New Beginning's

Yes this was called Harry's New Beginning since i was editing it i editede the name - his name is Alex the majority of the story anyway.

Chapter 1

Harry's Horrid Home

Harry Potter was eight years old; he had been living with his horrid aunt and obese uncle and cousin for now seven years. He knew no other life, he didn't remember his mother or father. For all he knew they really could be the drunks, his aunt and uncle had always labelled them. Harry didn't like to think so, sometimes though he'd wake up with horrible nightmares. All he could remember of them was flashing green light, was it the traffic lights? It seemed such an odd colour for it to be. It wasn't the normal green colour of traffic lights, it was darker, forebodingly so.

Mrs. Figg was not doing her job correctly; she went on holidays with the money Albus Dumbledore had given her, for watching over the Saviour of the wizarding world. So in essence Arabella Figg was the second person to let Harry down. The first being the wizard that had left him there, Albus Dumbledore. Cornelius Fudge, the soon to be Minister of Magic, at the time, had wanted Harry Potter to remain in the Wizarding world. Against Albus Dumbledore, he was doomed to fail from the start. The white haired old wizard had won, and Harry had remained in the Muggle world. Unaware of the world he should be in, unaware of the truly awesome gifts he had. Instead he thought himself a freak, unnatural, abomination and all the other names his aunt and uncle called him.

You see, Harry Potter had been abused, ever since he had entered the Dursley's care. His days consisted of being an unpaid slave to his aunt and a punching bag to his obese uncle and cousin. Both Dursley boys seemed to want to make his life an utter misery. They loathed the thought of anyone finding out they were anything but normal. In reality they were as normal as a family could get, what kind of person, made an eight year old cook breakfast, one could ask themselves.

"Boy! Get up and make breakfast!" yelled Aunt Petunia.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry meekly. Quickly getting dressed inside his cramped, squalor cupboard. It was getting harder and harder, each passing day to move around his cupboard, without hurting himself several times. It didn't help that he couldn't see worth a damn. He needed glasses and his Aunt Petunia refused to help him get any.

His aunt and uncle liked to pretend that he wasn't their nephew, so he was forced to call them sir or ma'am. He had never heard his own name, uttered from their lips. It was always, boy, it, Potter or freak. Ironically enough it was 'Potter' when he was in the most trouble.

Having to duck out of the cupboard, he stood up shook his head, and walked through the kitchen door. Only to have a spatula slapped into his hand, and pushed harshly into the cooker. Harry bit his lip, determined not to make any sound, they hated hearing him. He just got it twice as worse, if he made any sort of sound. It hurt though, and tears rapidly filled his eyes. Swallowing the lump in his throat he tried to stop the tears falling.

Without comment, Harry stood on the counter and started cooking. He was proud that he knew how to cook. He had been cooking for three years now, since he was five. He had told his teacher, but she had not believed him. That did not bother him anymore, nobody listened when he spoke. He was used to being ignored, sneered at or belittled. Not even his school teachers could stand him, whether it was him and his freakishness or if it was the lies his Aunt Petunia fed them he didn't know.

"Come here, boy!" yelled Vernon.

"Yes, sir?" asked Harry, walking towards his Uncle. He didn't make eye contact, it usually enraged them. Pretend to be meek, equals less pain on his part so it was a fair trade. Anyway, he didn't like looking at them; he hated and feared them so much. He only wanted someone to love him for him. He wanted to know what he was, why he made these things happen. He wondered sometimes in the dead of the night if he was alone, if he was the only one like that.

The only one freakish.

"Go and get more bacon! Hurry up about it, or no food for a week!" he yelled. Slapping a five pound note into Harry's hands, this wasn't unusual. The Dursley's didn't get up off their lazy arses, unless they really had to. Harry did absolutely everything, fetched everything for them, all the time. Mothers, fathers, guardians sometimes sent their children to the 'corner shop' to let them buy something. So it wasn't odd, that Harry entered shops and bought some bacon, for his 'loving Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon'.

"Yes, sir," said Harry. He knew his uncle was serious. It was not the longest he had ended up, going without food. That did not stop him from rushing; he was back within ten minutes. It helped he was a very fast runner; he could out-run Dudley and his friends any day.

Harry had just been glad that the shop was empty, so he was in and out quickly. Vernon grunted when he came in but said nothing, as Harry started to cook the bacon right away. Not even breathing heavily, he did nothing to get his uncle or aunt angry. Especially not near a hot frying pan, he'd rather not be scalded with burning oil. It wouldn't be the first time, Vernon or Petunia, had grabbed the nearest thing and whacked him with it.

