It was the middle of the day in the middle of the summer; a lone boy could be seen struggling with two big bags full of ice down a deserted suburban street. The driveways were even empty as more people parked their cars in their garages to avoid the extreme heat.
The strange boy with the oddly shaped scar hardly looked able to carry a newborn baby, let alone two huge bags of ice. He trudged along diligently in the heat, only stopping occasionally to sneak a partially melted ice cube from the bag to put in his mouth. He knew if his relatives found out, they would be furious.
He finally stopped at one of the many identical houses of the neighborhood, his too large shirt thoroughly soaked. One window of the house was open, with a fan facing outwards to blow the hot air out. The boy had gone to get the ice cubes to put in front of the other fan in the house, to try and cool the house without overusing electricity. He knew something was wrong when the only sound coming from the house was the sound of the fans running.
He stopped hesitantly at the door, putting the ice cubes on the ground. The skinny teenager knew something was wrong. He heard a loud sob, and decidedly entered the house, wand drawn out to use in case something was amiss.
"Harry, my boy, is that you?" A voice called out. Harry paused, barely recognizing it as Uncle Vernon's. He cautiously entered the house, into the living room where his only remaining relatives sat. Uncle Vernon's face was splotchy red, and his eyes were puffy and wet. In his arms he cradled Aunt Petunia, sobbing delicately; she looked so frail, almost as if the weight of Uncle Vernon's arm would be able to snap her in half. Across the living room, on the other couch, sat Dudley, silent, stoic, staring at a vase full of roses nearly expired in the hall. Harry was unsure of what to make of the scene before him, as this was most atypical to the usual day.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon?" The frail boy called hesitantly, unsure of what the uncle's reaction would be. His Uncle did not respond, just sat there staring at nothing, seeming to be coming to terms with his thoughts in his head.
"We just…We just found out that Marge… Well, Marge is dead. Found dead. .. She was so sick, but she didn't want to tell us, but she was. Her heart, it just gave out. And now… Now, she's gone." Uncle Vernon sat there, still not glancing towards Harry. The sobbing from Aunt Petunia seemed to worsen, as Harry tried to figure out an appropriate reaction. He just could not find it in himself to care, to put it frankly. With all the ridicule he was subjected to by his former Aunt, he was almost relieved to have her gone. One less person in his hate club. He tried to summon up the proper words to say, but words seemed to be failing the scarred young man at the moment.
"I'm sorry… She was… She will be missed." Harry muttered out meekly, trying to find the appropriate common saying people said to each other at funerals. He stood there awkwardly, ready to retreat to his room when his uncles focus snapped to him, the pudgy man's eyes bright and crazy. He stood up fast, taking bounding steps toward Harry as Aunt Petunia fell into the couch, to her surprise.
"You! You! You've got that… that stick thing, right? You could bring her back!" His uncle started to pace like a madman, as Harry watched him wearily.
" I'm sure it'd be easy for someone like you. Wave your stick, and I'll see her again! I'll give you whatever you want, presents for birthdays, Christmas, even Eater! I'll get you a car! I'll give you half of my savings! Come on, my boy, what do you say?" His Uncle stopped his mad pacing, and Harry became aware of the fact he was the sole focus of the room.
"Well… Umm… I can't. It's impossible." Harry mumbled, and looked at the ground, unwilling to see the disappointment in the surrounding faces. Uncle Vernon stormed up to Harry, and grabbed the boys face with a grubby hand, forcing Harry to look at him.
"What do you mean, not possible? Tell me that to my face, boy. I've seen things that should be impossible, and you can do them! None of them any more impossible than saving my sister! I think you don't want to. I already knew the whole lot of you to be selfish, immoral people, but this... I think you're just hoping to get some sort of money from her will. Hah! As if!" With that, Uncle Vernon picked Harry up with one big arm, and tossed him across the room like a toothpick. Harry felt his head slam on something, and struggle to get up as he reached for his wand.
"No! Not so fast, my boy!" Vernon said, hurling a vase at the already struggling Harry Potter. Aunt Petunia and Dudley were cowering terrified up against the wall. The force of the vase caused Harry to drop his wand. He barely registered the distinct sound of cracking when the vase hit him, followed by shattering as it rebounded to the floor. His wand rolled away from him, and his Uncle quickly ran a grabbed it.
"How about a taste of your own medicine, boy?" His uncle said, and randomly started flicking the wand at Harry. Having such a poor magical core, the wand did not react well, and simply caught on fire. His uncle threw it at the boy, missing and hitting the couch.
"Come, Petunia! We have to go! Just leave him, he's bound to burn in hell eventually, might as well get used to it now." The big man grabbed his son by the arm, and started to head out the door, but not without kicking Harry a few times first. Quickly, his adoptive family ran out of the house, leaving Harry behind.
Harry laid stunned, choking, coughing out some of his very own blood that he knew was filling his lungs. He tried to stand up, but only manage a sitting position, with the aid of a wall. All he could do was sit here and watch the flames as he tried to clear his head.
The couch caught on fire fast, and the house quickly filled with smoke. It didn't take long before the flames reached him, licking at his feet. Harry saw his wand at the edge of the flames, splintering, yet still whole. Harry quickly moved to grab it, knowing it to be his last chance to survive. He could feel the intense heat, slowly cooking his hand as he grabbed the wand. He quickly muttered out the spell to send red sparks in the air, hoping someone would see it and investigate. Instead, given the sorry state of his wand, it sent out a bright stream of red light, somehow causing the roof to collapse.
Harry quickly moved under a side table right next to him, his legs singed and caught under roof debris. He heard the smoke alarms sound off as more smoke filled the air. He pulled his shirt over his nose, hoping someone would come to save him.
( AN: I'm not sure where I am going with this. It is set before OotP. I'm trying out a more wordy writing style, tell me your thoughts. I'm not entirely sure what the pairings will be either, feel free to tell me your thoughts on the also. And if you are reading my other new story, I'm sorry for the lack of updates.)