Hello there! Doubtlessly I confused the absolute hell out of people. That prologue was kinda a test. It was designed to see how many people would read it if people would read from the description and if I found that motivating enough.

I did!

Anyway, I do intend for this to be relatively slow moving but hey, anything can happen!

Now this is going to be annoyingly short, maybe. I don't actually know what people want in terms of chapter sizes so it would be great if you (yes, YOU) could let me know.

Enjoy!

There is, undeniably, an overly large attraction for gossipamong all adolescents.

Sure, once you grew up, that attraction, that sheer need, to spread completely private information, lies and juicy scandalsis still there. It was simply far more discreet and certainly less malicious.

But there is something that calls to teenagers, something that whispers into the minds and plays upon their primal instincts to sniff out the weakest link.

Sniff out the weaklings and hunt it to extinction.

Occasionally, yes, there is gossip of a different kind, playing on different instincts.

It could be said that the thirst for knowledge was one such instinct.

It could not, however, be said that this instinct was intended to be played out in the spreading gossip and rumours about new students.

But when did youths ever use anything according to its intended purpose?

For the students of Grammar High School, gossip was as easy as breathing. If a student was, to say, trip, everyone would be aware and everyone would have an opinion. The subject of their discussions could be subjected to the harshest of scrutiny, it could be speculated that he, or she, may be suffering from anything from bowel cancer to blood loss from slit wrists.

By the end of the student body's ministration, the 'victim' would be left thoroughly humiliated and the majority of students unaware of the original event that had set off the whole chain reaction.

Of course, this only took a day or two to transpire.

But occasionally, there was a moderate event such as a new student. This was, to the student population, nothing more than more wood for the metaphorical fire. However, on such arrival of fodder, the rumour mill simply exploded.

Who the student was, where he or she (occasionally a mixture) came from, what they were doing in a grey, dreary town such as Stilt, what they had been doing for their entire life, who they were related to, what their intentions were, what they looked like, what they wer—

It was endless, really, what exactly everyone cooked up to stick to the most average of students.

Harry Potter was hardly going to be an exception.

"You should leave."

"I can't, we've been through this."

"No, we haven't."

"Really, I must disagree."

"You don't have any duty here."

"Oh?"

"Harry, I lost enough brothers to this war, don't make me loose another."

"Then why are you trying to get rid of me George?"

"Because you are killing yourself."

Harry sighed as he looked up at the bleak building before him, one hands lazily tapping on the strap of the schoolbag hanging off his shoulder.

Grammar High School was hardly impressive. A single building, built from dull red stone and a mere story high with the occasional window every twenty meters or so along the walls that stretched for about two blocks either way. There was a dull flag hanging limp on a crooked pole beside the creaking double doors, above which was a faded sign pronouncing the schools title in almost illegible cursive.

The entire building was plastered with graffiti pronouncing the names of those who believed themselves daring for venturing out of their homes at dark to proclaim their territory.

He hated George for starting this.

"Don't be ridiculous George."

"For once in my life Harry, I'm not"

Casting one last regretful look over his shoulder to his appealing Lamborghini Sesto Elemento (credit to George for that unwanted splurge of his money) that was practicallybegging for him to come and rescue it from the practically deserted parking lot, Harry pushed his way through the doors.

"I can't just pack up and leave."

"Why not?"

"Because you've done your part, just let us finish ours."

Finding himself immediately in the reception office, Harry strolled over to the counter, leaning his elbows on the creaky wooden structure as he eyed the harried looking woman who was hastily scribbling upon paperwork, and was yet to notice him.

"My part is not done, not until I've scrubbed away every drop of blood that I spilled."

"For God's sake Harry! None of this blood is yours! You are a sixteen year old boy, you couldn't have stopped this!"

Growing impatient, Harry cleared his throat. The woman jumped, a jagged red line arched across her rushed paperwork as she flinched.

"Hello, I need to turn in my enrolment forms, may I do that here?" He enquired, smiling amicably as the woman gaped, clearly confused as to why a teenager was at a school at six a.m. on a Sunday.

"Mam?" He prompted after a few moments, shifting his weight to his left foot and settling his arms on the counter, the very picture of nonchalance.

"Yes, yes." The frazzled woman collected herself as she squinted at Harry, a frail hand running through greying hair before coming down to clutch at a murky brown broach, as if afraid Harry would steal it.

Not likely, the thing was hideous.

