41Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters you see. All rights belong to the respective owners and I am making no money off of this.
Fading Illusions
Chapter 1: His Name Is Harry Potter
A/N: This story takes place in America. I won't be using British English and it is based on American highschool
It was an hour before dawn in the neighborhood of Little Whinging, Surrey. Cookie cutter houses, row upon row, lined the darkened streets. Everything was clean cut, polished to perfection. Not a single blade of grass was out of place. Placed strategically in front of every house was a driveway, perfectly perpendicular to the road in front of it. Beautiful gardens flourished under the constant care of their owners. One such garden, a three-time winner of the Ladies Garden Club competition, rested in front of Number Four, Privet Drive.
In the darkness of the smallest bedroom at Number Four, a teenaged boy began his day. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes as he rolled out of his bed. He knew the exact time, 05:03. It was the time that he woke up every day, never a moment later. The boy blindly reached for his school uniform, conveniently located on the desk chair near his bedside, and got dressed for the day. This was not without struggle, as the boy winced after stretching his arms too wide, aggravating old injuries.
The outfit was simple: a drab gray tee shirt that was once blue and pants, with an oversized flannel to cover it. A pair of ratty trainers with fraying laces completed the ensemble. Once dressed, the boy put on a pair of round-rimmed glasses which had seen better days. The neighbors had stopped asking why they remained broken years ago. His Aunt Petunia's constant reassurance that he was an ungrateful miscreant and unable to care for his possessions saw to that. The boy's movements- graceful, precise and cognizant of his surroundings, were evidence of a routine that had been followed daily for years. The boy's clothes were unremarkable and well worn, as was the rest of the room. At a first, cursory glance, it screamed 'normal' to anyone who would look inside.
The walls were painted a dull green, a color which slightly reminded the boy of a sickly toad. The bed, already perfectly made, was covered in a dark grey comforter and a set of pillows. A wardrobe stood next to it, it's doors carved with an odd but intricate pattern. The large desk under the window matched the wardrobe and had neatly stacked papers on top. Leaning against the wall across from the bed stood a bookshelf, filled with a myriad of books and trinkets. A lone soccer ball rested in the corner.
But not everything fit the description of a 'normal' sixteen year old boy's room. For one, it was rather tidy with no dirty laundry strewn about. Traces of a sickly peach paint color that was the choosing of the boy's Aunt remained where the ceiling met the wall. The pillows were mismatched, as were the handles of the wardrobe. One of the desk's legs was a tad shorter than the others and rested upon a book. Another observation about the room that didn't fit was the boy who lived in it. When he finally opened his eyes, which were a startling green, it was to look at the mirror on the back of his door in an attempt to tame his unruly black hair. The boy winced at the prominent bags under his eyes but knew that it wasn't enough to warrant applying some of his Aunt's concealer.
The boy was thin, with collar bones sticking out from his ratty oversized shirt, but he wasn't gaunt. Because gaunt wouldn't be normal. And any deviance from normal was met with fierce and swift repercussions. Petunia described him as a devil in the making to the neighbors when they gossipped, so that they wouldn't be suspicious—just upturn their noses when they saw him. The boy snorted and scowled at himself. He shook his head and walked down the stairs, skipping over the squeaky steps as to not wake his relatives.
Once the boy entered the kitchen, he immediately went to the refrigerator to dig out the necessary ingredients. The amount of food in the fridge was astounding, but not surprising due to the sizes of two of the occupants. Digging out the usual pans, the boy set them on the stove and went back to the refrigerator for the milk and a rasher of bacon.
As the eggs heated, he added cheese while he stirred constantly. This morning ritual was a reprieve for the boy.
Simple.
He learned from instructions in cookbooks and they never faltered or changed their minds.
Constant.
The boy turned away from the omelets long enough to fill the kettle to start the tea. He then pulled down three plates and tucked them neatly into the warmed oven. The sound of footsteps on the stairs did not cause the boy to lift his head, as he knew that it was his aunt as usual.
Yet a single uttered word, "Boy," caused him to look at her head and to greet his aunt with a nod. He poured a cup of tea, added milk and a single sugar cube. The woman took the cup without comment or thanks and sat down to eat.
A loud thundering was heard as the boy's uncle and cousin stampeded down the stairs, quickly followed by their son, who looked absolutely ridiculous as he plodded around in his too-tight shirt that only enhanced his porcine features. Pulling a warmed plate from the oven, the boy began to transfer sausages, bacon and the omelets from the pans. He then transferred each plate to the table and started pouring the tea. They sat down at the table as the boy finished plating his relatives' breakfasts. By this time, the orange juice was freshly squeezed and his relatives were tucked tightly around the table.
