Author's Notes: I'm having a rough time with ideas and inspiration right now (not when I wrote this chapter). Any fan fic's suggested to read or ideas to write for this character/other stories would be great. Also names for some character's in my other fics…Anyway, enjoy, read and review, please.

Neighborhood Greetings

Chapter Two

She was standing in the dark, a figure placed before her. She couldn't make him out that well, the picture was wobbly, as though the camera man was drunk. Amara knew the figure anywhere though. Roy. "Father". Sir.

She vaguely realized she was crying, and that the moving picture was due to her own wobbling feet and dizziness. "On your knees."

The fear that was associated with the man came, Amara obeyed, still crying and breathing deeply (but breathing none the less). "Beg for forgiveness."

Amara didn't think she could do that. She couldn't be degraded like that, not this far. She was confused and dizzy in her reality, not remembering how she got to this situation. Fear welled inside her, and she realized the pain in the back of her mind, and she just wanted it to end, "I'm sorry, please, please, forgive me."

"Say it," Roy said.

Afraid of the question, but finding no way out of it she had to ask, "Say what?"

She remembered a pain in her stomach. "Say you're a dirty dog."

"I'm a dirty dog."

"Nobody wants you."

"Nobody wants me."

"I am your master and you will obey me."

"You are my master. I will obey you."

"My parents were nothing, and my blood is nothing more than dirt, as will be my children's."

She wouldn't do it. She couldn't do it. It was stupid, she knew, to defend people at the risk of her own life that hadn't even cared enough to keep her, people she didn't even know. But she wouldn't say it, would never say it. "No."

"WHAT!"

"No!" she cried, defeated as she realized he was hitting her, and blackness crowded her vision.

Amara awoke from her nightmare incredibly relieved to be released. As she woke up more, she realized that it hadn't been a dream, but a glimpse of the nightmare of the night before.

The pain she found herself waking to was nearly unbearable (except for the fact that she had to bear it). She couldn't move. Then she realized, even if she had the strength to move, she was tied to the cot. She groaned, and turned her head to stare at the wall.

Every muscle ached and her eyes seemed to burn. But her eyes weren't the only things that burned, her back and stomach were incredible searing pain, and her arm seemed to tingle and almost go numb at times. She would have cried again, if she still weren't too tired to do anything at all.

Fear flooded her, as it always did, probably always would. That was the one thing Mr. Andrews was always good at – inspiring fear in her. It didn't matter whether they were at a fairly calm place in public surrounded by people, or just before a storm, like she had been in the closet last night, during, or even after everything happened – she was always afraid. Sometimes it seemed like she couldn't live with all the fear she felt all the time.

She felt afraid because she didn't understand what had happened. Couldn't even bring herself to believe it after all these years. Couldn't believe she were as helpless as she really was. How could she live through this everyday, how could he hate her so much? It was as though she were still in shock at the whole affair, even though she'd been living with them since she was three.

She heard the door open and she seemed to tense up, and couldn't seem to move her head to see who it was. As they walked up beside her she realized it was Amber. She had a tub of steaming hot water which she set down, and then she went back to get what Amara knew was the tub full of wound cleaning supplies, which included bandages.

She then untied Amara, and for an instant Amara had an unbelievable urge to run, but she wouldn't. Even if she escaped, which she certainly wouldn't, she had no where to go. She had no idea of who to even contact.

"Sit up and face the wall," instructed Amber.

Of all the things Amber, Roy, Chad, and Derek did to her, they always made sure it could be covered up. They would not allow her to die. She couldn't, it would arose too many questions, even if there was no one to point the finger. Not dying meant having to have a little self-restraint, and even if they didn't, having to make sure that whatever they did do did not require a trip to the hospital, doctor, or anyone else that had to see the wounds. That meant they had to stop infection, and try to heal everything as fast as they could. It also meant long-sleeves and often pants for Amara.

"Take off your shirt," said Amber.

Amara didn't want to, but she knew it was going to come off one way or another, took both her shirt and bra off. Amber took them and Amara knew they had to be trashed. There were ripped beyond repair, and covered in blood. The next thing she felt was the hot rag over her bag, searing hot, hotter than it needn't have been. She made a noise and moved slightly, and she could almost feel Amber roll her eyes.

"Don't be such a baby," she said and scrubbed with the hot water harder than she had before.

