Love Heals Hate {Drarry ~ HP} RECONTINUED

Unwanted and abandoned

"That's it! I can't deal with this little brat! Get him out of this house! To the orphanage!" Yelled my big lump of an uncle. From a further away distance, for instance if you were simply looking through the window into the kitchen, you'd think my uncle was yelling at the fat boy sitting and grinning beside me.

Though, if you looked closer, you'd realize that one of my uncle's eyes is simply a bit slow. Anyway, instead of yelling at his preciously spoiled butter clump, he's yelling at me. Again, if you look through the window, you'd think I was an orphan that served as a slave to this family, but no. I'm supposed to be their nephew, though I doubt I actually have any relation to these hideous lumps. We have about as much relation to each other as a rabbit and a whale. I'm the rabbit.

Before I continue the story, I'll explain the situation. My parents were murdered when I was a year old and this old famous man decided to place me with my mother's sister's family. My aunt, Petunia, hates her sister because she was smarter than her. My mother got into a really expensive and good university called Hogwarts University but Petunia didn't make it.

She and her family decided to take their hate out on me. In short, I am treated as a slave, the ones in the 1800s' or so. Their trying to get me to remember to cook rare steak for Uncle Vernon with extra butter and spices, Bloody for petunia, no butter or spices and Extra rare for my cousin, Dudley, with all the available spices and a whole mound of fat.

It's unhealthy, so I tried to stop them, but of course they keep dismissing my feeble attempts as me trying to poison them. PA-LEASE, If i wanted to kill them I would have many more painful ways of doing so then poisoning them.

Anyway, I'm a short lanky kid, but all kids my age look like that. Unless your Dudley Dursley and the size of a teen whale. I have crazy untameable black hair and wickedly large bright neon acidic green eyes. I would have been a pretty good looking kid if it weren't for Uncle Vernon, pulling me by the hair, not feeding me, beating me, etc.

My cousin Dudley had honey coloured hair that looks like it's been smothered in honey and plastered to his head. He has the tiniest watery brown eyes and a big fat nose that he cannot see past for the life of him. My uncle looks like the bigger, fatter and older version of Dudley, only that his hair is frizzed and he has a big bushy moustache.

Petunia looks very different. Her curls mimic Marilyn Monroe's signature curls but only it's ugly and red-brown with streaks of fake blond highlights. Her face is wrinkled, skinny and horse like, her empty brown eyes seeming too plain to be anything but normal. They still insist that they are normal though, and I'm the freak.

Continuing the situation from earlier, I am now sitting in the back of the car belonging to the Dursley's. Uncle Vernon is driving and Petunia's got shotgun. Meaning Dudley sits beside me right now, taking up the middle seat and his own seat while I only take up about half of my own.

Dudley's tormenting me, I can tell. Though I'm spacing out I can still tell by the way his spit hits me in the back of my head as I stare out the window. Most people would be mad or sad in these situations, being given up to an orphanage by your own aunt and uncle, I mean. But I'm not. No, I'm happy. I'm incredibly happy. I no longer have to stay as a slave!

I've been to the orphanage once before, to sell homemade cookies for extra cash when the Dursley's were on vacation and didn't want me to ruin it. I was six. I'm seven now. The orphanage ladies and man or two are really nice. I have all of my belonging stuffed in a dollar store bag. An extra pair of underwear and shorts, a toothbrush, my broken reading glasses, a few very old and wrecked books and the bit of money I made from selling cookies.

I only had one pair of socks and shoes and one big shirt. When people say they have the bare minimum, I really only have the bare minimum. The books I have are the whole Hunger Games series, a law book and an old magazine from about two years ago. The Dursley's stopped across the street from the large scary but actually not scary (not to me at least) orphanage and opened the passenger seat car door and pushed me and my stuff out.

After I fell or well, was pushed to the ground, falling in a dirty muddy puddle, the Dursleys closed the door quickly and drove away with the speed of Flash. I stood up and looked down at myself, I was a bit bloody, my hands were scratched, I was scarred and in baggy clothing, looked like a Skeleton and was covered head to toe in mud. I closed my eyes and wiped the mud from my face carefully, though keeping my head down and eyes hidden like always.

I picked up my dollar store bag and made the trip across the the soggy road in my soggy sneakers and socks to the orphanage. Once across the road, I rang the doorbell and waited, keeping my head down. "One second!" A young woman yelled from inside. A few seconds later the door opened and the woman's smile fled her face as she gasped, taking in my probably frightening form of a skinny muddy orphan.

The woman grabbed my arm quickly and pulled me inside. I didn't dare look up, so I didn't know what anything looked like. She pulled me up the stairs and into another room that must have been a bathroom because the floor tiles were white and bathroom like. The woman started talking gently, asking me questions like, "Are you ok?", "We'll talk after I clean you up." and "How did you get this badly hurt?"

When she was finished helping me clean up (I cleaned my face by myself obviously), I still hadn't looked up at her or even just looked up in general. "Are you ok? Hungry?" She asked, gently after she dressed me in another seven year old orphan's clothes. I nodded slowly, barely moving so she still hadn't seen my face, hopefully she wouldn't ever need to see it. She took my wrist and led me down to what I think was the dining room.

She helped me sit down in a chair and she sat down across from me, making me lower my head even lower so she wouldn't see my face. I hope she really didn't see my face, it's pretty beat up and I don't wanna scare her, she'd wake up the whole orphanage and then both her and I would be kicked out. She gave me a bowl of what looked and smelt like Chicken Noodle Soup before she dug in herself, giving me unspoken permission to dig in as well.

I dug in quickly and once we both finished eating she started to question me. I didn't speak for a while so she must have thought I was deaf because the next thing I know she's calling for someone who speaks (har har not really) sign language. I shake my head at her, accidentally lifting my head up to tell her I can't understand sign language. "I'm not deaf, I don't know sign language either." I say quietly, though she catches it.

She turns to me, her eyes wide and her jaw hanging open as she looks at me. She gasped once she saw what I looked like but her eyes remained fixed on mine. She's already seen my face so I don't lower it, she's seen the bleeding triangular cut on my left cheekbone (one Uncle Vernon carved himself), the horribly vivid bruise over my right eye and the ugly lightning bolt shaped scar on my forehead just over my left eyebrow.

"My parent were murdered when I was a year old. My aunt and uncle took me in. They abused me and treated me like a slave. I slept in a cupboard under the stairs. The dollar store bag that I came with is all the belongings I have. They had enough of me so they left me across the street. I was trying to make a healthier dinner. Subtly giving them less butter every time. They noticed though and thought I was poisoning them." I explained dismissively, though it didn't sound arrogant or bratty.

"Oh my poor boy!" She exclaimed before she ran over to me and hugged me tightly. Ever since that day, I have been a different person. The orphanage taught me everything, sent me to school and became my family. They even let me change schools! I started eating more, being more active doing things a kid my age would usually do. In no time at all, I became taller and athletic and even a bit less skinny. If you didn't include my now extremely faded lightning bolt shaped scar and still very prominent triangle scar on my left cheekbone, I'm a normal kid!