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SIYE Time:5:47 on 29th March 2024
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Saving Harry
By The Seeker

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Category: Pre-OotP, Alternate Universe, Buried Gems
Characters:All
Genres: Angst, Drama, Romance
Warnings: Violence
Story is Complete
Rating: R
Reviews: 1040
Summary: What if JKR had never intended the Harry Potter series to be for children? How would Harry’s time at the Dursleys been written? This story focuses on the years Harry lived in the cupboard under the stairs at number four Privet Drive, as well as his first appearance at Hogwarts. The treatment he receives during his decade there is not described in fairy tale terms. The boy who initially develops is not the Harry Potter we know. The story is liberally AU, with different personality traits, events, and relationships used to reflect the changes in this very different Harry and the environment in which he grew up. In the end, through the assistance of a certain redheaded young lady, Harry ultimately finds the life he should have had and rediscovers the qualities he always had inside of him. While I am not a psychologist or child development expert, the symptoms, actions, and behaviors portrayed reflect the realities of child abuse. Appropriate disclosures will be contained in the Author’s Notes above the chapter when warranted.
Hitcount: Story Total: 340150; Chapter Total: 18224
Awards: View Trophy Room




Author's Notes:
Thanks to those of you who deemed the story worthy of DSTA nominations again this month.
I greatly appreciate the way you show your support!

Even more than usual, my thanks, gratitude, and undying admiration go to cwarbeck for the time and effort she put into beta-ing this chapter.

A smile and acknowledgment go to Melindaleo for suggesting a Dudley-based joke. I hope you and she don't mind the way I twisted canon slightly. I'm pretty sure you'll recognize what I'm referring to when you read this chapter.

This chapter moves us through the remaining years in the Dursley decade, bringing the story to a point just before Harry's eleventh birthday and all that implies. Need I say the Dursleys remain consistent in their treatment of Harry? We do see Dudley get into the act, though.




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Harry Potter sat in his cupboard and wiped his runny nose on the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. He had his most recent math test in his hand and was correcting the errors he had intentionally made in order to get his usual C or less frequent B, a practice he started early in first grade and continued into second and now third grade. He had learned that type of grade kept the Dursleys from getting upset and deflected any negative attention from his teachers. The knowledge had been hard won.

Harry paused in correcting his test paper and started thinking about the decisions he made during the summer after his first year in school.

Thinking of Miss Rae and Sammi was painful back then. He snorted ruefully. It still is. I can’t believe I let them get close to me. At least I learned that it’s best to keep away from people so they can’t hurt me. It’s better to be quiet, only answer direct questions, and not let anyone get to know me. I really made a mistake in first grade. It didn’t take long to learn how bad that decision was.

He shook his head, as he thought back to the first month of first grade.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had been furious when they returned from the Open House. Instead of his relatives complimenting him for a job well done and trying to motivate Dudley into trying harder, he had been punished for doing work to the level he was capable of.

Harry vowed that he would never give the Dursleys another reason to punish him. He soon worked out a plan to learn as much as possible but not show it. He would miss enough test questions to get a safe grade, turn in acceptable but not top level papers, hold back on anything artistic, and give incorrect answers often enough when called upon in class to not call attention to himself.

*****


As the years passed by, and the teachers became used to Harry’s mediocre academic performance and his almost mute personality, the worst time for the boy came when he had to walk to the Dursleys’ house after school was let out. Over time, Harry discovered every possible route between school and number four.

With Sammi gone, along with the implied protection of her older brother, Harry had become a more frequent target of Dudley and his friends. Their activities were more incessant than dramatic. During the first grade, bumps and shoves and whispered words, like ‘freak’ or ‘weirdo’ were everyday occurrences.

But by the third grade, Aunt Petunia and the other boys’ mothers decided their little angels no longer needed parental supervision during the short walk home. The abuse soon ratcheted up several levels. Some days, Harry felt like he was in the middle of a moving dodge ball game. Dudley and his gang, which now included two more hooligans-in-training, would try to surround him and either throw dirt clods or use him as a cue ball for human bumper pool.

Harry became very adept at sussing out when they were plotting an ambush and how to escape it. On the playground, or anywhere outside for that matter, Harry learned to stay away from corners, not stand next to a fence, or walk close to a wall. He found he could be trapped more easily in any of those situations, so it became second nature to stay away from them.

