Author's Note: Hello, everybody. Here's another fic. I realise I do have two on the go at the moment (the other being "Sightless Affection.") I'll be attempting to work on these two intermittently, as writer's block so frequently antagonises me; at which point more ideas pop into my head for other things, which is a bit of a nuisance, but there we are.
This fic will have rather significant changes and I really hope it all works out ultimately... and that the day may arrive when I might finally finish it. We shall see. I tend to work best with a million different things going on... or maybe I'm imagining it. Who knows? I ramble and, as such, whole-heartedly apologise.
Okay, moving on...
Chapter One: Belle
If one were to ask the residents of Privet Drive about the Dursleys they'd likely say the family were completely normal. Well, they were so unassuming, after all. There was nothing extraordinary about the businessman, housewife and the son they were so proud of who resided within the walls of Number Four.
Their niece, however, was a different matter entirely.
It wasn't often the residents saw the girl themselves, though when they had caught glimpses of her it was easy for them to consider the girl as somewhat strange. Of course, the fact that the senior Dursleys spoke of their niece in a certain manner would undoubtedly embed a particular perception in their own minds of the child. And why should Vernon and Petunia's claims about the girl prompt any of their neighbours to question their validity? They were highly respected in the community; there was no real reason to doubt them.
The girl in question was not what one might expect to have lived with the seemingly-perfect family. She looked sickly and was thin and pale. Her hair grew wildly out of her scalp in a tangled mass of black curls and her eyes, despite the pretty (one might consider) shade of green, lacked life. Her clothes were ill-fitting and were a far cry from what normal little girls wore; in fact, they were hand-me-downs from her cousin, Dudley, who was rather large. If questioned, the Dursleys would claim the girl was a tomboy, but that didn't excuse the fact that they were far too big for her stature.
The girl was ridiculed at school, and spent a great deal of time attempting to escape from her cousin and his group of friends, who frequently attacked her when none of the teachers were looking.
Their fellow classmates frequently saw it, of course, but after what had happened the first time, not one of them dared report the behaviour to a teacher again.
The last (and, indeed, only) time that happened, the parents of the bullying boys were all called to meetings with the Headteacher.
Some of the parents punished their boys, completely ashamed of their behaviour, while others condoned it and blamed the girl for provoking their sons.
The Dursleys reaction had been the most dangerous and, with Dudley having been suspended from school, along with his friends for such behaviour, the girl had wound up being punished. She had been kept home from school for a far longer duration than her cousin had been suspended.
For 'causing trouble,' as her Aunt and Uncle had deemed it, the girl had seen the buckle of her Uncle's belt, and locked away in the cupboard under the stairs, which had been her bedroom for as long as she could remember. She had scarcely been permitted to even use the toilet across the hallway, let alone consider the prospect of eating anything of substance. Even water was difficult to get.
She ended up with an infection following her punishment and had been hospitalised, a great inconvenience to her relatives. Precisely why they hadn't simply left her to rot in the cupboard was a mystery to her.
They had made a great many excuses for the medical staff to note, none of which even appeared remotely suspicious and the topic of her visible bruises and open wounds never prompted real questioning. They were clever that way.
Even when she was on the mend, though still with the infection, she was forced to go to school, regardless of the pain and delirium she had been experiencing. The teachers had wanted to send the sick girl home, but with being who she was, she declined. It would only make her family angry, though she could never tell anyone that. Some things were simply better left unsaid.
The sad green-eyed girl often experienced loneliness and one might have thought she'd have been used to it by now at the age of ten, almost eleven, but she hadn't. So long she had hoped for a friend; for someone to talk to.
There had once been a man dressed rather oddly - as though he were living during the reign of Queen Victoria - while she had been out shopping with her Aunt and cousin, who tipped his hat and bowed to her in a show of great respect. The girl herself had never understood the man's action, but it perhaps wasn't the best thing he could have done, as it angered her Aunt Petunia.
Her family were often angry with her. There was always some small insignificant thing one of them could find to be angry about and it was always her fault. She had resigned herself to that fact these days; that she was never blameless. In fact, she believed she deserved everything she got.