Once the bacon was cooked, he rushed over and put it on the table. Without even needing told, he began clearing away empty plates. The Dursley's had gone through, twelve eggs, two packets of Bacon, ten sausages, eleven harsh browns and nine pieces of black pudding. As he gathered away the empty plates his heart sank, he wasn't going to get anything today, he had a feeling. He washed the plates as the Dursley's continued eating.

"I want some more orange juice freak!" shouted Dudley from his seat, his face glued to the cartoons.

"Boy get Dudley some juice!" boomed Vernon.

"Yes sir," said Harry hastening to obey, he was so hungry, he hadn't eaten for two days now. In fact he knew it was bad, because he felt very light-headed, weak and lazy. That feeling usually crept up on him, on the second or third day without absolutely anything to eat.

After the juice had been served, they ate more as they listened to the news. Sneering and commenting on things that had happened, as if someone could truly bring being murdered on themselves. Vernon got up and went through to the living room, planting his fat lazy arse on the chair. Picking up the newspaper he and his huge body was quickly disappearing behind it. Or at least the majority of his body at least.

Dudley knocked over his juice on purpose to give Harry more work to do. He grinned evilly at Harry before eating the last of the harsh browns, as to ensure nothing was left on the table. Harry just stared before getting a cloth, Dudley sneered when he failed to get any reaction. There was always other times where he could trip the 'freak' up.

"Right, boy! You go and weed the garden, and sweep the paths, water the plants and mow the lawn!" said Petunia harshly. Not even looking in the direction of her sister's son, she hated his eyes. Hated them because they reminded her so vividly of her sister.

All she wished was to forget she had a sister, forget magic, and forget that her parents had loved Lily more for being freakish. It's why she spoiled her own son, for being normal that was better than loving a freak of nature. Or so she deluded herself, she didn't acknowledge that she too once had wanted to be a Witch. Wanted so badly to go to Hogwarts and be with Lily. Petunia would have even put up with that wrenched Snape boy for the magical world.

"Yes, ma'am," said Harry, wide eyed. How was he going to manage that, he felt as if he was going to pass out. His green eyes dull with acceptance; he immediately left the house and walked towards the hut.

The long list of chores seemed to get longer every day. Not to mention harder! He had never had to mow the lawn before. He had seen his uncle use the lawn-mower, and it was huge. How was he supposed to get it going? It was much heavier than him too and he felt weak as it was. He was going to have to use it first; he just hoped he managed to get his other chores done.

His ribs were also killing him from when his uncle had hit him. He had gotten mad at Dudley, and then a vase broke. Vernon had insisted he had done it, he was then punished. It had hurt when his uncle hit him, it always did though but this time it was worse. Harry was sure that he had two broken ribs, if not they were very badly bruised.

Getting the mower from the hut caused his ribs to strain even more. It took him a great deal of time to get it out. Even longer to figure out how to work the damn thing, just because he had seen his uncle use it didn't mean squat. Nobody even twitched seeing Harry mowing the lawn, they didn't even care enough to stop and think. Hey, what on earth is an eight year old doing mowing the lawn? It was after all a very dangerous task for a grown up never mind a child such as he was. Unfortunately, Harry had always been invisible, he may as well have not been there for all the attention he was paid.

Finally, was all Harry could think, finally he was finished, he had gotten it done. He only had two hours left to get the rest of his chores done. He was in trouble now, but he wasn't one to give in. So despite his body's protests he picked up the black bags that were much heavier than him, and also full of grass. Carried them to the green bin and climbed on an upside down basin, then threw the bagged, cut grass away. He repeated the process five times before he was finished, he started pulling the weeds out afterwards.

His time was down to minutes, as he pulled the weeds out, watered the plants. He sighed in relief, he had done it, and he couldn't be punished for this. Maybe he would even get some food for a job well done? It had happened before. Although it had only been a cracker with cheese on it. It was still better than nothing and Harry was hopeful as he put away the hose. As he turned the wheel around, the hose began going round and round back to its place. Then something happened, the hose whacked one of Petunia's ornaments.

Suddenly one by one, they began to fall knocking into one another like a domino effect.

