Petunia and Vernon Dursley loved to think they were normal, that they, along with their son, Dudley, were a picture perfect family. Petunia being a stay at home mum and a housewife while Vernon worked at his drill factory 'Grunnings', the man coming home after work with dinner on the table with a perfect home and perfect child, 'as it should be' they boasted proudly. The Dursley's thought they were superior to others with their perfect home, their perfectly trimmed and lively grass bordered by beds of blooming and pruned roses, or maybe with the fancy new car Vernon brags about any chance he gets to the neighbors they are convinced are jealous of their life.
But no matter how much they strived to be perfect, to make others jealous, it would never get rid of the boy under the stairs, the freakish, abnormal freak with the messy black unruly hair, the extremely pale gaunt skin, the knobby knees, the hauntingly green eyes that seemed to glow hidden behind the broken silver circular glasses. Worst of all, the disgusting scar on his forehead, they couldn't bare to look at, the pale pinkish raised thin lines branching over his forehead and down to the bridge of his nose and to his brow, like a lightning bolt striking the ground in an electrical storm.
The freak that stayed in the dark cupboard with the dim lightbulb, the freak that didn't know his own name until he was in Reception when he wrote 'freak' at the top of his colouring sheet instead of 'Harry', having gone years not knowing his own name because of his horrid relatives.
-
"Harry, why is the top of your colouring sheet labeled 'freak'?" Harry's teacher, Mrs. Graham asked, crouching down next to the small boy that had the colouring sheet that had a messily coloured in Dragon clutched tightly in his small hands.
Harry looked up at her in confusion, who was Harry? His name is freak, that was what he was called at home, "Harry?" he repeated, tilting his head slightly, the broken glasses on his nose tilting slightly with the action.
Mrs. Graham's eyes softened slightly and ruffled his hair, repeating herself again, "yes, dear, Harry is your name, Harry Potter."
He blinked and looked down at the messily scribbled letters above the drawing before looking back up at the teacher again, "change it?"
A strange look entered Mrs. Graham's eye, as if she was concerned as to why he was confusing the word 'freak' with his name.
"Yes, Harry, please change it to your name and then we'll put it in your tray for safe keeping, okay?" she prompted gently.
the young boy perked up slightly and nodded eagerly, quickly walking over to one of the small tables and scribbling out the word 'freak' and quickly wrote the word 'Harry' next to it, a strange feeling in his chest at writing the unfamiliar word.
-
But that was how he thought it was meant to be.
Once Harry learned his name he was confused, he didn't know why his Aunt and Uncle called him freak instead of 'Harry Potter' so when he went back to Number 4 Privet Drive (he refused to call it home) he asked his Aunt Petunia, only to receive a clip to the back of the head and the shout of 'Don't ask questions!'.
He spent the rest of the night locked in his cupboard without anything to eat.
That was the second thing he learned with the Dursley's, to never ask questions.
Don't ask about his parents ('They were drunks that abandoned you and died in a car crash now get back into your cupboard!').
Don't ask why Dudley didn't have to work ('How dare you try and pull Dudley into your freakishness, our Duddykins is perfect now get back to work, I want this house spotless if you want anything to eat tonight!')
And most importantly: Never try and tell anyone about how he was treat at the Dursley's. He had tried before to tell a teacher in Year 4 about how the Dursley's made him clean the house, tend to the garden, cook most of the meals and keep him in the cupboard.
-
Harry tugged on his Year 3 teachers sleeve, his teacher, Mr. Wood, was a nice enough man, he liked helping Harry when he got confused with his Maths.
Mr. Wood looked down at Harry and smiled softly, "Harry, are you having trouble with your 3 times tables again?" he asked softly.
Harry shook his head, "no, Mr. Wood, but...could I stay here after school?"
Mr. Wood looked down at Harry in confusion, "Harry, they're not any clubs on tonight, why would you want to stay after school?"
"My Aunt and Uncle don't like me very much," Harry mumbled, looking down at the floor, fiddling with the hem of his school polo.
Mr. Wood sighed and shook his head, "Harry, your Aunt and Uncle are nice people, we've talked about this already, you need to stop telling people that your relatives are mistreating you, you're going to get them in trouble."
Harry looked up at him again and tried to convince him, "But-".
He was only interrupted again.
"Harry you need to stop this nonsense immediately, if you try and claim such things again I'll have no choice but to bring your relatives in to tell them about your behavior, do you understand?" Mr. Wood cut him off sternly.
Harry looked back down at the floor again and nodded, "yes, sir," he said quietly.
Mr. Wood nodded, "good, now sit back down and finish your work, I want it done by the end of the day.
-
They hadn't believed him (' The Dursley's are wonderful people, Harry, don't be dramatic, they would never do that'). And that was that.
No one ever believed him. No matter how many times he came to school in a tattered and oversized uniform, bruises on his arms, cuts on his hands and knees, a black eye or two or maybe the amount of times the sellotape on the bridge of the glasses doubled because of Dudley punching him as a reward for winning 'Harry Hunting'.
-
"Come out, come out, wherever you are you little freak," The grating voice of Dudley Dursley called out, signaling to his best friend, Piers Polkiss to go one way while he went the other.
Harry cowered behind a set of bins outside of school, his hand clamped over hi mouth as tears streamed down his face as he tried to be as quiet as possible, jumping when Dudley knocked over a bin a few meters away from him, accidentally falling into the metal bin behind him and almost letting out a loud sob of terror as the sound of Dudley searching for him stopped, clearly having heard the noise.
"Found you, freak," Dudley cackled, dragging Harry back out into the open by the back of his collar as Harry thrashed and sobbed, begging to be let go by his cousin.
-
Not even the severe lack of a medical record and vaccinations concerned the school and teachers, convinced the Dursley's were nice people and that they must have had a reason why the fat lump of a bully that terrorized anyone daring to defy him or befriend Harry with his crew of other children that loved terrorizing the school, Dudley Dursley, had all of his vaccinations and multiple check-ups a year while the thin scrawny boy that looked like he would snap with the slight gust of wind had not even a sliver of a Doctor or Dentist since his birth.
Harry learned after a while that no one would listen to him, ignoring the obvious cries for help, the questions, ignoring his presence unless absolutely necessary. Eventually, by the time he turned 10, he learned to stop speaking, cowering under the loud voices of his Aunt and Uncle, the taunts of his cousin, the teachers yelling at different students for not doing homework, any adult or child that came up to him caused him to stiffen, he cowered, shrinking in on himself as he hunched over and tried to make himself as small as possible, his throat seized up, he couldn't form words, not even a noise, he stayed silent, he stopped speaking, not even answering his name on the register when a teacher called his name, the silence was welcoming, it made him feel safe, no one could hurt him if he couldn't speak, that wasn't true of course, his Uncle still dragged him with force strong enough to fracture his wrist, he still whipped him with his belt every time he took too long on his chores or broke something in the house and his aunt still put his hand over the stove when he accidentally burned the food for breakfast, or would take the pan and smack it over his head every time he caused a mess or ruined a meal, but he convinced himself that the silence would help him stay out of their way.
His relatives saw it as a blessing, maybe a miracle sent from above that the little freak stayed out of the way and completed his chores. He didn't even bang on his cupboard door when he was locked in for the weekend begging for food, his voice was stomped out, his voice quieted until he stayed silent, Harry Potter lost his voice, he may not ever get it back.
And that was how it was meant to be.