As Harry trotted home, after losing his cousin and a couple of his followers, he laughed to himself. That’s the third time I’ve escaped through the Silvermans’ backyard. Thankfully, Dudley is as thick as he is . . . thick. Homework was finished in class. Guess I’ll read the book from the school library.

As soon as he walked in the door, his aunt started yelling at him. “Change into your grubby clothes and start weeding the back garden. I don’t want to see one weed left or else you won’t get dinner. Now, hurry up.”

Hello to you, too, Auntie.

Harry waited until he was in his cupboard before shaking his head. He knew from past experience, if he reacted in any way to one of his aunt’s orders, he would be assigned more chores and reminded he was lucky they provided a home for him.

More like a prison. At least it’s a nice day out, so I won’t freeze or burn out there.

Harry changed into his work clothes and looked at his books wistfully. Going outside, he grabbed several gardening tools from the shed and set to work. Though he would never admit it to the Dursleys, he enjoyed the peace of gardening and the satisfaction of making the garden look better.

His aunt had a long list of chores that she regularly assigned to him. Beyond weeding, they included mulching the garden, mowing, fertilizing, and watering the lawn, washing his uncle’s car, hoovering the carpets upstairs and down, sweeping the floors, loading and unloading the dishwasher, and cleaning the bathroom weekly.

While I do these chores, Dudley plays with his latest electronic games or ‘has tea’ at his friends’ house. I can’t believe his mum and dad fall for that line.

When he’d completed the weeding to his aunt’s satisfaction, the boy returned to the cupboard and stretched out on the mattress. He tried to imagine what his life must have been like when he was a baby and lived with his parents.

I wonder what they looked like. Did my mum stay home like Aunt Petunia? Maybe my dad was a businessman like Uncle Vernon.

Did we do stuff together? I can’t remember anything. It’s just a blank. I know I was with them. I can feel it.


Harry’s thoughts were interrupted by dust being shaken from underneath the stairs. That’s weird. No one went up the stairs. What caused the dust to fall?

“Set the table. Now!” Aunt Petunia’s strident voice and pounding on the cupboard door broke through the boy’s daydream.

Harry got up and walked into the kitchen, his irritation growing when he saw his porky cousin already sitting at the table. Can’t he move off his fat arse and take a few things from the cabinets to the table? Maybe Aunt Petunia thinks he’s too delicate or above doing any labour.

Dudley looked around in confusion. “Mum, how’d it get so hot in here?” Sweat was beading on his broad forehead.

His mum stopped mashing potatoes and looked around suspiciously. “It is hot.” Then she turned to Harry. “What did you do?”

He reacted with surprise. “Nothing,” he mumbled.

“Well, whatever, you’ve done, stop it. Don’t disturb Dudley when you set the table.” His aunt returned to mashing the potatoes.

Later, when the family and Harry were eating dinner, Dudley piped up. “Dad, Harry did something this afternoon to make it hot in here.”

Vernon Dursley turned his beady eyes on his nephew. “What did you do, boy?”

“N . . . nothing,” he replied, not looking up.

“Did you mess with the thermostat? Did you check it, Petunia?”

His wife and his nephew both answered. “No.”

The big man got up and checked the setting. “You probably raised it, then lowered it before I got home. Do that again, and you’ll get no dinner. Can your pea brain understand that?”

“Y . . . yeah.” It didn’t matter that he hadn’t done anything. The boy knew it would get worse if he argued with his uncle. He continued to sit at the table, staring at his plate, until his relatives finished.

“Put the dishes in the dishwasher, then sweep the hallway floor. I don’t want to see you after that.” His aunt looked at him like he was nothing more than her house boy.

“O . . . o . . . kay.”

Harry sometimes wondered if his aunt acted that way to show her husband she could be just as mean as he was. He loaded the dinner dishes into the dishwasher but didn’t start it, because his uncle demanded that he wash only full loads. Next, he swept the floor, knowing his aunt had swept it earlier that afternoon, as she did virtually every day. When he finished, he followed his aunt’s wishes and returned to his little room under the stairs and picked up a book on Camelot.

After reading several chapters, Harry began to feel tired, so he want upstairs to prepare for bed. He returned to his room and lay down, thinking of the majestic castle at Camelot.

