Author's Note:

Hi everyone! This chapter is a little short, because I am just testing the waters here. I came up with this idea with the help of a friend, and it is part of a greater research project the two of us are interested in. This is, an AU universe, and examines what would have happened if Voldemort's reign of terror, and the general snobbery of the Wizarding World was race based. Harry is, for clarification, half African-American, half white.

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT OWN ANY OF THESE CHARACTERS, ETC. ALL ARE COPYRIGHTED/PROPERTY OF J.K ROWLING.

12-year-old Harry Potter awoke with a start. They were fighting again. His aunt, and her most recent boyfriend, Nate.

CRASH. THUMP.

He wondered who had hit who. "That's it, Rhonda. I'm done. I'm done." "Fine!" Harry's aunt screeched back. "Take your things, ALL of them. And don't come back!" Harry heard footsteps pounding down the stairs above his cupboard bedroom, and then a faint door slam in the distance.

A moment passed before he heard a second pair of feet on the stairs. Their impact was uneven, staggered. Harry knew it was his aunt, and she was limping. He listened to her make her way down the stairs and into the kitchen, where he heard the pantry door open. Seconds later, the ashy smell of cigarette smoke wafted into his bedroom.

He stared at the ceiling, trying to decide when it would be safe to come out. If he came out too quickly, his aunt would still be seething from her fight with Nate, and order Harry to do more chores. If he didn't come out at all, she would sit there and smoke her cigarette down to the butt, tap her foot impatiently, and call him with her raspy voice that sounded like it belonged to someone much older than her 37 years. Either way, things were going to be unpleasant for the rest of the day.

Harry hoisted himself out of bed, and pulled one of Nate's sweaters over his head. The sweater was puke-green, but it was soft. Cashmere, Nate had said, when he'd handed it to Harry with an easy grin. Nate wasn't so terrible. Harry had kind of liked him, actually, but he supposed that given the day's events, it would be a while before he saw him again.

He pushed the door open, slowly, and stuck his head out sideways. Harry could see his aunt in the kitchen. Her blonde hair was tussled, and her face was smeared with yesterday's lipstick.

"Harry, is that you?" Harry said nothing, silently cursing the door which had squeaked just a little too loud and revealed his presence.

"Yes, Aunt Rhonda. It's me." He stepped slowly into the kitchen, and pushed his glasses further up his nose-a habit he'd adopted while nervous.

"We won't be seeing anymore of Nate, alright?"

"Alright."

"If he comes by while I'm out, don't open the door, you hear me?"

"Yes, Aunt Rhonda."

"Now, be a good boy and put some bacon on the stove. We're having a pot luck over here this evening. We don't want to be the only people who didn't bring a thing, now do we?"