Penname:  Kiara

Title:  Little Whinging Primary

Email:  angeldlsm00@hotmail.com, lavenderrain00@hotmail.com

Usually, I write a lot of a story before I post, but I'm writing this one as I go along so that I know what people want to read.  If you have any suggestions, let me know.

DISCLAIMER:  See the first chapter for a disclaimer.  I'm not smart enough to tell you I'm not JK Rowling in an amusing, light hearted way today.

Chapter One

"I told you to wake up!" came the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia through Harry's cupboard door.  "You need to watch breakfast and then you need to leave for school!"

Groaning, Harry rolled over in bed and buried his face into the pillow, coughing at the amount of dust he had just inhaled.  Sitting up, Harry started looking around for his clothing and finally managed to secure of pair of tan trousers that were four sizes too large and a gray t-shirt, which was also too big for Harry to be wearing.  He secured a belt around his waist to keep them in place and began searching for socks, squashing spiders in the process and wondering where his shoes had gotten to.

The clothes were horrible, his glasses were still broken and bound by tape, but Harry couldn't help but think that at least he didn't have to wear that horrible brown jumper his Aunt Petunia had tried to stuff him in yesterday.  The ugly thing had actually had orange puff balls on it, and though Harry couldn't explain it, he was more than relieved when it seemed to shrink right before his eyes.  Harry didn't even want to think about the torture he would receive from his classmates had he shown up in that thing.

Classmates.  Harry took off his glasses, set them on his bed, and rubbed the pads of his thumbs against his eyelids.  Even though he didn't like summer holidays and spending the entire day with the Dursleys, there were often times when chores looked a million times brighter than spending a day at Little Whinging Primary did.  This was one of those days, the ever popular first day back after a long summer holiday.  He was going to start fifth year today, his last year of primary school, and Harry found himself nervous.  Who was he going to have class with?  Who was going to be his teacher?  Would he or she be nice?  These thoughts ran through Harry's mind as he put his glasses back on, opened the door of his cupboard, and padded into the kitchen to see Dudley already stuffing his face with the breakfast Aunt Petunia seemed to have sourly finished while Harry was tying his shoes.

"You're going to have to walk," said Aunt Petunia, not even looking at him as she set a plate down before him.  From across the table, Uncle Vernon made a grunting sound and peered at Harry over the top of his newspaper.

"When was the last time you had that hair cut, boy?" barked Uncle Vernon.  Harry tried not to sigh.

"Last week," he answered.  This happened frequently and though Harry had become accustomed to it, that didn't mean it wasn't annoying.

"You need to get that hair cut.  Comb it before you leave the house, and do it properly."

"Yes, Uncle Vernon."

Dudley sniggered at him as he continued to stuff his fat face with sausages, which Harry noticed there was three times as much on Dudley's plate as on his own.  In fact, Harry often left the table at the Dursleys with his stomach still hungry.  This was mostly due to the fact Harry didn't eat fast enough and once Dudley was done with his own food and finishing off the rest of what Petunia had made, he would start picking from Harry's plate.  Any attempts that would be made to stop him only received punishment from Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia.  As Harry liked a quiet life at the Dursleys, which meant being told to cut his hair and dust the sitting room when his mere presence annoyed them, he often kept quiet about Dudley's usual pilfer from Harry's plate.

Aunt Petunia checked the clock and told Harry that if he didn't start walking, he was going to be late to school.  Knowing full well that Aunt Petunia was going to drive Dudley to school, Harry tried not to glare at his overgrown cousin as he grabbed his torn and tattered backpack, which looked like it had seen the last of its days, and headed out of the house.  A few of his classmates were already walking the five blocks to the school and the kindly neighbor, Mrs. Figg, waved at him as he headed off.

"Good morning, Harry dear," she called as she tended to her garden, one of her cats circling her ankle.

"Good morning," said Harry, glancing across the street at two boys who had been in his class last year.  They were staring at him and snickering, and Harry dropped his head to stare at the pavement as he continued.

"That your girlfriend, Potter?" one of the boys, Kevin Edwards, called once they were out of Mrs. Figg's earshot.  He and David McNeil sniggered, pointing at him, and they crossed the street to flank Harry on either side.  "I don't know, Potter.  I think she's a little too attractive for you."

"But she did have lovely eyes," said David.

