Eyes of Purest Emerald Green, Eyes From One Who Lived to Die

ONE

Harry was six, but he understood a lot about how the world worked. He knew that James didn't like seeing his eyes and that nobody liked him. He knew that his siblings had defeated the Dark Lord, whoever that was, and that he'd brought him back to life. He knew that both of his siblings had godparents but he didn't. He knew that his mom was dead, that he wasn't allowed to speak of her but everyone else was, and he knew that James was only pretending to be his father. He knew that Padfoot and Moony would always be kind to him and that Albus Dumbledore was not a nice man.

He knew to never go outside, to never talk to anyone unless they talked to him first, to always be polite, to never lie. He knew that it was his fault that his mother had died, that the house had burned down in a huge conflagration and they had been forced to move to Hogsmeade. He knew so much that his head always seemed full to bursting like it was one of those overstuffed chairs that the senile old wrackspurt Dumbledore loved. He knew that everyone hated him.

And he thought that, for a six-year-old, he knew quite a lot about the world. At least he wasn't doing horribly. He could count and read and write and do his lessons. He could do potions with some difficulty, flying with none, cooking with less than he expected, and refused to even go to James' so-called 'How to deal with people you want to marry or date' class. It seemed utterly pointless to him.

Even at the age of six, Harry had no interest in romance or sex. He looked at the magazines James had given him, but they were just pictures. He had tried to imagine it, but he just had no interest. Yes, girls were quite beautiful, and he could appreciate that, but he didn't want anything more out of them than friendship unless they could give him pure love.

Amaryllis already had her eye on a couple of boys a few years older than her, while Lukas had decided to wait a few years. James respected that. He had waited until Hogwarts to begin dating, and his wife was the only one that he had ever dated.

Harry had heard many tales about Hogwarts. Of course, they were all about the nobility and courage of Gryffindors and the sliminess and prattishness of Slytherins, but Harry had researched them all and had finally made his choice.

Harry wanted to be in Hufflepuff. The House of kindness, loyalty, and justice. He really hoped that he got to be in that House someday. Ravenclaws were very studious and smart. Slytherins were sly and cunning. Gryffindors were brave, bold, and courageous. He wasn't very studious, although he did love learning. He wasn't very good at being cunning or sneaky. He wasn't brave or bold. But he liked to think that he was kind.

Harry stood up, fingers clutching briefly at his neck. There was a small, wire-thin collar there, pressed tightly against his throat. James often used it to either choke or electrocute Harry for abysmal behaviour.

James strutted into the room, followed closely by Lukas and Amaryllis. They didn't even spare a glance at Harry, although Amaryllis gave him a malicious glare. She resented his presence in what she considered to be her house.

James stopped in front of the fireplace and withdrew a pinch of Floo powder from the flowerpot on the mantle. "The Burrow!" He called out, and Harry followed the green flames with his eyes. They always held some sort of enchantment for him, no pun intended.

All three children walked through the flames with him. Harry felt the whirling sensation of Flooing, the feeling that he was spinning through both space and time.

And then it was over. Mrs Weasley fussed over them for a moment, patted the soot and ashes off of them, and then promptly informed them that Ron was in the garden, degnoming it.

As Lukas and Amaryllis went off to play with Ron, Harry set out over the hill. His best-and only-friend, Luna Lovegood, lived there, in a tower by a river. They loved to play alongside the river and Xenophilius or Pandora would always clean them up before Harry went home.