*****


Harry was sitting on a high-backed, red velvet chair that rested on an elevated section of the floor. It provided him with an unobstructed view of the huge hall he was in. He couldn’t see himself, as usual, but he looked to his left and saw a girl seated in a similar chair next to him. She wore a beautiful floor length, champagne-coloured dress, and her long, red hair was pulled away from her face and allowed to fall freely down her back.

As hard as Harry tried, he couldn’t see the girl’s face. No matter how close he leaned towards her, it remained blurry. Despite that, he knew somehow that she was smiling. A feeling of peace enwrapped him, and he reached out his hand to the girl. When she held it, he felt warmth flowing through her hand into his.

He raised his right hand towards the people who were seated at the many tables in the hall, and with a simple gesture, filled the plates and tables with enough food and drink for a feast. Harry could see juicy roast beef, shepherd’s pie, Yorkshire pudding, bowls of steaming vegetables, crusty loaves of bread, and flagons of juice . . .

Finally the dream, and the good feelings accompanying it, dissolved.


*****


Several weeks later, Harry’s teacher gave him an envelope, along with instructions to give it to his guardians that evening. At dinner, he handed the envelope to his uncle.

“Did you get in trouble?” he growled, as he tore the envelope open. Skimming the letter inside, he looked at the boy, with anger causing his face to flush. He turned to his wife. “He’s going to cost us even more money now.”

“Why?” his wife asked, wondering what could come from school that would cost them money.

“He needs glasses. Apparently, he can’t see past the end of his nose and can’t read the board. They tested him. I’m not about to spend money on an eye doctor.” He frowned fiercely for a moment, and then a grin spread over his face. “We can take him to the pharmacy and find something there. Those glasses are cheap.”

When dinner was over and the dishes removed, Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the shoulder and directed him out to the car. The drive to the store took only a few minutes, and they quickly found a stand that held dozens of pairs of glasses.

“Boy! Look only at the ones marked ‘near sighted.’ The other ones won’t work.”

Being on the short side, Harry could only reach a few pairs of glasses. They were marked ‘far sighted,’ so he put them back. Meanwhile, his uncle was shoving pair after pair at him.

“Put them on and tell me if you can see clearly. Look at the far end of the store.”

They went through about ten or twelve pairs of glasses that way, but none enabled him to see clearly no matter where he looked. Finally, his uncle pushed a black pair in his hands. Harry made a face when his uncle turned away, but he put them on anyway.

Suddenly, everything became clear, from his hands to the furthest parts of the store. That’s what things are supposed to look like? Wow! I just wish these glasses weren’t so ugly.

“These work, Uncle Vernon.”

His uncle grabbed them off his face and started smiling. “Good. They’re the cheapest pair I’ve seen, only two pounds.”

They purchased the glasses, and his uncle handed them to his nephew. “Don’t break them. They’re the last pair you’re getting from me.”

Harry nodded and put the round, black framed glasses on. Too bad they’re so weird looking. Oh well, at least I can see now. I wonder if either of my parents wore glasses.

*****


While Harry tossed and turned later that evening, a loving father read a somewhat true story about a remarkable hero to his seven-year old daughter, as he did almost every night.

When he reached the last paragraph of the story, he smiled and asked, “How does it end, sweetheart?”

The petite girl beamed back at her father, her cinnamon brown eyes sparkling. “Somehow, someway the Dark Lord’s curse did not kill brave little Harry Potter. Instead, the curse ended up destroying the evil wizard, leaving no trace of his body. Harry Potter, though, was left with a jagged scar on the right side of his forehead, amazingly shaped like a lightning bolt. Thanks to this boy’s bravery, our world was returned to us. Harry Potter is The Boy Who Lived.” The girl with flame-red hair that cascaded to the middle of her back looked up at her father. “The end.”

Her smile immediately disappeared, replaced by a curious, somewhat worried look. “What happened to little Harry after he defeated the Dark Lord?”

Arthur Weasley took both of his daughter’s tiny hands in his. “We don’t know, Ginny. Professor Dumbledore placed Harry somewhere he could be protected. We offered to have him live with us, but the Professor said Harry would be safer at this other place.”

“I sure hope he’s okay,” the young witch said.

“Me, too, Ginny. Time for bed?” He gently picked her up and walked into the kitchen, where Ginny said goodnight to her mum. Then Arthur carried his one and only daughter to her bedroom. “Good night, sprite, don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

She grinned at her dad and completed their nightly ritual. “If they do, I’ll hex them ‘til they’re black and blue.”