"Leave me alone," said Harry, shoving his hands into the huge pockets of Dudley's old pants.

"You don't want to talk to us?" said Kevin, feigning hurt.  "But I thought we were such good friends.  I hope we're in the same class this year, too.  Don't you?"

"Extremely," muttered Harry.

"Now that didn't sound very convincing," said David, frowning.  "If I didn't know better, I'd say you didn't like us very much."

"Whatever gave you that idea?" asked Harry.

"I'd watch my cheek if I were you, Potter," sneered Kevin, sticking out his foot to trip Harry up, and the two boys laughed as Harry sprawled forward.  He landed in a heap on the concrete; his palms were now covered in dirt, slightly bleeding from the texture of the sidewalk, and it was only this action of throwing his hands before him that kept his glasses from being broken for the millionth time.  Groaning as Kevin kicked him in the ankle, Harry glared at the two from beneath the bangs of his unruly black hair.  They turned around to sneer at him as they walked away, laughing about strange Harry Potter.

"Are you okay?" came a small voice and Harry pushed himself off the sidewalk to see Nicole Derris, who also lived on Privet Drive, watching him.  She had an eyebrow arched and was looking at Harry in a way he only usually recognized from his teachers:  pity.  When he didn't answer her right away, she frowned and started to twirl a piece of dark brown hair around her middle finger.  "Hello?"

"What?  Oh - er - I'm fine."

"You don't look fine.  Do you always let arseholes like that push you around?"

At first, Harry was taken back by the swear, but remembering that Nicole had an older sister with one of the foulest mouths he had ever heard, Harry let it slide.

"I don't let them push me around.  They just do it."

"Probably because you dress like that," said Nicole, scornfully looking over his attire as she began to walk again.  Harry hurried to keep up with her.

"It isn't my fault.  I have to wear this clothes," said Harry.

"If I were you, I'd go starkers instead.  Fortunately, I don't have that problem."

"I don't think I'd be allowed in school if I came starkers."

"Probably not . . . You live on Privet Drive, too, don't you?"

"Yeah.  Number four.  You live at number nine, right?"

"Yep.  You're going into fifth year too, right?"  Harry nodded.  "You know who you have?"

"Not yet.  I didn't go to look at the posting.  I'll find out today."

"I have Miss Hudson.  My sister, Denise, had her, too.  She said she was a bitch who knew too much about abortion for her own good.  I can't believe we have to learn basic health already, anyway."

Harry didn't reply as they entered the school yard and Nicole didn't even say goodbye as she left him to cross over to Amanda Graves, her best friend and the other half of The Run Girls, as they were dubbed by the other kids in their class.  This was mostly because Nicole had a big, foul mouth, and Amanda usually went along with whatever Nicole said.  They didn't seem to like anyone but each other, and this was considered a horrible infringement on the proper way of life, at least in the book of Dudley Dursley.  Most of the other kids valued Dudley's opinion, or at least were afraid that he'd sic one of his large friends on them, and went along with whatever he did.  A prime example of the results of such events was the treatment of Harry by his classmates, like Kevin and David.

He should have known that the first person to be remotely civil to him this year would be one of The Run Girls.  They were two of the only people who didn't care what Dudley thought, at least Nicole didn't, and since Amanda was her best friend, Amanda didn't care, either.  One of the most common things to come out of their mouths was a panic-stricken "Run!", shouted because Dudley would get angry with them and send Gordon Turner after them.  Nicole could certainly dish out the insults and cuss until she turned blue but neither girl had the physical capability to back their threats up.

Sighing, Harry passed The Run Girls and entered his primary school.  He headed for his old classroom to check the list of teachers, not particularly caring who he had so long as he could make it a record of three years in a row without being in Dudley's class.  According to the chart outside Mrs. Morgan's room, Harry had Miss Hudson in room 5-C, just like Nicole Derris and, as he saw on the chart, Kevin and David.

Finding his way to Miss Hudson's room was fairly easy, but the first thing he saw upon entering 5-C was Dudley, sitting in the first seat of the second row.  He gave Harry a nasty grin upon the latter's entrance and Harry felt his heart plummet to the pits of his stomach.  Trying to ignore the attention (which could only be bad) that Dudley was paying him, Harry began looking at the name tags on the desks for the one that would bear his name.

