"Alright, Mrs Cooper", said the man; he was devilishly handsome, and wore formal black judge roes and a powdered wig, he couldn't be more than twenty five, but his face was stern and serious. "You just need to sign these…" He waited until the woman was done, then gathered the papers. "Perfect, you're all set. The boy is in the room at the end of the corridor." Gwendolyn Cooper nodded with a strained smile, she was a gorgeous woman if petite frame, dark hair and steely resolve, having much in her of those cop heroines in American TV series.
"It's the first time you don't attempt to flirt with someone," said a blond man in a lawyer suit, that had been in an armchair next to her, "Especially Gwen, are you ill?"
"Sort of."
The lawyer raised an eyebrow in worry: "What's wrong, Jude?"
The young judge sighted and slackened in his chair, looking thoroughly defeated and sick to the bone, although –and quite scarily –still handsome.
"Have you seen the child she's fostering?"
"Usual stuff, no? Kid that had it bad into the foster system? Although I wonder how she can take any more of those, especially on a single salary. What?"
"Four year old kid. Name's harry Potter. His parents died when he was one and he's been living with his mother sister ever since then. He's been abused and raped almost as soon as he arrived there, lived in a cupboard under the stair while the child of the house had two room and they still had one spare for the guests…I…he only had one sheet on the little camp bed they fit in the place and both that and the mattress were rotten with blood."
"Fuck."
"Yeah."
The boy sat on the chair perfectly still, still holding the chocolate cup tightly in his pale tiny hands –it was the first time anyone ever gave him chocolate, and it tasted so nice. They probably didn't know he was a freak yet. Hopefully no one would tell them tonight, that way he could keep the cup a little longer. If he licked inside, it still tasted like chocolate.
A woman came and sat on the floor in front of his chair, smiling at him "Hello", she said. The boy thought she was very pretty, and she looked very nice, not like aunt Petunia, Harry thought aunt Petunia was quite ugly, but then he was a freak, so he was probably wrong anyways. "Hello, Madam", he said timidly and as politely as he could, hoping she would be gone before someone realised he was a freak, because he didn't want her to know: she'd sat down in front of her chair, and she looked so nice. "I'm Gwen," she said "What's your name?"
"Nice to meet you," he said, as politely as he could "My name is Boy".
The lady looked very sad and he was afraid she'd guessed what he was, and would be disgusted she'd been talking to him and said: "Do you want another name?" Harry's eyes narrowed in shock "Freaks don't get to have names like normal boys like Dudley", he explained, because he didn't want the nice lady to be hurt because of him. "You're not a freak" she said "And you're not going back to your uncle I promise. Now, do you want another name. Your mother gave you a very pretty one." Harry bit his lip in terror, he didn't have the right to speak about mummy. The first time he had was the first time uncle Vernon had taken his pants off. He said that was what the boy got for speaking about suck a dirty slut of a freak like her, or for asking questions at all, and with every words he thrust into him so hard and it hurt, and hurt, and hurt. But the lady had said he wasn't going back, he looked around in fear in case uncle Vernon was hidden somewhere, waiting for the boy to say yes to come out and take his pants off again, but there was nobody but him and the nice lady in the naked room, so he nodded thinly before looking around in fear. "It's Harry Potter", said the woman very gently. The boy blinked and mouthed the words to himself. Harry Potter. He had a name, like Dudley. Did that mean he was not a freak like the lady had said. But uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia always said…He hesitated: "Can I come with you? I can cook and clean." He knew he wasn't speaking very well, but if only…"you can put my hand on the frying pan if I don't do well, my aunt Petunia did it all the time." The woman looked angry, and he looked down, wanting to cry. Of course she didn't want him. But then she said "Yes, you are coming with me, but no one is putting your hand on the frying pan." She stood up and extended his hand. "Yan call me Gwen, alright? No madam with me. How about we go introducing you to your new brothers?"
"Yes, Gwen," he said obediently. He was honestly willing to get beaten up by a hundred Dudley every day just to stay with her.