CURRENTLY BEING REWRITTEN IN
"SHAKE MY HAND: THE REWRITE"
Disclaimer: I hope I'm protected by the Fair Use act? Anyway, I do not own Harry Potter or any associated materials.
"Wake up, boy!" A voice growled roughly and a pounding sound could be heard as dust fell down on the face of an adolescent boy whose startlingly green eyes flew open. He sat up quickly, hitting his head, and groaned.
"I'm up, Uncle Vernon!" He called back, running a hand through the shock of messy jet-black hair on his head. He was thin for his age, soon-to-be-eleven, and rather short. He was generally seen in clothes many sizes too big for him, hanging off his thin frame like a bed sheet off a broom.
"I'm coming!" The boy shoved himself into clean clothes, impatiently shaking a spider off his trousers. As he exited the cramped room, it can be seen it is not a room at all, but a cupboard located under a staircase. The staircase itself was of little interest, painted white and covered with a once cream carpet. The boy brushed some of the unruly hair out of his face, revealing his most interesting feature yet- a scar shaped distinctly like a lightening bolt. This boy was named Harry Potter.
Harry sighed as he prepared breakfast for his Uncle, Aunt, and pig of a cousin. He had been with the Dursleys (as they were named) since he was about one year old. His Aunt Petunia was the sister of his mother, Lily Potter, and when she and Harry's father, James Potter, died in a car crash, she had been given the unfortunate task of raising young Harry. Vernon and Petunia did not, however, accept and enjoy the new addition to their household, no, instead they had him clean, cook, and take the blame while they doted on their ever growing son, Dudley. Harry flipped a pancake before it could burn and Aunt Petunia sneered at him. Aunt Petunia was rather like a stork, long and thin, with a nice long neck so she could "catch sight of" the neighbors over the fence. Her face was always rather pinched looking and she often wore an apron, although she rarely was in the kitchen. Vernon was pudgy, with a fat mustache and a face that changed color with his moods. Both he and Petunia were very, very odd when it came to fantasy or the "M" word. An "M" word? I have no doubt at least a few of you are searching your minds, trying to think of some cuss word that starts with "m" and I have even less doubt that you will not find it. Magic was this word, and to be heard saying it would be a one-way ticket to a long stay in your cupboard without meals.
Dudley seemed to cry, "I'm so hungry, Mum! Make him stop day-dreaming and get on with it!" Big, fat, fake tears rolled down little "Dudder's" cheeks. Petunia fussed over him while Vernon grunted for Harry to go faster. Harry sighed and plated the food, bringing three plates to the table with the ease of practice. Only then did Harry get food for himself, before cautiously attempting to sit at the table.
"Not here!" Vernon barked. "Outside with you!" Petunia laughed, a cold, angry kind of sound. "Your sort doesn't need to be inside!" Harry said nothing and exited the modest house on Four Privet Drive to sit in the backyard and eat his breakfast. As he was chewing his meager serving of bacon, he heard a voice.
"Kicked out again, isssn't he?"
Harry whirled around, eyes wide, and saw no one. Breathe, Harry, you're just hearing things because of…Harry searched his mind but could come up with nothing that had happened that could explain the auditory hallucinations. He shook his head and took a deep breath.
"Ssssso sssstrange. The Furlessss normally like each other."
This time Harry was sure it was not his imagination. This voice seemed higher; a soprano to the other's alto, but both seemed feminine.
"He'ssss an odd one. Almosssst asss if he could hear ussss."
"I can," Harry blurted, "I can hear you- where are you?"
The voices remained silent for a few moments before speaking up. "Look down, Furlessss," it was the soprano who said this.
Harry frowned, but looked down, and nearly ran back into the house. Sitting (or rather, laying) at his feet were two snakes- one a green garden snake, the other an unknown, longer and fatter and deep black that seemed tinted with purple. "…You can talk?" The excitement in his voice was hard to miss.
"Yessss, we did not know you could, too." Harry immediately connected the alto voice with the darker snake, and assumed the garden snake was the soprano.
"Yessss, how sssstrange." The snakes began to slither off.
