Harry lay in his bed with a flashlight he sneaked, reading an old fairy tale book.
Chrissy had given him a lot of her books so he wouldn't have to be so bored at home. They had become very close. She knew all about Harry's life at home and had sworn not to tell anyone. She even sometimes gave him food when he was being punished.
He was reading an amazing story about a girl named Matilda whose parents ignored her. They didn't seem to care about her at all. She raised herself, and even taught herself how to read. He thought for a moment. He felt like Matilda (only he was a boy). His aunt and uncle ignored him and treated him like nothing, and reading seemed to be an amazing escape from his life.
Although he didn't understand a lot of it, Harry learned to love the stories he was given and the magic they held. He now had a secret obsession with magic. Sometimes he would pretend to be a wizard, and sometimes he would be a tiny elf, and sometimes, even, a merman. He drew pictures of wizards and witches and potions and spells, he drew out stories, he even carried a stick in his pocket all the time.
Suddenly someone slammed their fist on his cupboard door, startling him. He quickly threw the book underneath his mattress and opened the door to see his uncle's large face.
"Come. Time to clean the windows," He said, handing Harry the Windex and a rag. Harry nodded and ran to the upstairs bathroom.
As he wiped down the glass, he looked at his reflection. Can I be a magical person? He asked himself. He hoped- prayed- that he was. That some day his uncle will go too far and suddenly turn into a toad, or Dudley take all of the bacon, leaving Harry with nothing to eat, or his aunt bark at him to do the weeding.
I have to be magic. I can't live with the Dursley's the rest of my life.
As Harry walked in from watering the potted plants, he saw that his Cupboard door was open.
He ran over and saw Dudley inside with a pair of scissors he stole from school, cutting apart his favorite book. "No!" He yelled, snatching the shreds of what was left. Dudley laughed his pig- like laugh and walked out.
Harry stared at him and wished he could shoot flames. He slammed his door and shined the flashlight on the book.
But the book was fine.
There were no rips or tears, no missing pages. Harry looked on the floor where a pile of papers had ben just a moment ago. But now there was nothing.
"Really?" Chrissy asked in awe. Harry had told her the incident with his book.
"Yes! It's perfectly fine! Look!" He pulled out the book to show her, and her eyes grew wide. "It must have been magic!"
"Yeah… magic…" Harry said. He had thought of it, and weighed all possible explanations, and magic seemed to be the only possibility.
"Can you do more magic, Harry?" She asked him.
"I dunno… I've never tried doing magic before. It just… happened. I'll try," He said, staring at a chair, trying to lift it off the ground. Nothing happened.
"I wish I could do magic…" Chrissy said, sticking out her lower lip a bit.
"Me too…" Harry said, dropping his crayons back into his bag, not wanting to draw anymore.
"Fwoooooosh!" Harry said as he played by himself below his bush. Chrissy had been sick the past few days and hadn't showed up.
"Hey stupid!" Jonathan said, standing over Harry. They hadn't left him alone since Chrissy hadn't been there to protect him. He stomped a foot on the little, metal men, breaking and bending them. He shoved them hard into the ground.
When he lifted his foot to see the damage he had done, Harry watching helplessly, a shiny silver soldier flew up and hit him in the face.
Jonathan screamed and Harry screamed. Neither of them knew what happened.
Jonathan ran to the teacher, crying. He had blood coming from between his fingers.
Harry was staring out the car window. Aunt Petunia had picked up him and Dudley from school early. She promised him no food for the weekend besides stale bread and swore up and down that if he did something like this again, he would be taken out of school and sent to a foster home.
Harry didn't care about any of this, of course. He knew aunty would never hurt him. He was more worried about Uncle. He would be whipped again, and he'd gone about a month without any punishments.
He watched a strange man pass on the street. He wished he could go with him. As long as he didn't have to go home.