"Yes, I could have! I could have saved Ron! And Ginny! Teddy! Charlie! Dobby! Neville! Tonks! McGonagall! Hermione! I could have saved them all!"

"No you couldn't have! There was no way anyone could have predicted the war coming this early!"

"I should have!"

"But you didn't! That doesn't mean you can stop living!"

"Ah, um, oh! Do you have you guardian's signature on all sites?" She queried as her hands fumbled across her cluttered desk before settling on white-out.

"I am emancipated, I signed them." Harry answered with a raised brow as the woman faltered on her quest to blot out the overtly visible red mark on her forms.

"Well what if I want to!"

"Uh, well…" The woman looked weary and a little cautious,red rimmed brown eyes peering up at him. "This is rather… unusual. We do, however, have conditions as to your, uh,involvement, with our prestigious school."

Harry supressed a snort at those words. "I am aware of the condition Mam, I did read the forms."

The woman, who Harry had taken to calling Drab in his head, twitched her mouth into what may pass as a smile in these parts, but in reality was a slight shift in her wrinkles. "Well… do you fulfil our requirements?"

"Yes." Harry smiled wryly, leaning forward on toes, splaying his hands out on the counter. "I own a place of residence, I do have enough money for my education in the form of a trust fund, I intend to explore the possibility of a job and any unsavoury actions are of my own fault and may not be attached to the school in any way."

"Do you have a responsible adult or other contact?" She asked, her eyes squinting in what Harry could only label disbelief as she leant back in her chair in pseudo-relaxment.

"Then listen to me Harry, listen to me and go disappear. The Saviour won't live but Harry Potter just might."

Harry looked down at Drab, both eyebrows shooting up. "Mam, I. Am. Emancipated." He stated, clearly and slowly. "This means all my schooling is dealt with by me."

"In the case of an emergency." Drab smiled widely, displaying yellow teeth.

Harry eyed her distrustfully, deciding to humour the dreary woman. "Yes, but his details are to remain private. I will be the judge of an emergency."

Drab's smile become rather fixated, Harry realised, as she motioned for Harry to pass over his enrolment forms.

"Thankyou Mam." Harry smiled, as he handed over a rather thick stack of paperwork after digging through his rucksack for a moment, pushing past several stacks of books, mementos, potions and such to reach the end of his expanded bag and grasp his paperwork . He pushed off the counter and took a couple steps backwards. "I trust I will see you next week when I collect my timetable, correct?" He asked, turning around with an exaggerated flick of his hips.

He sauntered away, with a scathing look of contempt as his answer, throwing a pleasurable- "Delightful to deal with you Mam!"- over his shoulder.

"What do you even mean?"

"You're young, Harry. And not everyone takes a single look at you and knows who you are in other countries. Go to school, have a life, travel, fall in love. Something! You can't stay in Britain to suffer through the aftermath anymore."

"You, George Fabian Weasley, are suggesting I go to school?"

"I know, it's rather shocking, isn't it?"

"I don't know George…"

"You just said you can't live like this anymore."

"I have a… duty."

"Bloody hell Harry! You killed Voldemort! You cleaned up Hogwarts! You healed everyone you could! Just leave it be."

"I can't leave your family like this."

"That's rubbish. Nothing can to bring my siblings back and we won't ever recover, but watching another brother waste away in body and mind isn't going to help anyone."

"But Fred…"

"Will wake, and I promise to owl you when he so much as twitches."

"Promise?"

"Promise, I'll even let you make the joke about us matching again."

"George…how can I just up and leave, where the hell would I go?"

"You bloody rich mate, you're family doubtlessly has a couple mansions littered around."

"I'll give you one."

"Damn right."

"Hey George?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks."

It was much later, after Harry had braved one of the local supermarkets on his journey home, only to be subjected to the scrutiny of what seemed like every single one of the one thousand residents the town had to offer, that Harry found himself at his new home.

He was happier than he had dared hope with his house. It was nice, simple.

It was nestled at the very edge of the town, a mere kilometre off the entrance road. It was a private as it came in his new location of Stilt, Washington, surrounded by a few gnarled trees and dying shrubbery. Not that that put Harry off, the interior far made up for the discrepancies of his surroundings.

