A/N: And so the story begins...
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling.
Summary: AU. Harry's born a girl but registered a boy. Neville's the BoyWhoLived. And oh yeah, there're several more organizations involved in this war than anyone would have guessed. From assassin to leader of "the rising power," life's one deadly game for Harry.
A Deadly Game
One:
Her earliest memories were of a dimly lit chamber with walls of creamy gold. There wasn't a single window and the solitary entrance or exit was a trapdoor on the ceiling. The room itself was of an average size... for a library. Later on, she reflected that that's what it must have been: a library, for there were shelves upon shelves lined against the walls, each facing different directions but strangely interconnected. It was almost like a maze. And in the center of the room, the shelves cleared just enough space for a large bed.
The first couple of years after her parents' deaths were spent on that bed. A radiant little baby yet to become toddler, her closest companion had been an elderly house elf. Everyday she would go to sleep under the watchful eyes of the elf and every morning she would wake to the dear, wrinkly face.
She took her first step on that bed. She spoke her first word on that bed. She even had her first nightmare on that bed. Nightmares of not the day her parents ceased to exist, but of waking up in the golden room with no one there. All alone. And in those years, the house elf was all she had.
The house elf was the one who taught her to speak. The house elf was the one who read her bedtime stories of witches and wizards and their adventurous escapades. The house elf was the one who had changed her diapers and later on, potty-trained her. The house elf was the one who taught her how to read, write, sing, dance, and the house elf was the one who celebrated her birthdays with her.
In fact, the house elf had taught her everything she knew by the time she was four.
And her fourth birthday was a day she would never forget. Ever.
She had woken from her slumber that day with a lazy smile to see her guardian elf standing oddly at the edge of the bed. "Selbby," she had murmured, half asleep, lips still upturned in a warm smile.
"Master Harry Potter is four today," the house elf had murmured back, stiffly cold.
"It's my birthday?" she had immediately perked up. "Will we be having cake like last year?"
"Yes. Master Harry Potter is to be having cake today."
"Selbby," Harry giggled, "you're talking in that funny 'house elf' way again."
"Master Harry Potter is to be old enough to be on his own now. Selbby is to be leaving."
"Are you busy?" Harry had asked, all signs of laughter gone without a trace.
"Selbby is not to be returning to Master Harry Potter."
Harry stared at the house elf in horror, a strange wave of emotion gripping at her chest. "You... you won't be coming back?" She didn't know why, but her throat felt tight. Was she coming down with the flu?
"Master Harry Potter is to be taking care of himself. There is much for Selbby to be doing in Hogwarts."
"Hogwarts--?" she had inquired, only to be cut off as a giant cake appeared on the edge of the bed.
"Take care, Master Harry Potter," Selbby had said, and with a pop, disappeared out of her life.
Harry had sat up in shock as everything sank in. Her birthday cake still lay on the edge of the bed. Selbby was gone and would never return in order to go and do work at this... Hogwarts place. And for some unknown reason, the feeling in her chest tightened and her nose tingled at that thought. Then, all of a sudden, drops of moisture suddenly leaked from her eyes. And she didn't know what to do, so she just sat there, staring at the chocolate cake through moist and blurry eyes.
For the first time in her life, she cried.
----------
The days after Selbby's leave were spent in bed, miserable and wallowing in self-pity. Her meals still appeared regularly atop the silver platter on a far corner of the bed. She took little food and water and tried to fall into an endless sleep, but it was no good. She always woke up. And then she would find that she was alone and remember that dear dear Selbby was not there and would never be there again. Her eyes would start doing that goddamned leaking again and her chest would ache something horrible. So she just tried to sleep and if she couldn't, she would just rest with her eyes closed, adamantly not thinking about anything, especially Selbby.
This continued until one day she couldn't hold it anymore and had to go to potty. But in the past, Selbby had always held her and they'd pop right into the bathroom where Selbby would set her on the toilet or in the bathtub. Now, there was no Selbby and she would have to go herself. So she slipped off the bed, careful not to disturb the chocolate cake that still sat on the edge of the bed.
As her bare feet touched the cold stone floor, she shivered, not only from the lack of warmth, but from the experience of leaving the sanctity of her bed for the first time. As that realization sunk in, the room suddenly looked a whole lot bigger.
Harry padded her way through the spaces between the bookshelves, wondering when she was going to see the bathroom. She needed to go potty something dreadful. So she kept turning, and following strange paths, until she was quite lost. Panic started to set in as each turn revealed only more shelves and turns. Her pace picked up and she began to jog, eyes flicking frantically left and right for any sign of a bathroom, a door, anything.
After what seemed like centuries of jogging, her breathing came up short and her legs started to feel like jelly. A book appeared in her line of vision as she turned yet another corner. Unable to stop immediately, Harry tripped over the book and sprawled gracelessly across the floor. She struggled to her feet and there it was. A white door between two bookcases.