As if things couldn't get any worse, Harry thought his heart went straight from his stomach to his feet upon finding his row.  The first seat of the fourth row belonged to Dennis Mosier.  The second seat of the same row belonged to Piers Polkiss, who would be seated next to Gordon on his left.  Harry was right behind Piers, right in front of Malcolm Quint, and it appeared that Dudley's entire gang was in Miss Hudson's class, conveniently surrounding him.  This hadn't happened since first year, and Harry wondered what he did that caused such a severe punishment.

Students began filtering in, filling in seats, and Harry was getting sick of Malcolm plucking out random strands of Harry's hair when Miss Hudson came into the classroom to begin.  He was only vaguely aware of her welcoming them and telling them about switching classes for Arithmetic and Sciences as he surveyed his class.

"I've been told by the fourth year teachers," said Miss Hudson, "that I have one of the most diverse classes they've seen."  She gave a small chuckle that Harry didn't find at all funny.   Dudley's gang, The Run Girls, and Kevin was not his ideal combination.  "We will start class by introducing ourselves.  When it is your turn, stand up, tell the class your first and last name, and tell me something about yourself.  Miss Bree, why don't you go first?"

Harry noticed a short, thin, brunette girl stand up, and she flashed the room a smile.

"My name is Jennifer Bree, and I am a twin."

That much was obvious because when she sat down, her twin immediately stood up.  They looked almost identical, but the second girl had hair that went to middle of her back rather than the shoulder length cut that Jennifer had.  They both wore fashionable clothes, at least from what Harry could tell, and though he had seen them in the schoolyard before, this was the first time he had a class with them.

"My name is Staci Bree," said the second twin, and Harry grimaced noticing the hungry way Dudley was staring at her, "and my favorite color is pink."

"My name is Calvin Bruce," said a tall boy with light, blond hair.  "I hate cats."

"That's very nice, Calvin," said Miss Hudson, looking like she didn't know what to do about that one.  "Miss Derris?"

Nicole stood up, adjusted her sweatshirt, and said, "My name is Nicole Derris, but I prefer Nikki.  My therapist tells me I'm very opinionated."

Miss Hudson visibly swallowed.

"Thank you, Nikki."

A girl with long, straight auburn hair stood up and fixed Nikki with a strange look of unease.

"My name is Polly Dixon, and I happen to like cats."  She looked pointedly at Calvin, who scowled at her before she sat back down.

Harry winced as Malcolm pulled another hair out from the nape of his neck.

They were now at the front of the classroom again and Dudley had now stood up.

"My name is Dudley Dursley, and my father works for Grunnings," he said in a loud, proud voice before turning around and winking at Staci.  Her face contorted into something that looked like disgust, and for a moment, Harry thought that she was going to throw up.

"My name is Kevin Edwards, and I play football.  West Ham is the best team ever."

"That's very nice, Kevin," said Miss Hudson, smiling as he sat back down.  Harry tried not to turn around and smack Malcolm as he felt the familiar sting on his scalp.

Amanda Graves stood up next and looked around the class.

"Amanda Graves.  I aspire to be a lawyer, and I couldn't care less about Grunnings."

From her seat, Nikki gave Amanda two thumbs up.  Staci looked torn between giggling at the comment and rolling her eyes at how childish it had been.  Harry was leaning toward the former and probably would have laughed if Malcolm hadn't taken to simply pulling on large chunks of Harry's hair instead of plucking individual strands.

"Amanda," reprimanded Miss Hudson, "that isn't nice to say about your classmates.  Apologize to Dudley."

"Sorry," said Amanda, looking straight at Dudley but not sounding very sorry at all.  Nikki snickered from her seat diagonal from Amanda.

Next was a girl named Kristy Grover, who told everyone that she took ballet, and that was followed by a boy named Robbie Hamilton, who also thought West Ham was a good team, and Paul Hicks, who wanted to be a news reporter one day.  In the second seat of the third row, a girl stood up who wore mismatched clothing from her purple t-shirt, yellow floral skirt, and socks, which were red and green.  Harry would have wondered who let their child go out of the house like that, but he was sitting there in Dudley's old clothes.  Wondering would have only been futile, and he really had no room to talk.

"My name is Sara Jones," she chirped.  "I want to be a model."

"For what?" asked Nikki.  "I hope not clothes.  You need to learn to coordinate your colors.  Are you wearing sneakers with that outfit?"

