Inhibition

Chapter One: The Freak

'He did it again, Vernon.'

Emerald eyes peered out from behind their hiding place. He could hear her every movement as she stormed around the kitchen; the bang on a saucepan being moved from one hob to another, the clattering of china – the cheap, every day set- being taken out from the top cupboard, away from any potential prying eyes, ready to set the table for dinner.

'My ickle Duddy-kins saw him this time. He was sat right next to him!'

Small, pudgy fingers rested against the rough, uneven door. He wriggled, pushing against it. A lone tooth worried at his plump lower lip. He let out a faint whimper. They were talking about him again.

'Something has got to be done. It's only a matter of time before he does something freakish to our precious little Dudders!'

Auntie 'Tuna sounds angwee again…

His little nose twitched as the scent of freshly roasted beef wafted through the door to his sanctuary. His tummy growled in protest.

'Hungwee' He pouted, tracing the cool metal keyhole. He had only managed one lick of Dudley's ice-cream cone before Petunia had noticed. It was the first time his cousin had offered to share anything with the smaller boy. They had been in the park, as old Mrs. Figg next door couldn't look after him for the day, and Petunia refused point blank to buy an extra ticket for him to go and see the new Disney film Dudley had been whining and screaming to see all week.

…No car dis time…

Petunia hadn't tried leaving him in the car again, either. The last time she did, it had been hot and stuffy. It had made him dizzy. He vaguely remembered soft hands wiping watery vomit from his lips and chin, a kind voice shouting out that he was still breathing.

Petunia had gone white when she had come back, pushing her little Duddikins in his buggy, only to discover the back window of Vernons' new Vauxhall decorating the pavement, a growing crowed surrounding the damaged car. Thin lips had drawn into an impossibly tight line, as the crowed, whispering and pointing, focused their attention on the two firemen lifting the tiny, limp form from the back seat.

Small fingers found their way to his backside, wincing as he touched the still tender flesh through his shorts. He liked these ones. They had a cute, wonky-faced horse on the pocket. Vernon had bought them for him – the first real present he had ever been given – after his punishment for breaking the car window.

Bad-bad-bad!

He whimpered, lost in the memory of that night. Resting on the door, he clawed weakly at it, the pain of his soft baby-nails tearing not registering as his other hand drifted down, digging into the still healing flesh of his rear.

He had thought, for a brief moment, that his Auntie 'Tuna would turn around and leave him there, all by himself. He had squirmed, desperate to reach her. She had told him what happened to Freaks like him. They got put into care, in horrible, smelly old orphanages, where no-one would care if one miserable little Freak went missing. He didn't want to leave his blanky behind, or those crayons Dudley had broken by throwing them into the new lawnmower that Uncle Vernon had bought home. He didn't want to give up the spider – Blackie, he had named her-who lived above his pillow and spun webs in such pretty patterns, or his cupboard, for rats and a cramped, cold room with lots of other nasty little Freaks who wouldn't be half as kind to him as Auntie 'Tuna's family was.

He remembered the feeling of terror that had flooded him, as the soft, strong arms tightened around his wriggling frame. It had felt as though the bottom of his tummy had fallen out. He couldn't help himself. He had let out a stifled sob, his hand firmly wedged in his mouth, as the front of his worn blue dungarees became warm, a large, wet patch spreading across the pale blue denim. Soft arms moved him away from their warm, welcoming body as the damp spread, trickling down his legs, dripping off of his bare toes.

That was when she turned back for him. Unruly, she had said. They thought that there was something wrong with him. A car crash, you see. They – she and her husband, of course – thought that he was starting to develop a phobia of them, despite his young age. She couldn't understand how he had managed to pull down the child locks all by himself while she was getting her own little angel strapped in to his buggy. When she had seen, she had understandably panicked. Rushed to call her husband, she said, though he must have been in a meeting as no-one answered.

They had nodded, the crowed quickly dispelling as the toddler was passed back to his aunt. He clung to her leg, sniffling, as relief coursed through his tiny body. It wasn't until they got home that he realized just how angry she was.

They had to get a taxi home. Petunia had decided it wasn't safe for her Ickle Duddykins to be anywhere near so much broken glass, and public transport was just out of the question.