She opened the door and breathed a sigh of relief as the familiar surroundings of the bathroom filled her vision. After quickly relieving herself, she flushed the toilet and turned to the sink to wash her hands. As she was in the bathroom anyways and did not know when she would next be able to locate it, Harry stripped off her robes and stepped into the bathtub.
As she sat in the tub, waiting for the water to fill, her fingers played with the white cloth wrapped snugly around her torso. At first, she had thought the cloth was part of her, a different patch of skin per se. But when she asked Selbby why the skin was completely white around her torso, Selbby had told her that her stomach was no such thing. Later, she had realized that the texture of the cloth had been completely different from her skin and felt very much like her robes. Apparently, Selbby couldn't see or feel it. It was odd, very odd, but she never had the chance to spare it thought.
Now, though, sitting in the tub, it was a mystery she could explore. Gently, her fingers explored the surface of the cloth, searching for a place where the cloth ended. She peeled it off and started unwrapping, but just as she finished unraveling the first circle, the cloth suddenly animatedly freed itself and dropped limply into her hands. The skin of her torso looked exactly the same as the skin elsewhere. However, it seemed several shades lighter than usual.
Harry stood and turned to face the large mirror that covered the entire wall on the left. Her curiosity demanded that she further examine the difference in skin color.
Imagine her shock, then, as she looked into the mirror to see a completely different person. A curtain of black locks cascaded past her knees, absorbing instead of reflecting the light in the bathroom. Electric green eyes stared back at her and blinked a couple of times as she took in the alabaster skin that emphasized and brought to attention the lightning-bolt shaped scar on her forehead.
Quickly, she rewrapped her torso with the cloth and looked into the mirror again. Short chestnut curls and large hazel eyes. Her old appearance was back. Harry decided that she was definitely more comfortable with this second visage and vowed not to remove the cloth again. Even though she didn't know the outside world's standards for normal, she could guess that changing faces and skin colors wasn't. Plus, that scar had kind of freaked her out.
The bathtub was full now. Harry sank down to her chin in the nearly scalding water and relished the clean, pure feeling the water brought upon her skin. With a deep breath, she dived into the tub and swam in little circles; the tub was big, but not nearly the size of a pool. She spotted the shampoo at the edge of the tub and quickly squeezed an ample amount into her hands. Massaging the soapy gel into her hair, she breathed in deeply, taking in the scent of lavenders. It was such a nice scent.
----------
Soon after her first trip to the bathroom alone, Harry was able to learn and discern the path. The maze-like paths the bookshelves formed now seemed orderly, patternless as they were.
At first, a fleeting curiosity about the "Hogwarts" place Selbby had mentioned led Harry to search the shelves for anything with information on the place. However, as she read more and more books without ever finding a single glitch on the place, she became entranced with the wealth of information her supposed bedroom contained. She found that when she spent her time reading the books and learning different types of magic and historical information, she could completely forget the fact that she was alone.
Days merged into weeks which became months, and all Harry did was read, eat, sleep, and start all over again. There was absolutely nothing for her in life except submerging herself in the magical world described in books. She found that she loved the thought of legilimency to read other people's thoughts, but soon grew disappointed when the book later pointed out that it was completely immoral not to mention illegal. At least the counterpart, occlumency, was perfectly legal, and was actually extremely calming and relaxing.
To tell the truth, her life was a total bore, but she was able to escape reality with the help of her non-verbal friends the bookshelves housed. She later found that throughout her entire life, she never forgot a single thing she learned from that time and the lengthy time of doing nothing but reading and learning had led her to develop something of a photographic memory.
----------
The next marking stone in her life was the day she turned six. She had finished the entire library and was reading a book on lycanthropy for the second time. Werewolves: the Social Order lay sprawled open on a silken pillow as a mop of chestnut hair hovered over it, studiously boring into a particularly gruesome photo of two werewolves tearing into each other.
"A bit violent, don't you think, for a six year old?" came a voice from beside the bed.
Harry started as she realized the voice did not belong to herself. She twisted her head towards the speaker to find herself staring into a pair of twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon glasses. "A bit," she agreed warily. She knew she should be excited at seeing another living being, but she had been just about to nod off to sleep before this interruption.
The old man reached out to remove the book and set it on a nearby bookshelf. "Hello Harry," he greeted with a polite yet warm tone.
"Hello Albus," Harry mimicked. She had read about Albus Dumbledore, the all-powerful wizard who had defeated the Dark Lord Grindelwald. She had had her doubts about how powerful the man could possibly be, but upon this first conscious meeting with the man, she decided that he was definitely very powerful. Small but dense waves of power literally oozed out of the man and Harry could feel it wash over her, an alien sensation. She knew she herself had absolutely no power oozing out of her body and she suddenly felt small next to this great wizard.
The man raised a brow. "You know who I am?"
"I've seen a few pictures of you in certain books. I can read a bit, you know. Selbby taught me."
"Ah, Selbby."
"Yeah..." Harry trailed off awkwardly.
"Well, Harry, first thing's first. Happy birthday."
"Um.. thank you," Harry replied, ducking her head to hide her pleasure at the thought of sharing her birthday cake with another person. Perhaps she wouldn't be spending this day alone.
