Saving Harry

[A/N: NEVER FEAR, "POTTER FROST" is nextish on the stories-to-update list!]

Alternate Universe – Harry didn't go to Hogwarts, he stayed in Privet Drive, he promised he'd come later, but deep down he didn't want to be a sinner. He didn't want to be like his no-good parents. He wanted to be loved. So he went to muggle school.

And it was hell.

Then, those strange foreign exchange students came, watch as Harry struggles against his home, his magic, his sexuality, his school, and the idea that he could be worth the hand of friendship." SUMMARY.

WARNINGS: Religious Fundamentalism, Sensitive Subjects Mentioned, Future Lemon - things of varying sexual nature until that point, homosexual/slash relationships, intense bullying, varying degrees of abuse. If this puts a stick in your ass and offends you, turn back now.

Concept and Story heavily influenced by premise of Steven King's "Carrie". I heat chicken nuggets on review flames.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter [/Warner Bros. do] nor do I own Yu-Gi-Oh! Or the great concept of Carrie by S. King


Chapter One

He didn't like to talk. He just sat there, minding his own business. Sometimes Mr Broderick wondered if it was because the boy was too scared to talk. Mr Broderick encouraged him to talk, and made a vastly unpopular seating plan in his English class in order to do so, but it did not make things easier for Harry Potter. He wanted to make the boy talk more, he had such a lovely reading voice, and he was blessed to hear it.

Soft yet deep, soothing yet engaging but no louder then a dormouse, so he instituted a seating plan to have Harry close to his desk. Also this made it easier for Mr Broderick to not forget about Harry, he had been personally mortified when he had forgotten Harry once. He missed his name in roll-call and forgot to hand him the class work on "Of Mice and Men,", and it only came to a head when he'd been called up, that the boy had gone to the attendance office to get his present-mark, for being in the lesson. Mr Broderick had never done anything like that before, and he made sure it would not happen again. It was just that, for a Year 11 student in a comprehensive secondary school, he made himself awfully forgettable in lesson.

Most were loud, boisterous, active and social whereas Harry simply wasn't. It didn't take a psychologist to figure out why. In Harry's desk, someone had scratched into it with a pen, carving into the wood.

Freak.

It was no coincidence.

It would have taken someone blind, deaf and dumb not to detect how Harry was treated at school. The administration and staff did what it could, but with no complaints and no witnesses and nary a word from anyone caring on the boy's behalf, little could be done. It was horrid really, seeing the pale, skinny child coming in with a crushed spirit.

Harry did his best to hide it of course – with secrets and bruises cloaked in his too-big worn out uniform. He tried not to look a mess, it was hard, and made him stick out more. Perhaps the shabbiness of his uniform could have been overlooked if he wore his tie loose and low, like all the other kids, or if he didn't tuck in his too-big polo-shirt. Maybe if he stopped wearing those sellotaped square glasses, but at least they weren't those circular-bottle ones. They were destroyed in first year.

Maybe if he got a schoolbag that wasn't worn by the handles and wasn't about to drop off his back, maybe if he had more energy in P.E. He liked sport, but he couldn't keep up, he was such a snail. He never had the energy. Who could blame him? Would they, if they knew? He couldn't eat, wouldn't eat, not during his enforced fast. Aunt Petunia said he wasn't supposed to accept food from strangers, and over the years it turned into a rule of not accepting food from anyone. It followed the rule of not accepting charity, he was already a burden on them, and there was no need to burden anyone else. There were kids in countries Petunia couldn't pronounce, that couldn't eat even though they were allowed. Harry knew he'd be so ungrateful, taking food from others when he had a roof over his head, and if he was good, he would get the meals he earned.

He was rake thin and pathetic, no energy for lesson, and too dumb to raise his hand in class. There was no reason for anyone to like him, he wasn't good at anything. He had big ugly clothes and a big ugly scar, ugly glasses and the social skills of a loser.

Harry bit his lip as the bell went; waiting for the class to leave as he slowly put his work away, making sure to be last. Mr Broderick noticed it, but didn't mind it and would use the minute alone to ask if he was okay. Usually he'd get a nod or noncommittal answer, but it was enough considering the boy spoke to no one.

"You alright?" asked Mr Broderick as Harry put his planner away.

"Yes Sir," answered Harry, as he always did, with an earnest nod, and left the room.

Mr Broderick turned to the essays handed in on his desk and thumbed through them until he reached a name – Harry Potter, and pulled it to the front.

Contrary to popular belief, the boy was not stupid.

