Ok, so for a long while I've been toying with an idea that I have never read before specifically. I suppose I've read the genre. Basically, the Dursleys ditch out on Dumbledore and the wizarding world and Harry grows up with them as a family. Of course, there is a lot of verbal abuse throughout the years, much as I imagine J.K. Rowling wants us to believe he suffered throughout his first 11. Somewhere along the lines though, Harry becomes what they always told him he was. I've got a prologue of sorts written out, so I thought I'd display it here as sort of an introduction to the story.

Anyway, I'm not sure how these forums feel about AU stories in general. As you can see I'm a newbie here. Hope to get some feedback. I've got a general outline of where I want to take the story from here.

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Prologue

“... freak...”
“...and all you've ever been to us is a burden...”
“...end up a criminal, just like your good-for-nothing parents...”
“...he's always been rather criminal minded...”
“...toss him behind bars for all I care...”
“...never shown us any respect, this kind of thing is what I've come to expect from him...”
“...we'd be happy to have him out of our house forever...”
“...shame they stopped with the corporeal punishment, 'tis the only thing that could cure him...”
“...just a thief, criminal, freak...”
“...freak...”
“...freak...”

The boy awoke from the dreams that were memories of his past. A quick shake of his head rid the voices of his relatives from his thoughts. For as long as he could remember their taunts had come. He was never good enough for them. As a child he had always wondered why he was never given the same attention as his cousin Dudley. The mildly obese child had ballooned under the care of his parents. The only thing that the boy had gotten were cast-offs and bruises.

No, his life hadn't been easy. As it was though, he felt he couldn't complain. After all, his situation was far less bollixed up than those of some of the boys he knew. Slowly he ran his hand through his jet black hair and rolled out of the bed. He grabbed a lighter and a pack of cigarettes off the nightstand before shuffling over to the bathroom. On the way, a digital clock informed him that it was only five in the morning. He had fallen asleep just four hours ago, and yet, oddly enough, he wasn't tired in the least.

Steadily he held his emerald green eyes open as he inserted contacts to correct his vision. After blinking a few times everything shifted more into focus. Ever since he had been a kid he had found that he had very little need for sleep. In fact, the teen often got by on just a couple hours a night. It was something that he found extremely useful, as he had much more time to learn about different subjects and to toy with ideas in his head. It was very little surprise to those that knew him that he was among the top students at his school. His homework was always precise with specific examples cited from well respected professionals.

He also used the time to stay in shape. On mornings such as these when he was up as the sun was rising he could be found in the gym or at the pool after his morning smoke. That was another anomaly that some had noticed. Unlike many of the other smokers, the boy had never seemed to have a problem with shortness of breath or even yellowing teeth. And so it was that after fifteen minutes outside in the brisk morning air, Harry, which was the boy's name, was pushing the doors to the gym open. His normal routine lasted an hour, but today he was on a power workout, and it extended for an additional half hour.

Sweaty and exhausted, he stepped out of the gym and into the showers. A quick glance into the mirror reflected a toned body about five foot ten and one-hundred sixty-five pounds. He was not overly muscular and had only recently made up for the years of malnutrition he had suffered at the hands of his relatives. He slicked his short spiked black hair back with shampoo before thoroughly and vigorously rubbing the solution into his scalp before rinsing the suds from his head. Finishing with that task he reached for the soap and lathered up his body, spending extra time as always drawing his fingers across the various scars on his arms and torso.

There was a particularly nasty one running down the length of his right arm from a fight he had participated in nearly two years ago, after his first year at his current school. He had, of course, been defending a friend against one of the well known groups of thugs. He had only been expecting a verbal confrontation and had been caught off guard when the shortest of the group had pulled a knife. It had been a textbook laceration, deep and bloody. The kid's broken arm was anything but textbook, it having been pulled out of its socket and broken in four different places, including at the elbow and wrist. It had taken twenty-four stitches to sew Harry back together, but the scar was one of the few he took pride in.

There was another on the lower left of his torso from being stabbed by a street thug when he was only twelve. At the time he had been riding the London Underground, pickpocketing unsuspecting adults for some extra pounds to get by on. Unfortunately the older boy had claimed that section of the Underground, and was very unforgiving when it came to teaching the lesson.

Finishing up his washing his hand ran across his left breast, where it appeared there had been tattooed some gibberish. Stepping out of the showers he looked back into the mirror, where the writing suddenly became decipherable. It was a quote from a movie he had snuck into the VCR one late night while his relatives were asleep. He never knew why those words stuck, but they had, and for some reason held meaning for him. Even now, he mouthed the words as he read them for the thousandth time. “We are the music makers, and we are the dreamers of dreams.”

As he toweled off his body he briefly ran his hands over the barbed wire tattoos on his wrists, one of which covered the scar of an early suicide attempt. With a grimace he wished that he would quit remembering that particular event. Harry told himself that he had been weak back then, and that he was no longer so. Now he had something to live for. He had developed a reasonable amount of self-esteem, and then there was always the gang to keep him going. They were seven strong, they were each a link in the chain. Together they held each other up through think and thin. They were closer than brothers, each knew the others better than Harry knew any of his relatives. But then again, he never really cared to know his relatives. The Bartons had always been standoffish and impersonal.

It was their fault that he had ended up here. They had all but groomed him for the role. But Harry didn't care. He actually enjoyed life here away from the Bartons. He enjoyed his life at St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys.

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I'd of course like to introduce Harry to the wizarding world at somepoint and take it from there. Of course, Harry won't be turning into the emotionally charged screaming kid we all love to hate.

 

This seems like a carbon copy of a fic I've read few weeks ago; Harry with an attitude never went to Hogwarts, has his own gang and then Dumbledore decides it's time for him to rejoin the wizarding world...

BTW, why post a challenge when you seem to be doing fine job of writing this yourself?

 

Yeah, keep writing it yourself, its quite good so far. I like the idea though I hope it doesn't just turn out to be badass Harry going back to the wizarding world and giving them attitude.

Have some originality, then it'll be good.

 

Really IP82? Do you think you could post the link? I'd like to see the story myself.

 

http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2944920/1/

It's crap, though.

 

Even though there are quite a few stories like this I've stumbled upon in the past, I never actually completed any of them. Why? Because they were crap.

You seem to write finely, you should continue it. If you do, I will read it. And like Mordecai said- have some originality.