On the Street Corner by my Lonesome

Summary : Told by the viewpoint of a muggle. Before Harry Potter left for St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, he was a normal kid. I knew him, for he went to my school. This is my story, and then there is his.


Chapter One


Mandy

Dear Diary,

School started today, it was awful. The only good things that happened was when I found you in my locker and the fact that there was a cute boy in my homeroom. He had raven black hair and bright green eyes. He had glasses, but not nerdy ones. Oh no, he was quite the opposite of nerdy. He was actually really cute. But the one thing that stands out about him is this scar. It's so different from all the scars I've ever seen before. It's shaped exactly like a lightning bolt. It seems to cause him pain too. Hmmm . . .

:Flashback:

"Amanda Peters?" called Mr. Evans, an old wrinkly main who could have been the grandparent of a grandparent. Well, not really, but he was really old. He had kept all of his hair, but it was now white and he had to use a cane to walk around. On his desk he kept a picture of his daughter, Christina. Rumor had it that Christina had a daughter who died when he house burned down. He never talked, or even mentioned, Christina's supposed daughter.

"Here," I called, raising my hand. "I prefer to be called Mandy though."

"All right," he replied, staring at me, (which was kind of creepy, to tell you the truth), "Charlie Pickle?" Snickers could be heard all over the room about the boy's name.

Charlie, a plump boy with a well rounded, maybe over-rounded, face, raised his hand timidly, clearly embarrassed.

"Okay," said Mr. Evans. I noticed that he did not stare at Charlie. Hmm, I must remember to investigate Mr. Evans criminal record. "Is there a Harry Potter?" he asked with a twinkle in his eye.

A raven haired boy slowly raised his hand, but immediately clapped it to his forehead, over his lightning shaped scar, which had begun glowing. That was very weird at the least. Everybody whirled around and stared at him as, I think I am the only one who noticed, Mr. Evans let one tear slide out of his eye.

That was doubly weird. Then, Harry started to mumble about a car crash and Mr. Evans tears really came. Then, everybody staring at Harry whisked around and stared at him, speechless.

I made a move to help him, but Mr. Evans collapsed. The class was in an uproar. The first day at school and the teacher croaks and some kid has a spastic attack. A really cute kid.

:End Flashback:

So Mr. Evans, my homeroom teacher, was carried off by the headmaster and the school nurse. I cannot believe he died. Clearly, Harry was close to him, but Harry didn't seem to recognize him, though that could have been because of the seizure thing. Maybe Mr. Evans had some information about Harry, who was mysteriously quiet for the rest of the day. Though he did have an attack, which could explain it. Oh well. I'll search Mr. Evans old desk tomorrow, maybe there will be some clue in there . . . I've got to go, it's dinner time and mom has made salmon florentine, my favorite. I'll try to talk to Harry tomorrow too. Well, much love.

-Mandy Peters

"Honey? Dinner is ready," called mom. Her real name is Samantha Peters, but she prefers to go wierd, (don't ask me why), and calls herself Saman, like the fish. Thank goodness I don't have to call her Saman too. That would be awful. In kindergarten, my friend Alicia had to call her mom 'Bunglie Bear,' how embarrassing!

"I'm coming mom!" I shouted down the stairs, closing my door. Our house was moderately sized, big enough for me, mom, and Hallie, my sister. Mom kicked dad out a few years ago when she realized that he only wanted her for her money, (he had no job of his own).

"Dinner!" Mom shouted again.

"I'm coming," I yelled back. Skidding into the kitchen, "I'm here mom. Let's eat."


Harry

I am such a freak. I cannot believe that that happened to me in homeroom. I killed my teacher. That's awful, I'll go . . . well, I can't go anywhere. I have no friends. Just this closet, my idiot cousin, and his terrible parents. Who, in their right mind, would lock a kid in a cupboard? Ugh.

Harry sat, playing with the only thing he actually had room to play with, an action figure. So it was a little juvenile, but it was the only toy he had. Dudley had thrown it out when he was about six. Of course, it had no arms, but at least its legs moved and Harry could make it walk to and fro on a small shelf.

A loud tap interrupted Harry from his musing and playing. "I heard that something happened today, boy," said a voice Harry knew all too well.

"Yes. I, erm, went to class?" Harry questioned, fully knowing that his reply had not been what Uncle Vernonwanted to hearat all.

"Open this door," said Harry's Uncle as he pounded on the closet door.

Sighing, Harry opened the door, expecting to be smacked by Vernon's pudgy hand. Instead, he was pulled straight into the air by his ear.

"What did you do to your teacher boy? What happened to him?" shouted Vernon.

"I'd tell you if you let me down," seethed Harry. Uncle Vernon's grip loosened a bit, but his face turned a deep plum color, meaning trouble. Harry seized his chance when his Uncle loosened his grip and wiggled down onto the floor. "He died," he stated plainly, avoiding looking Vernon in the eyes.

"I know he died. And you killed him didn't you? Petunia is in the kitchen, very distressed I might add, about what you did," said Vernon, practically shouting.

From what Harry could hear, Aunt Petunia was more than a little distressed. He could tell that she was sobbing hysterically. Becuase Harry supposedly killed his teacher? He doubted it. His aunt and uncle had never much liked him and would have loved to see him go to jail.

"Get in your closet boy? Get in there right now! And no dinner for you tonight, all week for that matter," Vernon hissed at Harry.

As calmly as he could, Harry walked into his closet, massaging his ear, and slammed the door shut. And he spent the rest of his evening trying to hide his hunger and his anger at his family. "I didn't cause his death," he told himself over and over again. But he couldn't truly know that. He resolved to get to school early and search the desk of the late Mr. Evans.


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