Chapter Text
Harry walked down the dark street. There was nothing to be afraid of, he was a wizard after all. Nothing out here in the Muggle world could possibly harm him. He was far more dangerous than anyone could imagine.
True, his figure didn’t cut an all that intimidating of an image. He was rather short and scrawny and wore a pair of wire-framed glasses. His body was also covered in scars, crisscrossing up and down his neck, arms and legs. Only his face remained perfect, aside from the lightning bolt shaped scar on his forehead.
But despite his rather unthreatening look, Harry Potter was dangerous. He was a killer after all. Just a month ago he’d killed one of his teachers. Granted, that murder was justified, but still, Harry had taken a life and honestly, he didn’t really feel too bad about it. Quirrell had intended to kill him, so Harry simply beat him to the punch.
So, when a man stepped out of an alley to accost him, Harry wasn’t all that concerned.
“What are you doing out here, kid?” asked the thug. “Little past your bedtime huh?”
“Fuck off,” said Harry, pushing his way past.
The man didn’t like that though, and grabbed Harry’s collar from behind, lifting him into the air.
“What was that?” he snarled, pressing something into Harry’s back.
Harry stiffened.
“That’s right, boy,” sneered the man. “Time someone taught you some manners.”
Harry could feel the thing against his back sharpen, it must have been a knife. He tried to twist around to attack but found himself stuck in the iron grasp of the man, unable to move.
“Where do you think you’re going?” growled the thug, digging the knife in deeper, drawing a trickle of blood and a flash of pain.
“Let me go,” said Harry. “You don’t want nothing to do with me.”
The man laughed at that.
“You can’t be serious,” he chuckled. “Boy I’ve seen rats bigger than you, fiercer too. You barely put up a fight.”
At that, Harry unleashed a burst of magic, knocking himself from the man’s grasp. He spun around quickly, only to find the man right on top of him. Before he could react, the man swung his knife towards Harry’s face. Harry didn’t have any time to think, he could only react, letting his instincts take over.
He let himself drop, avoiding the brunt of the attack, but still suffering a long cut from the middle of his cheek to the corner of his eye. The pain exploded in his head, as bad as anything he’d experienced. Worse yet, his vision in his left eye almost completely disappeared.
Rolling to his feet, he faced his assailant. His vision was definitely off, a bit blurry and completely absent on his left side.
Stupid, he berated himself. He’d let his guard down. Just because he had magic didn’t mean he could just strut around. He’d underestimated the man and now he was reaping the consequences of that decision.
The man began advancing again, but this time, Harry was prepared. Summoning a gust of wind, he swept the man from his feet, knocking the knife from his hands in the process.
“What –?”
But the man never finished his thought. Harry was furious. How dare this man attack him? How dare he make him bleed? He could feel energy building within his chest. Slowly, he raised both his hands, palms facing the man. Bolts of electricity erupted from Harry’s hands, enveloping the man and ending his life before he could even register what was happening.
Harry stood over the corpse and spat on its remains, furious not only with the dead Muggle, but with himself for allowing the man to catch him off guard.
Heal, he thought, focusing the rest of his energy on the freely bleeding cut. Slowly, he could feel the bleeding slow, then stop. The skin began to knit itself back together, leaving a large fresh scar down the side of his face. His no longer perfect face. The only thing normal about him was now gone.
Slowly, Harry’s vision began to come back to normal. It appeared the knife had just missed actually hitting his eye, the shock and pain only temporarily blinding him.
Kicking the charred remains of the Muggle, Harry resumed his journey into the night.