Finishing off the essays, Mr Broderick sighed as he checked the time. It had only taken him three hours to finish the teenager's essays (he wasn't expecting anything grand). Packing all of his things, he checked each desk and was happy that nothing had been vandalized like young Harry's desk. He calmly walked through the empty hallways and headed for the dinner hall to eat his sandwiches.

Though all the teachers pay was lessened. Mr Broderick was glad that the children were getting free school dinners now, before he had to watch children other than Harry come to school and have nothing but an apple for their dinner.

Now at least they all were getting a basic dinner to get them through the day.

His eyes suddenly narrowed angrily when he spotted young Piers Polkiss picking off Potter's plate like it was a plate of free samples.

"Piers. Each child has their own lunch for them to eat, if you want me to contact your mother and father I suggest that you return to your own table and eat your own food,"

Piers quickly jumped up and turned to stare at him in something akin to horror "B-but sir,"

"No buts boy. Go to your own table now,"

Sulking, Piers turned around and heaved his way back to his own table. Despite being glad for the moment that Mr Broderick saved what would be his only –and secret meal (for he was not allowed), he knew Piers would make him pay for that.

Mr Broderick nodded to Harry and then made his way to his own table.

The day seemed to go by in a fast blur, stopping only once when the art teacher smiled at Harry's charcoal skills.

That made him happy for the whole of the day, even though Piers tripped him down the stairs and people laughed, even though girls said nasty things about him in the corridor, even though he knew he'd have to work when he got home.

The happiness did not last.


"-boy," came the tense voice of Aunt Petunia when he got home, with a note of displeasure. Harry threw his bag in the second bedroom and came downstairs.

"Yes Aunt Petunia?" asked Harry politely.

"Piers got shouted at because of you," she said, calmly setting her mug of tea on the table beside her.

Harry's eyes widened, the day he had feared had come. His hands began to sweat and his whole body felt like it was heating up as it always did when he was about to be shouted at. How had she known? She'd been talking to his mother, it must have come up or something. No...

"It was because Piers had taken food off of your plate," what scared Harry the most was that she had not raised her voice but there was a tone of danger in it. Harry swallowed nervously, neck and face too stiff to nod along.

"The problem with this story is the food part," said Aunt Petunia calmly, her spindly fingers picked up the cup of tea and put it to her lips for a little sip.

"You know you're not supposed to accept charity boy," her tone had turned icy and the calm demeanour had dropped.

"That includes charity from the kids, from the school, from strangers – from normal people," she sneered "-what right did you think you had boy?"

Harry felt tears welling in his eyes, he was disappointed with himself. He was such an awful child. He could not speak, for he was so wracked with shame that his throat was clogged with phlegm.

"Free meals from the school!" she hissed in rage "-there's a form for that, I bet you took that and filled it in yourself to get them. So you've stolen food from mouths that deserve it and you've lied," there was disgust in her voice again.

"What must the school think? That we send you without money or your own food because we aren't proper?" the hand holding the cup of tea shook as she spoke, her voice getting higher and louder.

"They think we're poor? That this house is poor? We may not waste money on a uniform you don't deserve but to imply we're so poor we'd starve you? So poor you deserve charity?" she was screaming now, so loud his ears hurt.

Harry wanted to say 'I'm sorry Aunt Petunia' but was so upset that the words would not come, he just stood their dumbly with tears flowing from his eyes.

Harry felt a bit of anger that he knew was sinful, that he should not feel, he wanted to shout back at Aunt Petunia as well as apologize.

'They call me Poor Pauper Potter! That's YOUR fault, not mine!' his soul wanted to say and he felt confused and disgusted that he wanted to say such things.

"I'm sorry!" he said, his voice breaking unevenly. Aunt Petunia continued angrily, and Harry envied how words flowed so easily from other kid's mouths and wished that would happen now. Then Harry realized it was sinful to be envious so he stopped.

"Go to your cupboard," she said, Harry hadn't even gotten changed from his tatty uniform yet, but he did so without stir.

Walking to his cupboard with purpose, he ducked his head and got in his knees to squeeze into his former bedroom which now had a small crucifix mounted in the centre. Tugging the lead to light the dim bulb, Harry put his hands together and stared blankly at it. He had to do this long enough until Petunia was sure that Jesus knew his sins, and then he would be forgiven when David got home.

David Dursley was the move-in after Vernon; the former reverend had come and swept Petunia off her feet after a PTA meeting. Petunia kept the name, even after Dudley and Vernon left, and forced David to take it to. Sometimes Harry shut his eyes and wished it was Vernon; he was only at his worst when drunk, David was at his worst all the time.

Fear rose in his heart as the door to his cupboard opened after the sound of locks opening, David was home.

"Go to the bathroom," the room where neighbours couldn't hear screams.

