They weren't to blame. They couldn't be.
After all, he was the one who attacked poor Dudley, not the other way around.
Of course, most of the people along Privet Drive's normally quiet street who reasoned this to themselves as they watched the car pull up to the house didn't know about the week long time outs in the cupboard under the stairs, or the things said to the boy as he cried when he couldn't sleep because of nightmares about green light or tried to play with his older (and much more obnoxious) brother who instead stuffed his head in the toilet or set his mates on him instead.
No, all the residents of Privet Drive knew was that poor Dudley Dursley had been fast asleep like a good boy one night while the family had been on holiday and his eleven year old brother had come up behind him in the night and attacked him, squealing "Piggy! Piggy!" The poor thing had now gone through several procedures to try and restore his backside to what it was before it resembled a gutted pig at a slaughterhouse.
All because of that horrid little boy Harry Dursley. He was to blame, for everything. The Dursleys were good people otherwise, right?
The rented car pulling up to Number 4 Privet Drive was sleek and black, unmarked but many could tell where it was headed when the large man that climbed from the drivers seat was seen to be wearing a white uniform.
The man in question, Rubin Harris, was something of a giant, with a mane of hair and a bushy beard. He liked to think this rugged look and his large physique gave an impression of being a person not to be trifled with, and in many respects he was right-especially among some of the edgier patients. He was an orderly at Horton Psychiatric Hospital, and being a large and imposing looking man came in handy many a time when he was on the job.
That being said, it wasn't all fist fight's and macho stare downs. Harris liked to work mainly in the pediatric ward of the hospital (a small ward, thankfully), where his main job was to keep the kids happy in the recreation room and not let them get into any trouble. Harris considered himself great with kids, always happy to play along in their games as he worked or suggest an idea here or there of what to play when the kids grew bored. He'd been studying to become a fully licensed doctor earlier in his career, but somehow he got distracted. He ended up spending more time with the kids at Horton's instead of studying in the classroom (he didn't really mind though, this meant he could do something he'd grown to love).
It was because he was so great with kids, Harris suspected, that he'd been asked to pick up this newest patient.
Harry Dursley had just turned eleven when he'd attacked his older brother Dudley in the night while they were on holiday at the beach. Since then he'd seemed to have suffered a complete break with reality and the family (and their therapist) felt he wasn't stable enough to be in the outside world anymore. The poor kid had been in and out of his primary school's counselor office for odd pictures and stories he'd turn in for school work. And several notes home from teachers had pointed out the disturbing and other worldly fantasies he'd describe in class that set the other students at ill-ease and generally disrupted the classroom. Harris had read that Harry's mother's side of the family had a history of mental problems, although neither Petunia Dursley or her sister Lily had been afflicted. Harris suspected maybe these mental problems popped up once a couple generations, or maybe something else had been going on here entirely. The notes home had also repeatedly pointed out how thin Harry had been and asking whether he had any proper fitting clothes to wear.
As Harris approached the door he remembered seeing a few reports from the school nurses of how Harry would constantly come in with nosebleeds or nasty bruises, usually appearing after he'd been seen playing with his brother Dudley and his friends. Harris pitied the kid, thinking it couldn't have been easy for him before the initial attack on his brother that marked his complete break with reality.
Petunia Dursley opened the door before Rubin could even knock, looking pale and grim as she led him towards the sitting room where the rest of the family had been seated.
Petunia was a thin and sallow looking woman, with a long neck and narrowed eyes that seemed to analyze everything. Harris saw her frown at him when she thought he couldn't see and suspected it was because of his unkempt appearance-alot of mothers and grannies frowned at him when they saw but the kids said he looked cool, so he generally disregarded what any stuffy old bird had to say.
Her husband, Vernon, was a large man width wise, larger than Harris was by far, and his face appeared squashed like a pug or a pit bull. Some mean looking dog, Harris reasoned, because he looked ready to bite anyone's head off should they stray to close. He watched Harris enter the room with a scowl on his face before quickly looking back to his youngest son, as though Harry might make a leap at him if he took his gaze away for to long.
Dudley was a miniature replica of his father, except his face seemed much rounder and he lay on his stomach on the floor. Through his clothes you could see padding reaching down to his backside and he winced from time to time like he was in pain. He watched Harris enter as well, eyes growing at his size and appearance before looking over to his brother, as though he wondered how bad this tiny thing in a to large gray t-shirt could be to warrant such a large man coming to take him away.
Harry didn't seem to be aware of Harris' arrival, and when he looked up at the man he smiled cheerfully before looking away, staring off into space with an empty yet happy expression.