Suddenly, she jerked her head up to look at Albus Dumbledore hopefully. "Will you let me see the sun? I read that grass is really soft and green!"
For just a second, Harry thought she saw a flicker of pity flash through the baby blue eyes, but it passed before she could fully register it.
"Don't worry, you will be able to see the sun again soon," Dumbledore promised. "But for now, we need to perform a couple of tests."
Albus Dumbledore retrieved a child's wand from his sleeve and handed it to Harry. "Here, wave it about," he ordered.
Harry waved it a few times and nothing happened. She really didn't see the point of this whole exercise. It was completely pointless and not just a little silly.
"Um.. ," she called out weakly as she handed it to Dumbledore, "You want it back?"
"Yes, thank you," said Dumbledore as he tucked the wand back into his sleeve. "I'm sorry, Harry, but you are a squib."
"Really?" Harry asked, eyes wide. "I always thought I was a muggle."
"No, your parents, Lily and James Potter were very promising magic users."
"And where are they now?" Harry asked softly.
"Dead," Dumbledore replied sadly. "Voldemort's followers killed them, but for some reason, they failed to kill you. You are a very lucky child, Harry."
"Oh," Harry replied, not quite knowing what to say.
"You've been down here long enough," Dumbledore began again. "You will go live with your aunt and uncle. Your Aunt Petunia is your mother's little sister and Uncle Vernon is her husband. I think they have a little boy named Dudley. You will have a nice life with them."
"I will go and live with them?" Harry asked, eyes wide in wonder.
"Yes. They know about magic so it's okay to talk about it with them. However, you may not speak about the wizarding world with any other muggles. Otherwise, you will be arrested by the Ministry of Magic and the consequences will not be pleasant."
"I know, I know," Harry nodded vigorously. "I won't say a word. Promise."
"Wonderful. We leave immediately."
----------
The Dursleys lived at Number 4 Privet Drive, a neighborhood with impeccably organized houses. Eight white houses of the exact same design sat on each side of the street, not an inch out of line. It was a perfectly uniform and normal place.
Suddenly, there was a slight pop and a strangely dressed old man with a hazel-eyed boy appeared.
Wordlessly, the two made their way toward the house with the number 4 engraved on its mailbox. Two knocks later, the door creaked open and a horse-faced woman answered the door with a fake smile. "Can I help you-- "
She cut off as she noticed the strange and anything but normal clothing the two people were clad in. "You--," she hissed quietly, "You're one of those people." It was more of a statement than a question, and a very accurate one at that.
"Yes, I am a wizard," said Dumbledore as he smiled benignly at the woman.
"Go away," the woman hissed back, "We want none of your kind here."
"I'm sorry that simply cannot be done, Mrs. Dursley." Dumbledore pushed Harry up towards the woman. "This is your nephew and I have to ask that you take him in. He has no one else."
"What about Lily?" asked Mrs. Dursley, voice tinged with bitterness.
"Lily has unfortunately passed on," Dumbledore replied, looking the correct amount grievous.
Harry stared at the woman and noticed a flicker of something that looked a bit like shock flash through her eyes. Then, the woman replied with her own question. "Why don't you keep him with you? You magic people can stick together."
"I'm a squib." It was Harry who answered. "I can't do magic so I can't stay with them."
Dumbledore's eyes widened a fraction of a centimeter and for a second, he looked alarmed. It was the way the boy had phrased the response. He couldn't help but wonder if Harry had said it to appease the woman or if it was the beginning of a bitter man.
Either way, he didn't have the time, it seemed, as his magic tingled, alerting him to something urgent. "I am sincerely sorry that I cannot stay longer. There is an emergency. Please excuse me."
And with that, he vanished.
They both stared at the empty space for a few seconds before Petunia Dursley slapped the child on the head. "Well, what are you waiting for? You know he's not going to come back."
And Harry smiled sadly for a second before stepping for the first time into the household of the Dursleys.
"What day is it today?" she asked her aunt off-handedly.
"July 31, why?"
"Oh, just wondering." It looked like she wouldn't be having that birthday meal after all.
----------
Vernon and Petunia Dursley treated Harry adequately. Oh, her bedroom was to be the cupboard beneath the stairs, but it wasn't as if she couldn't fit. It was quite cozy, actually. She was also given a large stack of Dudley's old clothing; she would come to discover that her cousin was every bit as wide in girth as his father. Harry ate three meals a day and slept a good eight hours a night and she was, for the most part, ignored by the family.
Three days after Harry had settled into her new home, Petunia Dursley came to her with a list of chores.
"I don't actually expect you to read that list," Petunia said, "but keep it for future reference when you learn to read. You will be cooking, cleaning, gardening, etc."
Harry's mind reeled from the information as she read along the list. Her mind began formulating the way the world worked. Or at least, the way the Dursley household worked. After coming to a conclusion, she lifted her head to look her aunt in the eye. "I don't know how to do these things. Can you teach me for the first couple of days?"