After several minutes of cleaning her back, Amber put several things to rid and prevent infection in large wounds, all of which made the searing wounds' pain increase. She then told Amara to turn around, who covered her chest with her arms, still modest despite the fact that as far as the Andrews were concerned, she had no rights. Amber cleaned the cut on her stomach, which scared Amara, though she knew she'd seen worse, put anti-infection cream and such on it, then grabbed her right arm roughly, and began to treat the burn.

"It's not so bad, second degree," said Amber.

Amara knew little about burns, but she knew third degree was the worst, and so second didn't seem so great to her. Amber put a cool cloth on her arm and after a few minutes, took it off, sprayed it with cool water – which made it feel better, than started to put the appropriate things on it (Amber used to be a nurse before Derek and Chad were born). After that she wrapped Amara's entire back and chest area with cloth, which wasn't all to comfortable, though the pain had went down considerably.

"Take a shower and put on some clean clothes, we're supposed to meet the neighbors today," said Amber with the same tone she reserved for Amara, one of utter disgust and snide superiority.

She then left, leaving the door open. Amara reached down and picked out a pair of clothes from her bag that were 'nice' clothes, those only permitted for special occasions, that weren't too big, too small, tattered, worn, or in other disrepair. She then took an old, too tight shirt and put it on, and walked up the basement stairs.

After starting the laundry for the whole family, which included her outfit, she went to take a shower. Washing herself she was forced to use a plastic wrap reserved for her for just the occasion – so the bandages wouldn't get wet. Then she went downstairs and put all the clothes in the dryer.

After getting dressed she headed into the kitchen where she had been told to make snacks for all the guests. However, she saw Derek and Chad in the kitchen already with made snacks.

"You're in trouble," said Derek, smiling slyly.

"Why?" Amara dared to ask.

"You took too long on your lazy butt, and mom had to make the food herself," answered Derek.

They began to back her toward the kitchen wall – the one that had the door that led to the basement (the same place the events of the previous night had taken place). Amara's heart began to beat a little faster and Derek and Chad's smiles grew bigger. Amara finally gave in, and turned to run for the front door, but was immediately caught by the hair by who she soon found out was Chad. He held her arms from behind, and pushed her body in toward his so that she could barely move. Derek began to punch her in the stomach and occasionally in the face.

Her stomach seemed to go up in flame as he repeatedly hit the cut. It was unbearable, but she didn't want to cry, not in front of them. She held her breath and bit her lip, trying to keep the tears inside. Suddenly Derek moved aside and Chad violently pushed her down toward the ground. Holding herself up with her arms, Chad stepped on her back, forcing the pulsing pain that she had become accustomed to, to flare into an unbearable pulsing, until it was the only thing she could focus on. They began to punch her back, step on her, kick her. It wasn't as hard as Roy would hurt her, and not even that bad compared to normal, but the pain from the wounds the night before were unbearable, and no amount of clothing or wrapping would prevent that. She found herself going in and out of conciseness as she found it harder and harder to fight against them, to try to stand. Soon she gave up all together.

"What are you doing!" said a shrill voice that seemed far away as Amara began to pass out again. "We can't have her opening up again, I just dressed those wounds. Boys, please," she said, her voice becoming more clear and sensible (Amara had never heard her yell at the boys as she had just then), "use some common sense. We have neighbors arriving any second, do you want to make them suspicious? What if they were to walk in on you? Do you want them to think we're unfit parents?"

"No," said Chad and Derek simultaneously, with the right amount of fake guilt.

"Good, that's my boys. Now, go get one of the dress outfits, and bring it here. She'll have to change her shirt," said Amber.

"Yes mam," said Chad, and Amara, gaining more conciseness, heard them both walk off.

"Now girl, get up," Amber said. Amara tried to stand, but she didn't seem to have the strength. "Come on, up!"

Amara slowly began to struggle to her knees, but Amber began to become impatient, and grabbed the back of her shirt and forced her up. She grabbed her wrist, just below the burn, and dragged her upstairs. On the way to their bathroom, Derek met her with a new shirt that was only reserved for special occasions. It wasn't especially fancy or great looking, just new, and well fitted. It was a red shirt that had a v-shaped neck, made of a nice summery material (it would have to be since it was long sleeves). He also had a jean black skirt that went just above the knee.

