A/N! I will add songs to every chapter bcs yes, plus here's this:
"Normal"
"Writing"
"Thoughts"
"Dreams"
"§parseltounge§"

"The river swept away my beloved one, as she explained why I'm mental, but all I could hear was her sorrows begging for mercy. I can still hear her, feel her golden locks choke me, and guilt fills me to the end of time. May I one day hold her hand, but I know she's in heaven as I fall unto the devil's hands."

Harry quickly shut the novel, all these thriller books, yet none explained his case. The library was usually deserted on Sundays, this gave him a lovely hour and a half without his horrendous relatives. Harry would never consider them family, he read enough stories to know what he was involved in was described as child abuse, barely feeding and locking him in a cupboard. The library was the only escape to another world, a better one filled with brave characters and magic. If only magic was real, Harry would have flown out without a second thought.

"Oi boy, the place is gonna close soon so you better get a move on!" Harry looked up to find himself face to face with the stone-faced librarian, the only one in the entire facility who never left the world of books, yet the grumpiest. "I'm sorry Mr, Stonewall, I will leave, just after I clean after myself," Harry replied with a charming smile, "Besides, I was wondering if I could borrow this." The much older man gave him a piercing stare, then simply snatched the book away from his hands, probably for check out.  He didn't blame the man, Harry did have a strange reputation, always around when something unexplainable happened. Many thought Harry was just some bookworm shy kiddo, the older ones thought he was possessed by some fucking devil.
"Yeah right, and I can barely remember what I had for breakfast." He thought sarcastically.

Harry locked himself in the cupboard, today was a long day, especially with Aunt Petunia's never-ending list of worthless chores and the pig's taunting( was his name Mudbly? Harry couldn't bother to remember.)
Anywho, at least he had his books, no one got worried when he read, mostly because he hid the covers so no one questioned why he was reading too-mature shit.

Today was an interesting story about long-ago executions toward redheads, the most amusing thing he found this year. Harry knew his mother was a redhead, he did find Petunia's old school journals. By the time he finished reading all those entrees, he knew about his mother more than ever. School pictures revealed her small delicate figure, wavy red hair, and those eyes.

"He had the same figure and eyes, the same wavy hair, the only thing he didn't have was her bright red hair."

And oh, her hair was beautiful, if only he was lucky enough to have hers, but instead had ordinary jet-black hair, Harry had nothing against his father, but it still upset him he never was lucky enough to have those genes. Maybe one day he could run away and dye his hair the same pretty red.
He did consider running away a few times but never dared to do that, he wasn't that stupid and knew it would be foolish to leave when he could simply be patient and leave to a college as soon as possible, but for now, Harry hid his grades away because "Duddley-kins" needed to be better than him at everything.
But Harry was proud to tell anyone he had a lovely cursive handwriting, something Mudbley (Devon??) could never achieve.
God, he needed to start remembering the pig's name, maybe tomorrow when Petunia and Vernon keep doting the brat, after all the whole day was just them blabbing on about Duddykin's birthday.
Eh, why bother for pigs.