"Harry come on, get your things." Petunia ordered but Harry didn't respond. His mother grew visibly frustrated as she tried again to get his attention and failed.
"I've got this miss," Harris said gently, brushing past the bean pole of a woman and kneeling before the small child, gently reaching out to grasp his upper arm. Harry jumped in surprise, looking up at Harris curiously as though he was seeing him for the first time.
"Hey'a Harry," Harris said cheerfully, "It's time to go with me alright? Grab yer things fer me an' we'll be off."
"Where are we going?" Harry frowned and behind Harris he heard Petunia scoff in annoyance, muttering about how she'd already told the boy several times where he was headed.
"Horton's, it's a nice place don' worry 'bout it." Harris said, "An' the quicker you come with me, the sooner ye can meet the other kids there."
Harry nodded, standing up and waiting for Harris to lead the way. Harris smiled, plucking up Harry's rucksack and looking around to the rest of the family before leading the small boy out the door and towards the waiting car.
"Don' worry about him," Harris said to Petunia Dursley as she followed them to the door, "We'll get 'im right as rain in no time at all, you'll see."
"I very much doubt that." The woman said coldly before slamming the door closed and locking it with a click of the tumblers.
Horton's Psychiatric Hospital was situated in a large and old building in Scotland. It was surrounded by forests and a lake, sitting on a large rocky hill and appearing rather eerie in the fog as the orange lights glowed through it's windows. The building and it's surrounding land had once been a convent, and before that a castle for some lord or duke (Harris hadn't really been paying attention when Luther Matthews had been going on and on about the hospital during Harris' orientation).
The point was, Horton's was a rather imposing sight at first glance. It was a fitting setting for a mental hospital in Harris' opinion. It was dark, old, and creepy at night. If you listened closely you could often hear a wolf or two howling when the moon was full, and the train station that was a bit farther down the road from Horton's could make you nostalgic as you listened to the train's blow their whistles.
Harry and Harris had traveled by train actually, stopping at King's Cross Station and sitting together in a compartment Harris had paid to be kept to themselves, passing the time by watching the scenery outside rush by. Harry hadn't said much as they traveled though, preferring to watch the passing trees or watch the clouds above them. As it grew dark he looked to inside the train, playing with the arm rests that folded up back into the seats or tracing his fingers up the pattern of the upholstery.
"There's a frog in here." He muttered at one point as Harris paid for lunch as a trolley passed by, pushed by an older woman who smiled cheerily at the boy when she stopped at their door.
Harris looked up from his sandwich of Corned Beef and frowned, "What?"
Harry was looking at the floor, then slowly his head traveled to look up the wall of the compartment before resting at the window, "Rotten luck... he got away."
He didn't say anything after that. Just enjoyed the chocolate bar Harris had bought him for a dessert.
After arriving at the station Harris hurried Harry off the train and towards his own car, which had been parked in the station's parking lot since this morning. Harry sat in the back, watching out the window as they drove in the dusk light then sighing in awe as Horton's came into view. Harris allowed himself a small chuckle, finding the reaction somewhat memorable-it had been his own the first time he drove up to the hospital.
As they drove up the path towards the gate Harry did ask one odd question though.
"Is that it Hagrid?"
Harris frowned, looking into his mirror at the boy.
"I'm sorry?"
"Is that the school Hagrid? Are we here?"
"Hagrid?"
Harry finally looked back at him, fixing his eyes on Harris' in the mirror, "The school. The one you brought me to."
Harris was silent a moment, more confused than anything. Then it dawned on him, this must be the boy's delusions talking.
"Yeah," He finally said, "It is."
Harry smiled, muttering under his breath, "Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy warty Hogwarts..."
Doctors Smith and McGonagall were waiting by the front door when Harris pulled up in his old and rather beaten looking car. Smith had his ever present scowl plastered across his pale face, which was framed by his slippery looking black hair. Beside him, McGonagall watched the car approach with a bitter more of a regretful expression.
Harris pulled up a foot before the doctors, shutting the car off and climbing out.
"Good the whole trip," He reported with a grin, "Nice lad, 'e is."
"Nice or not, he's still to be considered dangerous Rubin." Doctor Smith snapped.
"Oh hush Sean," McGonagall huffed, "Don't give the boy a bad impression of the people here before he even makes it in the door."
Smith rolled his eyes, storming forward to watch as Harry climbed out the passenger door of the car, clutching to his small (and rather light) rucksack as Harris led him towards the front doors.
