Hello, here is a new story by me, tkdprincess96, about a little Harry. The plot-bunny refused to let go, so bear with me if it seems a little crazy at times. Please review when you finish reading, at least to tell me what you thought. If you thought it was the biggest piece of crap in the world, tell me so, but why, so that I can make it better. Use constructive criticism, though tell me what you liked. That's all that I ask.
And now, on with the story!
Prologue
An underweight six year old, black haired, green eyed boy cringed in pain, silently, as he was tossed into his cupboard roughly, already calculating the injuries he had accumulated by now at the hands of his abusive uncle and guardian. It had only been an hour since he had been let out of his cupboard, and he was already put back in it. It wasn't too bad; at least his uncle hadn't enough time to do some actual damage that would be impossible to heal.
Young Harry James Potter turned his attention to his arm, noting the crooked angle and white jutting out of the flesh. Yep, this would take some effort to fix. But heal it, Harry would, like he had with all of the other wounds that Uncle Vernon had inflicted on his helpless nephew that Aunt Petunia tried so hard to prevent from happening.
Aunt Petunia was Harry's only reason to live, for him to not purposefully goad his uncle into killing him and allowing him to join his parents once and for all in an eternal peace. She held him tight in the middle of the night, dressed his remaining wounds, told him stories, and fed him when his uncle did not give him food that day. But most important of all, she told him stories.
Stories of his parents to be more specific. She told him about his mother, that she was an energetic red-head with his emerald eyes, and his sweet personality. That she loved the world, and believed the best of everyone. She told him stories of his father, though these were understandably less, seeing as his mummy was her sister, and she didn't meet his father until his parents were grown. But she did know that he loved to have a good time, and was a huge prankster. Aunt Petunia told him about how he looked just like Harry, and loved him a lot. She said that both of his parents loved him, and that they would be so very proud of him. How they had died to save him, to keep the bad man away from him long enough for the police to get the bad man and arrest him. How he should be proud of his mummy, proud to be her son, and not to let Uncle Vernon get him down.
So he didn't. Listen to his uncle, that is. Aunt Petunia was actually related to him, and she even got Dudley to be nice to him before Uncle Vernon could manipulate Dudley, and have him help Harry out when she wasn't home. Uncle Vernon kept trying to get Dudley on his side, but luckily Aunt Petunia got there first, and told Dudley that what his daddy did was wrong, and to help Harry whenever he could, and especially at school. Sometimes he snuck him some food, or say that he didn't like something, so that Harry could get it. This happened a lot with clothes, especially during the winter, since his uncle only gave him a threadbare, ratty coat so that the teachers at preschool wouldn't ask questions.
Overall, Dudley acted like a general brat in front of his father, claiming things like, "Why do I have to go to school? Make Harry go." Or, "I don't like tea, make Harry choke the disgusting stuff down." One time, Dudley even managed to get Harry invited out to a dinner party, claiming that he didn't want to be at some stupid, stuffy dinner, and that Harry should suffer through it too. He even went as far as to say that he didn't want to come back home to a ruined house. Of course, if Mrs. Figg, Harry's babysitter, was available, then Harry would go to her, and that would be that. She was a load nicer than Uncle Vernon was, even if she did make him look at pictures of old cats, and her house did reek of some very odd smells. The most frequent one was cabbage, as she always had a pot of the stuff on the stove cooking, but surprisingly, she never ate it, nor did she offer him any. It was just always there.
Sometimes, there were other scents too, some foul, others sweet. But she always did have a piece of cake for him, and she sent him home with some sort of trinket. Once it was a simple pendant, a funny sort of cross carved from wood. Another time it was a plaster statuette of a wizened old wizard, staff in hand. Most recently, it was an old leather bracelet that had some designs on it. Harry loved it like everything that he got from Mrs. Figg, and always wore it under his long sleeves, along with the cross under his shirt, bouncing along on his chest whenever he moved.
The bracelet was given a week ago, and already it was frayed and dirty, covered in blood and grease stains, from when he had spilled the sausage out of the pan this morning for his uncle's breakfast. Then he remembered what day it was. Monday, which meant he had school. He had a project that he was unable to complete due to him being locked in the cupboard and unconscious for most of the weekend. His teacher told him that if he missed anymore school days or projects he was going to be held back. Harry groaned. The official notice would come home, and Uncle Vernon would beat him for being so stupid. It didn't matter that when Harry was in school long enough to get good marks, he was beaten for cheating. This would be worse, he felt. The one time that a teacher had seen a bruise on Harry's hand, and had talked about it with Uncle Vernon when Harry was being picked up, he had covered quickly, and beat Harry severely when they got home. That had been the first time the belt had been used, and it hurt like hell. And of course, it had gotten infected as well, so he had gotten dragged to the hospital, and Uncle Vernon had made the excuses, not told Aunt Petunia, and Harry had been sworn to secrecy lest he get another beating.
Young Harry's life was very simple, and he appreciated the simple things. He had enough clothes on his back to keep him covered, food in his tummy to keep him alive, and a few people who cared about him.
Though all that Harry really wanted was for someone to keep him safe.
Was that really too much to ask for?