All the little boy could do was watch in fear; he was in so much trouble now. Just then, to his horror, he heard his family coming back. He heard Vernon lumbering towards the back door; and he knew he was done for. He wondered silently when he would be let out of the cupboard. Or if he would even have any ribs left intact after his uncle was through with him.

Harry watched the door wrench opened trembling in fear he was utterly terrified.

"Are you done, boy?'" yelled Vernon.

He had not yet spotted the mess of pottery lying in his garden.

"Yes," stuttered Harry. His uncle hadn't noticed he usually inspected his work too. Maybe he wouldn't today; perhaps he could get away with it. Was all Harry's frantic little mind could think. Perhaps they would blame someone else, or the wind? Anything really. He was grasping at pretty thin straws, because Harry was always blamed for everything. Whether he did it or not really, it didn't matter, he was blamed and punished for it.

Harry edged into the kitchen, making sure his feet weren't dirty. He was just about to close the back door when Petunia walked into the kitchen. She sniffed disdainfully at him, as she passed him, and going outside. Harry winced; he knew he didn't have to wait long for her to shout. Petunia always looked for mistakes. And he was right. The shriek she gave was enough to wake the dead.

"Look what you have done, you ungrateful freak!" she yelled.

"I…I," was all Harry managed to stutter out backing away from his aunt as she ran and straight for him.

"Vernon, look what he has done!" she yelled at her husband. She was so sick of having to replace everything, because of the boy. The money she got for him wasn't worth the constant aggravation. Everything was always changed, exploding or shrinking because of the freak. She had had it up to her back teeth; she had spent years on collecting those gnomes. Now they were just useless, far too broken to be fixed or so she felt.

"What do you want me to do, Pet?" asked Vernon.

He had always wanted to get rid of the boy, only Petunia's fear of Wizards coming kept the boy there. Maybe now she would be convinced, and he could get rid of the brat. No one would know he was gone, no one knew he was even there. Apart from that dumblydoor man, but for all they knew he was dead. Petunia had said he was old when she was young, so really he probably was dead. The freak was nothing but a nuisance, a waste of space and he was sick of the thought of it infecting his precious son.

"Do what you like! I've had enough I don't care anymore, the freaks can come if they like!" she yelled.

Harry was confused and terrified, freaks? As in there was more than just him? Did someone know he was here? Was he going to be taken to an orphanage now? He swallowed fearfully those places were supposed to be horrid. Fear swallowed Harry whole when he saw the way his uncle was looking at him. No orphanage for him, his uncle only looked at him like that when he was going to be beaten.

"Very well, Pet. Why don't you take Dudley and let him sleep over at his friend's house?" said Vernon, a cold hard glint in his eyes, Petunia nodded, as she got herself and Dudley ready.

Harry felt something was seriously wrong, why was he telling them to leave? They had never bothered before. In fact Dudley loved seeing him being beaten, he sometimes joined in. He felt like he was missing something, his mind grew more frantic by each passing minute and thought. For some reason Harry wanted to beg his aunt not to leave, and was that weird? He hated them all why would he beg for her to stay. Harry gulped seeing his uncle advancing on him, just as he heard the front door click closed.

Harry was just about to try and explain what happened, tell his uncle he hadn't been freakish. He, unfortunately, couldn't get a word out; he was frozen in fear as his uncle's huge frame came closer. The next thing Harry knew was that he was seeing stars, his uncle had punched him. His small body had been flung back; his back hit the worktops with an almighty crack. Harry screamed in agony, his entire body going limp, the pain was too much for the little boy. He fell unconscious, his body limp like a rag doll as his uncle continued his assault.

He didn't feel the beefy hands checking for a pulse, grinning gleefully in satisfaction. Vernon walked away, he needed to get the boy out of his house, he couldn't be found there. All he needed to say was they had found other relatives to take him, everyone would believe it. He closed the doors and windows, put down the blinds and made sure nobody could see the kitchen. He lumbered up the stairs, changing his clothes; they would need burned after all. He would put the boy in a black bag, put rocks in beside it and dump it in the water. When he got home he would burn his clothes he had worn, he knew that much about forensic evidence. Just in case the boy was found of course, but he knew if he did it right they would never find the disgusting boy.

Had he been down the stairs at that moment, he would have heard the small groan of agony leaving a pale eight year olds lips. If he had been magical he would have felt the small pulses of magic that was going off all around the house. The wards protecting one Harry James Potter were fading; if Harry died so did the wards.

What do you think? much better edited? R&R