This idea had been running through my head for a while and I decided to go ahead and write it out. What do you think?
Disclaimer: I don't own anything aside from Ben and Kaede.
Chapter 1
The summer was starting most horribly, Harry decided as he hauled his trunk from the back of the Dursley's car. The threat from the Order, while a great idea in theory, made the Dursley's even angrier. No sooner had Harry stepped across the threshold, Petunia had given him a list of chores that covered two pages. Harry stood there for about three minutes tuning out her speech about how Harry was a no-good freak and how he'd better complete the chores without a word or else he couldn't get dinner. Sighing, Harry lugged his trunk to his room and got to work in the garden.
At lunch, Harry was given a piece of bread and cheese to eat; Petunia usually just made him drink from the hose out back. Harry sighed and pulled off his sticky, sweaty t-shirt as he finished the garden. He knew, as he walked to the shed to pull out the lawn mower, that he deserved n less than this. It was, after all, his fault that Sirius – NO! He had to stop thinking about that, he told himself firmly. He wiped his sweaty forehead and put the mower on neutral before going to the hose to soak his head and upper body. He shook his head like a wet dog, almost like Sir – No – and went back to the mower. He cast his gaze over the street and saw number three across the street give him a disgusted look before closing her windows to the mild heat. Two girls in shorts and sleeveless tops walked by and Harry looked up long enough to see that one was tall and blonde and one had red hair.
Harry dismissed the girls and went back to mowing only to look up again when he realized that the girls were still there, and they were giggling. Glancing down at himself, he become conscious to the fact that he was wearing almost nothing. He'd pulled off his shirt earlier and his pants were so big that they fell down enough to see the edges of his plaid boxers. His chest and stomach were toned from years of Quidditch training and he was slightly bronzed from hanging out in the lake with Ron and Hermione. Harry realized they were blatantly checking him out.
Harry turned off the mower and walked over to them, not quite sure what he could say. "Can I help you?" He finally said, only realizing after he said it how bad that sounded.
The red-haired girl was absolutely beautiful in a short jean skirt and a tube top. Her blue eyes were sparkling and she was smiling when she said, "Yeah, are you new around here?"
Harry frowned at their accents. Finally recognizing them as American, he replied, "No, but you must be."
This time, the tall blonde one replied, "We came from the U.S. around the Christmas holidays, so we're fairly new. We live in the orphanage on the other side of town."
"Oh," Harry was surprised. He didn't know there was and orphanage around, much less one so close. "I go to a boarding school and I only just got back today." The girls nodded and smiled. "I'm Harry," He said putting out his hand.
"Kaede Naozumi," The blonde one said, taking his hand first. She seemed to understand Harry's confused look because she continued. "I know I don't look Japanese, but it's the name my mother gave me before she died in childbirth. I never knew my dad." She grinned at his raised eyebrows, "Yes, I get that question a lot."
The red head took his hand next, "Ben," she provided simply. "I don't like my full first name and I'm not supposed to tell you my last."
Harry suddenly took on a worried look, "Why? Are you in trouble?"
"No," Ben smiled dejectedly, "My mom died last year and she said not to tell anyone my last name unless completely necessary. We were in hiding, so I'm really not aloud to tell anyone who I was."
"Oh," Harry replied awkwardly. He seemed to be saying that often, "I know how you feel. I'm sort of on the same broo- boat as you. I've got this, this gang leader and his thugs that are after me. He killed my parents when I was one and one of his . . . people, killed my godfather." Harry pulled his lip under his teeth and took a breath, diverting his gaze to the ground. "It – it was a few weeks ago."
Ben nodded sadly, swallowing past a lump in her throat, "Yeah, It gets . . . easier . . . after a while. You can remember them without the pain, but it takes a bit. I didn't know your godfather – hell, I don't even know you, but I know he'd probably want you to live your life the way you want to live it. No adult wants their kid to be drowning in pain over them."
Harry grinned weakly, "Yeah, I don't suppose he would like that." He looked up at them to see that Ben's eyes were watering, but her tears had yet to fall. He moved to hug her, somehow knowing it wouldn't matter to her if he was sweaty, but was cut off by a screech.
"POTTER!" His aunt yelled from in the house, "Potter, get in here and make my Dudley his supper!" Harry sighed and Ben raised an eyebrow, teary eyes wiped away.
"I don't suppose your godfather would want you playing servant to these people, either." Kaede commented accurately. Harry knew she was right, but he couldn't find anything to say.
"Think about it, Harry Potter." Ben said, "Will the Boy-Who-Lived ever think for himself, or will he constantly be under the rule of the Ministry and Headmaster Albus Dumbledore?" Harry gaped at the girls as they walked down the street. They knew who he was? More importantly, they knew who he was and they didn't seem to care.
Harry was broken from his thoughts when his aunt screamed for him again. Throwing on his crusty, now dried shirt, he went to make dinner. He didn't get dinner that night because they'd expected him to have the lawn finished. The depressed, feeble, somber part of him screamed that he deserved it; it was his fault, after all, that Cedric was dead, Voldemort was alive and Sirius – NO! Ben was right; Sirius won't – wouldn't – like how he was being treated.
Harry dejected finished making dinner and then, feeling he deserved something for doing all of the yard work, took a slice of bread and a full glass of orange juice. Dudley, however, felt that Harry didn't deserve it and ratted him out. Harry had never seen Vernon's face a more violent color of puce. Though it wasn't the first time Vernon manhandled him, it was the first time Harry had been beaten and whipped. Harry kept silent through all twenty-five belt lashes across the back, chest and legs and never even moaned when he got kicked in the chest. The depressed and guilty side of the teen told him that he deserved it.
Waking from his pain-induced sleep, Harry tilted his head, looked up at his clock from his place on the floor, and saw that it was about four in the morning. Harry moaned softly and pulled himself up, wincing at the soreness in his body both from the work yesterday and the still healing wounds from the night before. Finally standing, he looked around the room at Hedwig's empty cage (she was probably out hunting) and his still closed trunk and came to a decision. He would have to leave. Harry sighed; the problem was how. Hedwig's cage would need to be shrunk and his trunk would need to be both lighter and . . . easier to . . . carry.
Harry's jaw dropped as his things began to do exactly what he wanted them to do. His gaze dropped to his hands where shards of his broken wand lay. Vernon had come to the conclusion that Harry couldn't do magic without his wand and that his wand could be used as another method of torture. What Vernon hadn't counted on was the magic embedding into his skin. When Vernon snapped his wand and grated Harry's arms with the shards of the wood, Harry never expected the core to lodge into his skin along with the wood.
Harry held his hand palm up and filled his mind with one word: fire. He almost laughed aloud with joy when a large fireball appeared and floated above his hand. Looking down to his trunk – which was now an almost weightless messenger bag with a handle – and Hedwig's one-inch tall cage, Harry realized that things would be much easier now. His gaze turned to his bare chest, which was covered in whip marks. He turned to the window and sought out the Sirius Star. "I'm sorry Sirius." He murmured, "I really didn't mean to. I thought what I was doing was best. It's my fault you're dead." He looked back at the slowly forming scars and realized he didn't want to vanish them. They would serve as a reminder to think before he acted.
Harry threw a baggy shirt from his closet over himself and picked up the messenger bag, knowing he wouldn't be able to sling it over his shoulder without screaming in agony. He put Hedwig's miniature cage in the backpack, hoping his smart owl would know to follow him. Finally ready to leave this hell disguised as a home, Harry snuck out the back and began his trek down the pristine rows of houses that was Privet Drive.
See that small box with "go" on it? Isn't it beautiful? It likes to be clicked. It does:)