J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter
Chapter Seven
His schoolbag was packed for tomorrow, his supplies prepared. He lay in bed, but his eyes remained open.
It had been a long week, though not much had actually happened. They had not spoken about the wizards' visit; acting as if they had never come seemed a safer option. That did not help the constant buzzing of thought; he might close his mouth but he could not close his mind.
Wizards, dementors, Dark Lords, schools, silver stags, green coffee tables, wands; they chased each other in and out of his thoughts and dreams.
The memories swirled in his brain, faster and faster, and he could not sleep.
Morning dawned hot and sunny, and Mark walked to school alone through the Little Whinging streets. Five years of walking the same route meant his feet knew the way with no direction from his brain, which remained free to daydream.
Nothing was as fresh as a new year of school, he mused as he turned onto Privet Drive. New classes, new teachers, new opportunities. Maybe this year he'd make some actual friends for a change, or perhaps further improve his football skills, which had really picked up lately.
He was passing number four now, and his thoughts turned again to Harry Potter. Was he also beginning his school year today, in the magic school, wherever it was? Or had some attacker gotten to him already? Surely he had to be alright. Surely.
Autumn passed slowly, settling into winter, and life ground on. There was a new family on Magnolia Road, something of a rarity in Little Whinging. His mother claimed the Eatons had a boy his age; if this were true, it would be a major boon.
A new boy was someone who had no knowledge of his past, no reason to think him anything other than ordinary. He could be just like anyone else; as long as he hid his differences, performed no accidental magic tricks, he could just be himself, never having to feel the heat of the constant stares and whispers.
In the magic school, he knew, (the thought popping into his mind, unbidden and unwelcome,) everyone would be like him. If he would always be different anyway -
No. He would be normal. He had to be.
Christmas was always a favorite time of year, and this one was no different. He sat at his bedroom window, watching the snowflakes drift and dance to earth, utterly at peace with the world.
The last time he had sat here had been when the dementors had come. He saw no reason to think of them now, though, not when the world was full of Christmas lights, when there would soon be carols to sing with his family, presents in the morning, and possibly some sledding tomorrow with Dad and David.
He looked up and down the streets, at the rows of neat houses with their neat and beautifully lit trees, and he decided there could be nothing happier in the world.
He was kicking a football around with Noah Eaton, enjoying the warm air and blessed lack of rain or fog, so unseasonable for February, when he saw Dudley Dursley walking toward the park.
Everything went blank instantly; it was as though someone had closed the shutters on his mind. His pulse was loud in his ears, his breath came in ragged gasps, and he ought to back away, but he could not move. Memories of pain and terror occupied every part of his being, rooting him where he stood.
"What's wrong?" came Noah's voice distantly.
Mark did not, could not respond. He saw only Dudley's ominous, hulking figure approaching, strangely unaccompanied by his usual gang, drawing ever nearer, until he reached the park gate and turned, heading directly toward Mark.
"Let's go!" Noah yelled, snapping Mark back to his senses. He turned and fled, and did not look back until they reached Noah's thankfully close-by house.
They stood in Noah's kitchen, watching the street for Dudley, who was nowhere to be seen, and the magic school, which he had not thought of in months, floated to the front of his brain. It had suddenly occurred to him that if he had known magic all along, not only would he have been able to fight instead of running away, but he would never have had cause to be afraid of Dudley in the first place.
March arrived, which meant his birthday was coming up. Eleven was a big number; he would be almost a teenager. He wondered what they would do to celebrate.
The number stirred something in his mind. Hadn't the wizards, all those months ago, said that eleven was when you went to the magic school? Well, even if it was, it presumably wasn't the day you turned eleven.
The wizards would come back, he realized with a start. They knew who and where he was. Frantically, he tried to prevent the forbidden thoughts from taking over, but he could pretend no longer.
Would he attend this - this Hogwarts next year, he wondered, mentally voicing the name as he never had before. Would he make it back alive if he did? If he really was a wizard - if he did indeed belong there - would he at least be a good one? What would his classmates say if they found out? What about Noah; would his friend remain a friend if his secrets were revealed?
He tried to distract himself, to focus on his birthday next week, but the questions fought harder, giving him no respite, until everything was a mess of confusion and worry.