Strange things tended to happen around the girl as well, and that in itself was reason enough to lock the girl away.
As far as the Dursleys were concerned such 'freakishness' was deliberate and deserved punishment.
The girl herself never intended for things to happen; they just seemed to occur whenever she was around. She never really knew if she had been responsible for them, but took the blame regardless. It was likely her fault anyway.
The girl did cry a lot, but she never understood why. She couldn't recall people really taking notice of her in a state of upset, but, despite the Dursleys attempt to cease her 'sensitivity' and 'tantrums,' she did feel some relief from crying out her inner pain. Perhaps such relief could help her understand herself…
When it boiled down to it nobody really asked too many questions in the end; especially not about the girl. Privet Drive's real secrets were hidden behind the perfectly-manicured lawns and shining doorknockers.
"Up!" Petunia screeched, rapidly banging on the cupboard door. "Get up! Now!" With the sound of a latch clicking, the woman hit the door with her fist a final time before returning to the kitchen.
The girl inside slowly opened her eyes and took in her dark surroundings. She was still in the cupboard. Nobody had come for her yet. With a sad sigh, she readjusted herself into a sitting position; well, as best as she could for the sloped ceiling. Many times she'd hit her head on it; it was now second nature to duck under it.
Before she could even put on one sock, her cousin bounded down the stairs, stopping part-way to jump several times and cause dust and dirt to fall around her.
"Wake up, Potter!" he shouted, with excitement. "I'm going to the zoo!"
With a laugh, he continued to run down the stairs and, satisfied with his perfect timing, pushed the girl back into her cupboard, as she began to enter the hallway, and kicked the door shut.
The girl herself had landed on her wafer-thin mattress and hit her head on the wall from the force of being knocked down.
She tentatively got back to her feet and, hoping the coast was clear, opened the door and stepped into the carpeted hall, quietly closing the door behind her. She entered the kitchen where her Aunt immediately barked orders at her to cook the breakfast without burning anything.
The messy-haired child frequently cooked for her family. She'd like to have said she'd enjoyed it, but with the constant scrutiny and fear of what could happen if her attempts weren't to their standards, she didn't get much enjoyment out of it.
She had burned their food many times before now; never on purpose, despite how they perceived it. Burnt food meant no food for the skinny girl.
Focusing her attention on the bacon in the frying pan, she heard her Aunt make a fuss over her cousin. It was his birthday today.
"I want everything to be perfect for my Dudley's special day," she squealed, hands over her son's eyes, as though preparing for a big surprise.
"Hurry up," the large man demanded. "Bring my coffee, girl!"
They rarely called her by her real name and it was always a shock whenever anybody actually used it over the option of simply calling her 'girl.'
"Yes, Uncle Vernon," she said in a small voice, as she brought the coffee pot to the table, having moved the bacon from the frying pan to the plates.
"Aren't they wonderful, darling?" Aunt Petunia giggled, happily, having removed her hands from her son's eyes.
It seemed to the scrawny girl that her cousin had taken one glance at the huge pile of presents before asking just how many he'd received.
There were almost forty presents waiting for him and he wasted no time in complaining about how he got more the previous year, which was followed by his mother promising to buy him two more when they went out later in the day, which he agreed to.
This saddened the girl. She never knew what it meant to receive gifts. Surely there must have been a time when she had; when her parents were still alive perhaps. She was only a baby then - just fifteen months old when they died. Her relatives always claimed they were alcoholics who died in a car crash. It wasn't something the girl wanted to believe. She wanted to believe they were good people, but her Aunt and Uncle had wasted no time in telling her they'd died in such a manner and, surely, it was the truth. She couldn't really see them lying about it and hoped they weren't. If it really were the truth she'd rather live with the knowledge than to be told falsehoods of her parents' demise.
