Harry Potter, Boy-who-was-neglected

Forgotten

It was 6:00 when a 5 year old Harry Potter walked down the stairs of Potter Manor, wearing a discarded, oversized crimson shirt and pants. His bright emerald green eyes blinked blearily as he stretched like a cat. Stifling a yawn, he walked downstairs and began making a breakfast for himself, summoning the ingredients with wandless, wordless "Accio" charms. Looking around the living room decorated in preparation for only Godric's 5th birthday , he smiled a sad smile as he levitated his tray up to his room. After all, no one was going to make his breakfast for him.

Ever since his twin was declared the Boy-Who-Lived, he'd been slowly forgotten. At first it was the little things, like Lily forgetting to tuck him in or James forgetting to open the door for him when he got home from school, and Remus - the twins' godfather, forgetting to buy a present for him and having to fumble for his wand and transfigure something. Then it became just that little bit more serious - Lily and James forgetting to take him shopping for clothes and forgetting to lay his place and cook for him. All throughout this, Godric had always boasted and teased about getting all the attention from their parents. 

Even though he didn't really mind that much now, there was always that little bit inside him that craved his mother's affection, his father's approval, his twin's acceptance. And so Harry tried to do everything that would make him a "better" son: He read countless books in the vast Potter library, perfected the charms that could be used around the house, cooked occasionally, and perfected his manners. Even though he knew nothing would make him "better" than Godric, he tried - because all he'd ever wanted was those warm, loving hugs that Lily gave Godric, the crooked smiles that James gave to his brother that looked so much like his own, even the awkward one-armed hugs that his godfather constantly gave everyone - everyone but him. All he wanted was a family.

He sighed, imagining the day when his parents would finally give him some of the unconditional love they gave Godric, even though he knew the chances were slim. But, he thought, staring at the cup of warmed milk and brushing some of his messy raven hair away from his lightning bolt scar, he'd dream on. 

Meanwhile, at the faraway Hogwarts, a meddling, manipulative old fool was mentally cackling in glee, rubbing his bony fingers together. This was going better than he'd imagined; the broken boy would soon fall into his grasp and would become his perfect little weapon. Soon he would have control of the boy-who-lived via his brother and the wizarding world. All was going according to his plan, and the pieces were falling in his place. This time, he couldn't control the smallest cackle slipping out as he rubbed his hands together, basking in the warm afterglow of yet another successful plan.

Behind him, Fawkes the phoenix stood on his golden perch, giving a small sound of unhappiness as tears trickled down his feathery face, tugging at the invisible chains that held him here, forcefully bound to Dumbledore. He had no means of escape, and so he sat there, head hung, much like a certain green-eyed boy all the way at Potter Manor.