The Hundred Acre Wood
Disclaimer & Warnings: See chapter 1
Timeline: The last two blissful weeks of August, 1991, save for one day
Chapter 54 – Mother Nature's Child
Stars spangled the sky above as Hedwig settled down on a comfy branch of the lone pine tree and happily preened her feathers. She had found her owlet safe and somewhat sound, and was once again delighting in mothering him to death. Under her watchful guidance and tender care, Boy started to relax for the first time since being left at the mercy of his relatives. He found that the Great Beyond wasn't nearly as scary when you weren't alone and your tummy wasn't completely empty.
Although Boy found the fare Hedwig provided a trifle raw, if he swallowed fast, it was filling and went well with the greens and berries he'd gathered. In addition, since she insisted he eat it, he didn't have to worry about the collar punishing him for doing so. In fact, after the first few days the collar fell silent regarding most of Boy's activities in the little woods, for truth be told, Vernon Dursley hadn't done a very good job using it correctly to train his slave. That would have required actually reading the entire instruction book that Cornelius Fudge left along with the goblin collar, instead of just the parts that piqued his interest.
When dark wizards used to train their indebted slaves, they'd allow them to experience the entire realm of human emotions one by one, and then discipline them for any that may undermine the master's authority. Thereby teaching the collar what emotions and actions the slave was allowed to feel and do, and what they were not. No longer did the master have to wonder if his slave was disguising his true intentions. The collar worked as an 'emotional' lie detector, reading even those feelings harboured so deep down inside that the slave denied them to himself. To survive, the slave had to let go completely of these undesirables, thereby nipping any rebellious tendencies in the bud before they started, and ensuring the slave remained under control.
By never allowing Boy to be happy, joyous, delighted, silly, or any other positive state of being, his master also never taught him not to be any of those things, nor did he program the collar to stop it if it happened out of his presence. Although Boy didn't know the reason behind it, he did slowly come to recognize that as long as he truly believe with all his heart and mind that he was fulfilling his master's wishes, without Master there to contradict the verdict, there was nothing for the collar to correct.
With that realization, Boy breathed a little easier, both literally and figuratively. However, experience had taught him never to trust when things seemed to be going well, so he only allowed himself to be a slightly pleased, a smidge satisfied, and a wee bit gleeful. He even took Pooh's sage advice and dabbled in some 'strategiffuring' by making up a happy rule of his own. That being - 'If your humming when no one else is there, humming isn't noise'.
He only made the one rule for now, just to see if the collar would let him do it and frankly, because the longer he was in the little wood the more he felt like humming. As he was having a hard time stopping himself, he thought a rule that allowed him to do it, would be a very good thing indeed. When the collar didn't object, he decided he might have to make a few more sometime. But for now, that one was enough. All things in moderation, lest he break some rule that he didn't know about yet. That way there'd be less to plead guilty to later when reality caught up. Which, with his luck, it would. However, until it did, he had to figure out a way to cope with his new reality while still following his training.
Fortunately, after the mower incident, Boy discovered that the men who'd destroyed his crop had also left him access to the tools to do a better job of his gardening efforts. When they'd left abruptly, they'd forgotten to close and lock the double doors of the metal shed where the mower had been stored. Inside there was a treasure trove of tools! All he needed to maintain the little wood. There were weeders, trimmers, rakes, shovels, saws, hammers, nails, paint, cleaning supplies, and more.
Boy might have questioned if he were allowed to use the tools, but as the men were leaving, they very clearly said it was nobody's responsibility to finish the job they started. And as he was forced to say every time he confessed his sins to Master - he was nobody. The only nobody he knew. He didn't need any more direction than that to understand what his job was and to set about doing it. More of the same as what he'd been doing for Ma'am's garden, only with the freedom to set his own routine.
Back when Master had tried to teach him to spell his new name in the playroom, he'd made the comment that Dumbledore had proclaimed Boy to be quite the grown up young man, and then said that since he was, it was time he started doing things for himself. At the time, Boy wasn't sure what those things could be. However now, he felt as if those words gave him permission to take his first taste of independence and to start making his own decisions. He started with small things at first, slowly becoming more comfortable and less scared.
Each day as dusk transitioned into gloaming Boy emerged from his hiding place and dashed into the brick building with the loos. He'd found a convenient nook there to hide his bundle of possessions to protect them from further drenching in the drainage pipe when it rained or the sprinklers went off. First, he'd stash his blanket in the nook, then wash up and change into his old black rags. This was to spare his new clothes, but also because he felt more protected from prying eyes in his familiar camouflage. He'd then return to the loo at dawn, reversing the process to prepare for 'bed'.