"Hello Harry." McGonagall smiled as the small boy approached, "This way if you please."
Quietly, Harry was led in the dark oak doors of Horton's, a hospital for the mentally ill.
"Mr. Dursley, I hope you don't see this trip as a vacation or some new chance for trouble." Dr. Smith had begun to drawl when Harry interrupted.
"Potter."
"What?"
"My name. It's Harry Potter."
That caused the surrounding adults to pause a moment, frowning at the boy as though he'd done something wrong when really they were just confused.
McGonagall remembered running across the name "Potter" in a file she'd read about the boy, but it took her another few moments to remember it was the last name of his deceased aunt and uncle-when Harry had been a year old he'd been involved in a car crash that had claimed the lives of his relatives and left him with a jagged scar across his temple. Why he'd chosen to refer to himself with their last name though, was beyond the woman.
"Humor him Smith." She hissed, turning quickly to Harry and with a smile continued to lead him down the hall.
"Of course, sorry dear."
The walk consisted of several dark and rather cold halls, a number of stairs, and finally McGonagall stopped before the door leading to a tower.
"This is the pediatric ward," She explained kindly to Harry, "I imagine you're exhausted with how late it is, so we'll do the official introductions and such tomorrow. For now, enjoy the warm bed." With that she pressed her finger to the call button beside the door and with a loud Ka-Thunk! the door was unlocked.
Harris followed close behind, Smith sighing as he peeled off to check in on a few of the other patients in the common room of the ward. His first stop was a pale blonde boy, who sat in a large green chair by the fire watching the other children with a cold look to his face.
A fiery redheaded boy looked up the moment he heard the loud lock of the door and watched beside his older brother as his doctor and Harris lead Harry past, towards the stairs where a newly vacated room waited. He turned to his brother, who looked up from his 3D puzzle when he touched his knee. The older boy nodded, as if prompting the younger to go on and that's what the boy did, following after his doctor and Harris.
Along the way he passed a girl with a mane of brown hair and a large book on castles. She looked up a moment as he accidentally brushed past but regarded it as nothing and quickly returned to her book.
The redhead turned down the hall in time to see McGonagall open the room door for Harry and quickly he scurried down to watch from the door window as a rucksack was tossed onto the desk and Harry sat on the bed. Harris held a pair of newly washed pajamas in his arms, waiting patiently as McGonagall rolled out her customary welcome wagon ("Don't try any funny business here, we are a no-nonsense institution and will nip whatever tom-foolery arises in the bud." Or what he'd heard after arriving, "We told your brother the same thing: first sign of trouble and it'll be Andrews for you. You can ask him, we appreciate a little good humor here or there but anything beyond that is both inappropriate and intolerable. We may have two Wesley's here now, but we will not have twice the trouble.").
He was quick to duck around the corner as McGonagall turned to go, watching silently as she waited by the door for Harris to walk out, bidding Harry goodnight and then she locked the door.
"Really Rubin, he's not mentally handicapped." He heard the doctor hiss as they made their way down the hall, "You didn't have to explain pajamas to him."
"Sorry Doctor," Harris sighed, "Just any new kid here I see as the new kid in the family. Can't help meself sometimes, you know?"
"Unfortunately, I do."
The boy waited a bit longer, counting to fifty in his head, then he scurried to Harry's door and tapped softly on the glass. Harry's head snapped up and at the boy's beckoning he rose from the bed and walked to the door. The boy grinned from his side, then with practiced precision slipped a couple of hairpins into the lock on Harry's door. Within minutes the door had opened and the boy had slipped inside.
"Hi there." He said, grinning a bit awkwardly.
"Hi."
"Ron, Ron Wesley." Ron said, holding a hand out to Harry. Harry stared at the hand a moment, as though it were a foreign object to him before gripping it with his own.
"Harry Potter."
Dear Journal
Tonight a new kid showed up. His name's Harry, and he's completely nutters. But he seems nice enough and he says some of the weirdest things (like he calls me Ron "Weasley" instead of Wesley-at one point he seemed to normal out a bit and explained it was because Weasley sounds more magical or something). Most of the time he's off in this other world or something (looks a bit like George does so I assume Harry's in some other world at least) and I had to just play along to what he was saying because usually he didn't understand how I didn't understand. From what I can tell, he thinks he's a wizard or something and that he's at a school for wizards (I wish!).
I like him, he's fun (more so than a lot of the guys around here at least-especially that know-it all Granger!).
-Ron Wesley, September 2nd, 1991. Monday, 9:00 PM.