Amara looked at the outfit in envy. Sometimes she forgot how good it felt to be normal. She missed the times where no one was allowed to hit her (company) and she could dress normally. She missed not having to be looked at because of her large boyish shirts (grown out ones of Derek's and Chad's), or older looking baggy clothes with stains on them (Amber's). She missed being able to have jeans that fit. She hated having to where the handy-me-downs, and the 'nice' clothes she'd grown out of, so they were too tight. She hated being beaten up by all the bullies, and laughed at by all the other girls. She hated how some of the teacher's gave her sad, worried looks, or how they seemed to put their noses up at her. She hated not having any friends. She hated being beaten to a bloody pulp.

"Thank you, Derek, now go get ready for the neighbors, and try to stay out of trouble," said Amber, in a motherly sort of way that she would never use towards Amara.

"Ok, mom," said the sixteen year old boy, acting like mother's perfect angel.

She turned her head to Amara, grabbing her by the arm to take her into the bathroom. Derek smirked at Amara and mouthed 'you wait'. Amara gave him a look back, before being pulled into the bathroom completely by Amber, who then shut the door.

"Take off your shirt," Amber ordered again, for the second time that day.

Taking off the slightly worn, and slightly large blue shirt, she handed it to Amber, who threw it in the dirty hamper. She looked Amara's front and back over, before nodding, "No wounds seemed to have opened back up. Good, it would be just like you to go and ruin everything, wouldn't it? Get dressed and be downstairs in two minutes, or you'll pay for it tonight."

Leaving the bathroom in a flurry, Amber left the door open, and Chad was sitting outside, smirking. Her heart beating faster in sudden fright and embarrassment, Amara said, "Oh my god, Chad, get away!" She then slammed the door, and leaned against it.

The bandages covered everything, but it was the idea that counted. She turned around and locked the door. She then put on the shirt, almost wishing that she didn't have the bandages, so she might be able to fill it out more – it wasn't often she got to see herself properly – without the baggy clothes, the bruises, the cuts, the burns. She then took off the too small jeans, and put on the perfectly fitting skirt, and almost sighed. She brushed her hair, and used some of Amber's foundation that she never used for it was there just for Amara, so she could cover things up properly, to cover up the bruise above her eye.

She carefully put the foundation back, and quickly headed out the door, and down the stairs. She was there just in time for the first guests arrival. Soon the house was full of people, and Amara was becoming ever weary of Derek and Chad who were talking occasionally to adults or other teenagers, while eyeing Amara and smiling slyly when they thought no one was looking. She knew they were waiting for just the right moment to slowly back her off into some room upstairs so that they could get back at her for getting them in trouble with Amber.

Of course, no one else seemed to notice this. About three hours after the guests had begun to arrive, Chad and Derek finally got their chance. Instead of backing her upstairs, however, they were trying to make her go outside. She was slowly being backed out the front door, but then the door bell rang once again, and Amara almost sighed in relief as she was politely asked to get the door by Amber from across the room (of course this was only for the public eye, not out of actual kindness).

She opened the door to a very large, neck-less man, and a tall, giraffe looking woman. "Hello, and welcome to the neighborhood. I'm Petunia Dursley, and this is my husband, Vernon Dursley, we live across the street at 4 Privet Drive," said the woman.

The man held out his hand, and Amara shook it acting shy, like she normally did around strangers, finding herself suddenly close up. "Thanks," she said, as the woman reached out her hand.

Amara went to shake her hand as well, and the woman looked down on her saying, "Pleased to meet you," in a way that really didn't sound as though she were pleased, and made it seem as though it really were the opposite. The woman had an air that she was obviously trying to promote, the air that she was better than everyone else, as though she had some sort of false authority. "I quite enjoyed your garden. How did you plant it so quickly?"

Truthfully, when visiting the Britain from a hotel, as they fixed all of their major moving things, they had forced Amara to work long hours on pre-planting their garden. "We planted them here before moving in, so they would grow big before we got here. It was mostly Am…er…mom," said Amara. Amara was always required to call Amber mom to anyone outside the family. It only seemed proper, since she was actually their daughter as far as all things were concerned.

"How…efficient," she said.

"Welcome, please come in," Amara said, remembering her manners, especially as she could almost feel Amber's eyes studying her from across the room, watching for mistakes. The man and woman came, the woman and then the man, and moved slightly to the side to reveal an incredibly large boy who was about an inch or two taller than Amara, but much, much larger. She wondered how she had not noticed him, even hidden behind his enormous father. Amara scolded herself for thinking that way.

"This is our son Dudley," Petunia said.

"Hello," Amara said quietly.

Dudley didn't say anything until he was nudged by Mr. Dursley, "Pleased to meet you." He looked her up and down, as though evaluating her.