Her dad returned the smile. “Sweet dreams, sweet girl,” and he turned out the light with a wave of his wand.

Ginny fell asleep quickly, her last thoughts on brave little Harry Potter.

She was in a school building, similar to the one in her village of Ottery St. Catchpole but much bigger. She watched as four large boys approached a much smaller boy, who had messy black hair and taped black glasses. He had been walking down the hallway, his head down. No one greeted him, but she did notice that kids would stare at the boy’s overlarge clothes and then whisper to each other.

By this time, the bigger boys had almost caught up with the thin, dark-haired boy, and she could hear them whispering.

“Freak.”

“Weirdo.”

“Loser.”

Suddenly, the small boy sprinted down the hall, then stopped outside the door to one of the classrooms, turned, and stared at the gang, with a mixture of anger, fear, and something else showing on his face. Ginny immediately knew what the last emotion was. It was exactly what she felt when her brothers were mean to her. None of those emotions captured her attention, though.

The boy had a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.


Ginny woke up with a gasp, tears flowing down her cheeks. Harry’s not happy. He’s not being treated well.

Eventually, sleep returned, and by the time Ginevra Molly Weasley woke up the next morning, her dream was forgotten.

*****


Ten-year old Harry Potter burst through the front door at number four Privet Drive and walked as quietly as he could to his cupboard. As soon as he closed the door behind him, Harry bent over, his hand on his knees, trying to catch his breath after having sprinted home to escape Dudley — now called Big D — and his gang. Harry knew something was up when half the group split off sooner than usual. A couple of minutes later, they had shown up at the far end of the street Harry was walking on. He quickly turned around and confirmed his assumption. Dudley and the remaining followers were at the other end of the block. Both groups sauntered towards him, smiling victoriously. They had him trapped.

Harry sped up, until he was about halfway between the two groups, then started running as fast as he could, while crossing over to the other side of the street. The second group moved over to that side. As soon as Harry was within a house of them, he sprinted across the street again. Only one guy in the group was fast enough to get over there in time.

The two boys arrived at the same place at the same time, and Harry put out his arms to brace himself for the inevitable collision. The next thing he knew the boy was flying back and landing heavily on his back. Harry made it home safely. But as he lay on his mattress, he wondered how he had knocked the much bigger boy so far when he didn’t even remember touching him.

I guess all this running to escape from Dudley and his gang has built up more muscles than I realized. Luckily, Big D is as slow as a pig in a wig, and the gits in his gang are too stupid to think on their own.

Harry finally caught his breath and started working on his essay for English. As he had been doing for the past five years, he wrote a paper without restricting himself, writing in the style and depth he was capable of. When that paper was completed, he started a second one — the one he would turn in to the teacher — simplifying the sentence structure and words used, watering down the concept presented, and leaving out a few of the points he’d made in the first paper. Finishing, he smiled to himself. The first essay was filed with all the other “good” papers in a separate folder that no one ever saw.

The turn-in paper shouldn’t impress anybody. At least I won’t get punished for this one. Should be another C, Potter.

Next he did the maths assignment, making sure to miss about twenty per cent of the questions and laughing occasionally to himself at the incorrect answers he would concoct. It reminded him of an exchange he had with his teacher that morning. Mrs Gray had called upon Harry to answer a story problem. The boy kept track of his answers, making sure he missed one of four questions asked of him in class, so no one would think he was too smart and bring it to the attention of the Dursleys.

“Mr Potter, your answer please, to question number four,” Mrs Gray asked.

“Th . . .thirty-eight,” the boy answered, knowing the correct answer was thirty-six. Several of the boys in class laughed at his stammering. Harry felt his anger flare but continued to stare at the top of his desk.

With his homework done for the day, Harry grabbed a book from the school library. He had been putting off reading it, because it was the last book in the school that he hadn’t read. Desperation had overcome reason, when he was forced to check out Nancy Drew mysteries, since those were the last books left for him. This book was the last of the series. The boy had been extra careful to ensure that absolutely no one saw him with the Nancy Drew books, knowing he would be ridiculed unmercifully for the rest of his life if someone found out he was reading “girl” books. He had checked the books out only because his aunt had refused to sign the permission slip to enable him to get a library card.