It was rather reminiscent of a cottage, two bedrooms furnished simply each with a king sized bed, in-built cupboard and chest of draws with a mirror. Within both rooms, the furniture was a deep, dusky timber, mottled with shades barely lighter andthen touch darker. The carpet covering the light timberflooring was a soft red shag that Harry had to force himself not to sleep on an examine the walls- a shade darker then cream.

Both the drapes and the bed linins were a similar red to that of the carpet, just barely lighter with the bed sheets trimmed in a vivid gold and the drapes covered in lazy, weaving patternswith the exact same gold thread.

The theme of the walls and floor were carried out throughout the entire one story house, in the bathroom, kitchen, living room and dining room.

Needless to say, as was the furniture colour scheme.

Harry was immensely gratified with the kitchen. The benches would feel a tad short to many but to the diminutive Harry, it was the perfect height of just above his hip. The splashback and bench top were made of the same clear glass with patterns of gold tinged, blue-green waves curling around each other in an oddly peaceful dance.

There was an almost extravagant amount of draws underneath the bench that rimmed the three walls of his kitchen, it completely confounded Harry as to who would need so much storage in such a little house.

He only truly began to appreciate the spell that Hermione had taught him to allow his magic and technology to co-exist peacefully once he saw the fridge, freezer, microwave, oven and dishwasher lining underneath the bench at odd breaks between the draws.

The dining room was just off the kitchen and was a simple wooden table with six matching chairs lining it, then, keeping with the theme of the house, there was a tasselled blue table runner, lined with gold of course.

The dining room and living room were open into each other. The living room walls were lined with plush red touches and centred around and obnoxiously large TV and wooden, knee-height table.

Harry was a little miffed at the colour theme that offered almost no expansion but put it down to his ancestorsGryffindor influence.

Though why his ancestors had decided to build in Stilt of all places…

It was a little over a week later that found Harry sitting on his three-seater porch swing on the veranda at six-thirty on a Monday morning, staring moodily at the rising sun.

He was seriously regretting his decision to move to Stilt and he had barely communicated with anyone. He couldn't so much as leave the blink without its occupants whispering about him. The adults and supposed responsible of the lot where bad enough but the bloody younger occupants were even worse! He, Harry James Potter, would like to not be the subject of gossip. For just once in his life.

The wild accusations and swooning girls were even worse than when he was at bloody Hogwarts!

Sure, he wasn't exactly ugly but seriously? Someone faintingover him? What the actual hell?

Maybe he should have moved to that house in Forks…

He sat there for a while, rocking back and forth on the swing, a bowl of porridge slowly cooling in the soft breeze as he ignored it in favour of soaking up his surroundings, a pastime that had occupied a great deal of Harry's time as he was wary of flying in such an unfamiliarsetting just yet and quite frankly, that TV was harbouring some seriously dark feelings if the only thing ever on was documentaries about the desert and talk shows.

He was wrapped up in a rather intense staring contest with anrotting tree when his set off an obnoxious shrill, causing him to jump, in turn resulting him in slamming his head against the wooden (surprise!) panelling of the wall behind him with an muffled thump!

As Harry rocked forward with a string of expletives ready and loaded at the tip of his tongue, he froze. For a moment, he could swear that from within the tangled shrubbery, he saw a set of amber eyes watching him…

After an half-hour car ride into town (and of course muttering about he was bloody bonkers from the bloody war)(and he much he hated George)(and watches with alarms) Harry had reached Grammar High School, gently nosing his car between gaping students in search of a car space amongst the litter, students and cracks of the parking lot.

After finding a seemingly rare vacancy, (if the swearing from those following him were anything to go by)Harry inhaled deeply and squeezed the steering wheel tightly in his hands. He had received an almost grudging acceptance call from the school based on his 'previous academic records' Harry, of course, just thanked the forgery of Goblins and the magically induced knowledge he would need for his education. He found it ironic that after all he had been through- and with all his defence, wand less magic and a kick strong enough to floor Voldemort- that he was so nervous about going to aMuggle school for the first time since he was ten.

Taking one last breathe, Harry nodded to himself, and before he could stop himself, swung the door open and resolutely stepped out.

Only to catch site of the same golden-amber eyes as this morning.

Five of them in fact.

Bloody hell.

Soooo?

Any weird Australian things you don't get?

I don't see any.

Review with any questions and confusions.

It'll make my day to see anything and mean more *puppy dog eyes+irresistible Australian charm*

If that doesn't work, Australia will give you Chris Hemsworth! (that's right! We own Thor!)