Petunia Dursley sniffed and stuck her nose up in the air to cover her surprise at the lack of complaint. It figured that Lily's child would be obedient and subservient. Lily had been anything but. All that karma was bound to end up somewhere. "That would be alright," she quipped dryly. "You start now. The kitchen is this way. I will show you how to cook."
"Yes ma'am."
Harry had seen Petunia Dursley go out shopping for groceries once before. She had stuffed a wad of muggle money in her pocket before she left. The muggle and wizarding world were similar in that they both operated and depended heavily on money or currency. Harry's stay at the Dursley's would add expense to the Dursley family for food and water. She wasn't consuming or utilizing anything else, so that was about it. Obviously, it was only expected that she had to work for her keep. After all, the Dursleys weren't her parents and if she had learned anything in her six years of life, it was that only parents could possibly give a person unconditional love the way the Dursleys fawned over their son Dudley.
She would admit to no one, not even to herself that she wanted -no- craved love like that.
However, none of this was likely to happen anytime soon, if at all. So, Harry settled for following her aunt for the rest of the day, learning the quirks and workings of housework.
----------
Harry Potter was a quick learner and in no time at all took care of all the household chores. She actually quite enjoyed most of the chores like cooking and gardening. Cleaning was a bit tedious but required little effort. The only complaint she really had was that the boredom was stifling.
After a couple of weeks, the question of Harry's schooling came under debate. Petunia thought the boy shouldn't be sent to school and instead study at home with Dudley's old books. Vernon, on the other hand, asserted his opinion that the boy should be forced to go to public school in case he became lax in his studies and embarrassed them with his stupidity. Harry, personally, thought nothing of this argument and made no move to indicate that she already knew how to read and write as well as do advanced arithmetic. Muggle science seemed interesting, really. It was like the muggles' magic except it worked in completely logical and explainable ways unlike magic. As great as English was, she still thought that it'd be nice to learn a couple of new languages.
In the end, it was decided that Harry would attend public school come September.
The days went by and Harry was largely ignored by everyone in the Dursley family. That is, everyone except Dudley Dursley.
"Harry, d'ya know your mum was a freak?" Dudley asked one day, tugging on Harry's chestnut curls.
It hurt like hell. Dudley certainly didn't know his strength. With a grimace, Harry slapped Dudley's hand away from her head. "That's real great for you, Dudley," she replied nonchalantly as she marched off into the living room to dust the furniture. Every Tuesday was furniture dusting day.
Dudley usually ignored Harry the way his parents did. Unfortunately, Vernon and Petunia were out on this particularly lovely day.
"Hey," exclaimed Dudley as he followed Harry into the living room. "I wasn't done talking to you!"
"So talk," said Harry as she wiped the rag in her hand across the coffee table in front of the couch.
"But you have to listen to me or else it's no fun," lamented Dudley.
"I'm listening. I just happen to be cleaning at the same time. You know I get no dinner if I don't finish this by the time your parents come back."
"Yeah, but when you're all over the place dusting things and all, it doesn't feel like you're listening."
"Too bad. I'm feeling particularly hungry today."
"You know what, if you talk to me, I'll sneak you some food after dinner if you don't finish cleaning in time."
At this, Harry looked up with an amused smile. "I don't believe you Dudley." And then she went right back to cleaning.
"Aw come on, I promise."
"No, Dudley."
"Fine. Then if you don't talk to me, I'll -- I'll break that vase and tell mum and dad that you broke it!"
"Dudley. Are you threatening me?"
"I -- I -- Yes! -- I mean -- NO! -- I mean, I just want you to talk to me!"
"And why do you want to talk to me so much?" asked Harry as she tilted her head to regard her cousin from the corner of her eye.
What she saw almost had her laughing. Dudley flushed a very alarming shade of red. "I -- I --" he stuttered before he blurted, "You're awful pretty."
Harry raised a brow. "Dudley... do you fancy me?"
"I -- I --" mumbled Dudley.
Then, very quietly, "Yeah, I think so."
Harry paused for a moment in her work, then continued on as she spoke. "Dudley, I'm a boy."
"I... know." Dudley's voice was so quiet it was almost a whisper.
"Your parents won't like that you fancy boys."
"I know!" he suddenly exclaimed. "But it's not like I fancy boys in general. It's just you. I mean, it's not my fault you seem so girly."
"Gee thanks, Dudley." Harry rolled her eyes. "Way to insult a guy."
"Sorry. It wasn't an insult."
"Mhm," Harry hummed noncommitally. "I'd also like to add that I'm your cousin."
"I -- I know. I know it's wrong. And I know my parents won't like this one bit."
"Don't worry, Dudley," soothed Harry, "This is just a passing crush. You're only seven."
"Yeah, I guess that's true." He brightened considerably.
"However--"
"No! Don't tell Daddy!"
"Dudley, I'm not going to tell Uncle Vernon. I just wanted to tell you that in the future when you start crushing on some lucky little girl, you're going to have a very difficult time winning her over."