She had looked at him suspiciously. “You reading books? More likely you’d try to steal some, then sell them, you little snot.” She’d ripped up the slip and binned it.

*****


In the fifth grade during early December, a countrywide standardized test was given to all students. The test was comprised of three parts, language arts, including vocabulary and reading comprehension, mathematics, and English and world history. The exam was conducted over three separate days.

While Mrs Gray handed out the first of the language arts tests, Harry came to a decision. There’s no way we’re getting the test results back where the Dursleys can see them. Mrs Gray said their purpose was to measure how the schools are doing. I don’t need to hold back.

Several weeks later, Mrs Gray spoke to Harry. “Mr Potter, please see me before you leave today.”

Everyone in class looked from Mrs Gray to Harry, then back again, trying to figure out what the quiet boy had done to be kept after school the day before Christmas hols. When he went up to his teacher’s desk at the end of the school day, he, too, wondered what she wanted.

“Please give this envelope to your aunt and uncle. I want to meet with you and them, after school tomorrow.” When the boy couldn’t completely hide his concern, she added, “Don’t worry, Harry.”

Walking home, Harry wished he knew how to open, then reseal an envelope, so he could read his teacher’s note. When he got home, he handed the envelope to his aunt, who put it on the dining table, where his uncle always sat. Anticipating the big man’s reaction made the boy’s stomach roll like a miniature roller coaster had been placed inside it.

Making dinner occupied most of Harry’s attention over the next hour. Finally, Uncle Vernon arrived, and they sat down to eat. But before starting, he picked up the envelope and quickly read the note inside.

“What have you done now, boy? Your teacher wants to meet with us tomorrow afternoon, like we have nothing better to do. If you’ve created another problem, I’ll make you rue the day you were born.”

Harry knew to look in the general direction of his uncle and to keep a neutral expression. The man turned to his wife.

“We have to meet with his teacher at 3:30 tomorrow.”

The next day, Harry felt like he was waiting for a sentencing. He knew his life was going to end soon after the last bell of the day, despite his teacher’s assurance that he shouldn’t worry. The problem was, Harry thought, she didn’t know the Dursleys or what could set them off.

Shortly before the final bell rang, his aunt and uncle arrived. They glared at Harry for having to make this effort because of him, then went straight to where their son was seated in the back of the room.

Seemingly seconds later, the bell rang, and Harry walked slowly to Mrs Gray’s desk to find out why she wanted to talk with them.

Dudley stayed in the back of the room, while his parents sat down by the teacher.

“Mr and Mrs Dursley, I have news about your nephew’s standardized test results. You are aware the class took the tests earlier this month?”

Uncle Vernon impatiently nodded his head. “Yes, yes, go on.”

Mrs Gray looked slightly affronted but proceeded. “Harry’s test results for each category are among the highest in the district. You must be very pleased for him.”

Three open mouths and three surprised sets of eyes stared back at the teacher.

Oh, no! I’m going to get killed. I never thought the tests would be discussed.

The teacher looked puzzled by the three reactions, but she continued. “While Harry’s test scores are something to be proud of, that’s not why I asked you to come here today.” The Dursleys and Harry continued to goggle at her, but for entirely different reasons. “I wanted to discuss the rather large disparity between these scores and the work he does at school.”

A triumphant smile came over Vernon’s face. “It should be obvious. The boy cheated.”

Mrs Gray’s eyes shifted to Harry. “Did you?”

Harry hesitated, then shook his head, feeling a strange mixture of pride and wanting to shrink from sight.

Aunt Petunia snorted.

Uncle Vernon scoffed. “You’ve seen the boy’s work. How else could he have done so well? Despite our best efforts, he’s taken after his parents — a very bad lot, if you know what I mean.” His uncle looked at the boy, knowing he couldn’t say or do anything. “They just up and dumped the boy on us years ago. Didn’t want anything to do with him.” He wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, while Aunt Petunia fanned herself with her hand.

Harry bit his tongue but looked at his uncle with fury in his eyes.

Mrs Gray looked nonplussed by the uncle’s comments and worried about the silent exchange between the man and his nephew. “Well, I proctored the tests myself, so I know there was no cheating. I was hoping we could narrow the distance between the test results and Harry’s daily work but perhaps not.”

She looked searchingly at Harry but received no response from him, other than his eyes briefly opening wider. If she’d blinked at that instant, she would have missed the response. She looked at the Dursleys.

