DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, that's JK Rowling's creation.

Lunch Money

It all started out because Mrs. Figg felt sorry for him one day and gave him some lunch money for school. Five year old Harry Potter had stayed the weekend at her house and accidentally let it slip that he never ate lunch at school because he never had money and Aunt Petunia never made lunch for him. The few times he'd made lunch for himself beforehand, the bullies (Dudley and his gang) took it from him and flung it about the schoolyard for the birds and bugs to eat.

Mrs. Figg had given him enough change for him to buy a sandwich and carton of milk every day of the week - a week's worth of lunch money. Monday's lunch was the best lunch he could ever remember having at school. The rest of the school day was a happy one, but like all things in his life, that happiness wasn't meant to last.

After school, Dudley and his friends beat him up and stole the rest of his lunch money. They forced him to watch as they bought sweets and fizzy drinks, which they proceeded to pour out and throw into the dirt, unwrapped and uneaten.

And so began a pattern. Harry never brought up the subject again, or lied about it, and Dudley's gang beat him up again in hopes that he would mysteriously have more money for them to spend. Because he didn't have any money, they punished him for it.

To make matters worse, the teachers turn a blind eye to his bruises because the Dursleys did such a good job of spreading word that Harry was a no-good miscreant.

Because Harry had nobody to go to, he vowed to learn how to resolve this problem on his own. With each beating he received, he learned more and more about his opponents. He learned that if he thought about it, he could lessen the impact of each blow while at the same time pretending to be in pain. Before too long, he didn't even need to think about it as it had become second nature. He found that he could apply the same principle to his struggling as well. With enough practice, he found he could use the same ability to throw off his attackers. He played possum most of the time, getting in a lucky blow here or there.

After four and a half years of regular beatings, he started to fight back. To an outsider (and likewise, his bullies), he appeared to lose more often than he won. However to the trained eye, he was studying and learning with each battle. Instead of growing wary of him, Dudley's gang grew. By the time Harry was ten years old, he was accustomed to facing anywhere from four to seven of Dudley's friends. Anymore, Dudley was too out of shape to partake, so he just stood back and gave orders.

By the time school started after his tenth birthday, Harry had decided that it was time to stand up for himself. No longer would he "let" his cousin's gang push him around.

It came to a head on the first day of school.

The bell had just rung, signalling the end of school. During the day he'd been taunted as usual, and as usual, he'd ignored the taunting. After the bell rand though, things changed. As harry walked the corridor leading out to the schoolyard, he was shoved from behind by Dudley's best friend (and right-hand bully) Piers Polkiss.

"You better run home today, FREAK!" the taller boy jeered.

Harry just looked at him, his face expressionless.

"I should?" He asked. "Why, are you going to beat me up again?"

The other boy was shocked. Never before had their favorite target talked back to them before.

"If that's the case," continued Harry, "I'll meet you all out in the yard. Bring lots of bandages, you'll need them."

