, which he was using to wipe his hands with. It was colored crimson. 

Blood. 

And though Harry knew he shouldn't be surprised anymore, his eyes widened anyway. What had his father done? His mother hurried after her father, soothing words spilling out of her mouth. He seemed to be calmed by her presence alone, and he gave her a quick kiss before he went up the stairs, and into his study.

His mother remained in the lobby, and her eyes met Harry's. 

She tiredly smiled, and Harry ducked into his bedroom before she could say anything else. Harry didn't know what to say, or to do. 

His heart was pounding as he laid under the covers. Harry swallowed nervously as he watched the shadow of his mother's feet appear under his doorway, but he still made no sound. Little Harry was too scared to say anything and he remained silent. Even when her silhouette disappeared. 

He heard the door to his parent's room close, and he knew that his mother had gone to rest.