Dudley had been sat in front of the television in the living room, a mountain of toys still scattered across the carpet from where he had been playing earlier that day.

He had been led into the kitchen, Auntie 'Tuna's bony hand twisting painfully at his wrist. Her shrill voice went over his head, her shriek's not registering fully as he focused on the itchy, drying urine that covered his dungarees. It smelled bad, like old Mrs. Figg's cats. He wrinkled his nose as he pulled on his dungarees again, trying to pry them off of his damp, itchy skin.

'Listen to me when I'm speaking, you little Freak!' She slapped him. Hard. Emerald eyes watered, his cheek stinging as she lowered her hand from his face. He looked up at her with tears in his eyes, his hands still resting on the seat of his denim dungarees, where he had been trying to pull the uncomfortable material away. Cold, watery blue eyes turned icy when she saw where his hands lay.

She turned without a word, looking as though she was about to start preparing dinner. Making her way to the oven, she turned the largest of the four hobs on full. He could see the steam rising from it as first a minute, then two, then three ticked by.

He could still remember the warm, fuzzy feeling that had overcome him as Auntie 'Tuna had undone his dungarees for him, helping him to undress the same way she did for Dudley. He had smiled as she pulled the red and white striped t-shirt off of his upper body, the baggy material easily being lifted from his tiny frame. He giggled as it ruffled his hair. If he closed his eyes, he could imagine it was Vernons' hand, ruffling his hair just like he did with Dudley, a wide, proud grin on his face. He wriggled happily as Petunia picked him up by his armpits, ignoring the uncomfortable chill on his bare, damp backside.

Auntie 'Tuna must love me, he had thought, just like she loves Dudley.

He didn't have time to react as the first prickles of heat tickled his pale, smooth flesh. It began far too quickly for his young mind to piece everything together, let alone to worry about what was to come.

Petunia Dursely carefully lined him up, placing her tiny two and a half year old nephew on the burning hot hob. Firm, steady hands held the thrashing toddler in place, as the pain took over from the brief split-second of confusion and fear that ruled the small child's face. Green eyes looked up at her, staring deep into her unwavering faze, as the skin on his bottom sizzled. The burning scent of his flesh smelt like bacon. It filled the air with its' dreadful stench, the only constant as his screams of pain turned into desperate sobs, trailing off to faint whimpers until, finally, all that remained was the spitting searing sizzling of baby skin on red hot metal.

It felt like an eternity. He thought it would never end.

Do bad. So-so-so-so bad.

It wasn't until Vernon came home, red-faced and ready to shout, to scream, to withhold dinner for the entire weekend, that he finally got some relief. It had taken a moment for the scene playing out before him to register in Vernon Dursley's mind. His Petinia – his lovely, sweet little flower-couldn't possibly be doing anything so, so…

'No, Pet!'

Large, beefy hands had lifted him from the store. A purple, sweaty face hadn't spared him a second glance, his attention focused on the pale, horse-faced woman.

They had shouted. A lot. He couldn't remember much of what had been said. Freak, he did remember. It had just hurt so much…He could barely remember the days that followed, save Uncle Vernon's gifts-the shorts, and a small tin of jelly-babies, just like the ones Aunt Marge always bought for Dudley.

'And what do you expect me to do, Petunia? Do you want me to lose it like you did?'

The thump of a fist hitting wood made him jump. He scuttled back, onto his small cot.

'If it will fix him-'

'You mean get rid of him.'

'Does it matter either way?'

The house fell silent. Neither could believe what Petunia had said, both knowing it could never be taken back.

Curling into a ball, his arms cradled his stomach, the tell-tale gurgling of hunger sounding throughout his cupboard.

'I have been reading about this new…control act in the papers. Started in America – an attempt to control those new mutant-freaks they had over there. What if the boy is like them? They're the same, aren't they?'

'What good does that do us, Vernon? We're here, and those collar-things have been banned. Bloody government busy bodies, trying-'

'Sssh, Pet. I know, I know. I'll find a way; If you promise me that there will be no more stunts like that again.

'But Vernon-'

'Pet. What would They do if, if they were to find out?'

'You…you're right, Vernon. I-I…promise.'

'And I promise you, Pet-we will find a way to cure the Freak of his…abnormalities. Together.

End of Chapter One