"Now, Nikki," said Miss Hudson, "Sara can wear what she wants to wear.  I think you look lovely."

"Er - me too," said Staci, nervously.  She eyed Sara's outfit, flinching.

"Sorry," muttered Nikki, sounding less apologetic than Amanda.

Sara sat back down in her seat and the girl next to Harry stood up, her black hair pulled back into two pigtails.  She told everyone that her name was Shannon Klein, and that her mother was a writer for the local newspaper.  She was followed by Anthony Lundin, who moved to Surrey from London last year.  David McNeil went next, arguing Kevin's point about West Ham, and since the two boys didn't start a fight, Miss Hudson refrained from forcing any more apologies.

They were now at the beginning of Harry's row, and Dennis told the class about how he liked to watch The Great Humberto on television.  Piers Polkiss told everyone about his favorite ride at a theme park he went with Dudley to for Dudley's tenth birthday last year.  Now, it was Harry's turn, and he was aware of every eye on him as he stood up and tried to think of something to say.  From somewhere to the right (David McNeil if he had to fathom a guess), a paper clip flew over and smacked him in the arm.  A short bout of scattered laughter followed.

"My name is Harry Potter," said Harry, and he heard Piers mutter, "freak."

"Tell us something about yourself," said Miss Hudson, noticing his pause.  Amanda and Nikki were discussing something under their breath, and Staci was taking in his attire, grimacing even worse than she had with Sara Jones.

What could he say about himself?  He wasn't allowed to watch television, didn't have a favorite food, and certainly didn't have a sports team that he favored.  So many of the kids at school teased him, as was obvious from the disgusted and amused looks from his classmates, and he didn't have a friend to share with them.

"I live with my aunt and uncle," said Harry, finally.  Real smooth, he thought.

Thankfully, Miss Hudson didn't press him further, and Harry sat back down as Malcolm stood up, glad that he was free of hair torture for at least a few minutes.  He was especially thankful that he didn't have to explain that he lived with his aunt and uncle because his parents had died in a car crash when Harry was only one, rendering the boy with nothing but a scar on his forehead.  Even though the kids usually made fun of him for this scar, claiming it must have give him brain damage, Harry still liked it, and didn't need to taint it with the horror story.

After Malcolm was Mindy Sanford, who collected dolls.  They wrapped up with Heather Sloan and Gordon Turner.  When the ordeal was finally over, they were free to go outside for recess.  This was one of Harry more horrible points of the day, watching everyone laugh and play when he had no one to share such joy with.  He sat on the grass away from where some of the younger students were playing and watched as his class interacted, trying to gauge how this year might turn out.

No matter what, things were bound to be bad.  Dudley was already telling Anthony Lundin, Paul Hicks, and Robbie Hamilton about how terrible and freaky Harry was.  David and Kevin were backing him up, and Dudley stopped his harangue only when Staci, and what appeared to be her gang, wandered by.  It comprised of the Bree twins, obviously led by Staci, Mindy Sanford, Kristy Grover, and the recently adopted Sara Jones, who Staci was teaching color coordination to.

"Hi, Harry," said Nikki, sitting down next to him.  On his other side, Amanda sat down as well and started scratching at what appeared to be a mustard stain on the knee of her jeans.  "It is Harry, isn't it?"

"It's Harry," he confirmed.

"Is Dudley your cousin?" she asked.

"Er - yes.  Why?"

"Well, I know you live on Privet Drive, and you said you lived with your aunt and uncle, and Dudley lives on Privet Drive, too . . ." reasoned Nikki.

"And he's always beating you up," added Amanda.

"You should kick that fat arse of his.  He couldn't chase you.  All that blubber weighs him down."

"I agree.  He's so disgusting.  I can't believe Miss Hudson made me apologize to him already.  Who cares where his father works.  I bet he's a fat arse like Dudley, too."

"Well, I knew you weren't sorry.  Why should you be sorry about telling things like they are?  Do any of us care where his father works?"

"Not if we still have proper brain function."

"You don't like Dudley, do you?" said Harry, trying to crack a smile.

"We don't really like anyone," said Amanda.

"Except you," added Nikki.

"And why do you like me?" asked Harry.

"I don't know," pondered Nikki.  "Perhaps it's because you're sort of pathetic and we pity you."