Vernon spoke about the current politics while Petunia added in the occasional hm at appropriate times. From what the boy could hear, most of what his uncle said was either wrong or taken completely out of proportion. Dudley scarfed down his food as if he were eating his last meal, which it very well could be. The school nurse at Smeltings Academy was gobsmacked when she saw his extremely unhealthy weight.
The boy chanced a glance at the newspaper that his uncle was reading, but his uncle put it down before he could read anything except a single name: Flamel.
"And look here, Pet! These McKinnon people think it is a good idea to take the money from hard working citizens like us and just give it to these no-good jobless freaks! No wonder this country is going to the dogs!"
The boy propped himself against the counter and sipped at the plain tea from the chipped blue earthenware mug. The tea was from the very bottom of the pot which made it over-steeped and bitter but the boy didn't complain.
"Boy! Why is my cup empty!" Without a word, the boy set aside his own tea and completed his uncle's loud comment. When he was done, he returned the pot to its place and then topped off his cousin's orange juice without being asked.
Ten minutes later he had put away the last saucepan, wiped down the counter, and turned to take the many empty breakfast dishes from Dudley. When the boy's hand reached out to take the plates, Dudley grabbed his skinny arm with a large, meaty hand and squeezed hard. The boy suppressed a wince and looked at his cousin.
"Where's my homework, freak?"
Dudley had an odd look on his face, a pathetic attempt at a sneer. The boy thought it rather made him look more like a constipated whale.
"It is on the table next to the front door, Dudley." The boy willed the heat behind his voice away, if only to prevent himself future harm. Dudley only smirked at his seemingly submissive response; the boy's face was still blank/passive, belying his true thoughts. The boy had changed his mind. He decided that his cousin looked more like a constipated pig.
"Well then I must have forgotten. My bad."
Just as suddenly, the hand around the boy's arm was gone as Dudley walked away, but the mark of his fat hand remained. The boy suddenly had a strong urge to take his shower as soon as possible.
The two boys, polar opposites, sat on opposite ends of the bus on their way to school. Dudley sat in the back with his group of friends, the boy walking towards a familiar mane of bushy hair. The boy was too busy speculating on how long it would take for Dudley to grow so large that he broke the seat that he didn't notice when the girl called his name.
"Harry Potter!" the girl exclaimed for the second time, her bucktoothed smile wide
"Hermione Granger!" exclaimed the boy in the same fashion as he sat down, poking fun at her exuberance of seeing him. Hermione moved her bag to the ground and Harry squished into the seat next to her. The springs underneath them squeaked, but it couldn't be heard over the jungle that was their bus.
"Have you finished your essay for Mr. Lockhart's class yet? I thought the assignment was quite ridiculous. Who cares about the books he wrote? They aren't even accurate to the time period! The way that his character treats women are despicable! I can't believe that Mr. Lockhart promotes these types of things in class."
As Hermione ranted to her best friend about the injustices of the world she rooted through her bag, seemingly having trouble locating something in the sea of books floating around in it. She temporarily ended her rant when she let out a small 'aha!' and handed Harry a small plastic bag with an apple and a few granola bars inside.
The more she spoke, the more her bushy hair seemed to frizz up. Hermione refrained from patting it back down, knowing from experience that touching it only made it worse. Her untamable hair contrasted her pristine outfit.
Her feet were clad in shiny black mary janes and black knee high socks. She had on a dark blue sweater that seemed soft enough that Harry wanted to wrap his entire body in. The white collar of her shirt stuck out above the sweater and was ironed to perfection. A plaid grey skirt fell modestly to her knees. To top it all off, her pale blue scrunchie was wrapped tightly around her wrist. Harry smiled when he saw it and was reminded of the day he got it for her.
"But really Harry, did you get some work done this weekend? You know that midterms are coming up soon and we have to be ready for them. And according to the older students, Ms. Bagshot always assigns the same review packet each year along with an extra credit project, which I thought we could partner up for. Oh! And for physics, Mr. Viridian told me that we would be having a pop quiz sometime next week, which I suppose is this week now, but I'll quiz you during lunch to make sure that you get good marks. Which I'm sure you will of course, but-"
Hermione continued to remark about the happenings of the week, Harry munched on his apple, gazing out the window.
"-Mr. Bryce should be giving our chemistry tests back sometime this week, I'm sure that I missed that one question on centripetal forces—"
Here, Harry had to interrupt his best friend's antics with a fond tone,''Mione, we have known each other since we were eleven, yes?"
Hermione nodded her head in assent.
