Chapter 1: Small Spaces
Fear is a curious thing. It can drive the instinct to survive, or not. In a normal town, in a normal street, in a normal house, lives a not so normal group of people. Now, typically a group of people living under the same roof would be called a family. So specifically, in Number 4 Privet Drive, lived a family and barely surviving with them was a very special child.
Mr and Mrs Dursley were proud to say that they were normal, thank you very much. Mr Dursley is a large man with an equally large moustache. He works at a drill manufacturing firm called Grunnings. He likes to dote on his wife and son, has a weakness for donuts, and disapproves of anyone who isn't a square fitting neatly their box. Mrs Dursley is a gossiping housewife who spends her time spoiling her husband and son, spying on the neighbors and redecorating the sitting room. Their son is named Dudley. He is spoiled rotten. If you had the misfortune of meeting him he would remind you of a pig in a blond wig. These three are the family. They behave the same, speak the same, and think the same. And what they thought was that the small un-normal child locked in the cupboard under the stairs was a freak. The child was as un-Dursleyish as humanly possible.
The family as a whole hated the child. Yes, hate may seem a strong word but hate they did. In turn the child was afraid of them. The child did not know why he was with them, why he was cold, why he was hungry, why he hurts. If you saw the child you would think he was two, maybe three years old, despite actually being five. He looks too thin without the cherubic deposits of fat that usually adorn the face of a healthy child; with the fast erosion of rosy chubby cheeks many other things were lost as well.
No matter how normal, how happy, or how perfect the Dursleys seemed to be to outsiders their actions towards the small child is all that is needed to know their true nature. A nature of bigotry, anger, violence and cruelty. For the child hardly left the cupboard unless it was to do chores. He did not attend school and was allowed in the back garden to weed because the fences were taller than the giraffe neck of Mrs Dursley could reach, thus keeping him out of sight of neighbors or passersby.
Dressed in nothing but a stained shirt three sizes too big, the child lays on a thread bare mat on the floor of the cupboard. Wrapped in a single sheet he is curled like an injured animal. He is dreaming. He dreams of green flashes of light, flying motorbikes, a kind smiling woman with red hair, and most of all he dreams of the safety of shadows. The shadows are his friends, but that is for another time.
"Get Up Boy, Now!" The shrill female voice greets him the same every day. He is awake almost immediately. Folding his sheet and rolling up his mattress quickly before squinting at the small light coming through the door, checking if the bolt of the lock had been moved. Seeing that it has, he carefully, noiselessly, steps out of the cupboard and makes his way to the toilet.
He relieves himself and washes his hands. He closes the lid on the toilet, climbs on top, reaches for the porcelain sink and pulls himself into it. He opens the vanity, removes one capsule from the paracetamol box and quickly swallows it. He then makes his way down to the kitchen to start cooking breakfast for the others.
He does not like to cook as he never gets to eat any of it. Sometimes if he was careful he could squirrel away peelings and scraps, hiding them for later to eat when the others were out of the room. Usually this means the crust and crumbs from toast, produce peels, ruminants on lids and empty packets that could be licked off. Now that he is bigger and can grip cooking utensils better he makes less mistakes which means not only less food to eat from the rubbish bin but conversely he is now allowed bread, water and whatever Dudley refuses to eat, which is usually fruit and vegetables. He is cunning, he survives.
While he cooks the bacon, eggs, grilled tomatoes and fried bread, the woman sets the table. This makes her feel better about herself; if the child did not do all the chores himself. When he hears the slamming of doors and thundering steps he rushes to plate the food and sets them on the table; immediately hiding behind the kitchen door just as it swings open.
As the three others made their way to the table to eat the boy sneaks out of the room and returns to his cupboard. He sits on the rolled up mattress and counts the lines on the wood that make up his ceiling. He stays in his cupboard unless given orders because the large beastly man and pig-like boy would not only call him a 'Disgusting Freak' but also beat him on sight. And while this would make him less cautious round the woman, it does not. She may not hit him but she encourages it and for that the child knew she was just as bad as them.
While counting in his cupboard the child forgets the outside world.
Mr and Mrs Dursley go about their morning and leave for the day. With a curt "Boy, clean up the breakfast" shouted through the door, he is left alone. Another typical day.
The child stops counting, tilts his head slightly to the right and listens. He listens to the car leaving the garage and hesitantly makes his way out of the cupboard to start his chores.
Several hours later while tending the back garden he finds himself having an interesting conversation with a grass snake.
"I hope it's this way, I do smell water" hisses a green and brown snake.
"Who's there?" says the confused child.
"Speaker? Are you a speaker?"
"Oh? You can talk?" surprised as he finds the source of the voice to be a snake.
"Of course I can talk, but I can't believe you can" replies the snake incredulously.
"Everyone talks" says the boy's in a tone that implies that it's a fact
"Well your kind only talks to each other or their familiars, not to my kind"
"Oh okay. Can all snakes talk?"
"Of course, why wouldn't they? I am Natri, what is your name, hatchling?"