During each visit to the brick building, he'd fill the pitcher to the brim and drink thirstily. He felt very grateful for a source of clean, fresh, unlimited water. There was even a dispenser with soap by the hand basin. He was sure that Ma'am would've approved his use of it, as Ma'am liked things clean, so each night he rewashed a few more of his belongings properly in the hand basin. After taking care of the laundry, he'd decide what project to work on and gather the necessary tools from the shed. While he worked, Hedwig would find a good vantage point above him and act as lookout, warning him if any neighbours were up and about so he could hide in time.
Having Hedwig as a guard, along the proper tools, made things so much easier! So far Boy had spruced up the play area, scoured the loos, trimmed the bushes, repaired the benches, and oiled the pie plate so it spun smoothly again without the spine tingling squeal. Everything had a fresh coat of paint, even the sad sandbox was again a bright happy yellow. All was accomplished as quietly as possible, with the tapping of the hammer disguised from wakeful neighbours as the rat-tat-tat of a time-muddled woodpecker. When he wasn't busy working or hiding, Hedwig would teach her owlet handy things such as how to make a nest, and where to hunt.
Boy was so happy with his progress that he started treating himself to a shower every few foredawns when the automatic sprinklers came on. Since cold water was the only temperature Master allowed, on the rare occasions he permitted personal washing, and by taking advantage of the sprinklers, he wasn't wasting water - which was strictly against Ma'am's rules, boy felt neither would disapprove. He wished he could flit from one spot to the other as the wonderful Miss Tonks had in Ma'am's garden, but he did the next best thing. Stripping down to his underpants he'd dance carefree in the spray until he had goosebumps all over, washing away years of imbedded dirt and a lifetime of inhibition.
The only thing that'd gone amiss, was when he was picking up trash. He always was on the lookout for any trash he could put to good use that fell under the 'finders keepers' law. So far he'd added to his treasure trove a handful of bent safety pins, a partial roll of duct tape, a piece of wire, and a broken dog leash and collar. What was left of the leash was less than a meter long but he thought he could punch a hole in the leather with the little silver knife to make it into a better belt than the piece of frayed rope he'd been using. He'd just grasped an interesting looking old boot, he'd found half way under a bush, when his feet seemed to rise off the ground and the air around him started whirling. It took every bit of strength he had to make his hands let go of the time worn leather. The moment he did, everything stopped abruptly and he fell to the ground shaken and breathless.
He didn't know what manner of unnaturalness the boot was, nevertheless, according to Ma'am anything unnatural was something to avoid. Using a handy stick with a spike on the end he found in the tool shed, he speared the boot and carried it to the rubbish bin, securing the lid tightly before going back to his chore, only this time being more careful about any loose bits of things he found.
Up until now, it was Mother Nature's magic that helped him to survive the years of abuse. That same magic was now helping to heal him. Each day he spent in the little wood, Boy became stronger and healthier and his own magic started to re-emerge. Because once again, his Master had failed to read the fine print that came with the collar and dealing with a slave's magic. During training, the collar could be programmed to prevent the slave from accessing their magical core unless their master gave them permission to use it, and when the binding was complete, it was a vehicle for transferring the slave's magic to the master, leaving the slave a virtual squib. However, Boy's master only programmed it so that he couldn't use his magic within sight of The Family. The actual device that'd been suppressing Boy's magic the rest of the time wasn't the collar, it was the wards. And those had been left far behind on Privet Drive.
While Boy kept busy taking care of the little wood, and Hedwig kept busy taking care of him, by supplying fresh mice and an occasional rabbit, Mother Nature was supplying him with everything else he needed. For after the dandelions died, he stumbled across a nice crop of wild strawberries along the edge of the fence. When he'd eaten all the strawberries, he found a prolific blackberry vine that seemed to have sprouted overnight. By the time all the berries had been picked, tender flower spikes that tasted like corn developed in the cattails by the pond.
Under his tender care, the little wood grew prouder each day. Its trees straighten, it's bushes fluffed out, thin spots in the grass filled in lush and green, and summer flowerbeds, hitherto forgotten, emerged from underneath the weeds. Within days, the neighbourhood children started playing there again, and where the children went, their parents followed. As the warm summer mornings stretched lazily into even warmer summer afternoons, many families were drawn out of their stuffy houses and into the neighbourhood park to cool off.
Boy found himself sleeping less and less during the day so he could observe the people from his hidey-hole and eavesdrop on their conversations, two useful skills he'd honed growing up with The Family. Until now, he'd only used the powers for self-defence, as a way to find out what they thought he should be doing. However, now they helped him discover more about this new world in which he found himself.
