Speak Up - Female Deaf Harry Potter AU

Number 4 Privet Drive, The Girl Who lived, Chapter 1

31 October 1981, That was the night everything changed, the dark age was over, the people were free of He Who Must Not Be Named's reign of terror. Everyone rejoiced, knowing their lives would take a turn for the better, and all their lives would, except one little girl. Hari Lily Potter was barely a year old, was now orphaned. Oblivious to the rejoicings of the world, she had been left with nothing other than a note on her blankets and a scar on her forehead on her last living relatives door.

•  •  •

Almost ten years of peace in the wizarding world had passed since that both joyful and painful night when the Dursley's had woken up to find a baby girl on their doorstep. Yet Privet Drive, in the very non-magical part of the world, had barely changed. There was one main difference, that being the photos. As one, much as Mrs Dursley did to her neighbours, had peered in through the little white drapes ten years ago, one would have seen dozens of pictures of a large round white-blond baby boy wearing different coloured hats and greatly resembling a beach ball. 

Now, if one were to peak in again at those charming little windows, one would see that most of these photos had been replaced with a fat piglike boy doing various things such as riding a bike, being kissed by his mother and eating ice cream. Nowhere, other than a small whiteboard lying on the kitchen counter, were there any signs that a little girl also lived in this place.

Yet Hari Potter did live there, enjoying her only time of peace, one that would soon end.

•  •  •

Hari awoke to the pain of being pulled out of her bed by her hair. Her aunt stood over her angrily, gesturing wildly to the kitchen. She read her Aunt Petunia's lips, "Cook breakfast, eggs and bacon and don't-" Hari didn't catch the rest of the sentence, it didn't matter though, she knew what she had to do. Every day was the same, cook breakfast girl, clean the dishes freak, Scrub the toilets you ungrateful wretch, do all the work in the house as your cousin lazes around eating chips, freak. 

She caught the end of the last sentence though"-perfect on Duddy's birthday." 

Crap - She'd forgotten, ugh she hated seeing Dudley with all his presents.

Hari rolled her eyes, a habit she had picked up at school, and not a good one.

Her aunt raised her hand threateningly.

Hari flinched away, putting her hand in front of her. Her whiteboard was on the kitchen counter, and though having learned sign language at school, she had to use her whiteboard to communicate with her family without it as they refused to use "that disgusting freak language."

Her aunt left and Hari headed down the hallway and lit the stove, pulling out two frying pans and cracking the eggs into one laying the strips of bacon in the other. She debated if she could steal a piece of egg without getting caught but decided against it. The risks were too high.

Hari glanced at the kitchen table, sagging and almost completely invisible under the massive pile of presents that Dudley had gotten for his birthday. She scanned the table, some of the presents were easy to guess through their wrapping paper, a shape that could be nothing other than a new bike, a large oval package in the corner was surely a punching bag. That wouldn't last long, seeing as Hari was Dudley's favourite punching bag. Thankfully she managed to outrun him and his gang most of the time. Hari may have been small, but she was also fast, she had had a lot of practice after all.

Hari, very small and skinny, looked even smaller and skinnier in the cheap old too big used clothing that the Dursleys bought for her, claiming that they wouldn't waste their money on a freak. She had a thin face, dark brown hair, and very bright green eyes that stood out against her almond skin. She usually wore bent round glasses when she could get them to stick together with scotch tape.  The only thing unusual about Hari's appearance was a very thin scar on her forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. She'd had it as long as she could remember. Once she had asked Aunt petunia how she had gotten it, the reply had been having her whiteboard slapped out of her hands and being told to never ask questions. She had later learned that it was from "the car crash when your freak parents died."