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Even Lady Luck has Favorites

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A.N.: So yeah… not sure where this came from. I’m honestly probably going to continue this since I find myself amused at the possibilities of Harry deciding important things using the dice… but my focus is currently on my other fic. Hopefully, though, at least some of you like this. And, it goes without saying; I definitely do not own Harry Potter. Nor am I getting any money from this.

Even Lady Luck has Favorites

Luck was not a word that would often be applied to the small and underfed boy living at Number 4 Privet Drive. Said boy, a Harry James Potter, could be in many aspects be likened to a Greek Tragedy hero, both on the known and unknown. Just like an onion, his life had layers. And also just like an onion, it brought tears to whoever sought to peel those layers.

The first layer was centered on the appearance, the superficial, and, in this case, the rumors spread by the boy’s aunt and uncle. Due to this layer, as far as the neighborhood was concerned, the boy was an orphan with troublesome tendencies, born to an alcoholic couple that died in a car crash.

The second layer focused on the circumstances of his home life. His relatives, despite being seen as respectable members of society, mistreated him and abused him; his nickname was set to Freak, he was given an amount of daily chores to do, he was accommodated in a small cramped cupboard as a room, he was punished for everything and anything that went wrong, and he was regularly bullied by his cousin and friends.

The third layer, deeper, was that of the boy’s true personality. Despite being known as a violent, no good, lazy, and mean kid, Harry was actually smart, driven, quick, and quiet. The problem was that the young boy was also a child desperate for the love and the approval of his aunt and uncle, a fact that made him hold back in many areas of life, giving credibility to the rumors of the first layer.

The last layer, the unknown, was created by his true past, one kept from the boy himself. This past involved wizards, high society, heroes, sacrifices, manipulators, and prophecies. He would soon come to know of it once he found his special trait. Despite this past, Harry James Potter was actually incredibly lucky.

The problem was, he didn’t know about it. Or rather, as he thought of himself as unlucky, he wasn’t able to notice all the times it manifested itself. It had, however, saved him from certain death. So Harry Potter was certainly lucky.

And never would this be more apparent from the moment that he discovered his talent with dices through various moments in his life before Hogwarts.
“Hey, Freak! Stop running, coward!” shouted the voice of one Dudley Dursley, resident bully of the Privet Drive neighborhood and cousin of the supposed troublemaker, Harry Potter. “You’ll bloody pay for this! I’ll tell dad that you cheated!”~

A small form hid inside a bin, holding his breath and hoping his cousin wouldn’t hear him. It shouldn’t be too hard; he had the habit of it after all. Harry may just have turned six, but he was quite adept at running from his cousin by this point, especially considering Dudley’s favorite sport had become “Harry Hunting.” A sport that consisted of Harry running away from Dudley and his gang until they eventually caught him, and then enduring the hits that came his way.

“Where are you?! You know dad and mom won’t let this pass. You’re just the little Freak, there is no way you could’ve gotten better grades than me! Now COME OUT!”

It wasn’t that hard, though, thought Harry, to get better grades than Dudley. Many adjectives could be used to describe his cousin, but smart was definitely not one.

“Come on, Big D. The runt’s not worth it.” Pier Polkiss, the second meanest boy in their grade and Dudley’s lackey, said in a sharp and whiny voice. “Just leave him; your dad will get him good. Besides, I hear Fornsel’s got some chocolate bars that he hid from us. We should go get them.”

“Fine,” Harry heard after a bit of grumbling, “Let’s go.”

Harry did fear the retribution he’d get for doing better in school, but he had made a decision; he would do well in school no matter what. Maybe if he did well, his relatives would finally like him. It wasn’t likely, but it was a possibility. If not, there should be at least someone who would notice him. It was his decision! No one would take it away from him.

Or at least, that’s what Harry thought. Unfortunately for the boy, however, he would soon realize that his decisions did not, in fact, matter. Or, at least, they didn’t matter to anyone around him. His Uncle and Aunt were harsher than ever and his school teachers didn’t believe that he hadn’t cheated and branded him a troublemaker. Harry would try several more times to do well, either in school or some activity related to it, but he soon had to accept the fact that no one cared, and no one would care. No one ever tried to believe him, and no one, apparently, had the brain required to think on their own.

And so, at six years of age, Harry James Potter formed the belief that his decisions did not matter.
The boy was seven when the second event happened.~

When dice, or more particularly, the Luck of the Dice, entered his life.

It was Dudley’s birthday, and so Vernon and Petunia Dursley had left their nephew in the hands of their neighbor, Mrs. Figg. While this normally would not have affected Harry at all, except for maybe increasing his dislike of cats considering how many she had and how nasty they were, that day was a special occasion.

Several of the neighbors had organized various mini-tournaments, claiming to want to raise money for charity. One of those involved dice games, and thus Harry became Mrs. Figg’s training partner. Mrs. Figg had decided so, and Harry followed. And everything changed.

It seemed that, for the first time in Harry’s life, he won. Every game, every time; he just kept winning. There was something he was good at that the Dursley’s couldn’t take from him. Harry could do this.