"Hatchling? I'm not a hatching. And I don't know my name. I don't have one"
"You are a hatchling; you are so small for your kind. A young one still. And of course you have a name. What do the others in your nest call you?"
"They call me Boy or Freak" says the boy shyly.
An angry hiss comes out of the snake startling the child. He freezes in fear.
"I'm sorry, don't hurt me" a small trembling voice calls out.
Abruptly the hissing stops. "Pardon me hatchling, I did not mean to frighten you. I merely do not agree with the others of your nest. The names of young ones should not be disregarded or given with such dishonor."
"Oh, ok then. You can call me something else if you would like. I've been trying to find myself a name but haven't found one I like. There are not that many books in the house so I haven't found one I like yet. But I only read them in secret when the others are away or sleeping so they don't catch me." This is all said in a rushed whisper. The child knew he could trust the snake instinctively.
Natri gives him an almost human nod. "I am not sure what books are but we can decide on a name together if we are to become friends."
The child was delighted. "You'll be my friend? Really? And books are bunches of paper with writing and pictures. I taught myself how to read a while ago because the others won't show me anything."
"You are a smart young one. That is good. You will be a good human for me to be friends with. How did you learn of the papers with markings?"
"Um, I watched the others. Aunt Petunia reads to Dudley before bed. I figured out how to use the shadows to watch and hear them. It took a lot of practice but I matched what she said to the words. I can read a lot now but they don't keep a lot of books in the house and Uncle Vernon takes the newspaper to work with him."
"Impressive. I don't know another that can use shadows. Will you show me what you mean?"
Just when he was going to answer a shiver runs down his back and a heavy hand yanks his hair pulling him backwards.
In a quiet and dangerous voice Mr Dursley asks "What do you think you are doing Freak?" But he did not let him answer.
Natri watches helplessly as the man drags the child into the house. Following the procession into the corridor, hiding, she tries to figure out a way to help. But she is too small and so she watches helplessly.
The beastly man tosses the child into the cupboard and with this gargantuan legs and feet kick and stomp him all the while muttering obscenities. Tiring quickly as he is very fat and very unfit he waddles to the sitting room and collapses onto a large floral arm chair.
The child does not move and does not seem to breathe. Natri slithers to the cupboard whose door was left slightly ajar by the man. She goes to the child, distraught, thinking he was dead but is able to hear the slightest whirring of air in his lungs. Natri is not the bravest grass snake but she knew that this hatchling needed help. She may be a common snake but she knew of others, others that could do special things. Perhaps they could help this child if she could get to them.
Suddenly she hears the heavy steps and breathing of the beast-man and hides herself inside the child's shirt.
The man looks over the body of the child and panics. Wild wide eyes roam over the blood and bruises covering the odd angles of bony limbs. He thinks. Then he grabs the ratty sheet that is folded in the cupboard and wraps the child it in. He stalks to the garage and carelessly drops him into the boot. Breathing laboriously he looks around trying to think. Finally, he goes back into the house, grabs his briefcase, closes the cupboard door, gets into his car and drives back to work.
Mr Dursley's secretary is surprised to see him. He left over an hour ago to surprise his wife for their anniversary so she was not expecting him.
"Good Afternoon Mr Dursley, I wasn't expecting you back until Monday. Is everything alright?"
"Good Afternoon Miss Breeze, I simply forgot some important documents in my office. I'll just pop in for a couple of minutes and be on my way."
"Of course sir."
Mr Dursley, as red faced as ever, goes into his office and closes the door. He sits at his desk and tries to stop his shaking hands. Resolved, he picks up his telephone and calls his house. "Petunia, my sweet, I will be home quite late this evening. A very important client has made an unexpected visit and I have been honored with the task to escort him on a tour of the factory in Reading. This is a great opportunity for me. Don't wait up." He leaves the message and is surprised how casual he was able to come across. Satisfied with the lie, he takes several deep breathes and goes out to his secretary.
"Miss Breeze, why don't you take the rest of the day off, you deserve it."
"Oh Mr Dursley, are you sure? What if you get calls from Mr Grunning?
"Very responsible of you Miss Breeze but there is no need."
After several platitudes Miss Breeze and Mr Dursley make their way to the car park. She turns right towards her vehicle waving goodbye, sending wishes for a nice weekend. Mr Dursley waves back and sits in his car and waits for her to leave. Then he plans.
Later, in the cover of darkness, Mr Dursley makes his way back from the banks of the River Mole. Thinking and hoping to forget this day, forget what is making its way down stream. He hastens his steps, gets in his car and drives as fast as he can out of Hersham without drawing suspicion. When he arrives at Number 4 his wife is in the sitting room sipping from a glass of wine.
"Vernon?"
"Yes Petunia"
"The Boy is gone" she says as she glances to the door of the cupboard that can barely be seen from where she sits.
"Good riddance" he replies.
The day is never mentioned again. Soon enough they seem to forget all about it. Forget about the boy. But the past always has a way of catching up