The neighbors at #4 Privet Lane were always watching; watching each other, each other's children, each other's cars, their yards, everything they could. It was better than the telly. And everyone watched the Dursley's because they had that criminal boy. Everyone made sure to keep all their children away from him. Because they knew he was a criminal that the poor Dursleys were stuck with. Anything odd about the boy was because he was a Bad Seed. No one noticed that pets liked the boy (except the one that belonged to Marge Dursley), or that tiny children immediately trusted him. His worn clothing was clothing the boy insisted on. His lack of toys was because he broke them all. His constant working was to keep him out of trouble. Oh he was a very bad boy, he was, and thank heavens that Petunia, Vernon and Dudley warned everyone about him.
Oh the neighbors watched. So when a police car and a van pulled up in front of the Dursleys, every window in the neighborhood had eyes peering out with interest. When several officers and even what looked like a detective knocked on the door and rang the bell, the neighbors got even more interested. When another car pulled up with Piers and his Mum, phones started to ring.
When Piers and his mother were escorted to the door and taken into the house, all was quiet for five or ten minutes. Then the bellowing started. It sounded like when Harry had done something wrong, even though Harry was out of town with his Aunt and Cousin. Then the door exploded open and Vernon was escorted out in handcuffs, his clothing torn and his face purple with rage.
"This is an insult! We're good, upstanding citizens," he screamed. Then Piers' Mum came out and was crying and holding Piers. An officer was holding Piers' shoulder and speaking softly. One younger officer looked really sick, green to the gills, as they say.
Then a grim forensics team went into the house, and Piers and his mother were driven away.
More policemen came, and finally neighbors began to wander out to take little walks down Privet Drive. They carefully hung around on the sidewalk, listening.
One of the forensic staff came out and looked angry. He was speaking, almost yelling to his companion, "Did you see how much blood that damn broom cupboard had in it? It's like they F'ing painted it. He was just a little boy!" Any doubt of it being the "freak" was put to rest by that little tidbit. Dudley was many things, but little he wasn't.
Mrs. Figg, their neighborhood cat lady wandered over and spoke to the officers. After a few words, she began to cry and then launched into full out sobs. "I told him he was too thin. I told him about the bruises."
"Who is this, Ma'am?" asked the officers gently. "Albus Dumbledore," she spat. "He asked me to tell him how the boy was doing. He was paying the Dursley's to help them with the expense of the child and asked me to make sure the boy was in good hands. I told him that his clothing was worn, practically rags and that he was always working and that he never had toys. I even complained to the authorities several times when he was so bruised but no one did anything. That poor, poor child."
The police eyed one-another with interest and the neighbors eyed Mrs. Figg, who looked ready to faint. She was helped home by a not-so-helpful but wildly interested neighbor and over the next few days was inundated with invitations to tea. She had never been so popular with her neighbors before.
Instead of the crowd getting smaller, it got larger. A news truck with a satellite dish on it drove up and the neighbors got even more excited. Soon they learned from a reporter that the "freak" had been murdered by Mrs. Dursley; tossed in the ocean and it was videotaped. The authorities were looking for his body even now.
Scotland Yard was called in, a special unit dealing with extreme child abuse, and some people put chairs in the front yards so they could snoop more conveniently. More people from surrounding neighborhoods showed up. More details came up as more reporters showed. The Forensics teams reported to the Scotland Yard team and then made an announcement, showing photographs of a little cupboard, where the boy was kept locked up. Evidence of beatings, blood stains that had been washed, made the black light they used to show blood stains revealed blood all over the cupboard, the kitchen, the stairs, the walls.
The crowd of outsiders began to get rather maudlin. Some women in the group began to cry for the poor boy. People began to get flowers. The neighbors went inside their houses when a woman asked one man why they hadn't done a thing. He tried to explain that the Dursley's had told them the boy was a bad child, and had been diagnosed with criminal tendencies. The woman then said, "what bad things did he do?"
No one could think of anything. Now Dudley was known for beating up children, and breaking toys, and being a right little monster. When the neighbors brought this up, the woman had sniffed at them. "So a child that was covered in bruises and rags was never helped because the adults told you he was a bad child even though you never saw him do anything." She left and the neighbors began to feel a bit nervous. Things happening in the neighborhood were supposed to lead to delicious gossip, not to guilt.
Soon flowers and teddy bears were placed at a makeshift altar.