After the greedy boy had torn through the wrapping paper, and Vernon and Petunia had a debate about where the girl would go while they took Dudley and his friend to the zoo, it was decided that she would, indeed, have to go with them. There was no one to take care of her. Quite frankly, Vernon couldn't see anybody ever wanting to take care of her. She was nothing but a thorn in his family's side. They'd never even been asked to take her - she was just there on the doorstep on a cold morning a decade ago. Were it not for Petunia discovering the bundle when she went to put the milk bottles out, they might have scarcely been aware of her existence until, perhaps, Vernon fell over her on his way to work that morning.
The one who abandoned her there that night had left a note for Petunia. From the contents of the note Petunia had to take the child in, regardless of how much she loathed her; perhaps more, even, than she despised her own sister, the girls mother.
There was never any real love between the woman and her niece. The girl had tried; of course she had. She was raised to be a people-pleaser, yet some people could simply never be pleased, and Petunia and her family fell into that majority.
The mere sight of the girl angered Petunia herself. From her untameable hair to her own mother's emerald eyes; the dirt that covered her head-to-toe to her mournful expression. The girl looked awful, plain, ugly Petunia often told herself. Precisely why her parents had called her Belle was a mystery. There was nothing beautiful in that face.
Belle Suzanne Potter. Petunia hated that name. '"Beautiful lily," my foot,' she often snarled, even internally. You see, Belle was a reminder of what she had lost long ago. Why was the brat alive and her sister had died? Even if Petunia liked to pretend she didn't have a sister at all, Lily was still her sister; nobody could take that fact away.
Refocusing on the present, Petunia sat at the table with her family, as the dark-haired child, who frankly had no place whatsoever in her house, carefully dished out the breakfast and placed the plates before the three people who, at least, had given her a roof over her head.
Belle herself went without breakfast, as she did most mornings. If she was on her best behaviour today, she may be allowed to eat later.
Belle was kicked through the front door by her cousin and his friend Piers, who had arrived a few moments earlier. The adults didn't see this, or if they did, certainly never commented. Ignorance was bliss, after all.
As the family piled into Vernon's lavish company car, the man pulled his niece aside and threatened her with the prospect of starvation if she decided to 'act up,' as Belle herself had suspected, before practically throwing her in the car himself and slamming the door shut.
As he made his way to the driver's seat, Belle was forced to clamber over the two large boys in the back to sit in between them. It wasn't a position she ever liked being in, surrounded by boys. She would be poked, prodded, pinched, hit, kicked. Not a word was said and the girl had done all in her power to not cry.
The trek through the zoo itself left the two boisterous eleven-year-olds running ahead taunting the animals and the girl demurely walking behind her Aunt and Uncle. Every once in a while one of them would turn back to glare at her in warning.
When it came to the gift shop, Belle was left carrying the souvenirs bought for Dudley and his friend.
When they stopped off for something to eat having found a small ice cream parlour, the boys each got a large knickerbocker glory while the senior Dursleys had standard ice cream cones. Belle had nothing, following Vernon's excuse to the server that "She's lactose intolerant." By the time a dairy-free alternative had been offered Vernon had already abandoned the counter to rejoin the group.
Belle was still being watched; she knew that. She needed only to act normal for the remainder of the journey and she might just get some of their leftovers at dinnertime.
The prospect of normalcy appeared to be going quite well until they all entered the reptile house.
The boys and both adults were crowded around the snake enclosure, with varying expressions on their faces, as Belle stood off to the side a short distance away. It appeared as though she wasn't with them at all. More appropriately, she felt eyes upon her, as though she was being studied. She looked like a street urchin; she knew that. Slowly, she turned around and locked eyes with the man, who sadly shook his head and apologetically walked away. The expression on his face told her a lot. He felt sorry for her; pitied her, though Belle herself would say she was undeserving of such compassion.
An impatient Vernon banged repeatedly on the glass, bringing Belle's focus back to the group she was an unwanted member of. "Move!" he encouraged, rudely, which was followed by an angry Dudley repeating the same habit, but with more energy and aggravation.
"That's not very nice," she said, softly, causing one pair of eyes to look at her. It seemed as though Petunia was the only one who had heard her and the anger flashing in her eyes told Belle she had no business in speaking to her son like that.
