Ahimsa
Summary:
So this is a non-violence!fic, with a heavy influence in attitude from my culture, and the fact that it's an SI-fic should help that. Finally, be warned: as I literally had a day to write the first chapter, there will probably be edited versions of this put up/updated. Just to make this clear, this is a Divergent SI fanfiction. (Originally) For SI Week 2016, Tumblr. I have wanted to write a pacifist/anti-violence Harry for awhile now. I will be taking my time with this fic - chapters slower than the other one, so fair warning. Though, note, that whilst this is tagged (excessively?) as it is, an indulgent fic, I also will not abandon any story that I start. Also, there is no beta!
Notes:
Started as a writing exercise – for SI Week 2016, Tumblr. [short title: Ahimsa]
NOTE BEGINNING: So this is a non-violence!fic, with a heavy influence in attitude from my culture, and the fact that it's an SI-fic should help that. I am also unsure if this will be continued, but I have wanted to write a pacifist/anti-violence Harry. I want to try and make sure this does not become an In-Name-Only fic, but a Divergent fiction. I would also like to make it a happier interpretation of the story-line (if it gets that far) – but understand it will not be possible the whole way through…however a more modern/different cultural-influence might make a bit of an impact. Nevertheless, I would like to point out that I have a real want to make a utopian-esque fiction piece, simply because there is so much sadness/negativity in the world and I'd like to see a happier interpretation…But whilst I will fight that for this fiction piece, if it does swing that way – please feel free to point that out. Feedback will be appreciated! Genre-wise, I think this will start out very small in some aspects; a raising-Harry fic, in fact. Another point- I am trying to get the context right, but I am a 90s kid – I have sources from the 80s, but that's all.
This started as a self-insert fiction; it's now closer to OC with some SI (so in other words SI/OC-hybrid?). Any mentions of SI from here on out mean the SI/OC-hybrid. I'm not sure if I want my SI to know about the storyline already or to just respond as I would in this scenario… Finally, be warned: as I literally have a day to write this, there will probably be a better/edited version of this put up. So, you can read that instead. Just to make this clear, this is a Divergent SI fanfiction.
A final note (sorry): my faith, Hinduism, is often described as pluralistic, so someone could also be Hindu and read something presented in here as 'wrong' or different- or someone who was taught religious education/studies/other variations, may think so; I am not the sole voice of Hinduism. It is a faith and lifestyle, with many many differing practices. (So don't take this as the only correct way) I cross-post on AO3 (and it's easier to edit on there, hence this format - I'm updating this on 04/11/18, OC name-change and all the other changes made to this fanfic on AO3). NOTE ENDING.
Chapter 1: Prologue
Harry remembers the loud bad noise. It hurt. There was a loud crying in his ears afterwards, and they hurt lots. He thought there should be more mess, and sad and angry people 'round him, and it grew inside his whole body like a filling air balloon or a big wash of water like the sea – until it suddenly went. But when he looked 'round because maybe he did a bad thing again Boy... there was no Aunt Petunia or Uncle Vernon.
Harry really started crying then, because he didn't know where he was, he was tired and his ears hurted, in big harsh sobs.
On December 17th, 1983 whilst Harrods, and the surrounding street filled with Christmas shoppers, in one part of West London was being evacuated, on another street holiday goers- often families themselves, found it easy to spot the small lad standing by himself, clothes too big for the chill overcast weather, covered in soot and crying his poor little eyes out.
He was promptly approached by the closer families and surrounded. The parents and adults exchanged brief looks. Some looked about for his family members, or listened out for any distressed parents calling for a child. They hastily pulled nosy children back, he could be hurt. Someone pushed through the silent pause, a middle-aged Indian woman, dressed in long coat and boots like many others. She approached the child with a cautious look around at the other adults, like for permission. When no one stopped her, she talked gently to the boy, comforting him. Seeing that someone had gone to the boy, the adults talked in hushed arguments on what to do and picked up.