"Wait!" Harry watched helplessly as his sudden source of companionship disappeared into the grasses. For a few moments he simply sat and stared, awed and confused. Snakes that… Talk? And what did they mean by saying they didn't know we could talk? They were speaking English! Harry sat in his excitement for a moment before stark realism stamped it out. Snakes don't talk. Nothing magical or wondrous happens. At least, He conceded, not to me. It just isn't the way my life goes.
"BOY!" Harry winced at the strength of Vernon's lungs and scurried back into the household. It was July 25th.
Draco Malfoy yawned and rolled over in his large bed, and sunlight streamed in through the curtains. He smiled drowsily and pushed his platinum blond hair out of his face. He sat up slowly, and stretched.
CRACK! A house elf, with floppy ears and a large nose, dressed in something like a dirty potato sack, appeared and bowed deeply, its ears flopping with the bow. "What would Young Master wants for breakfast?" Its high-pitched and rather squeaky voice seemed to irritate the silver-eyed boy and he glared down at the elf.
After a few seconds he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Waffles. With syrup and orange juice."
"Yes, sir, coming right away, sir, Master Draco." The house elf punctuated his/her words with bows and disappeared with a crack.
Draco nearly smiled again before leaning back against the fluffy pillows. I can't wait to get to Hogwarts!
Harry frowned. Another letter straight into the trash without further inspection other than checking the front. Vernon was going through the mail and muttering under his breath. Now and then, Harry caught words such as, "…ever give up?" and "…won't let them…" Every time he tried to see the letters that caused so much fury, Vernon grew redder in the face and waved him off. It was July 31. Harry's birthday. That morning he had nearly forgotten, so used to it being like every other day, but then he had had to check the calender for Petunia to see if she had time for a tea party on Saturday, and lo and behold, he noticed the date. Harry no longer felt that birthday glow that would only be torn to pieces throughout the day as the Dursleys' intentional ignorance was made clear. Or that's what he told himself. Eleven… He thought proudly, before quenching the thought. That only allowed a new one to spring up though, Seven more years and no more Dursleys- ever! He laughed bitterly at himself, though not out loud, no- never out loud. As if I would have the money to go anywhere, to escape. As if they wouldn't kick me out anyway. As if I have a choice in whether I'd stay or go. If, if, if, if. I hate that word, almost as much as "Dursley." Harry let a sad smirk grace his face for all of a few seconds before wiping it off. Sitting back on his heels, he wiped the sweat from his forehead before continuing his scrubbing of the floor.
Suddenly, a splintering sound followed by a crash broke the relative silence. Harry rushed towards the sound in time to see a giant man with wild, untamable brown hair and fingers like sausages step over the threshhold and put the door back in place. "Don' know me own strength." He chuckled.
"What did you do? Why did you break down the door?" Vernon began turning a beautiful shade of red.
"S'nothin' importan'. Better t'ings ta take care o' eh?" The man's voice was deep and rough, sort of like a rumbling sound. "Like 'Arry 'ere." He looked down at the only boy in the room, as Dudley was hiding, with an expression that looked both warm and caring. "'Ere now, what they been feedin' ye? Yer as thin's a bean pole!" He shook his head, "Ne'ermin' we'll 'ave ye plumped right up a' 'Ogwarts." He beamed and handed Harry a letter.
"Er… No offense meant, but, who are you? What's…" He tried out the unfamiliar word, "Hogwarts?"
The giant responded, "I'm Rubeus Hagrid, Gatekeeper a' 'Ogwarts." A look of surprise and puzzlement passed over his face, "Now surely you know where that is. I knew ye were raised wit' Muggles but surely you wondered where they learned it all?"
"THAT WILL BE QUITE ENOUGH OF THAT!" Vernon seemed to have snapped out of his shock and the red was steadily turning purple. "YOU WILL NOT TELL HIM ANY MORE!"
"'Ogwarts," Hagrid went on, ignoring Harry's shrieking relatives, "is a boardin' school for witches an' wizards."
Harry's brows drew down into a "v." "Witches and wizards? But-"
"Yer a wizard, 'Arry." Hagrid's eyes seemed to twinkle with an inner light.