"Yes sir," said Harry, finishing a non-existent prayer, turning his back to the cross.


Isis Ishtar sent the boys to bed, she'd given them a week to get over the jetlag of going to England, it was generous but she'd been rather harsh in getting them there in the first place. It was intervention, to be precise.

Marik Ishtar had been behind on his schooling especially, Ryou was faring the best with Yugi coming second but the lifestyle of being a local-celebrity duellist had been chewing into their lives. Their education was suffering, even if they wanted a job with companies related to duelling – if they were still interested in it for years to come, they needed their education. The minute Isis received word that Domino High had a transfer program; she pulled her little brother and her friends into it with a vengeance. After the Battle City tournament, they had all gotten close, and soon, after saying goodbye to their links in Japan for a while, they were to complete their education, in Surrey, England.

Meanwhile, a smug comprehensive school felt awfully proud for being so multicultural, having just accepted the applications of several students from Japan, it would surely be an iconic moment in Stonewall High history.

The following day had begun awfully early for the boys who felt nervous, even if one or two of them denied it. They put on their black blazers and slid into their shoes, chomping on the toast and breakfast Isis had made for them and left, inwardly telling themselves: it was only for a year until they passed their exams.

Only a year…

With a sigh, Yugi, Marik and Ryou headed out the door and into a taxi, not knowing their way there. Marik could hazard a guess that he was missing Joey, Tristan and Téa, Ryou was probably the most at home since he'd been born in England anyway, and Marik was used to changing countries to a point where he felt only somewhat out of place.

The nerves hit them all though as they pulled up infront of a school so worn and bleak that it almost seemed to have a grey cloud hang over it.

Welcome to Stonewall High.


"Did the belt break your skin? Does it hurt?" asked David softly, the next day. Harry knew he was not supposed to lie, so he nodded shamefully.

"Be careful in PE," was all David had said "-come straight home after school, no loitering, the fence needs painting,"

"Yes Sir,"

"Did you do all of your homework?"

"Yes Sir,"

"Did you say your prayers?"

"Yes Sir," Yes I did, because I'm stupid, prayin' Harry.

"Have fun at school," he said it dispassionately, eyes cold, but Harry nodded anyway.

Aunt Petunia gave him his house key from the drawer and pushed him out of the door quickly; telling him not to be late, she did not want automated text messages from that school telling her he'd arrived late. Stupid school and its invasive measures, she should never have listed her number to them.

So with that in mind, Harry bolted out of the door, his worn shoulder bag bumping off his side as he ran stomach empty. He'd been allowed two glasses of water for breakfast, two! David was in a good mood, he even told him to have fun!

Even as the kids purposely bumped him as they walked into the entryway of the school, he couldn't be rid of his small, secretive smile as he hoped the good mood at home would reign all day.

Though his smile turned into a slightly pained one as he looked at his locker at the recent vandalism done in permanent sharpie pen…

Harry Potter Eats Shit.

A dark part of Harry took that on the chin, sarcastically.

It implies I eat.

But Harry sighed knowing he would earn his dinner tonight and avoid the dining hall today, on the bright side that meant avoiding Piers Polkiss, and David did not mind if he drank water. He allowed it for today because he had PE, and he had PE outside where it was hot and didn't want Harry fainting and drawing attention to himself.

Today may be a good day, well, as good as a day ever got for a child like him.

He walked through the corridors, unaware of the mental assessment from the new addition to his peers. They watched him as they made their way to the Headmaster's Office because kids were laughing at the words on his locker. They stared at the bags under the boy's eyes, his skinny wrist flashing as he opened the locker unphased, his tattered appearance, and content smile in the face of ridicule.

He was rather pathetic, and their stomachs turned as they heard whispers of curiosity (and some nastiness) on their appearance as a teacher led them to the office. Marik silenced many with a glare, Yugi remained oblivious and Ryou looked nobody in the eye.

The teacher left them in the office, thinking to herself 'I had no idea they'd be this…different'.

Stonewall High didn't like different.

But they preferred it to downright freakish, as long as they weren't freakish, they might just survive as the faculty could not have another Harry Potter on their conscience.

Poor boy had his locker vandalized. Again.

Poor boy, he's so friendless, so shabby and so thin. The girls didn't like him because of his looks; he wasn't ugly, just pathetic.

Sometimes Miss Strauss, head of German, hated Harry. He didn't deserve it, but he was so pathetic she wanted to shake him, but he was so thin he might just break.

But when inquiries are made, they come up clean.

How can a boy be so ratty when he stays with a good hearted reverend, and a devoted housewife? It was beyond her, and beyond the staff.

Really, Harry was just an oddball.

Though "Freak" was considered more apt a term.