Chapter 2
Chapter two
The boy was sat in a classroom, he had never been to a place like this before. There were bright colours everywhere and strange pictures adorning the walls and many many children, all of them bigger than him. Dudley held court in the centre of the classroom, several other boys crowded round him chattering happily between sneering at the boy and glancing nervously at the door. He sat at the back of the classroom, as far from Dudley as possible. His hair unruly as ever much to the disapproval of the playground mums and his clothes hanging off his skinny frame with his untucked shirt reaching to the knees of his thin and baggy trousers, while his glasses perched on the end of his nose held together by a thick wad of Sellotape. He didn’t want to move much even though the plastic chair was uncomfortable and he sat ram rod straight so his back was not touching the chair back at all. If anybody had bothered to look beneath the ill fitting shirt they would find his back to be a riot of red lines, some deep enough to have now crusted over with dried blood despite the many weeks it had been since the punishment was carried out. But of course nobody did. The boy knew better than to run away again though, his adventure had taught him that at least.
The door swung open and all the children that had been milling around scrambled to their seats. In walked a tall thin woman, she wore dark purple glass with pointed tips on the top corners and steel grey hair curled elegantly into an updo on the back of her head. “Good morning class, I am Mrs Christian and welcome to St Andrew Primary School. On your desk is an exercise book and today we will be learning to write our letters. Please be quiet for the register.” Mrs Christian produced a black clipboard from within her desk and began reading out names with children responding with a quiet Here Mrs Christian after every name. “Piers Polkiss.”
“Here Mrs Christian.” responded a boy with pale blonde hair and a thin face sat right next to Dudley.
“Harry Potter.” There was no answer. “Harry Potter?” The boy wondered who Harry Potter was as Mrs Christian rifled through the paperwork on her desk squinting at a page. She put the papers and back and walked from her desk to right in front of his. She peered over her spectacles at him. “Are you mute boy?”
“No Mrs Christian.” he answered not entirely sure what mute meant.
“Then why did you not answer to your name? Are you a jokester? Do you think wasting my time to be funny?”
“You haven’t said my name Mrs Christian.”
“I called Harry Potter twice.” she responded sharply.
“My name’s Harry Potter?” he asked his mouth agape in shock as giggles broke out across the classroom. Not boy or freak but Harry.
“Stand in the corner, now.” said Mrs Christian her lips forming a thin line as she pointed. Harry moved wordlessly to where she had directed his mind spinning in disbelief. Harry. His name was really Harry and Potter that must have come from his parents. He wasn’t a Dursley at all. He was Harry Potter.
At the end of the day when Aunt Petunia came to collect Dudley and him, her smile looked less pinched and closer to a grimace. Some of the playground mums looked at her the same way that the other children looked at Harry. Harry had spent all morning stood in the corner of the classroom, he had no lunch and was berated by Mrs Christian for having supposedly lost his lunch box. The woman didn’t seem to understand that he had never had one to lose to begin with. But still his stomach grumbled through the afternoon causing Mrs Christian to shoot him increasingly annoyed looks as he tried his best to trace out his alphabet in wobbly pencil lines. He didn’t think he’d learned much today for school, but he had learned the most important thing; his name.
In the car on the way back to number four Aunt Petunia hissed through gritted teeth from the front seat, “When we get home you will cook the dinner I have set out for you and when you are done I do not want to hear another word from you until morning, in fact until next week.” Harry nodded meekly focusing his sight on his shoes, well Dudley’s old shoes really, scuffed and dirty and the sole was peeling away on the right one. Dudley chattered loudly to his mum with great exaggerations of his academic prowess and unfortunately accurate details of how he was the social leader of the class.
Harry shuffled quietly into number four behind Aunt Petunia and Dudley, keeping his eyes focused on the carpet, not daring to look up. He made it to the kitchen without incident and Aunt Petunia and Dudley had settled themselves in the living room with a cartoon blaring loudly from the television set. Harry moved his step to the counter top next to the cooker and climbed up. Aunt Petunia had set out all the ingredients along with instructions to make chicken kievs. He sighed internally, new recipes were the worst. There were so many more opportunities for mistakes and from mistakes, punishments. Carefully he began preparing the meal. He prepared the potatoes for roasting, carefully sliced the chicken breast and used a separate knife for the vegetables when chopping them all up neatly. He’d been getting better at handling the large knives that were easily as long as his forearm. He recalled the time that he had bled all over the shiny white counter tops and shuddered. He had an egg on his forehead for a week from the force exerted by the frying pan Aunt Petunia had swung at his head for the misdemeanour. The frying pan hissed and spat oil as he cooked landing on his bare arms and sizzling against his skin. He shrugged it off like a slight annoyance even as his skin burnt leaving behind tiny white scars that couldn’t truly stand out on his pale skin.
When he finally set the food on their respective plates, he felt a wave of relief wash over him. Nothing had been messed up and he would have no reason to be punished. He tiptoed quietly away from his food to his cupboard, despite his grumbling stomach’s protest as the delicious smell of dinner wafted through the air. He stepped into his cupboard and shut the door softly behind him. “Hart.” he whispered.
“Smidge.” responded the small snake. “Would you like a spider? They are most tasty.”
“No thanks Hart, but I have news.” Harry hissed quietly. “I know what my name is.”
“Truly?”
“Yes, the teacher at school told me; I don’t think she likes me but she said my name is Harry Potter.” he responded eagerly. His voice dying as he heard Uncle Vernon’s footsteps approaching and the large man muttering about hissing and gas leaks. He exhaled in relief as he heard his uncle’s footsteps fade.
“Harry Potter? It is good you have a name, I will still be calling you Smidge, Smidge.” announced Hart decisively. Harry’s face broke into a wide grin and he wrapped his body around the coiled snake, snuggling close to him with a feeling of contentment settling in his chest.