DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything, don't make any money, didn't write the books, didn't think of the characters… now please, let me bask in the patheticness of my unoriginality.
WARNING: Sirius is alive in this story. I started writing it before book 5 came out, and it was never meant to be an AU. If you must think of it as an AU to enjoy it, please do. I can't change it for two reasons: 1) I worked too hard on it and 2) Sirius is the only character that could realistically set into motion the events that this story deals with. So pretend for a minute that he never fell into the curtain thing... how was I to know she was gonna kill him off?
The Shame of Cain
By Rose Rovente
Chapter One
The Boy Who Sold Shoes
"You there! Er—Larry." A volcano-esque woman in massive red housedress jabbed the skinny salesman in the back with her cane, squinting to read his nametag.
"I'm Harry, madam." The young salesman said brightly. "Harry Potter."
Knocking her cane on a mountain of shoeboxes, the woman squeezed herself rather impressively into a tiny metal chair. "Don't you be smart with me, boy. Help me try these on."
Harry dove obediently into the shoes, producing a massive red heel with bows cascading down the toe. "These first, ma'am? They go lovely with your gown."
The fat woman snorted. "Hideous. Perfectly hideous."
"Alright ma'am. How about-"
"Not the shoe, imbecile. You!" The woman extended a beefy leg. "Put it on."
"Yes, madam."
"And don't you go trying to look up my skirt! That's why I've brought this cane." She sliced the air with it. "Take one little peak and I'll send you flying!"
"Yes, madam-" Harry paused with a sudden, sharp pain in his head. But rubbing it earned him a swat with the cane, so he dropped to his knees and took the woman's gigantic foot in his hand. The shoe slid nicely over her toes, but- "It's doesn't look quite long enough. Perhaps a slightly larger size."
"Oh!" The obese woman shrieked suddenly, wrestling her foot away from Harry. "How perfectly nauseating. Where is your manager?"
"Madam?"
"Get away from me!" The woman gave him a push with her foot; he fell over onto his bottom. "Wretched thing! You'll ruin my dress. Where is your manager? HELP! Get this horrid thing away from me!"
Harry had no idea what was happening, only that the woman was very badly aggravating his headache. He crawled away from her and squeezed his eyes shut, kneading furiously at his temples.
"What seems to be the problem?" Harry heard his boss say. "Oh. Harry- you're bleeding again."
"She hit me with her cane." Harry winced; his head pounded.
"Did she? Let me see." His manager pulled him to his feet. "Well lucky for her, it's not that. It's the scar."
"You there! Ted. Are you the manager of this zoo?"
"-Fred Weasley, co-owner, madam."
"How do you explain this? Bleeding all over the customers!"
Harry felt a handkerchief being pressed against the scar on his forehead. Fred guided him to a chair and made him sit, and Harry realized he felt very sleepy.
"…horrible service…" the woman was screaming, "…never come back here…"
"Out with you, cow," Fred said.
"WELL! NEVER IN MY LIFE!"
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He heard the woman brandishing her cane at Fred, threatening him with strange words that only vaguely sounded like English. He heard Fred laugh maniacally and call, "Is that how it's going to be, old witch? Well I have a surprise for you!"
There was a flash of light and Harry heard the woman rumble out the door, shrieking, and Fred calling for George—
He remembered nothing after that, until he found himself lying on the counter in the stockroom.
They were all staring expectantly at him: Fred, George, Ron, and Harry's Uncle Dash.
"What happened?" Harry asked.
No sooner than Harry realized it had been there, a heavy tension vanished from the room.
Ron exhaled sharply; Fred elbowed him.
"He didn't see anything," Fred said.
Dash shot Fred a look, then turned to Harry and smiled. "Nothing happened, Harry. You were napping."
"I was?"
"You look tired," George said, patting Harry on the shoulder. "Why don't you go home."
"But I just—"
"You still look tired," Fred corrected quickly. "Even after your nap. On with your coat."
"But-"
"Here's your keys," Ron said.
"Here are your glasses," Dash said.
"Remember, if you feel dizzy-"
"- I should pull over," Harry finished. "But-"
A few minutes later Harry stood in tears in the large parking lot of the strip mall that contained Two Left Feet, the store where he worked. All the cars— they looked so much alike. He wasn't sure which one was his. He didn't want Fred and George or Dash to know this. They worried about him too much already. And he wasn't about to try and open every single car door. No option but to walk, then, and so Harry started up the road. The tears really begin to spill at the end of the vast parking lot- Harry couldn't remember in which direction to go.
He was crouched by a newspaper box, slapping his forehead and sobbing when Dash found him.
"Harry? Harry! What are you-"
"I…" Harry stood, wiping the wet quickly off his face, "I… I-I just read a really sad article in the… in the… a boy's puppy died…"
He had lied so badly just then that he expected Dash to scold him, but instead they just stared at each other a moment. Dash looked sad. He scratched his elbow, ran a hand through the dark tangles of his hair, and seemed to being thinking something over.
"This has to stop," said Ron, who had come up behind them with Fred and George.
Dash jumped.
"Shut it, Ron," Fred said warningly. "Just leave it, for once."
"No—look at him. Just look. This is—"
Harry interrupted him with the story of the dead puppy. Ron shot his twin brothers a deadly look.
"You see what I mean?" He said, "How much longer-"
"-come on, Harry," Dash said, locking his arm around Harry's neck and jerking him away, "I'll drive you home."
Harry was quite sure that nobody had bought his story, and so, defeated, he let Dashiell lead him to a car that was supposedly his, though he could swear he had never seen it before in his life.