Hi!

In case you didn't read earlier, I will be updating the first few chapters rather quickly, so that my readers have more material, so I can focus on my other stories more. (I, unfortunately, have not been the best parent. My babies have not grown, nor been nurtured, and they desperately need more chapters.)

Also, I depicted Dumbledore the way I did, because I realize that he was a great man, and he did many great things, but also that many people, when writing fanfiction, hate on him, or make him a power-hungry manipulator, and I think that's cool, but I also like good Dumbledore. The Dumbledore who cares about his students, who has everyone's best interests in mind. Who, even though his ideas make sense, aren't always the best, because he is human, too, and he makes mistakes. I depicted Dumbledore like I did, because even though he had Harry's best interests in mind, he didn't stop to consider the fact that muggles might not treat him as well as a wizard might.

If you just skipped that long paragraph, I suggest you go back and read it. It's very important.

Trigger warning: mentions of physical and verbal abuse, starvation, child abuse, murder, drug use, teenage pregnancy, and alcohol abuse.

Thanks!

Hara was used to being punished.

She was used to not eating for days.

She was used to staying in her cupboard for weeks at a time.

But never before had she been hit.

The creaking on the stairs told her that it was her Aunt who was descending, not the heavy footfalls of Uncle Vernon, nor the hurried stomps of Dudley. She quietly exhaled, knowing that, if Aunt Petunia was going to the kitchen, she still had at least a half hour of peace before Dudley would start banging around above her, causing the spiders to fall from the beams below the stairs.

She sat up from where she lay in the pile of old towels and moldy blankets that made up her bed. She was still sore from the day before, when her uncle had whipped her with his belt in their basement. The small beads of blood coming from her many wounds had crusted over, soaking her bed and her clothes.

She turned slightly. Even that small movement sent pain shooting up and down her back, the newly formed scabs breaking, causing fresh blood to fall.

She gasped in pain, but bit her lips, to keep the gasp from escaping. If Uncle Vernon even slightly suspected that she was in pain, he would punish her even more for being a baby.

Her Aunt rapped her knuckles on her door. "Get up!" she ordered, causing Hara to jump slightly, which made her wince even more. "We're planning to go to London today, and while we're gone, I want you to wash the floor of the kitchen, as well as polish all of the silver. But for now, you're going to cook breakfast. So get up!" She pounded on the door again.

Hara sighed quietly, before wincing her way through putting on one of Dudley's old blue t-shirts, as well as tying an old, tattered ribbon she had found around it, creating her make-shift dress.

She took the broken comb she had found at the park, and brushed her hair, and, after tying a lopsided bow in her hair with another piece of tattered ribbon, she opened the door to her cupboard, and stepped into the hallway.

The morning sun was just barely starting to peek through the windows in the front hall, casting long shadows across the floor, the multifaceted glass creating small rainbows dancing on the walls.

Hara stopped just long enough to appreciate the view, before hurrying to the kitchen.

Her Aunt had set out bacon, eggs, and a bowl of batter. Hara had never had pancakes before, and she knew that she wouldn't, at least, not today. So she continued to prepare breakfast, frying the eggs and bacon, ladling out pancake batter, and stacking the finished products onto plates.

As soon as the last pancake was done, she hurried over to set the table. She pulled a chair over to the counter, climbed up, and carefully grabbed the plates and cups, knowing that, if she broke one, it would be another week in her cupboard, no food, no air, no light.

After setting the table, she ran outside to retrieve Uncle Vernon's newspaper, her small bare feet becoming slick with dew. Remembering to wipe her feet, she entered the house again, laying the paper next to her uncle's place setting.

As the rest of the family began to eat, Hara set about cleaning up the kitchen. She scrubbed the pans, drying them and placing them back where they belonged, doing the same with the skillet and various mixing bowls.

She was just starting on the mixing spoons when her uncle spoke up. "There's been a murder. Teenage girl, found in a dumpster." he snorted. "They're all fools, the whole lot of them. Teenagers are trouble magnets. It was obviously drugs."

Uncle Vernon's answer to every bad thing to happen in the universe narrowed down to three things: drugs, teenagers, and weird people. Him using those reasons to explain the news wasn't new.

Him using those reasons to explain Hara's mother's death wasn't new either.

According to Uncle Vernon, Hara's mother had gotten into drugs as a teenager, met a weird guy, and became pregnant. He left, she got back into drugs, and died in a car crash after overdosing while being drunk.

Even to Hara, who was only four, it seemed a bit extreme.

How many of those things could happen, all to one person? Especially since it lined up with Uncle Vernon's three reasons too well.

Hara, having finished with the dishes, started clearing the empty plates from the table, as the Dursleys prepared to leave. If she worked quietly and efficiently enough, she knew, Aunt Petunia would give her some toast to eat. It was better than not eating at all.

"You'd better be finished by the time we come home, girl!" Uncle Vernon spat, as his wife and son walked out the front door, "Or it'll be your cupboard for a month!" He slammed the door, before securing all five locks on the door.

Hara sighed, before gathering the remaining dishes, noting how Dudley had devoured the bacon yet again, as well as all the pancakes. After washing the dishes and utensils, cleaning the counter and table, and wiping down the stove, Hara pulled out the large bucket from under the sink.

She gathered all the supplies she would need: soap, rags, a scrub brush, towels, and bleach.

She filled the bucket with warm water, adding soap and bleach. She toted the bucket over to a corner of the kitchen, laying down a few rags to kneel on. And she started scrubbing.

Aunt Petunia had Hara wash the kitchen floor once a week. She was required to use bleach, in order for the floor to be whiter than white, even though the harshness of the chemicals wasn't healthy for her small hands and arms.

She was halfway across the floor when the doorbell rang.

Hara hadn't realized that the Dursleys were expecting guests. If she had, she would've tried to complete her chores faster, as well as prepare something for the guests to enjoy.

Hara stood up, wiping her hands on her dress, before running over to the front door.

She opened the front door, peeking up at the two men standing in front of her.

"Hello." The taller one said. "This is my associate, Dr. John Watson." He gestured to the shorter man, before continuing, "and my name is Sherlock Holmes."

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Thank you for wasting your time and energy reading this unedited manuscript, and we ask that you come back soon to read the next installment.

Thank you,

Your friends at Superwholock, Pjo, HP, and Co.

(mems1223)