With that, Harry turned and walked out to the play yard, leaving a stunned group of boys behind him.

~~~~

If you were to ask any of the children who crowded in the schoolyard what happened that day, you'd get many different stories. Two of the teachers who heard the commotion would only nod or shake their heads and mumble something about bullies finally getting their just rewards, even if it was at the hands of the most notorious misfit in the neighborhood. Everybody agreed that it wasn't a fair fight to begin with. They were certainly all surprised at the end result. The only children left standing were Harry - with a fierce look in his eyes - and the two newest recruits to Dudley's gang who felt that eight-on-one was absolutely wrong and wanted no part of it.

One man stood off to the side of the schoolyard with his son and saw the entire fight for what it truly was. His trained eyes followed every move Harry had made, seeing that every action was planned, every weakness from the attackers was expected. Essentially, he surmised, the fight was over before it began, even though it only lasted about half a minute.

He saw the much smaller boy wait until the entire group was within striking distance. When the two tallest boys grabbed each of his arms, he dropped and twisted, using their downward momentum against them. There was an audible crack as two heads smacked together, rendering their owners unconscious. The tub of lard got an uppercut to the the gut, knocking the wind out of him, followed by a right hook to the temple. The blond-haired boy jumped the smaller one from behind only to be thrown into the remaining two boys, his feet connecting uncontrollably to sensitive male body parts. As he struggled to get back up, the smaller boy knocked him out with a kick to the head.

It was an impressive tally: four unconscious, two on the ground writhing in pain, and two immobilised by their own shock and fear. An excellent outcome.

The man nodded to his son and followed the boy out of the schoolyard. They followed him to a nearby park and watched as the boy collapsed into one of the still-intact swings, finally letting go of his emotions and breaking down into shuddering sobs. It wasn't until they were only a few metres away that the boy finally wiped a hand across his face and looked up.

"I didn't have a choice," the boy said. The man handed him a handkerchief, which the boy accepted gratefully.

"We all have a choice boy," the man began. "You chose to finally stand up for yourself against the neighborhood bullies. I don't think they'll be bothering you again."

"My aunt and uncle won't be happy about this."

"What would they have to do with this?" the man inquired.

Harry looked up and answered, "Dudley Dursley is my cousin."

With that admission, everything seemed to fall together for the man. Before he could comment, his son spoke up," Oh, so you're the one everybody says is a criminal, aren't you? You're Henry Potson or something like that?"

"The smaller boy looked downcast at that, but spoke through clenched teeth, "That's Harry Potter, and I'm no criminal."

"Well yeah," responded the other boy. "That much is obvious."

"Harry," the man began. "What you did is nothing to be ashamed of. I think you could do more and better things."

Harry looked up at the man, then to his son. He could tell they were close, something he's never felt or known.

"How can I? My aunt and uncle hate me, they'll never let me do anything good with my life."

The man glanced to his son, a look of concern on his face. "Do you really believe that?"

"Yes," Harry answered. "They hate me and anything good for me is forbidden. They seem to want me to turn out like they say my farther did; an unemployed good-for-nothing drunkard who got his wife killed in a car crash. They don't keep it a secret that they wish I'd been killed then as well."

"THEY WHAT?" the man shouted, instantly regretting his outburst. Harry recoiled and tried to move away. "Sorry, Harry. I didn't mean to startle you. I was just shocked is all. You don't really believe that, do you?"

The boy sighed. "No, I don't. But then again, I never knew my parents anyway. I was only a year old when it happened. I remember a flash of green light. Supposedly, that's how I got this scar."

The mans mouth fell open briefly as he looked at the scar that adorned the boy's forehead. He hadn't seen that before now.

"Blaise, " he said to his son. "Run home and tell mum to set an extra plate for dinner. Mister Potter and I have some things to discuss. Then we're going to have some words with his aunt and uncle."

The other boy took off at a steady jog and disappeared around the corner. Harry looked up at the older man curiously.

"Your uncle has been lying to you, Harry. I'm going to make them tell you the truth. I'm also going to do something about this cousin of yours."

At that, Harry became wary. He's just met the man and told him more than he should have already. He had the feeling that he had gotten before with Mrs. Figg that told him he could trust this man, but did he really want to do it? Would trusting this man make his life worse like it had with Mrs. Figg?

"I - I'm not sure I can tell you that." Harry stammered. "I don't even know you."

"Harry," the man said. "I knew James Potter, your father. I also knew your mother. I went to school with them. James was a good man. What he wasn't was a no-good drunkard. He was employed as a law officer of sorts, and held a high stature in the community. I'd like to tell you more, but first I have words I want to say to your uncle."

Without hesitation, Harry replied, "Number four Privet Drive."

The man smiled and offered Harry his hand. The boy just looked at his hand, and the man sighed.

"Okay, I won't offer you my hand," the man said with a chuckle. "Privet Drive is just around the corner. Let's go make some changes, Harry."