Divination, task 4: write about wishing on a star

Word Count: 1514

Warnings: child abuse and neglect, off-screen character deaths

"I really should get home," Piers says, eyes flickering toward the rapidly darkening sky. The orange and yellow streaks have given way to dark, almost inky blue.

"Wait!" Dudley's pudgy fingers curl around Piers' wrist. "Look! First star of the night."

Piers follows his friend's gaze. There, just over the horizon where there is still a faint green haze, he can see what looks like a pinprick in the sky. "Yeah? So? Stars come out every night," he says, unimpressed and rolling his eyes. "What's the big deal?"

Dudley looks at him like he's dumb. "You make a wish on the first star, idiot."

"Why?"

The other boy doesn't answer. Instead, he just fixes Piers with that look, the one that means he's going to get his way. Piers doesn't know how Dudley doesn't. Just one downward tug of his lips, and adults end up wrapped around his finger. Of course Piers caves. How could he not? Dudley is the only real friend that he has.

"Do I wish out loud?"

Dudley shakes his head. "It won't come true if you do."

Piers stares at the star, curious. It's silly. Stars aren't magic; they can't grant wishes.

Still, the words are there, so loud in his head.

I wish they would stop hurting me.

It won't happen. When he was seven, he tried to tell the teacher. His parents had smiled through the investigation, talking about how wild Piers' imagination is.

"We may spank him," his mother had said, perfectly painted lips forming a bright smile, "but that's only when he's particularly naughty. Dwight never even raises his voice at the boy."

It had been the greatest lie, but the lady had believed them. She had sat Piers down and lectured him about how good boys don't fib. After all, his parents were clearly such fine people, and the bruises were clearly from playing too rough.

When she had left, his mother had struck him across the face over and over before locking him in the closet. It had been a surprisingly light punishment, overall.

"Piers?"

Piers shakes his head, blinking rapidly. It takes a few seconds to focus, but when he comes to, Dudley is staring at him, his features scrunched up in concern.

"I should go."

…

His mother is worse than his dad. For the most part, his dad just stands back this time, watching it all unfold.

His mother, however, screams, slapping him hard across the face. "Where were you?" she demands.

Piers knows that she doesn't actually care about him. If anyone saw him walking around at night, they would have uncomfortable questions. His mother's reputation means more to her than his well-being does.

Her palm connects with his cheek again. "You are useless! Home before dark! How hard is that to understand?"

Outside the window, he can see a cluster of stars glittering against darkness. If one star can grant a wish, surely a bunch of them can do the impossible.

I wish…

But he doesn't get a chance to even think about a wish. Her palm rests against the back of his neck, fingers curling roughly, squeezing him. For a moment, he thinks she might try to kill him. Instead, she guides him along to the closet.

She hasn't put him in the closet since that day two years ago when his attempts at getting help failed. Panic flickers inside him, and he resists, desperately trying to squirm out of her grip.

"Mummy, no!" he wails.

It's the wrong thing to say. She had never wanted him, and she hates that she has to be his mother. Any reminder is enough to make her lash out.

Her grip tightens as she throws open the closet door. "Perhaps a week will teach you not to embarrass me," she says.

"Dear, the school," his dad says.

"Tell them he's ill."

And with that, she shoves him inside, slamming the door shut. Darkness surrounds him, and he drops to the floor, whimpering. Piers hears the soft click of the chain being set, locking him within.

A week…

She's never left him in that long. He wonders if she will at least feed him. Whenever she locks him in for a day or two, he has to go without. She wouldn't do that to him for a whole week, would she?

…

Piers doesn't like the dark. Once, back when his mother's preferred punishment was locking him in the closet, he would keep his torch hidden inside. He feels around blindly, but he can't find it now. Of course it isn't there; of course luck isn't on his side.

He lays back, trying to relax. If he doesn't relax, he will panic. He knows all too well that panicking isn't good, and he won't be able to breathe. His parents won't care. They never do.

He stares up at the ceiling, though he can't actually see it. There are no stars in here, no wishes to be made.

Wishes aren't real anyway.

…

Piers can hear movement on the other side of the door. It stirs him from his fitful sleep, hope quickening his heartbeat. They will let him out, and he will be okay.

But he doesn't hear the chain slide. Instead, he hears the jangling of keys and his dad saying something about a reservation at a hotel.

Piers swallows dryly. His parents had an anniversary coming up. They had talked about leaving him here, but not like this.

He bolts upright, his head spinning at the sudden movement. "Hey!" He beats his palms against the door. "Hey, don't leave me! Dad? Mum? Please!"

They don't answer. He hears the front door close, and any last shred of hope fades away.

…

He doesn't know how much time passes, only that his stomach growls and aches, and he's wet himself more than he'd like to admit. His mother will punish him for that too. She always does. It doesn't matter that there isn't a toilet to be found. She will scream at him, shame him for ruining the carpet.

The door opens, but he isn't hopeful this time. Fear turns his stomach to ice, and he thinks he might cry.

"Piers? Piers Polkiss?" That isn't his mother's voice, or his father's.

He knows he shouldn't talk to strangers, but he doesn't care now. He just wants to get out. "Help!" His voice is hoarse, so he slams his fists against the door. "Help!"

He hears someone curse loudly. "Don't tell me…" the person says.

"Locked from the outside," a woman says. "This wasn't an accident."

He hears the chain slide and drop. A moment later, the door opens. A blonde woman with kind eyes kneels in front of him, frowning. "Are you Piers?" she asks gently.

He nods, tugging at his shirt.

"My name is Olivia Bradley," she says before gesturing at the man beside her. "This is my friend, Officer Cordell. Let's get you cleaned up, okay? We need to have a very important talk."

…

They don't really tell him much. His parents were in a car accident on their way back to their hotel. His father had been drinking, but Piers doesn't know the details.

"It's my fault," he whispers, staring at his trembling hands.

He had wished for them to stop hurting him, and now they're dead. If he hadn't wished on a star, they would still be alive.

And he would still be locked in the closet, and when his mother found out about his accident, he doesn't know what she would have done.

"Don't be silly, sweetheart," Ms. Olivia tells him as she sets the burger and chips in front of him. "It was an accident."

Piers doesn't quite believe that.

…

As he climbs into bed that night, scared and lost, stuck in a house that isn't his own, he looks out the window at the twinkling stars in the sky. Ms. Olivia says that the stars didn't grant his wish, that he had nothing to do with his parents' deaths. Maybe she's right, but that doesn't stop him from wondering.

"I wish someone nice would take me in," he says.

Dudley's friend, Gordon, was in foster care once. His foster family hadn't been nice to him at all.

Piers closes his eyes and drifts off to a fitful, restless sleep.

…

"Piers?"

It's been a week since the accident, and Piers is used to meeting strangers by now. Everyone seems to know him already.

He stares up at the man with dark curls and a bright smile. "Are you Piers?"

Piers nods, confused. "Yes."

The stranger holds out his hand, his smile broadening until the skin around his eyes crinkle. "Nice to meet you. I'm Max," he says. "Max Polkiss. I hear you need a place to live, little cousin."

Piers just huffs, folding his arms over his chest. "I'm not little."

Max snorts. "Fine, fine. Not little." He rests a hand on Piers' shoulder. "But you can still come stay with me."

"Okay."

Maybe his other wish is coming true. He can only hope.