“Thank you for coming in on such short notice. I do hope we can move forward in a positive manner.” She was concerned about the emotions boiling just below the surface but felt constrained against doing anything about them. “Happy Holidays to all of you. See you in a few weeks, Harry.”

The trip back to number four was made in silence.

As soon as they entered and shut the door, Uncle Vernon turned angrily to Harry, his face already a violent shade of crimson. “What in blazes did you think you were doing, you little shite?”

He grabbed the boy by the shoulders. “We told you we wouldn’t tolerate you making Dudley look bad. You just couldn’t resist, could you? After all we’ve done for you. You’re as bad as your parents.”

Harry wrenched himself free of the man’s hold on him. “Don’t talk about my parents like that.” His eyes blazed with hatred towards his uncle.

“What’s the matter, boy? Can’t stand the truth that your parents dumped you here with us? You need to be taught a lesson.”

The man took a step towards the boy, glaring at his nephew. Harry backed up and put his arms out to protect himself. Uncle Vernon took another step forward . . .

“Ow! Shite!” Vernon Dursley stopped in his tracks, as if he had hit a wall about two feet in front of Harry. Vernon’s face contorted in pain, as his hand instinctively went to his throbbing nose.

Before his uncle could do anything else, Harry quickly pushed his arms out towards the big man and sent him sprawling to the floor.

Harry looked at the shocked faces of his aunt and cousin and with a feeling of panic flooding through his system, bolted from the house.

What happened? Why did Uncle Vernon stop like that?

Did I actually push him the ground?

He’s going to kill me.


By the time Harry looked up, he was standing in front of the play park. As he walked towards the swings, he noticed he was both sweating and chilled and felt like his insides were buzzing.

Should I go back to the house? What will they do to me?

I never thought anyone would see those test results. I’ll have to hold back all the time now. I’ll just tell Mrs Gray I guessed a lot.

Maybe the Dursleys would believe me if I told them that. I have to return. I don’t have any money and no one would take me in. The Dursleys’ll either punish me or give me so many chores I’ll wish they had punished me instead.

Why do I keep creating problems?


*****



As soon as Harry left the house, Aunt Petunia and Dudley raced over to Vernon and tried to help the bulky man up from the floor.

“Bloody hell. That little snot is lucky I tripped. Petunia, we need to talk about what to do with that juvenile delinquent.”

Dudley got the message and went up the stairs to his bedroom, while Vernon and Petunia went into the dining room and sat down at the table.

“Vernon, did you really trip?” Petunia asked quietly.

The look that usually preceded a blustering response briefly crossed Vernon’s face, then he became pensive. “No.” He shook his head.

“Was it . . . was it magic?” Her words were barely whispered.

“I think so. He did something that stopped me. It was like I hit a wall. Hurts like hell.”

“What about when you fell?” she asked.

“Don’t know. He didn’t touch me, but it felt like I was being pushed by giant hands. Next thing I knew, I was on the floor.”

Petunia looked both puzzled and worried. “Do you think he knew what he was doing?”

“No way,” her husband answered. “He looked surprised. He didn’t know how he did it.”

Petunia nodded her head. “Lily didn’t know either, until that woman came and told her she was a witch.” The last word was spat out angrily. “Then, we need to threaten that we’ll take him to an orphanage, if anything like that happens again.”

Vernon started smiling. “And we can work his skinny arse off. Can you believe he did that well on those damn tests?”

A wistful expression came over Petunia’s face. “Yes, I can. Lily and James were both outstanding students. Lily was always top of her class. He’s kept it hidden.”

“I wish we’d never seen the kid. He’s a damn nuisance.”

Petunia nodded in agreement, before softly saying, “Yes, he is.”

*****


I really need to return. It’s getting cold. I’m hungry. I have nowhere else to go. Might as well get it over.

The boy reluctantly got up from the swing and walked slowly across the sporadic tufts of almost dead grass, out the gate, and down the street to number four. As soon as he entered the house, his aunt and uncle descended on him.

“Boy, we need to talk with you. Now! Dining room.” His uncle’s command sounded like a bulldog barking.

Harry wasn’t surprised by the orders, but he was shocked that they weren’t accompanied by any threats. Nevertheless, Harry kept his distance from his uncle as they proceeded into the dining room, where Aunt Petunia already was seated.