"And in the five years that I have known you, how many tests have you failed?" Harry was smiling now.
"Well, none, but—"
"None. Exactly. You have no reason to worry about." At her best friend's reassurance, Hermione relaxed and her hair visibly deflated a bit. Harry steered their conversation towards the topic towards the delightful Mr. Darcy and Mr. Bingley, letting Hermione passionately describe her wish to meet someone wonderful and compassionate like Mr. Darcy as Harry saw the driveway of the school.
Smeltings High School came fully into view, the local public school the boy and girl attended. Identical yellow buses were pulling into the semicircle in front of the school, allowing students to pour out. Harry and Hermione continued their conversation on the positive and negative qualities of each of the characters as their bus entered the circle. Outside the bus was chaotic; girls traveled in packs, giggling to each other as they passed a group of guys kicking a soccer ball around. A set of speakers blasted music on the steps leading the entrance as students sat around. A skateboarder slid right in front of the bus, almost causing a collision, which caused the driver to start cursing riotously. Next to him, Hermione tsked at them and Harry stifled a laugh, thinking that it was such a Hermione thing to do.
Harry and Hermione walked through the busy hallway to their lockers, conveniently located across the hallway from each other. Stopping in front of his locker, Harry turned to his best friend.
"'Mione, Mr. Lockhart asked us to bring the book he wrote to class today, right?" Harry asked with a grimace.
"Of course he did. I still can't believe that he required us to buy a book he authored. Does he know that this is a public school?"
As Harry reached up to grab his copy of Mr. Lockhart's book—snickering at Hermione's comment, the sleeve of his uniform rolled down, exposing his forearm where Dudley had grabbed him that morning. The redness had faded since then, but there were the beginnings of faint blue marks where his fingertips had dug into the bone. Harry noticed that his sleeve had ridden up and soon pushed it back down to his wrist. Neither of them said anything, but Hermione gave him a look that was worth a thousand words that were left unspoken.
"Harry-" Hermione started.
"Hermione-" Harry cut her off.
And the moment was gone.
The two walked across the hall to Hermione's locker in silence, one not wanting to talk and the other not wanting to bring it up.
"I read Green Eggs and Ham over the weekend." Harry said, hoping to steer their thoughts to something more lighthearted.
"Oh did you?" Hermione responded, grabbing a brown paper bag from her own locker and shoved it into Harry's arms.
"Yeah, found it in the attic when I was putting some stuff away. It was short, and everything rhymed. Did you know that Dr. Seuss rhymed everything?"
"Harry, everyone knows that Dr. Seuss rhymes. That is one of the appeals of his books. They're meant for children," Hermione stated, her tone of voice suggesting she was ready to start a lecture on the entire history of the author. At this point, Harry was leaning up against his own locker and rummaging through the bag that Hermione had given him.
"'Mione, you're the best. You know what, for you, and only for you, would I eat green eggs and ham."
Hermione gave him a small smile that seemed to light up her entire face. Harry spread his arms wide, one hand still clutching the bag tightly as the other grabbed her by the shoulder to pull her into a tight hug. Suddenly, all he could smell was the flowery perfume that she wore.
Too soon, the first bell of the day rang through the hall and they ended their embrace.
"Hurry up Sam, or you'll be late for art!" Hermione smacked his arm in jest. Harry refused to wince at her action and continued to smile.
"I would remind you to have fun in class, but I know that you will." Harry joked back, his smile coming to him more easily now. It was always so easy to joke with Hermione about the little things.
"And tuck in your shirt!" Hermione shouted to Harry' retreating back. She shook her head at him and walked away, still smiling at her best friend. She made her way to her class, making effort to not look back at her best friend behind her.
A/N - This is a non-magical high school AU that began as a plot bunny in my head many years ago. It has been sitting in my docs for a while now and I decided I may as well post it.
I would like to thank my Beta, the lovely Too Many Obsessions To Choose. She is too good to me and is amazing. I would also like to thank my friend the one the only dylanpidge
First, if you were wondering, the final outcome of this story will be Harry/Hermione.
This is Harry!whump. We will eventually get some huft/comfort and some romance in here too.
The setting is somewhere in America, hence the High School AU. I am basing all of their outfit choices on my knowledge of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. 10/10 I highly recommend that show if you are interested
Thank you for reading! Please write a review about what you liked, didn't like, noticed that was interesting, etc.
If you plan on flaming this story, at least leave some sort of constructive criticism instead of 'this story sux' - that anon, thank you for your advice!1!
So to repeat, THIS STORY TAKES PLACE IN AMERICA! I have edited it to reflect this since it was not apparent when I originally posted.