"What do you mean?"
"To put it simply and bluntly, you're a spoiled brat and now you're becoming a bully."
"What?! I am NOT."
"Okay. Then what was that I saw you doing with Piers last week? With the boy down the streets?"
"We were... we were just asking for some money."
"Oh, you were asking alright. And after he said no, you beat him up. That's what people call bullying, Dudley."
"Yeah? Well, at least I don't have to do all the housework."
"That's not the point, Dudley. The point is that if you keep doing that, it'll be hard for you to find a good girl to like you. Don't you want to marry a nice girl and settle down the way your father has?"
"Well, I suppose..."
"Then, you have to stop being a bully."
"But, Harry, I can't help it. It's too fun!"
"Dudley, you need to find something else to interest you. Something like... sports. You could lose a couple of pounds, you know. Sports would help you lose weight even if you eat a lot. And, the girls all love boys who play sports."
"Really?"
"Of course," said Harry in that 'Would-I-lie-to-you?' tone. Of course, Harry didn't know anything about this at all and was just pulling all this from her ass. But, if it helped save that poor kid down the street and helped Dudley lose weight, then what was the problem? Maybe Dudley having a crush on her wasn't all that bad.
----------
If there was one thing Harry learned in her time at the Dursleys, it was that they hated anything not normal, especially magic. So, it was very fortunate that she was a squib, or else she was certain she would have received far worse treatment from her aunt and uncle. In fact, Petunia seemed almost smug about the fact that she couldn't do magic.
Once, while Harry had been setting the table for dinner, Petunia had come by and very happily commented that Harry would most definitely not be receiving a letter from Hogwarts on his eleventh birthday.
At that, Harry had looked up to see the smugness firmly rooted in her aunt's expression. So firmly, in fact, that she feared it would stick permanently. And that would be a very nasty expression to have on at all times; it could really offend a lot of people. But far be it from Harry to be offended.
"Oh?" she had asked nonchalantly, testing the waters. "You never know. After all, my mother got one. Perhaps I will luck out?"
"LUCK?!" Petunia had spat. "It was not lucky at all! Look at where she ended up! Dead without a single soul to take care of her six year old son and then she had to turn to me. Oh, she'll be rolling over in her grave to see you as a squib and not getting a Hogwarts letter."
Harry chose not to comment on the wizarding terminology and instead baited, "So it is a good thing after all to become a wizard or witch?"
"NO! It's always like this! People just think that magic is so wonderful and everything. Mum and Dad could only go on and on about how proud they were to have a witch in the family. Not that it helped anyone any. Not to mention she spent all her time with that awful boy during the summers. In fact, they've been together since they met at that awful summer house at Spinner's End."
"No!" Harry gasped, pretending to be horrified. "That awful boy that she married and had a kid with before she got brutally murdered by a magical psychopath?!" she asked, digging for information. It would be interesting if her parents had known each other in their childhood.
"No, not that awful boy," sneered Petunia. "The one with the large hooked nose and greasy hair. Sevrase Snape or something. He was absolutely abhorrent, if you ask me."
"Of course," Harry replied softly to end the conversation and continue to set the table, but not before tucking that bit of conversation firmly in the 'to be examined later' section of her mind.
----------
"Harry!"
She ignored the voice and turned over to snuggle further into her blanket and away from the cupboard door. It was the first time she could sleep in because Mr. and Mrs. Dursley were going to a three-day convention for Vernon's company.
"Harry!"
The voice was louder this time and somehow, through her sleep-hazed mind, Harry recognized it as Dudley's.
"Oh come on, Dudley, I'm sleeping."
"Harry, we need to talk. It's an emergency!"
Harry groaned as she slipped out of her blankets and opened the cupboard door. Dudley Dursley knelt in the hall, wringing his hands anxiously.
Harry quickly rubbed the sleep from her eyes and looked left and right. "Is there a fire?"
"No!" yelped Dudley. "Of course not!"
"Well then," said Harry, tiredly, "I don't see what's so important that you needed to wake me up. I'm awfully tired today, you know."
"Yeah, well, Harry, this is really important."
"Okay then. Talk."
"Harry... I don't bother Horton anymore."
Harry blinked a couple of times. "Huh?" she asked intelligently.
"Horton, the boy from down the street," explained Dudley.
"Oh," replied Harry dumbly. "Well, that's nice." She knew that Dudley had started football recently, or soccer as they called it in America. It was doing him wonders, really. He was losing quite a bit of weight and Petunia was absolutely ecstatic about this. Apparently, it was working more than wonders since he had, apparently, also stopped being a bully. Ah, she was such an excellent persuader. Perhaps she could try to become one of those sales-people who bugged people to buy things.
"Harry..."
"Yeah?"
"I think I'm in love with you."
"WHAT?!" Harry jumped up and abruptly hit her head against the top of the doorway to the cupboard. This was so not supposed to happen.
"Yeah, I think it's serious. I mean, my heart goes fluttering everytime I think of you. And my stomach's doing sommersaults right now."