Without any preliminary discussions, she began to speak. “We can’t have any repeats of today’s episode. While it’s obvious we don’t like you, we have provided food and shelter for nine years, without a pence of compensation. If anything like this happens again, you will be taken to an orphanage. Do you understand?”

The boy nodded his head without looking up.

His uncle took over the conversation. “Your chores will be expanded to include making breakfast and dinner every day. Your aunt will tell you what to make. Any more of your crap, boy, and you’re out. We won’t tolerate this type of behaviour in our house. Now get out of my sight.”

Harry nodded again and stood up. Once inside his cupboard, he pulled out the book Miss Rae had given him, but he couldn’t read anything. The tears that had pooled in his eyes made everything blurry. He put the book down and curled up on the mattress.

I really screwed up this time. I don’t even know what I did.

The only way I’ll be able to get through this is to do what they ask, say nothing, and hold back at school.

Why am I so bad?


The battering thoughts exhausted the boy, and he finally fell asleep.

*****


The boy’s active mind continued to churn out images while he slept. One dream replaced another, each one worse than the one it replaced.

Harry stood alone, shrouded by a thick mist that reduced everything to various shades of grey. He could feel the presence of other people but could not see them. The boy began to walk slowly along a dirt path, trying to find the people, whose voices he couldn’t quite make out. As he moved through the damp, heavy air, he could feel his hair, face, and clothes getting more and more laden with moisture, and he had to continually clean off his glasses, as they would fog over, rendering him essentially sightless.

Moving down the path, he saw barren trees off to the sides, before the fog caused everything else to disappear. He could still hear the voices, so he continued walking in the direction of the sounds. Finally, he came to a small clearing, where he saw the same boy and girl he had dreamed of before; flashes of red would occasionally float through the clearing and then disappear. For the first time ever, Harry thought the girl might be Sammi, but she remained obscured by the thick mist, so he couldn’t tell for sure.

An odd feeling came over Harry. He thought this location, with its murky weather and desolate features, should scare him. But he wasn’t afraid. Instead, he felt calm, even safe, though he had no idea why. Maybe it’s because of the boy and girl, he thought.

A thick cloud of fog descended on the clearing. In the next instant, Harry found himself in someone’s house. It seemed familiar but he couldn’t place it. Two adults, obscured as always, were in the sitting room, a red and yellow-hued fire blazed in the fireplace. He watched the adults as they talked to each other. Suddenly, the air seemed to be swirling, and a feeling of fear flooded the room. The adults moved quickly, he heard noises — explosions and unusual voices, then green lights, smoke, and nothing, except pain and blackness.

When the black shroud lifted, Harry found himself sitting in a classroom, in the first desk of a middle row. He looked around and was surprised to find he was the only student in the room. A middle-aged woman, totally unremarkable looking, was writing words on the board at the front of the room. Question of the Day was written at the top of the board. Below it was the question.

What do you remember about your parents?


Harry smiled to himself, thinking it would be fun to answer the question. The woman, or maybe she was the teacher, had written many other words below the question. Hugs . . . kisses . . . other touches . . . playing together . . . teasing/joking . . . advice given . . . being tucked into bed . . . reading together . . . birthdays celebrated . . . Christmas and other holidays . . .

Harry became angrier with each word or phrase that he read. Each had the same answer . . . nothing. He could remember nothing about his parents, nor did he know what they looked like, what their names were, where they were now, or why they had left him with the Dursleys. The list of what they hadn’t done, hadn’t shared could go on and on.

Harry was already asking himself the same question, when the teacher wrote it on the board.

Were you ever loved?


He had no idea if anyone had ever loved him.


*****


Ha rry woke up with tears streaming down his cheeks, his breathing ragged and gasping, and sweat dripping down his forehead, neck, and back. His small room felt like the inside of a furnace.

I can’t stand this anymore. I don’t want to hurt so much inside. It feels like I’m shrivelling up. I’ll just do whatever the Dursleys want me to do. I won’t talk. I’ll be average in school. God, I feel so empty. If I stop caring about anything, then I’ll stop hurting.

That was the philosophy Harry Potter brought back to school after the Christmas Holidays. While other kids shared what they’d received for Christmas, he ignored their discussions and created his own world, so nothing could get close enough to hurt him anymore.

That was Harry Potter’s life through the rest of the school year and into the first month of the summer, as he approached his eleventh birthday.
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