Amid the voices he now frequently heard outside his tunnel, Boy was both surprised and relieved that none of The Family's was amongst them. Although, one day he did hear two of Cousin's friends, Piers and Malcolm, but what he overheard was confusing. Apparently, none of The Family had been seen since the fête.
It wasn't until that very moment that he'd given any thought to Master or the rest of The Family actually existing outside of Number 4 Privet Drive. Oh, Master would leave for work, Ma'am for shopping, and Cousin for school, but none of those places were real to him, they lacked substance. Once he'd left Number 4, it was as if he'd crossed into another world, one where The Family didn't live and couldn't touch him.
However, if they were real places, how could no one have seen them? Where were they? Only slaves had to stay hidden, so it must be something else. Not knowing what it meant, told him he needed to be extra cautious to behave. If The Family could be invisible, they could also be lurking about in the little wood just waiting to catch him doing something wrong. Therefore, during the day, watching and listening from his hidey-hole was as brave as he could be. However, that didn't stop him from learning things.
First, he learned some practical things, such as the names and uses of the things around him. The slings hanging from chains on the triangle, on which he hung his laundry to dry, was actually something called 'swings'. It wasn't a badly engineered clothesline after all. You were supposed to sit on the sling, pump your legs, and fly high into the sky. That was probably what Cousin was trying to do when he broke the one Master put up in the backyard. Boy thought he'd like to try that. This swing set seemed a lot sturdier.
The pie plate, another laundry receptacle, was called a 'merry-go-round'. The small children all piled on it at the same time, holding tight to the handles and squealing delightedly when a few of the bigger children would push it to start it spinning. Boy thought it looked fun.
The tall structure over his tunnel, which was the series of pipes, ladders, and ropes, he found out was called a 'jungle-gym'. After the children ran in and out of the water splashing each other, they'd hang upside down by their knees on the highest cross-pole to dry off. That looked like fun too.
Boy would have loved to join in their merriment, but he knew this was definitely not allowed. Not even if he miraculously thought up with a way to blend in. Slaves were only allowed out to work, not to play.
Then he learned some things that observing The Family never taught him.
He learned that children could play together, without one being a bully. While Cousin's gang only did what Cousin told them to do, these children took turns - both being leader and using the play equipment. Sharing was a novel concept to Boy as this was the first example of that behaviour he'd ever seen. He didn't know things could work that way, but then it probably didn't apply to slaves, nothing nice ever did.
Next, he learned that people could be kind to each other, fathers jovial, mothers caring, and families happy. One of his favourite families was the Evans, which included a little just-turned-six-year-old boy named Mark and a woman they called 'Grammie' who had sparkling silver hair, pink cheeks, and twinkling brown eyes. He'd been watching them closely and had grown quite fond, and liked to imagine he was Mark and that Grammie's smiles were meant for him.
Grammie would often spread out a blanket on the grass near the play area where she could watch her grandkids running about, not that far from the mouth of the tunnel that was Boy's hiding spot. Next to her on the blanket sat a basket, which seemed to contain a never-ending supply of water, snacks, and bandages. When the children got tired, they'd come over to where she was and lay down on the blanket in a semi-circle in front of her. She'd pull a book out of her basket and start reading to them.
Boy was entranced to find out Grammie also knew his friends Pooh and Piglet and Rabbit. For the stories she read from her book were all about their adventures in The Hundred Acre Woods - the bees, Pooh getting stuck in Rabbit's door, hunting woozles, Eeyore losing his tail, the Heffalumps, and everything. Boy sighed happily. The tales brought the pictures in his storybook to life. He never wanted it to end. So when Grammie closed the book one afternoon, and at the urging of her grandkids, opened another with even more stories about his friends for which Boy didn't have pictures memorized, he became utterly spellbound.
He heard all about Pooh and Piglet's Awful Mistake and was relieved when everything turned out all right in the end for Eeyore. The last time he'd visited Eeyore he just had a musty old tent. He was particularly fond of his friend and had often wished he could build a house for him, so he was glad Pooh and Piglet had done it.
He also finally thought he understood what Tigger meant when he said he bounced in from another book. The new book Grammie was reading must be it. Now if he could only figure out what Gopher meant when he said he wasn't even in the book! Maybe it was that Grammie hadn't read any stories about him? Poor Gopher - always being left out. Boy shrugged. He still liked Grammie anyway.
