MUDBLOOD
He had been a freak, a degenerate, and a wretch. He would be damned if he was a mudblood too. Born as someone though known as no one, he would protect himself at all costs and become someone of importance. For Dark or Light? He did not know. (COWRITTEN&REWRITTEN WITH SEPTIMA HOLEN/ AU, Non-BWL)
Disclaimer: Harry Potter series belongs to J.K. ROWLING and this particular fan fiction is co-written & rewritten with SEPTIMA HOLEN
A/N: Originally titled 'Thread of Petals' and posted by my coauthor, SEPTIMA HOLEN, it never managed to develop to our liking. Deleted and rewritten multiple times, we both finally settled on an idea and path we liked. The newly rewritten story is founded upon the original but has key differences – Septima Holen and I also incorporated pieces of our previous works to spice things up (and not waste some of our better pieces of writing). Septima Holen and I have worked together for sometime and I am currently writing the story 'Contracting' that I adopted from Septima Holen and which she beta's on occasion (Check Septima Holen's profile for more details). This particular story is similar in this regard as I will be taking primary authorship of it, as my partner in crime does not have the time to due to various circumstances. (PS – within this story I hope I make it clear that Harry looks like a male version of his mother with his father's eyes – this becomes important later on). Enjoy!
CHAPTER I – PRE-HOGWARTS
Petunia loathed them.
Brown; amber, topaz, bronze, or possibly even golden brown – kindred to the most exquisite of gems and metals and ever so similar to the vile shade of mud. They stared back at her, wide and watery, like a fawn about to be devoured by a big bad wolf. She was the wolf in this instance and the fawn was her nephew, only in blood though – she cared little to nothing for him. Why would she? He was a freak of nature, the devil's spawn, a demented pagan, and a traitor of normal people. He would never be like her or her perfect little family, ever. He would only sully them to the sordid, like the degenerate he was – like parent like child, after all. He was infected and… repulsive underneath his infant skin – not human, in her own opinion. She would not under any circumstance ever take such a wretched little runt into her home – she despised that he was even in her presence, making filthy her perfect air.
It was through these unacceptable circumstances that she was scheming what she was scheming now – it really hadn't been too difficult, no difficulty at all, yet it was still a burdensome bother, as was expected of such a wretched child. On one hand she hated the fact that she even had to take time off from her day to do so, yet on the other hand she was quite proud of her plan to rid of the runt forever. No, she wasn't going to murder the boy, that would be a sin and she was no enemy of god, but she was ridding the brat from her life for good. Her husband had all but demanded that the freak be gone by the time he came home from work this evening and she was going to do all in her power to make it so, as a good wife should.
The plan was simple and brilliant at the same time, in her opinion; really, people should appreciate her brilliance more! She digressed though, as she was saying, or thinking in this instance, the plan was simple with the only real aspects being distancing herself from the brat and ensuring their was no way he could be traced back to her or her dearest family. It wouldn't be very difficult either, after all, the boy looked nothing like an Evans, having obviously taken after his grandmother as Lily had.
Curly auburn hair, barely distinguishable from a brunette in the falling dusk, had been a trademark of Petunia's maternal family, the Dagworths. At one time, Petunia had envied its beauty on Lily instead of herself, but now, growing out of this little wretch besides her, she couldn't have been happier – she would never, in a million years, pass as a relative to this child. So different was he to her delicate blond tresses of champagne, her lace blue eyes, her long graceful neck, and all the other attributes that made her an Evans, not a Dagworth. It was fitting too as the Dagworths had been a dastardly lot, a stain on Petunia's lineage. Just like her mother, her sister, and her nephew.
No, the boy was no Evans; the boy must have taken after the Dagworths with exception to the eyes, as the Dagworths had all inherited startling viridian green eyes. In this respect, he must be like his father and would probably grow up to be like that ruffian. As they say, the eyes were the windows into the soul and the soul of Potter was rotten to the core. She just knew it. She had never met her nephew's father, had categorically refused to do so. When her sister had brought the boy over to introduce him to their parents, Petunia had fled to a friend's home. When her sister had married, Petunia had left her widowed mother as the only "Evans" in attendance for her favorite daughter's wedding. When her sister had given birth, Petunia had burned the announcement letter on her stovetop and threw away the ashes. Petunia had done all she could to rid herself of the magical world – of her sister.
Yet, despite all her efforts, it always came crawling back – haunting her like a wraith.
But this would be the last time.