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley moved further into the crowd and started making small talk with the neighbors, leaving Dudley and Amara alone. As Dudley studied her she took the time to look at him. He was wearing very neat clothes, one step under a tux, or so Amara figured. His brown hair was slicked back, and the result was that he looked like a young Mr. Dursley minus a mustache. Amara figured he was probably thirteen or so, due to his size. Amara was, despite her malnutrition, always tall for her age, so she assumed she guessed appropriately.

"How old are you?" Dudley asked.

"Eleven, I'll be twelve in October," Amara said, finding it easier to talk without her family or his around, though she was still quiet.

"My birthday was in June. I got thirty nine presents for my birthday," he said. It was sort of like a game, but Amara just nodded. When she didn't reply verbally, he continued, "How many did you get last year for your birthday?"

"I don't remember," she said. Zero, like every year, she thought. She wondered if a beating count, if so, she was well into the negatives.

"Where do you go to school?" she asked, changing the subject.

"The local one here, Thompson Elementary. The high school is Stonewall's, but I will be going to a boarding school…" Dudley said, and continued on like that for awhile.

Amara wasn't really paying attention, because she was busy wondering where Chad and Damien had gone off to. It was always a good idea to have your eyes on them. She couldn't seem to find them anywhere, but they had to be there. They weren't allowed to leave, they had instructions to stay and mingle with the guests, and there was no way Amber's 'perfect' boys would disobey when she was so stressed.

"Well?" he asked.

"Sorry, I didn't hear the question," Amara said.

Dudley looked hard at her, angry. He had figured that she hadn't been listening just seconds before. Dudley wasn't smart, but Amara was too distracted to have fooled him today.

"Weren't you listening?" he asked, his face getting red.

Amara looked at Dudley, trying to evaluate the situation. She didn't know much about him, but it was now obvious that he was used to getting his way. Weighing at least two hundred pounds, Amara wasn't willing to bet he wouldn't pass the line between bullying someone to get his way, especially the way his fists were clenched.

Fight or flight, Amara thought. Well, if she fought here, or caused a scene, well…she knew what would happen later. Even if the situation was unavoidable, it was best to take this somewhere else, even though she wasn't supposed to leave. She figured she was in for it either way if Dudley was going to try to fight her.

"Sorry," she said.

"Sorry isn't good enough," he said, his voice quiet. He suddenly jerked his head; the sudden movement caused Amara to step back. She looked in the same direction; he was looking at his mother and father who were currently talking to Amber and Roy.

He grabbed her arm slowly and led her toward the door. She didn't fight back, if she did that could mean disaster. He pulled her outside and across the street to his house, where the bushes would hide them from view of their house.

"Look, I said I was sorry," Amara said a little louder than she normally would.

"Yeah, well, I say you need to be taught a lesson," Dudley said.

"That was the same thing your teacher probably told you when you failed repeatedly," Amara shot out before realizing it. She would have slapped her hand over her mouth except that Dudley beat her to it. Blood dripped from her busted lip.

"Dudley, please don't do this," she said, knowing what awaited at home if she ruined her clothes and entered the house looking beaten up.

He smiled and said, "You should have thought about this before you opened your big mouth."

He began to beat her up. Terror welled up inside her, she fell to the ground, leaning on the brush. As he continued she swung her midsection down, then instantly swung up her legs to kick Dudley in the face, and stumbled to her feet before taking off behind him, towards the Dursley's backyard leaving a stunned Dudley.

Amara searched madly for somewhere to hide, but didn't find anything. She saw the back door and ran for it, twisting the knob and the fleeing inside the house. She heard an angry roar and ducked below the window door.

"I'll find you, you…you, moron!"

Amara would have rolled her eyes if the adrenalin and fear weren't still keeping her body shaking. She'd ruined everything. If Dudley went back over to her house, everyone would know, if he came in, he'd spot her. She prayed there would be a third option. She heard him slowly turn the knob and she sprinted off through the kitchen, head still ducked.

She heard his slow footsteps from the hall. Frantically looking for a hiding place, she saw a closet. She tried the door knob, but it was locked. She rattled it quietly, whispering, "Oh please, come on." She wished it were just temporarily jammed. She could have cried out when it opened, and she jumped in quietly and then shut the door as slowly and quietly as she could.

She held her breath as she heard him approach, she then heard his steps above her on the stairs.

A voice then nearly made her jump out of her skin, "Hello."