Of all the tales Grammies read, the one that gave Boy the most pause to think was how Christopher Robin was spending his mornings being educated. When she got to that part in the book the children around her all started talking excitedly about their school and their friends there. Mark, not as excited as the rest, said tearfully that it would be his first time going to Primary and he didn't want to go and leave Grammie. Grammie assured Mark he'd have fun learning lots of things there, and that the next time he came to visit her, he'd be able to read the stories to her instead. Then asked if he wouldn't like to be able to do that, as her eyes were getting very old. Mark snuggled up next to her nodding 'yes', his tears vanishing into smiles as he thought about himself flying back from school in a bright red cape to rescue his beloved Grammie from a story-less existence.
Boy nodded 'yes' too, as he thought about the taped together Hogwarts letter safe in his bundle. He'd love to be able to read the words. Kanga had said that the letter was proof he should go to school. And unlike many things that Boy just pretended, such as the raggedy blanket being a warm comforter, or the pitcher of water being something more filling like milk, the letter was very real. Grammie was also very real, and here she was reading from a book that Christopher Robin goes to school, and in The Hundred Acre Wood he was Christopher Robin, so that was the same as saying Boy should go.
He'd once heard Master tell Ma'am that something was 'incontrovertible' when it was written down in a book. He asked Owl what that word meant since Owl was so very good at long words, and Owl said it was a vestibule that you were in, instead of being out somewhere else. Rabbit said Owl was a nit, and it meant something that was undeniably true.
Boy thought Rabbit was probably more right than Owl, because Master was all about being undeniable. In his mind that tipped the scales of his indecision. If it was already written in Grammie's book that he went to school, and Master said that anything written down in a book was incontrovertible, who was he to defy Master's ruling? Master must not have been aware it was in a book when he told him slaves weren't allowed to go to school, or maybe it was just primary school like Cousin's, to which he couldn't go. His mind was a little muddled on it now. As he saw it, it wasn't his decision to make. He had to go.
That reminded Boy of Piglet telling him to meet them on the first of September at Kings Cross Station in London. With each day growing shorter than the last, September would soon be here. Other than two drizzly days, the time he'd spent here had been dry and productive, he'd worked steadily and there were very few things left in the little wood to fix or weed. It was time to concentrate on how to find a bus and take it to this mysterious London, and then locate the even more mysterious Kings Cross Station. But, how?
As Eeyore would say 'Brains First, then Hard Work'. Boy sighed. He had the Hard Work part down pat, it was the Brains First he wasn't so good at. Rabbit was fond of saying that when you don't know what else to do – make a plan. That's what he needed to do!
It was well into foredawn before Boy felt he could take a break from his chores to work on a plan. He knew from past incidents, that if Hedwig lost sight of him she would start screeching, so to make sure he didn't draw any unwanted attention he always made sure the snowy owl knew where he was. Therefore, he lay down in the most visible place he could think of – on the merry-go-round with his feet dangling over the edge. Staring up into the lightening heavens, he began humming to himself as he pushed off with his toes starting it slowly revolving, stirring up a mild warm breeze that ruffled his hair. He wasn't spinning nearly as fast as the children had, but it was still pleasant.
Batting at a mosquito that tried to land on his nose, he carefully went back over his last set of instructions. Other than taking a bus to London, and then blending in once he got there, he'd fulfilled all of Cousin's orders. The problem was – he still didn't know what a bus was, how to get to London, or really how to blend in once he got there.
He only hoped that buses weren't too heavy, as he didn't know how far he'd be able to carry one alone. He remembered last winter when he overheard Cousin and his friends planning to take a bus on a field trip. Cousin had lots of friends in his gang – at least four. If it took all of them to carry a bus through a field, he certainly didn't know how Cousin thought Boy could carry one all by himself. But… he shrugged… maybe buses came in different sizes. He'd just have to look for a small one that could fit in his pocket.
That settled, Boy turned to the problem of 'blending in'. Cousin had said it was just a matter of making sure people didn't pay attention to you by looking like everyone else did, and doing what everyone else was doing. 'Hiding in plain sight' he called it. Boy frowned. He didn't like the thought of that at all – it sounded like a trap to get him to break a rule. Besides, Ma'am had always told him that he was so hideous that normal people would run away screaming if they ever saw him.
Actually, that might solve the problem, because no one would stick around long enough to call the police and have him arrested. That is, as long as the initial seeing didn't count as being seen if they ran away from him in terror.
And maybe it didn't, he thought thinking about how the events unfolded at the Fête. He'd been positive those two girls had seen him hiding under the bush, but then when he looked out again, they were gone, and the collar hadn't punished him for it. Maybe they had run away screaming, just as Ma'am said they would. There'd been such a din of noise from all the people he wouldn't have heard them if they had. That could explain it.