Harry’s experience with dice thus started. He experimented with every game that contained dice, no matter which, from monopoly to gambling games. And every time, he still won through sheer luck.

Harry now had a new focus in life; dice. Through it, he started to have friends, playing often with them. He also started getting items or money from his wins, and slowly his body started growing normally. He was still small and underfed, but it was improving.

Harry was conflicted; what he was doing was essentially gambling. Gambling was, he’d been taught, bad. It was for troublemaker, and all who did it ended badly. But then, wasn’t he already seen as a troublemaker?

Harry decided to never walk around again without his dice.
The next turning point in Harry’s life came in the form of a question a year later.

“Why do you never make decisions?” came from one of Harry’s many game partners. “It’s just, in games you’re always the first to decide through your dice, but outside of that, you’re kinda meek and not sure of anything. It’s kind of startling, to be honest, so I was wondering; why?”

“That’s… I just don’t want to make decisions. It’s personal.” Harry responded.

“I see… too bad you don’t just use your dice everywhere, then!” the other laughed, without noticing Harry’s wide eyes.

From there on, Harry’s brain never let him forget it, nagging him constantly every time he used the dice. He finally focused on what the guy had said a month or two later, pausing to actually consider the statement.

In games, he had always made the decisions with his dice. This was because he trusted his dice, much more than he trusted others and himself, and the fact that they would always lead him towards good results. But, Harry started wondering, what would happen if he started making decisions outside of games with his dice as well?

For the first time in a while, Harry truly and widely smiled. If it worked, if it truly did, life would finally go up for him.
The first few times Harry had the opportunity to test this, they had worked even better than he thought. He had, somehow, even gotten Vernon Dursley to give him Dudley’s second bedroom. Truthfully, his dice had led him to witness a scene that his dear Uncle would not like to be known. Who knew his Uncle had a fetish for animals? Vernon was quick to accommodate.

And so, when he noticed a strangely dressed person a few meters away, Harry was quick to take out his dice. Harry may not have known much about fashion, but he was pretty certain that pointy hats, neon pink pants, and bright orange jackets did not, in fact, go well together. He looked interesting enough for a talk, Harry’s instincts shouted. Should he really approach the man and talk with him? So he shook his dice to decide.

Setting some rules for this particular game, Harry whispered, “Evens, I talk to him and odds, I don’t,” then rolled the dice, waiting for Luck’s answer.
A twelve, he thought. Not only an even number, but also double sixes… It seemed like he really should go up to the man and talk.

So Harry went. Tapping the shoulder of the man, he waited until the man turned around, and then spoke.

“I’m sorry sir, but do you need help?” Harry was, after all, raised to be polite, despite everything.

“Ah, yes, yes, thank you! I’m actually looking for a… Kamics and vodeo games store?” The man said, trying to remember the name he had been given.

“Do you mean comics and video games?” Really, Harry thought, how could someone be so confused about those words? They were commonplace, after all. The young loved them, and the older criticized them, but everyone knew about them.

“Yes, that’s it! My niece, she grew curious after hearing about them from some classmates, and now wants some things from there. I can’t seem to find the place, even with the point me… anyway, where are my manners! My name is Gerald. Gerald Crawford.”

“I can guide you there if you want, sir. I’m Harry, Harry Potter,” said the boy as they started walking.

“OH MERLIN! Harry Potter? Truly? Do you have The Scar?!” The man cried out, suddenly stopping, eyes immediately fixed on the boy’s forehead.

“It is there…” he whispered in an awed tone, “it’s an honor to meet you, truly!” he then cried out in a mixture of excitement and happiness, starting to walk again, gaze still fixed on the lightning bolt shaped scar that had marked Harry’s forehead for as long as he could remember.

Startled, Harry was not sure how to feel. On one hand, the man’s reaction to his name made him wary. Granted, it was better than the usual reaction, for instead of a sneer a grin settled on the man’s face, but it puzzled Harry. Why was his name a good thing? Secondly, the man had known about the scar before even seeing it, a scar that Harry usually kept hidden. This implied that the man had been watching him, but his surprised reaction said differently. What was going on?

“Err… why, sir?” He muttered, finally going out of shock.

“What do you mean why? Of course, it is for saving us from You-Know-Who! For having defeated the worst Dark Lord of all time! We wizards and witches owe you a great deal, you know?” cheerfully said the man… the wizard?

Harry was at first very tempted to label the man as crazy, but he then remembered his dice. They had been the ones to lead him to the man, so there must be a reason. And it is true that unusual things tended to happen to him, he mused. So instead, Harry continued walking with them man, subtly seeking answers while attempting to look knowledgeable about his past.

This way, Harry James Potter learned about the wizard that had attempted to kill him after killing his family, about his status as the hero, about the power he held as the last member of a noble house, and how to get to the magical street in London, Diagon Alley.

More importantly, however, Harry James Potter discovered the existence of Magic, of the separate Wizarding World, and of the possibilities in his future, at nine years of age.
His dice had, indeed, made a huge difference. Now it was just a matter of using them in regards to this new world... and to figure out how to escape his current living situation.
He would decide when to explore this later. And using his dice, of course.