DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter, or any of the characters belonging to J.K. Rowling.
A/N: This is the beginning entrance to a story I had the idea for the other night. It is quite short, for which I apologize. I promise I will not usually write chapters this short. This is the first story I've written from a perspective like this, so I hope it is halfway decent. Thank You for reading this, please review!
Don't Keep Me Waiting: Chapter One.
A lone white cloud floated across the sky as a classic Armstrong song could be heard throughout the area from a radio in a nearby window. Brushing gently through the trees a warm summer breeze danced in the linens that hung beside a tall fence behind an old white house. Beneath the tree three girls in their mid-teens sat beside a large basket with clothing and a sewing kit, their skirts folded under their legs as they giggled and mended the holes. Across the green grass boys were painting the opposite side of the fence a pristine white with the sleeves of their dirty white shirts rolled up, careful to keep their dark trousers from getting soiled. Nearer to the house was a garden filled with younger children pulling weeds, and chasing one another around laughing.
A large woman with bushy red hair stood at the edge of the small porch with the screen door held open as she peered around the yard. She focused on the small garden, her light blue eyes intent on their subject. A small boy sat alone, struggling to pull out an adamant weed. A smudge of dirt was on his nose, and dark finger prints were traced across his pale forehead leading to the small lift of dark hair that had been messed up as he wiped sweat away. His shirt was no longer a white, but a light brown, with small spots of darker stains. His trousers were well worn, and a few inches too short. Holes in the soles of his shoes revealed the holes in the white socks he wore; a firm reminder that this was no heaven, but a poor orphanage with such little funding that only favored children received good clothes, and this young boy was far from favored. As if to feel the woman's condemning gaze the boy glanced up, his dark blue eyes flashing with fear, though it quickly left as he put a mask up to shield the pain. The woman nodded at him, and shut the screen door as she returned in to the house.
Lowering his head the boy stood and dusted himself off as he walked towards the house, the snickering of children followed his steps. Upon entering the house he was met with a group of older girls gossiping and doing the usual kitchen tasks of the day. His feet led the familiar path, opening the door and leading himself in to the cooler atmosphere of the cellar. The familiar backside of the red haired woman was looking at a picture, a firm object in her hands. The boy clasped his hands behind his back, his head cowering as he took slow steps in to the large, open room.
As if on cue the woman turned around, her eyes glaring coldly to the boy. The dark object held firmly in her hand caught the boys eye. A dark oak wood, a long thin handle, with a slightly wider end; holes drilled in sporadic spots. His eyes widened as she advanced on him, pointing to a small table edge. His feet drug to the table as he leaned over on to the table, the woman quickly tore his pants down, and with a fast swing hit the young boy with the paddle. He flinched, but refused to let a noise out. For many minutes this continued, tears falling out of the corners of his eyes, his bottom glowing red with many welts. The world was turning grey before his tightly shut eyes, and clenched teeth, he felt it slipping away. And then the woman stopped.
"Return to your chores, and you will receive no food for a week." The woman said coldly, placing the paddle in a locked desk.
The boy pulled his shorts up, wincing as the cloth touched his tender skin. He returned quickly to the gardens, pulling weeds as though nothing happened. He could hear the other children snickering as he wobbled to his spot.
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