Harry looked at the girl who crouched in front of him from between his curled fingers. He was cold. She looked…a little like Aunt Petunia did sometimes when Dudley fell over. She smiled at him gently. It made the skin around her big eyes crinkle together. When she spoke her voice was high but scratchy. 'Hiya, little one,' she said. She started to take off her bright fuzzy scarf, 'it's going to be OKAY now, alright?' She slowly wraps her scarf, wool, around his shoulders and then his neck and over his head. She rubs over his ears with her hands gently. She does not look like she's going to cry anymore. Her brown eyes look at him, 'my name is Nitya'. Harry can't help his surprise, his eyes open wide and his mouth maybe opens but just a little, it's just so weird. Nobody talks to him like her. Nobody talks to him...Harry looked at her face some more. She wasn't showing mean-eyes at him, he thought with no small amount of awe. Or lookin' like he was bad and made her tummy all swirly and sick.
Harry felt fear shiver through him. Is the nice lady gonna go now? And then he sees real happiness is in her eyes at that, 'yes, its different right? NEET-ya. Nitya.'
She looks at him some more, and says calmly, 'what is your name? Not that' she smiles again, 'I don't really really' her voice goes higher on really, it's fun, ' -like calling you little one, but you have a name, right? What is it love?'
Harry feels tired and lost and she's been nice, so maybe she won't be mean when he tells her, so he says '…Harry'. It comes out quiet and hissy, like a wind breeze. He instinctively ducks his head into the warm scarf, pushing his glasses up a bit.
A soft weight touches his head. He looks up, it's her arm. She pats his head gently, smiles and says 'that's a lovely name.' She looks a little shy when she says, 'it's nice to meet you, Harry'. She puts her hand out again, like this is serious business, and Harry shakes her hand. Her hands are so large, and the big palms are warm. She doesn't let go. Looking at him, Harry, she asks, 'you look cold? Would you like a cuddle, Harry? I promise my cuddles aren't too bad.' She looks hopeful. Harry supposes he could maybe try. Aunt Petunia never gives him hugs, but he's seen them before. She pulls him gently by his hand to her, her other arm going around to wrap around him, along his shoulders and back. Harry puts his head on the middle of her chest, her head is on his head. Harry thinks he is a little warmer. 'Is this okay Harry?'
A big part of Harry has been sleeping until now, and suddenly it's like he can think properly again, from when it changed and a big part of him wanted her to stay with him and all his feelings come back. Harry nods and starts sniffing and crying and he is so tired , this is so nice. Why can't he have this? He wants cuddles and this lady to give them lots. Harry stops crying. It's so comfy. He pulls on her open coat side, and the lady opens her coat and wraps it around him. 'There, there, little one,' she says softly, rocking him side to side a little. 'It will be okay' she whispers, swallowing. Harry can hear her gulp. She rubs his back in circles. It warms him. Harry rubs his cold nose and face into her jumper. The murmurs fade further into the background.
They stay like this for a little while. Then, 'Harry, sweetie,' she whispers against his ear, moving her position, 'are you hurting anywhere? Do you have any ouch-es, or pain?'
Harry feels sleepy now, but shakes his head no. Because not really. This is much better. 'Okay, I am going to pick you up now, okay?'
'Okay', Harry yawns, he puts his face sideways on her shoulder when she picks him up, still wrapped in her coat. Harry goes to sleep holding her soft jumper.
Nitya picked up the little boy whose weight is barely there with an ache in her chest. All she has to do is shift him up a little; he's so small and light. Nitya stops that train of thought right there, for now, because tears do no good now. Hush hush. She supports his upper back with one hand and carries him with her other hand against her hip. She looks around at the other parents. Some have left from the back.
A man steps forward, and presumably his wife. 'We've called the police, they should be over soon.'
'Apparently there was an incident around the corner so all the coppers were called over there.'
'- Yeah, all the Brass are there right now', another man confirms grimly, mustache bristling.
Nitya licked her teeth and glanced down at the little tot. 'Well, they're taking too long,' she murmured. 'It's been about ten minutes, and I need to get this little one checked on.' Louder she called out, 'tell the Brass sorry for me, yeah? We'll head over to the Met now. Anyone want to come with, who feels they can help with?'
There was a brief silence as all conferred adults left –others had popped off once things were being sorted, and seemed to be under way; citing other kids needing in, or others back home waiting, and needing to get Christmas food and shopping home.
In the end there were about twelve adults around still focused on the situation.
'…Alright; I'd bett'r do then, an' come with?' said a middle to elderly aged man, wearing a pea coat and a newsboy cap.
So off we headed.
A/N:
So what do you think so far?
Constructive criticism or impressions or questions are good! :) For example, I know my tensing is inconsistent.
This is a bit slow build but it'll get there in it's own time.