Title: Within the Shadows
Rating:M
Author: Lunar Secrets
Chapter: Prologue
Warnings: Killing, cussing
Summary: Harry Potter has gone missing. After being sent away by the Dursleys, who didn't bother to read the letter, they drop him off in the middle of London, caring not if he dies. Fifteen years later, Harry is found. How in the world will Dumbledore be able to convince this independent boy to help them?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything. Harry Potter and everyone else in the series belongs to J. K. Rowling. I'm just using them to fulfill my own sickening plot.
Author's Notes: This is my go at some of the other stories that have Harry being sent to an orphanage, but instead, left on a street and not found until he is like, fourteen or fifteen. The top part is Harry and his uncle, the bottom Harry, his 'mother-like' figure for seven years, and what I take to be a gang for the moment. Next chapter (if there is one) should be about Harry and his disappearance from the wizarding world while Tonks and Dumbledore search for him. If you like it, and feel I should continue, please let me know. (The chapters would be much longer. Much longer.
Vernon Dursley stood there, frozen, outside of his new warm car, baby in hand. His hair was waving around wildly. Garbage in the background flew about. Barks could be heard. There was a bright flash from behind Vernon, then the crack of lightning. A scowl was on his face, holding the baby out in disgust.
"Good riddance to you all! Humans shouldn't be intermixing with you freaks."
His cruel voice echoed along the empty street of London as he dropped the baby. The baby blinked his emerald eyes, before scrunching his nose up, letting out a loud screech. Vernon glared at the baby, spitting on his face. The saliva rolled down the child's cheek, down his neck and into the blanket.
Smirking in satisfaction, he turned around, wiping his hands on his pants before sliding into his car. He let out a chuckle before driving off, the wailings of the baby growing louder and louder as rain began to fall, hard and cold, thunder rolling in the distance.
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Glittering emerald eyes could be seen against the shadows of an ally-way, looking onto a dirty street. There was a small circle of men gathered around a young girl, no older than fourteen. She had long, matted brown hair, with eyes to match. Her skin was covered in bruises ad dirt. Some of the men surrounding her seemed drunk, others, guns in hand.
Jeering, one of them, the man that seemed to be in charge, pushed her to the ground. She whimpered as her foot was twisted as she fell. The boy in the shadows could hear few of their comments, as cruel at they were.
"Look at 'er, the snivelin' bitch."
"Isn't yeh a slut, gurl?"
"We dun't need yeh trash 'round 'ere."
"Watch 'er, she likes the pain, moanin' every now 'n then."
The headman grinned, his yellow, rotten teeth showing. He grabbed the girl's pathetic excuse for a shirt, pulling her up to his face. He whispered something into her ear, watching as she went pale, shaking her head wildly. Sneering, he twirled the gun around his finger, slowly bringing it up to her head.
"No! Please, no! No. No, no. Oh, no, no, no," The girl shrieked, her 'no's' getting softer and softer as the gun pressed itself into her temple. Whispering to her again, his finger began to pull back the dreaded trigger.
Her body went limp in his arms. The man laughed, the others around him joining in.
And all that was holding the little green-eyed boy, barely seven, in the shadows from running out and holding the girl's body, screaming out himself, was his own life.