Harry stared at her cousin expressionlessly, mulling things over in her head.
"Oh Harry, what do I do? You know how Daddy will freak. Mummy might even throw me away!" Dudley continued in a hysteric manner.
Having reached a final decision, Harry smiled and patted her cousin on the shoulder. "Don't worry. I'll solve the problem before your parents even come back tomorrow."
Dudley looked at Harry with watery eyes. "Really?" he asked breathlessly, on the verge of hyperventilation.
"Really," Harry replied softly. "Trust me."
----------
When the Dursley couple returned to Number 4, Privet Drive early the next day, they found nothing out of place. In fact, they had not even noticed anything off until noon when they found that lunch was not on the table as it usually was.
"Boy!" called Vernon Dursley. His bellow echoed throughout the entire house.
Dudley scampered down the stairs and stared wide-eyed at his father.
"Daddy?" he whimpered, afraid that Harry had told Vernon everything.
"I said 'boy,' not you, son," Vernon explained, exasperated. "Where is he? Have you seen him?"
"No. I haven't seen Harry since yesterday," Dudley replied honestly. "Have you checked the cupboard? He might still be sleeping. He was pretty tired yesterday."
"Sleeping?!" Vernon exploded.
The convention had not gone too well. Every employee in the company had had their salary cut by 10 due to company problems. Apparently, there was a new drill-making company that was wiping Grunnings's ass. Their designs were newly invented and the quality was much better. In fact, much of everything about this new company was better than Grunnings. Even their name sounded better: Rosario. Grunnings could potentially be forced out of business in a couple of years and Vernon could potentially be forced out of a job.
Needless to say, Vernon Dursley was not in a pleasant mood. And the fact that his lunch was not set on the table at noon was not helping things either. Oh, that Harry boy was in for a world of trouble.
"Um.. yes.. sleeping?" Dudley squeaked.
Vernon frowned for a second, remarking, "Son, you have to sharpen up. Be a man."
"Yes, Daddy," Dudley agreed quickly.
"BOY!" Vernon's attention was once again drawn to his empty stomach.
He marched over to the cupboard and furiously wrenched the door open, expecting to see the useless boy lazing around in bed.
What he found was a perfectly folded blanket with a white envelope lying on top of it addressed in beautiful handwriting to Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.
Petunia watched as her husband went stock still. Curious, she walked over to see what it was all about.
"Well, go on, read it," urged Petunia when she saw the envelope.
Recovered from shock, Vernon Dursley stuck his fat fingers into the envelope and withdrew a single sheet of folded paper. It was a letter.
"Dear Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia ( and you too, Dudley, if you read this )," Petunia read aloud. "By the time you are reading this letter, I should be far gone from here. Wait. Before you get mad and throw this in the rubbish bin, hear me out first. Life here wasn't bad at all. In fact, it was almost pleasant. I did not leave because you were all horrible people. I left because I couldn't imagine relying on you for the rest of my life. It just doesn't seem right. You need not concern yourself with me anymore and if the neighbors ask, just say that my godfather came and demanded custody. You just wanted to avoid the courts. Have a nice life, Aunt and Uncle. I'll be searching for mine. Wish me luck. Your nephew, Harry Potter."
"Well..." said Petunia after a pregnant pause. "I must say, Harry's more mature than Lily ever was."
Midway down the stairs, Dudley Dursley let out a choked sob and sank to his knees.
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To tell the truth, Harry did not leave solely because of Dudley. It had more to do with the fact that she couldn't imagine herself living at the Dursleys for the rest of her life. Because, that's what she would have to do if she stayed there. She would never be able to do anything, or get out of there. She would just be the muggle version of a house elf for all eternity... or at least until she died. Not that there was anything wrong with that job, but it was just so dull. It would only take a few years for her to die or go crazy from boredom. No, it was not the life for her. She would have to search elsewhere for her niche in the world.
Surviving alone on the streets of London wasn't, however, as easy as it first seemed. Food was acquired mainly by scavenging for leftover food from rubbish bins. Money was acquired mainly by begging. But, it was never enough.
Harry's large clothes wore down into threadbare sheets of cloth. It was now August and thankfully, the summer month offered heat even in the coolness of night.
August faded into September and autumn began. Leaves turned into vibrant shades of red, yellow, and orange, and then eventually, fell to the ground. The nights were colder and the temperature dropped with each passing day. There was no way of surviving without more clothing. There was no way of buying more clothing without money. There was no way of acquiring enough money without stealing. And so that's what she did. She stole.
Harry chose unobservant or inattentive people to pickpocket. At first, she wasn't very good at it and almost got caught a number of times. Thankfully, her swift feet and small stature allowed her to disappear into the thick crowds of London. Credit cards were useless so she could only make use of the cash. The first thing she bought with her stolen money was a winter jacket that kept her alive through October.
There was no place for morals anymore. Any qualms she used to have for crime died away. There was only one thing to worry about; Survival. There was only one rule to this new game: Do whatever is needed in order to survive. So she shoplifted, she pick-pocketed, and she begged; She survived November.
