Chapter 4
Freak was barely four when he felt his first broken bone. He was helping Aunt Petunia in the garden and had gotten some dirt in the entryway when he came inside. Uncle Vernon noticed almost immediately and hit him. He was used to this already; Uncle Vernon sometimes hit Aunt Petunia across the face, Freak across the face, and even Dudley. This was normal. However, when Freak made a whimpering sound when he hit his head on the wall and baseboard, Uncle Vernon got very angry. He took Freak by the arm and bent it the wrong way as quickly and as strong as he could… that was when Freak started crying and was locked in his room for the first time. It was also the first day he had gotten no dinner… and no breakfast the next day. The next day was a Monday, which meant Uncle Vernon had to go to work, and he brought Dudley along with him on Mondays, so Freak, his broken arm, and Aunt Petunia were left alone. She carefully got him in the second car, the one that is only used in emergencies by Aunt Petunia when Uncle Vernon isn’t home. The one that she made Freak swear and Pinky promise never to mention to Uncle Vernon or Dudley. It was their little secret. Freak was okay with that. She started the engine, and they went across town to the doctor. Freak had been here once before when Dudley began thrashing about in his bed, and nobody could get him to stop. He knew the doctor would help with the pain in his arm if he asked nicely. They did help him last time, too, when he had a burn, even though they were here for Dudly then.
“I need to stay here, but you ask those lovely ladies if they can help you. You can’t tell them I’m here, but I will be here when you come out.” She had her mom voice on, so I knew it was very important that I didn’t tell anyone that she was here.
I walked out soon after with a little white thing on my arm; the lovely ladies said it was a cast. They said it would help my arm heal. Aunt Petunia took it away before Uncle Vernon got home, but I got it back after he went to bed. That happened for almost a whole month before my arm was all healed. It still hurts in my shoulder, but that’s okay. At least I can use my arm again!
Freak was five when he first learned that his name wasn’t Freak. Aunt Petunia called him Harry on his birthday because that was his name. She said he had to get used to it for school, that nobody would call him Freak at school but Harry. When Uncle Vernon came home that day, he learned that Aunt Petunia was calling him Harry, and she got black and blue bruises for it. He was told not to show off anything abnormal at school or risk getting it worse than no meals, chores, and bruises. Harry was not sure what his Uncle Vernon had meant by the long word he used but figured it probably meant that Harry was not to break any rules while at school. Harry would never give Uncle Vernon a reason to hit him; he did that enough already. Harry was excited to go to school, though. Dudley got to go last year, but the teacher wanted him to stay back in her class to work on his reading. Harry was very good at reading; he learned to read while helping Aunt Petunia in the kitchen from the cookbook. Harry was also very good with numbers; he knew how much to measure if the bach of cookies needed double or half. In a few years, Harry would later learn that those numbers he did in his head were called multiplication and division.
Harry was nine when he was back shovelling the patio for Uncle Vernon’s important work friends. It was tough, and the snow was freezing. He got frustrated and smashed his hands into the snow… a few seconds later, all the snow on the patio was gone, and so was the frost from the windows and all the garbage piled up over the last year. Harry decided not to question this and just said he finished. Who was he to question the weird things he did when they benefited everyone, including Uncle Vernon? He didn’t see Aunt Petunia’s little smile out the kitchen window while she was drying the dishes. He also didn’t hear her say how much he reminded her of her sister… the sister was never mentioned in this house.
Little things like the magic snow happened a lot after that. Most of the time, Uncle Vernon would see, and Harry wouldn’t get any food for three or four days and a bad beating to go along with it. Harry learned to be cautious and never to trust the people around you, even those you live with. He learned to be sneaky and steal food when sentenced to a week without it. He knew how to lie and get people to believe him. ‘ Nope, just tripped on the steps outside my school.’ ‘ Yeah, I was silly and fell off my bike; that’s how I broke my wrist.’ ‘Nah, I was pushed off the park by some other kid. Yes, it hurt, but you know me! I’m always getting hurt.’ ‘Yes, Uncle Vernon, I was it in the head during golf practice during gym. … The other kid was huge.’ ‘Don’t worry, Aunt Petunia! I’m fine!’
Harry especially got used to lying to himself. ‘I’ll make it out of here one day.’ ‘Uncle Vernon doesn’t mean to hurt me; it’s just how he shows his love.’ ‘ Aunt Petunia would never stay with someone who intentionally hurts her; they are just bad accidents.’ ‘I deserve this.’
Harry didn’t question when others weren’t afraid to hug their fathers. Dudley hugged him instead. He didn’t question it when nobody else had as many injuries as he did. He was just a bad kid, and he deserved the discipline.
On days when Vernon left for work, and neither boy had school, Petunia would take them to the library. At first, it was to help Dudley with his reading skills. Eventually, it turned into a tradition. And they would take the emergency car, even though it was not an emergency. They let Dudley in on the secret, and now only Vernon still didn’t know about the emergency car.
The library was their safe space away from home, and there were always new books for the boys to read. Petunia learned early on that Harry was a quick study; he could read something once and recite it to you ver batum. However, that didn’t always mean he understood it. Learning this had been difficult at first. It started with his numbers when he was three. He could recite all the numbers you gave him as part of a recipe, but he didn’t understand what those numbers were for until she took the time to explain. This translated into Harry reading a complex book on a subject and Petunia asking in-depth understanding rather than knowledge questions to ensure he understood the reason behind something. If he didn’t, she would take the time to explain it as best she could while using that book for reference.
On the other hand, Dudley could understand things quickly, but memorizing some things was very difficult. Petunia and even Harry would repeat the same lessons to him so that he could learn the information put in front of him. The emergency car always stayed at one of Petunia’s friend’s houses, and it would move between a few different places every couple of months lest Vernon catch on. Petunia crotched and knitted things and helped people with their taxes for money so she would always have something to fall back on. She hid all her money in her feminine hygiene drawer in the guest bathroom because Vernon thought her…girly parts, while pleasurable, were her problem, not his.
Harry and Dudley were opposites in some ways, and at other times, they were eerily similar. Just like Petunia and Lily, one was a witch, the other a squib. It was Harry’s eleventh birthday, the day after Petunia had received his Hogwarts acceptance letter. That night, she took both boys aside and explained what it was, what Lily, Harry, and James were, and why they were different but no less loved by Petunia, why Harry had to keep it quiet and couldn’t tell Vernon. Why Dudley couldn’t learn magic, but that didn’t mean he didn’t have any. Like she did, he could learn potions, astronomy, and parts of divination.
“Vernon is not a nice man. I don’t think he ever was… for a while. I thought he could change into the man we all needed him to be, but he hasn’t and has only gotten worse. Dudley, my beautiful baby boy… would you rather stay with Daddy or come with Mommy?” her voice trembled as she whispered the last words. Ever since Harry’s acceptance letter, she had been preparing to leave. She had an apartment set up in London, the boys would be going to new schools anyway, and she had a job lined up waiting for her to accept.
“ I want to go with you and Harry; I can’t stay here, Mom. He will kill me when he learns you’ve left… please don’t leave me here.”
Those words were all she needed to get the courage to phone the police. She had been carefully collecting evidence of all the abuse everyone suffered, and according to her attorney friend, she had an ironclad case. She just needed to phone, and she did.