Cousin had given him new clothes telling him they'd help make him look more normal. The shirt and trousers were the nicest things he'd ever been given to wear, and Cousin was right, they looked very similar to what the boys wore whom he'd been watching play. The clothes would disguise his body, but that left his hideous head sticking out not blending in at all. There really wasn't anything he could think of he could do to disguise his face other than keep his face averted, so that only left his hair. Ma'am hated his hair. If he had a hat, he could cover it up. He didn't have a hat. Maybe what he should do it change its colour!
Miss Tonks could change her hair colour at will. What was it she said she did? Oh yeah… she said all you had to do was imagine what pink hair would feel like and push it out of you. Boy closed his eyes tight and tried to squish the colour pink out of his follicles. It was quite an effort. Stopping the merry-go-round, he got off and dashed to the brick building. Pulling open the door, the lights flickered first and then flashed on with a buzz that sounded like a swarm of bees. Boy quickly went to the mirror to check. No pink. Not even his eyebrows.
Ma'am changed her hair colour too, only she had to use a bottle of dye from the salon. But his hair was black, as dark as it gets – what he needed was something to take the colour out, not put it in. Bleach! One time he accidentally put Ma'am's polka-dot skirt in the bleach wash and it took all the dots off. There was bleach in the metal shed that he used for cleaning the loos! He was back with it in a jiffy.
Taking off his shirt, he doused his head under the tap before pouring some of the strong smelling liquid over his hair. He just about choked from the fumes waiting for something to happen. It seemed as it took forever before he noticed a difference, but in reality, it was only about an hour. After rinsing the bleach out of his hair, he soaped it thoroughly several times to get rid of the odour.
Finally raising his head to look in the mirror he had to laugh. While not Ma'am's blonde, or Miss Tonk's pink, his hair was no longer black. It was a weird orangey-red. Almost as if someone had lit it on fire. He brushed it up with his hands into wet spikes to look like flames. He rather liked it. It was similar to the hairstyles he saw once of a musical group Cousin admired. Ma'am bought Cousin a saxophone when he started displaying interest in music. Cousin threw a fit and it was exchanged for a drum set. Master threw a fit and put his foot through the drum. The next day the picture was in the trash when Boy emptied it. Cousin didn't show an interest in music after that. Boy pulled one spike down to hide the hideous scar on his forehead. It looked rakish, partly obscuring one eye. He liked it even better.
Going back to the merry-go-round to stare at the stars while his hair dried, he thought more about what Cousin had told him about blending in. He'd said that the key to blending in was not to draw attention to himself, but Cousin said something else too - he should hide in the middle of a crowd.
Maybe that was the real difference – making sure there were enough people around, like during Ma'am's Fête. Then maybe it'd work because not all the people would be looking at him all the time. Maybe it was only a problem if he were the focus of their attention, because then surely someone would call the police. Only… if he were in the middle of a CROWD… a BIG CROWD… especially a REALLY BIG CROWD… he'd be safe. The only thing was, Boy wasn't so sure he'd be able to breathe in a crowd that big. He started hyperventilating just thinking about it. Slowing his breathing just shy of a full-blown panic attack, he determined he'd just have to start with a small crowd and practice.
Unless… he could think up another way.
He couldn't.
Sitting up abruptly, he resolved that was enough decision-making for now as it was a great responsibility for which he was obviously unprepared. The problem of how to find London would just have to wait. It was as hard as Pooh said - to think when you just had fluff for brains. Although he didn't think he had fluff for brains, or even fluff blown in his ears, he was still tired of thinking. He would've been proud of himself for having solved at least one of the problems all on his own, but he had a suspicion that the collar wouldn't see it that way. It may have let him do it, but it surely wouldn't let him take credit for it. Pride was one emotion he definitely knew he wasn't supposed to have.
To keep out of danger, his last decision was to get back to work before the collar thought he was shirking his duties. After all, he did have a few other self-appointed tasks to finish before he left the little wood. Several hours later, he crawled back into the tunnel where he curled up on his pallet of rushes, and pulled a newspaper over himself. Maybe he was just too tired for thinking. It'd been a long night, and as he lay very still he found his sleepy mind was still awhirl, despite not being able to stop yawning. Therefore, he tried again to think of a way to find London. Still no ideas were forthcoming.
Perhaps something was preventing the good ideas from popping out. Sticking a finger first in one ear than the other to check for stray bits of fluff, he found none. Yet he couldn't think of another way to follow Cousin's order, other than risking everything and putting himself out there.
Not a single…
Yawn…
solitary…
Yawn…
thing.