It was a cold December day when Harry met them for the first time. They were a coalition of thousands of homeless kids in London. A gang, if you will.
Harry was eating a hot dog, a rare treat that she had just nicked from a restaurant when the chef was out. The warm goodness was just melting in her mouth and the scent, oh god, the scent drove her crazy before she even scarfed down her first bite. The taste was absolutely amazing and for a moment, she wished more than anything for a hotdog a day. It was an impossible dream at the moment, but hey, a girl could hope.
"That hotdog looks good."
That had been the first thing the leader of the homeless kids had said.
Without even glancing at the person, Harry quickly finished off the rest of her meal before someone would, god forbid, take it away from her. She was already skinny enough and even though she hadn't looked in a mirror lately, she knew she looked absolutely horrible. Her eyes were probably sunken in from lack of sleep. It really wasn't very safe to fall asleep on the streets of London, even if one was a boy. Really, there were more and more pedophiles around, or even worse, cops. The orphanage was the last place she ever wanted to go. Once she went in, it was impossible to get out until someone adopted her, and the chances of getting picked by good people were so small she didn't even want to think about it.
"It tastes good too," Harry replied after a while, grinning as she raised her head to look at the person who had just so rudely interrupted her meal.
The speaker was most definitely the leader of the small group. His confident and easy gait easily gave it away as he leaned against a brick wall, arms crossed casually at his chest. "Really, I must commed you on your skills if you could taste it with the speed you ate it. I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't get a single chew in."
Harry studied the boy for any sign of insult and relaxed as she saw that he was merely teasing, indicated by his lop-sided smirk and friendly eyes. Wind-blown hair the same color as her own swept across his forehead, nearly eclipsing stormy gray eyes. He was a couple of feet taller than Harry and exuded an aura that screamed 'leader.'
Behind him, three boys and a girl stood with amused smiles.
"So I'm a quick eater," Harry conceded with a smile.
"And a quick runner," quipped the solitary girl in the odd group of four.
"We saw you nick that hotdog," explained one of the three boys standing next to the leader. His baby blue eyes were dancing as his lips eased into a grin.
"Ah. Well, sorry but I can't nick one for you guys. See, I only muck off of a store once a month. Figure they need a month to recover from their loss." Harry's face was smiling, but inside, she was getting wary. Ever so slowly, she tensed her legs, ready to sprint off at a moment's threat.
The leader seemed to notice this because he eased off from the wall and held his hands up in a gesture to convey harmlessness. Harmless her ass; if that boy was harmless, then she was fatter than Dudley Dursley. "Hey, don't run. We mean you no harm."
"Oh really?" Harry raised a single brow as her legs tensed more.
"Yes, really. Here, I'm Jamison Smith," he said as he held his hand out for a handshake.
"H-- Horton Carter," replied Harry, suddenly recalling the name of the boy down the street that Dudley no longer bullied. She wasn't stupid enough to give her real name to these strangers that were much much bigger than her. Cautiously, she reached out and grasped Jamison's hand in a firm handshake.
"I'm sixteen." He pointed to the girl in his little group. "She's Samantha Carter, same last name as you, 14. Hey, you might be related."
"I doubt it," Harry mused dryly.
"This here's Jacob Sheldon, 15. People call him Jake," said Jamison as he pointed to the blue-eyed boy who had spoken earlier. "Marcus Neelan, 17." He pointed to a tall, stocky boy with dirty blond hair. "And last, but certainly not least, Shotarou Shinomori. He's only twelve."
The last boy was short, lithe, and Japanese with slanted black eyes that looked much too observant for Harry's liking.
"We're part of a group of homeless kids," Jamison continued, "We work together and help each other. It's like one big family. We have nearly three thousand members right now."
Harry sighed and carded her fingers through chestnut curls. "You want me to join you guys." Why else would Jamison go on and introduce everyone by name and age?
"Yeah," Jamison smiled approvingly. "You look like you're alone. It's too easy for you to get caught by the cops. You're only what, six?"
Harry flinched as he guessed her age right on, but disguised the reaction as anger. "I'm ten, you great git. I just happen to look small is all."
"Oh really?" None of the four homeless kids looked convinced as they eyed her small and bony figure.
"Really," Harry bit back. "And I have no intention of joining you guys. Good day."
And she turned and ran, far far away from that part of London. Because deep inside, she liked to think that she could survive on her own. That she was strong enough to make it on the streets. However, at that time she hadn't known that humans could do nothing if they did not use or depend on other people. After all, the whole of civilization was based on collective work and collaboration. It was just too bad she hadn't realize it before she had rejected the homeless group.
Looking back on hindsight, she probably wouldn't have even survived the winter. With no particularly sturdy shelter, it was extremely difficult to live through the cold harsh winter.
So it was probably fortunate that a couple of weeks later, she woke up to the feeling of a hand fondling her six-year-old ass.