The plan was working perfectly thus far and she was jubilant to see it through – Harry Potter may have been the son of Lily Potter (the foul woman did not deserve the Evans name), but this unnamed boy was the child of no one. The brat should be grateful, it was better to be the child of no one than that of a freak. He would no longer be Harry Potter; instead, he would be a different boy, one that wouldn't be linked to Harry Potter.
As long as the boy wasn't Harry Potter, she wasn't his aunt and had no responsibilities in regards to him. Thank you very much.
Anyway, she had left her dear little Dudders at the Polkins' for the day while she rid of the rubbish. She had decided on the Shetland Islands, Scotland, for the location – it was perfect because you couldn't get much farther from Surrey County than the Shetland Islands without crossing international borders, which she had no intention of wasting her time or money on for a freak. She already had to waste her time and money on driving all the way north to Scotland and then pay a ferry to the Shetland Islands to rid of the boy, but it would all be worth it in the end. Speaking of the ferry, it was here – she pulled her car into the ferry and made sure to cover the brat in the basket so no one would see him. She was almost free of it.
The ferry ride took longer than she would have liked, but short enough that she couldn't complain… except to that one brattish teen that took forever with her ticket. She was here now though and that's what mattered. She impatiently drove off the ferry with the other cars, then off the docks, and now she was driving around a small town, vibrating with anticipation and anxiety to rid of the brat.
She quickly found that she was tiring of searching for a suitable spot and decided just to leave the kid where she was at the moment; luckily it was dark now so no one would notice. She pulled the company car over to the curb, not even stopping the engine – she wasn't staying long. She grabbed the covered basket with the little freak inside, looked around and after deeming the street deserted left the car with the thing in hand. She placed the slumbering brat in the laundry basket near some shop or other; she didn't look to see what the establishment was named, before looking down at the silent basket and sighed.
She kneeled down and lifted the cover gently and peaked inside at her nephew – he was sound asleep, a blessing since he was whimpering and crying all day. A flash of pity struck her, she sighed, 'poor kid', but then shook her head vehemently at the thought, – he wasn't hers. She reached in and secured the printed note on his blanket that simply read:
JAMES – AGE 1.5
She could have put more fake information for the brat or things like that, but why bother? He had a name for himself, after his father no less. He might not have a birth date, but that wasn't her fault – the stupid Hogwarts headmaster hadn't given her one. She guessed his age, which was probably for the best – it would distance him from Harry Potter even more. He had enough for an identity of sorts and she shouldn't really care… anyway, she didn't have to. At least the boy wasn't going to be known as the child of two degenerate freaks, the boy really should be grateful! Maybe he would be adopted by a nice normal couple and gain a surname and live a happy normal life…
All that really mattered, however, was that he wasn't related in anyway to the names of Evans and Dursley.
She shook her head again; she had to get going before someone saw her… as well as get home to her Dudders! It was the first night ever he was without his mummy! She swiftly stood after readjusting the blankets and began to walk away before wondering if the boy would be safe… the freaks had simply left him on her doorstep in the middle of the night before she found him the morning after a chilly November night… she was no freak though! So with renewed determination she looked around, making sure to find a hiding place, and banged on the apartment door next to the shop store the brat was placed near and ran behind an alley wall.
She waited and listened as she heard a door open, shuffling, talking, a gasp, more talking, more shuffling, and then another closed door. She peeked her head out of the alley and sighed with relief when she found the basket and kid gone. She was no freakish woman who left children on doorsteps alone to be exposed to nature and kidnappers, no, she was a normal woman, and that was that. She suddenly gasped at a revelation – if those freaks ever came around looking for him she could just say she never found any child on her doorstep! She could even yell them out for their irresponsibility!
With a pleased smile and a settled feeling from within she made her way back to her car and drove away to the dock and then on to the ferry, but as she was boarding she glanced back at the nice little town and smiled softly and whispered:
"Have a good life." She then turned her head back into the ferry and headed home to Surrey.
She left the Shetland Islands that night as the wife of Vernon Dursley and as the mother of Dudley Dursley. She left the Shetland Islands that night as the parentless, as the brother-less, as the sister-less, and as the nephew-less woman she had become. More importantly, however, she left the Shetland Islands that night as the magic-less woman she always had been.
She never looked back.
A/N: Hello, everyone! Thank you for reading the first chapter of 'Mudblood' – if you haven't read the disclaimer and author's note at the beginning of this chapter please do. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this first chapter and please review if possible, constructive criticism is welcomed and compliments appreciated. Should you find any spelling and or grammatical errors, please review and note where this error is so that I may correct it ASAP. Please PM me with any important questions and I will do my best to get back to you as soon as possible. Thank you again!