A little boy whimpered in the corner of his cupboard. It was a cold night and he could feel the wind through the gap between the door and the floor whipping against his arms that were wet with tears. He didn't have a bed to curl up on in retaliation towards the cold. No, he had a blanket, though it held no power against anything. It was thin and bore holes in remembrance of the acid and cleaning products that had spilt on the floor, burning through it. But the child was not crying because of this.
The boy was skinny, with no meat on his bones. He was a scrawny thing, his height the height of a child at least 2 years younger. His arms marred with scars from altercations he could not defend himself in. His stomach had been empty for at least a week now and it had not growled. It seemed his body was used to such affairs. The boy was hungry, the dead insects scattered over the floor of his small confinement looking more appealing than ever. But this had no effect on the reason for the boy's tears.
No, the boy cried for a reason that many others before him had cried, the loss of his family. Of course, this loss had not been recent, but everyday that he was stuck in this cupboard, having no choice but to listen to the sounds of happiness from the family just a door away from him, he wished that he could see them again. Apparently they'd been drunks who had gotten themselves killed in a car crash and the boy had no-one else who'd wanted to take him in, so he'd gotten stuck with his aunt's family. The little boy resented his parents for being careless enough to get themselves killed, and he paid for it everyday he lived in his aunt's house. The scars on his back said enough.
But at nights it was better, he didn't have to put up with the beatings from his uncle and cousin, the screaming from his aunt and the endless chores. He could cry in peace where there was no-one there to judge him. Sometimes, he could risk leaving his cupboard and sneaking some food from the kitchen if he was quiet enough. But other days, his relatives didn't want him around and so a padlock was put on his door. This was a week that had been full of days like that, he hadn't seen the light of day since the last 'incident'. As if the boy wasn't unfortunate enough, he had these 'incidents', as his aunt liked to call them, where unexplainable things happened around him. The boy knew what it was though, he knew it was magic and though he'd suffered for it, he wouldn't resent it, for it was the only thing that made him interesting, the only thing that made him better.
With the padlock on the door, he didn't know when next he'd be able to eat since he'd already been in his cupboard for a week and his relatives had shown no sign of letting him out. He decided that he'd risk it and if he was able to use his magic to open and later lock the padlock again he would be able to get some food without his relatives being any the wiser. The boy focused on his door with more intensity than he'd ever done before, and he was only surprised when the door slammed open with so much force. The noise was resounding. The boy gulped in fright, sure that his relatives would be woken out of their sleep. However, the damage was now done and he stepped out of his cupboard in hopes of grabbing as much food to hide in his cupboard before his relatives inevitably came storming down the stairs. What he did not expect, as he exited his closet was for every door in the house to be open wide.
Including the front door.
The world outside was dark and the only illuminating factors were the streetlights that shone brightly. The boy was entranced. A chance to leave this hell hole and his abusive relatives. A chance to be free. The decision wasn't hard but the boy was still hesitant. He'd heard the news from his cupboard when the TV was loud enough to be heard through the door, stories about kidnappers, rapists and murderers. He was young, but smart enough to know that they were dangerous. What would he be walking into, in a large world with no money or family or place to stay? He didn't have an idea. But he knew he'd rather end up dead than stay another day locked in his cupboard. He had no 'family', only relatives. He'd made his decision.
The boy ran and left his whole life behind. The boy was Harry Potter.