Freaked, and rightly so, Harry jumped almost three meters into the air as she spun around to glare at the owner of the hand. It was a drunken middle aged man. His tie was loose on his formerly prim business suit. Sandy hair tumbled into glazed eyes.
"How much?" the man asked in a slurred voice.
"WHAT?!" Harry shrieked.
"How much?" the man repeated. "Just one night. Don't ask for more than fifty pounds though, I don't have anymore notes."
Harry stared, thoroughly shocked. The drunken man thought she was a prostitute? What kind of prostitute would be sleeping in a cardboard box in the middle of a dark London alley? Oh wait, a really poor one. If there was anything Harry could be described as at the moment, it was poor, in both senses of the word.
"Sorry, sir, but I'm not a prostitute," she replied calmly and politely, then abruptly turned and walked away.
A hand wrenched her to the floor as it tore at her wrist. "Come on," the man whined, "I'm just lonely."
"Yes, well, that still doesn't make me a prostitute," replied Harry from her position beneath the man. When had he climbed atop her?
"Just stay with me for one night. I'll make you feel amazing."
"Thank you for the offer, but if you'd wake up, you'd realize that I'm a six year old boy. I don't care much for 'feeling amazing.'"
"Please," the man begged pitifully as he started to rip the rags from her body.
"Your wife's home," Harry took a blind guess.
The man froze and she knew she had struck right on the mark. Taking advantage of this revelation, she continued to press, "She's waiting for you."
"Goddamit," the man cursed. "She'll be so disappointed!"
"Oh really? Now why would that be?" Harry tried very hard to hold back on the sarcasm.
"I just lost the job today. Mary doesn't even work! She gave up going on to graduate school to raise my kids. Oh, my kids, what am I going to do?! I won't be able to provide them anything anymore. They'll hate me so much."
The man had stopped ripping at her clothes when he started to moan about his problems. Harry took this as a good sign. "Well," she drawled, "Did Mary marry you and give you kids because she wanted you to provide her with every single thing she could possibly want?"
"N-- no. She says she loves me," the man whimpered. "But, she'll be so disappointed, so very disappointed."
"Look, man," Harry reasoned as she reached out a hand to brush the sandy hair away from the man's face, "You lost your job. It happens. Bad stuff like this happens. It's the way it works. But it's not the end of the world. You can get another job and it may pay even better than your old job. Have you tried another city?"
"Another job," the man repeated as if in a trance. "Yes, another job. I could get another job."
"That's right. Mary is waiting for you at home. What would she say if she saw you were pinning down a six year old boy and about to have sex with him?"
"Oh," the man moaned, "She would be so very disappointed. More disappointed even than the fact that I lost my job."
"Go on now," Harry urged. "Your kids are waiting for their father. They want to see him before they go to sleep. You don't want them to wait up even later, do you? Or they might have snuck out of bed in the middle of the night to wait for you on the couch. You don't want them to catch a cold, do you?"
"No, no, I wouldn't want little Eric to catch a cold. Oh god, what if Lily is up too? Her body's so very weak. She can't take sickness."
"Yes, go to your family."
The man scrambled up and hurried off through the dark alley. "Mary. Eric. Lily." He mumbled the names again and again in a mantra.
"Yes, go to your family," Harry whispered as she watched his retreating back. "Before you lose them forever."
Harry crouched back into her box, bringing her knees to her chest. Suddenly, she wasn't so sleepy anymore, and it was cold.
As she sat there in her box, she imagined what Lily and James would have been like. Would they have loved her? And if they did, would it have been the unconditional kind of love Dudley received from his parents? She would never know and it was useless to think about such things. It would only hurt and hurt was really not what she needed right after that ordeal with the man who had almost raped her. She had been lucky, that the man had been so inebriated and traumatized by his job loss. If it had been a more experienced rapist, she could have been in serious shit.
Harry didn't know how long she sat there, thinking about nothing in particular, all the while attempting and barely succeeding in not thinking about what it would be like to have a family. Then, just as the sun was rising, the soft golden lights cast a long shadow across the entrance of the box.
She ignored it, mentally urging it to go away.
It didn't.
"Come out, little boy."
Harry stubbornly stayed in her little box.
"I know you're in there," the voice said again after a few seconds.
"No I'm not," Harry retorted.
"Come out now or else you'll regret it for the rest of your life." Harry studied his voice for a trace of deceit, threat, anything malicious. There was nothing except cold hard truth.
Slowly, Harry uncurled and crawled out. She stood up to see a man dressed in a black trenchcoat, an expensive black hat set upon his curly brown hair. His eyes were brown and cold.
The man let Harry stare at him for a few minutes before asking, "What's your name, Boy?"
Surprisingly, Harry found herself blurting out the truth. "Harry Potter, sir."
"You are to come with me. I will provide you with a safe environment."
"Oh."
The man turned and walked toward the opposite end of the alley the sandy haired man had traveled earlier that night. Harry trotted after him to keep up.
"Sir?"
"What?"
"Why did you, well, decide to erm... you know?"
The man had no expression on his face as he said, "Your ability to talk your way out of a situation left an impression on me."
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