Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

There was a slight bruise in his left cheek, but it didn't look serious. It was then that he noticed the distinct lack of a scar on his forehead, and all his plans went to hell in a second.

The young boy couldn't help but mutter, "Oh, fuck."

Young Harry did not expect the admonishing voice coming from behind him, "Watch your language, Mr Potter."

Instinctively, answered back, "I'm sorry, Nurse Royce."

The school nurse turned up her nose and nodded to herself, satisfied with his apology. Harry didn't even notice the woman enter. He was too distracted by the clusterfuck that he just figured out. He was not marked. Of course, it made sense now he thought of it, but the moment he remembered Harrold Smith's life, he forgot the fact that he lacked a certain lightning bolt shaped scar that marked him as the child of the prophecy, as Voldemort's enemy.

Harry tried to remember and thought back to any noticeable scar he might have had and found nothing. He didn't have a scar, that was a fact, then the question was what happened to his parents.

James and Lily Potter were supposed to be the Gryffindor golden couple. The Head boy and Head girl – which had to be very biased since they're both in the same house – they're supposed to be members of Dumbledore's order of the phoenix and die protecting Harry from Tom Riddle's attack on that fateful night in their cottage in Godric's Hollows.

But how much of what he remembered was true, or what else is false? Perhaps Voldemort had chosen Neville and he was the child of the prophecy, while Harry's parents were tortured to insanity by the Lestranges and Crouch Jr.? Perhaps they even abandoned Harry for some reason – which wasn't likely since Petunia would have done her best to rub that in his face, and she said that her sister was dead.

Perhaps the prophecy was different than the stories and Harry didn't need to be marked to be the Chosen One, or even better, there wasn't any prophecy in the first place.

Or maybe Voldemort never existed in the first place. This little detail, this scar, showed Harry that the books, the stories were fallible. They were just that, stories, but Harry lived in the real world. He would use what he could from the stories, but until he meets the magical world, it would be foolish to even plan.

For the present moment, it would be better to assume that he wasn't the child of the prophecy and move on from there. It's the outcome he was hoping for, at least. Harry was uncomfortable at the idea of being famous in any way, especially for his parents dying for him in the first place. Even now, compared to the books, the Dursleys looked tame. Oh, they hated the young wizard for his magic and were completely fearful of his potential, but they were overly abusive. Sure, they were spiteful, but they never beat him, constantly insult him, or even lock him up in the fucking cupboard under the stairs of all places. They were not insane, just some mistrustful muggles that were fearful of magic.

Honestly, the Dursleys from the stories felt more like a caricature of the evil stepmother from the Cinderella story than real people. He couldn't imagine ever people being so obsessed with being normal that they would treat their nephew as a slave. That was especially stupid when that particular nephew would one day be a wizard that could kill them in seconds with barely more than a few waves of a wand, and even hide any evidence of the encounter.

It would be the height of recklessness to justify the pleasure of being cruel to a defenceless child who would turn into a wizard one day. Oh, they didn't pretend to like him, but ignorance was far better than physical abuse.

The young wizard's thoughts were interrupted by the nurse's voice, "Are you listening to me, young man."

"I'm sorry, Nurse Royce, I'm just a bit distracted. Would you mind repeating what you just said?"

The grumpy nurse huffed, "Fine. As I said, you only have a slight bruise on your cheek. There doesn't seem to be any fractures or serious injuries. Honestly, I wouldn't have expected you to have been in a fight at all, at least compared to the other boys."

Harry shrugged, "I'm not much of a fighter. They just cornered me, called me a freak, and started beating me. I did my best to avoid being hit and run away. I even turned them against each other, but I couldn't run away fast enough."

The boy could swear to see a slight smile on the face of the nurse, who sighed in exasperation, "You could have really hurt them, kiddo."

Outraged, Harry responded, "You do realize that there were five of them. And I barely even hit any of them. They mostly just hit each other. The only one I really hit was Piers and Dudley, and my cousin is too fat to feel anything these puny muscles could hit."

"Well, you better convince the Headmistress. The teachers broke the fight between the three boys and brought you all here. Their parents are all in her office, complaining away."

Harry took a deep breath, "Well, that's not good, is it?"

"Yes, things do not look good for you. Now, let's not keep the Headmistress waiting. She told me to bring you to her as soon as you wake up."