"This is boring!" Dudley complained, loudly. He stomped off with Piers, as Vernon's eyes fell upon the girl. The look he gave her sent shivers down her spine and he followed his son, his predatory eyes never leaving her form. He must have heard her too.
The two females were standing face-to-face and Belle cast her eyes downwards. She was bang out of order with her words; she knew that. She had considered running, but where would she go? In that moment she wished only to morph into an ostrich and bury her head in the sand.
"Never," Petunia seethed, finger pointing right between Belle's eyes, which prompted her to look up in fear, "speak that way again." And she headed in the same direction as the trio; like Vernon, her eyes never leaving Belle's.
Slowly, Belle approached the railing of the snake enclosure, where the previously-taunted snake rested its head sadly on a rock.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, to no one in particular, though her eyes were focused on the elongated reptile. "It's just how they are."
It was almost as if the snake could hear her. Curiously, it lifted its head and levelled its eyes with her own.
"Can you hear me?" she asked, surprised, to which the serpent nodded its head. "I've never… spoken to a snake before. Can you speak to all humans?" With a shake of its head, Belle spoke again, having read the plaque on the wall. "You're from Brazil? How can you understand me? Shouldn't you speak Portuguese?"
If it were possible for snakes to laugh, she might have sworn she was going mad, as the serpent inclined it's head forward, as though snickering.
She didn't really know what to make of the snake. It might easily have been offended by her questioning.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to upset you."
The snake shook its head as if to say 'No offence taken.'
Belle felt very strange now, as she studied the boa constrictor's pattern of movement and, it appeared, it was also scrutinising her.
"Mummy! Dad, come here! You won't believe what this snake is doing!"
Dudley had returned. Perhaps he was slightly observant after all. He must have seen the exchange. He had run over and knocked the girl off her feet, her head smacking against the wooden railing, tears meeting her eyes. She looked up at him and internally asked 'Why?'
And then, as if by magic, she saw the glass disappear and her cousin, who had his hands pressed threateningly against the previously-present glass, lost his balance and fell forward over the railing and dove into the water. He spluttered a bit, before watching in horror as the snake slithered past him and out of the enclosure, pausing in front of the girl. "Thank you, girlie," it said, and she watched it leave with an exclamation of "Brazil, here I come!"
Once Dudley had regained his confidence, he stood to exit the enclosure, immediately panicking upon feeling the glass back where it had been initially. He was trapped.
The return to Privet Drive had been completely miserable. Belle knew it was all her fault. She hadn't intended for that to happen.
Dudley had done a considerable amount of whining about how the serpent had almost strangled him and how he had almost drowned. Piers had given Belle several kicks to the shins when Vernon and Petunia weren't looking.
After they had dropped Piers off, Petunia led a shivering, blanket-wrapped Dudley into the house and up the stairs for a warm bath, while Vernon dragged a rather bruised Belle straight out of the car, across the driveway, through the front door and down the hallway by her hair. The girl had tried to wrestle herself free from his grasp, but it was futile. He was so much stronger than she was.
"What happened?" he demanded, through gritted teeth, venomously looking directly into her eyes.
"I don't know," Belle sobbed, pathetically. "I didn't mean for it to happen. It was an accident. It was just there one minute and gone the next. Please, Uncle Vernon…" She trailed off, silently hoping that just once he might believe her.
"You mean to tell me it happened by magic?" he mocked, spittle flying everywhere in his anger. "There's no such thing as magic!" And, with that, he yanked the cupboard door open, threw his niece in there and slammed it shut, immediately locking it and closing the vent. "No meals for a week!"
He was a man of his word where Belle was concerned. Had he not warned her that if anything happened that day she would go hungry for a week? His threats were never to be taken lightly.
Belle lay uncomfortably on the poor excuse for bedding she had landed on when her Uncle had thrown her in there. She'd hit her head again and smacked her leg on a cabinet to her left. That cabinet had been in there for the last six months and she'd yet to fully get used to its presence.
Slowly, she laid her head on the ragged, dirty towel which was intended to offer the same comfort as Dudley's fluffy pillow and wept in the darkness.