"Or just because Dudley doesn't like you and we'd do anything to piss him off," added Amanda.

"I think it's both, though.  Maybe more reasons, too.  You're kind of cute in that helpless, pathetic, dirty, lost puppy kind of way."

"Ew," said a voice behind them and they turned around to see Staci and her gang.

"What?" said Nikki.

"Did you just say something about a dirty puppy?" said Staci, scrunching up her nose and tossing her hair.

"Yeah," snapped Amanda.

"If you have a dirty puppy, you should really give it a bath.  Dirt is gross."

Staci tossed her hair again and looked down at Harry, Amanda, and Nikki.

"Sitting on the ground is gross, too.  Your pants are going to get dirty."

"I'm very scared," said Amanda, rubbing her legs against the grass and causing green streaks to appear on the denim.  "Whatever will I do?  I'm going to have to use a washing machine!"

"Ew," said Jennifer, and the girls of Staci's gang scrunched up their noses, minus Sara, who looked at the other girls and tried to imitate them.

"Ew," said Sara, trying to look disgusted.

"You should really wash that puppy," said Staci, and she tossed her hair one final time before she turned and motioned to the other girls.  They walked away, shaking their slim, girlish hips, Sara trying to walk like Staci in the most awkward way possible.

"Geez," muttered Amanda.

"If I had known an abandoned puppy metaphor was going to cause so much trouble, I would have refrained from saying it," said Nikki.

"It was so appreciated, though" said Harry, dryly.  "I do love being compared to a dirty puppy."

"I'm sorry.  I can't help your abandoned puppy appeal," said Nikki.  "If you don't want to be sympathetically magnetic, then kick your cousin in the arse.  Hard.  And don't get scared if his fat tries to retaliate."

"Right," agreed Amanda.  "I hear that in people that big, the extra poundage starts to have a mind of its own.  It becomes something of a parasite.  In fact, you might want to be careful around him at all times."

"But just because we like you, it doesn't mean that we're going to hang out with you all the time.  You aren't a Run Girl, after all, and I think you do enough running from Dudley and company on your own."

"But feel free to talk to us so long as really cute boys aren't around," said Amanda.  "If you talked to us in front of cute boys, they might think we fancied you."

"Or that we fancied boys who dress like you.  You really need new glasses.  The tape is dorky."

"Thanks for the newsflash," muttered Harry, who, despite his bitter disposition, was exceptionally pleased to find an acquaintance in The Run Girls.

Miss Hudson began to call them back and, after rounding the class up, led them back inside to continue their first day of class.

*****

Harry sat in his cupboard just after dinner, leaning back against his pillow and staring at the ceiling as he watched a spider working on its web.  The first day hadn't been as bad as he anticipated, but the sheer dread of what was to come loomed over him like a tidal wave, waiting to crash down on him and sweep him away.  He wished he could leave the Dursleys, go away to a place where someone would actually like him.  How could the Dursleys be the only family he had left?  Didn't he have grandparents somewhere?  Didn't his father have any siblings that the Dursleys didn't know about?

Whatever the situation was, Harry prayed that some unknown relative come and take him away before he had to spend too long in Miss Hudson's class.  She was young, kind enough, but seemed to be a bit of a pushover that Dudley was already starting to wrap around his pudgy little finger.  Having Dudley's gang in his class wasn't going to make it any easier.  He thought of Malcolm yanking on his hair during introductions, Kevin tripping him on the way to school, and paper clip that David had flicked at him.

Flipping over onto his stomach, Harry buried his face in his pillow and tried to avoid doing the one thing he avoided doing more than anything else.  He could not, would not, cry.  It was too soon in the year, there were far too many evils waiting ahead of him.  They could not break him already.

Not for the first time since he could remember, Harry thought of his parents.  There were no pictures of them in Dursley house, and Harry wondered what they looked like as he felt himself start to drift off to sleep.  He imagined a place where his parents were alive, where he could leave his cupboard and never have to go back to Little Whinging Primary again.  With these images in his mind, Harry felt himself start to drift and he welcomed the sleep that came upon him.

I don't know when I'll be updating this or how soon it will be.  I do have the next few parts planned out, but I guess we'll see.   Leave a review if you have any suggestions or just want to be kind.  If you want to be informed of when I update, email me at angeldlsm01@hotmail.com and let me know that its this story you want to be added to the update list for.