Revelations

At Number 4 Privet Drive, there lived a family of three. Vernon Dursley, his wife Petunia, and their son Dudley. Vernon had a good job which allowed his wife to stay at home and take care of their son. If one spent even a tiny amount of time around their child, they would be able to tell he was spoiled rotten. However, to the Dursleys, that notion was considered a virtue - a pleasing sign that their life was one of affluence where they were permitted to engage in such behavior.

People didn't see that there were not three, but four people living at Number 4 Privet Drive. A boy, younger than Dudley, had been living there for years, unseen by anyone except the three that the world knew. He seemed to just fade into the background wherever he was. The only distinctive feature about him was a scar on his forehead above his right eye in the shape of a lightning bolt, obscured by his messy black hair most of the time.

One of the boy's first memories was being taught to pull weeds from the garden. His Aunt Petunia brought him to her rose bushes and showed him the smaller plants that didn't belong there, ordering him to use his fingers to pull them out. He needed to be extra careful because they grew around flower bushes with thorns and he wouldn't get any treatment when he got cut. He was told by Aunt Petunia to clean any surface on which he could see the dust and make sure to wash his cleaning cloth off when it was dirty. He learned to keep his rag in a special spot in his room so it wouldn't be damaged. He remembered one time he tore the piece of fabric and Aunt Petunia yelled at him about being a waste of space before giving him another. The boy's Uncle Vernon would have him fetch things; food and drinks from the fridge, his keys, the remote for the TV, and anything else he could think of. Any time "BOY!" was shouted, the green-eyed child knew to get to Uncle Vernon as quickly as possible.

Petunia and Vernon's son Dudley had no chores. He ran around doing whatever came to his mind, which predominantly involved making the younger boy's life more difficult or painful. Dudley enjoyed it when the younger boy was given more work or was disciplined because of something he did. Once he discovered this, his behavior became even more outrageous and mischievous to see what would get blamed on the younger boy; tracking mud into the house from the garden, sprinkling dirt on areas the boy had just cleaned, ambushing the boy with abrasive shoves to the wall or floor, planting tacks and thorns upon his bed sheets, or repeatedly sprinting up and down the stairs with his massive weight as the boy desperately tried to return to sleep in the room below. The young boy's misery was a hobby to the spoilt, chubby boy - one he absolutely relished in.

The boy had no friends, only a routine. Weed the garden. Dust the furniture. Stand still while Dudley hit him. When he was younger, he may have cried from this treatment. However, as he grew, he saw that his crying brought no sympathy from those around him, only more ire. He had nothing to compare his treatment to, no bright memories to contrast the darkness. As far as he knew, this was his life and it would continue this way forever.

That was one of the boy's most important jobs; not to be seen by anyone. He knew the schedule of the postman and was never out in the front garden when the post was delivered. He knew that when someone knocked on the door he was to hide in his room. He knew when they had company over he was to not make a sound.

On Dudley's 6th birthday, he had a big party in the backyard, all his friends came over. Uncle Vernon banished and locked the boy in his room; told him to "Make no noise, and pretend like you don't exist!"

Once the party was over, Aunt Petunia brought him to the backyard and ordered him to clean up. While picking up the paper plates, he got some white liquid on his fingers. It was sticky, and Aunt Petunia wouldn't wash his clothes for another week, so he put his fingers in his mouth. It was sweet, like milk, but slightly thicker. He could smell the flavor as he licked it from his fingers. It stayed in his mouth instead of being washed away like milk. He savored the silky sweetness, then sampled some dark crumbs from another plate. They were different from the white liquid. The taste of the dark crumb lingered on the roof and back of his mouth, while the liquid soaked into his tongue, and he could smell it as he tasted it.

The boy's eyes widened as he had an idea. He pushed some crumbs into the white liquid until they were soggy, and then put all of it in his mouth. The combination made his eyes widen, it managed to coat his entire mouth and his sense of taste and smell were completely lit up. He was just pushing more of the soggy sweetness together when a woman burst into the backyard through the side gate, looked around, and locked eyes with the small boy. They stared at each other for a moment that seemed to stretch out forever until the boy regained his senses and ran under a table.

"And who might you be?" she asked while lifting the tablecloth, rendering his hiding completely ineffective.

He looked at the ground without speaking. A moment later, Aunt Petunia came running out into the backyard and exclaimed, "Karen, what are you doing back here?"

"Piers left one of his toys and I ran into this young man. He seems afraid of me," she responded.

Aunt Petunia's brow furrowed for a moment before she adopted the friendly face and voice she used when speaking to Dudley, "This is Harry, Dudley's younger cousin. We have had to take care of him since his parents died." Turning to the boy, she said sweetly, "Harry, please go to your room."

The boy was confused, who was Harry? Aunt Petunia had clearly spoken to him, so he did as he was told. As he went inside he could hear Aunt Petunia continue to speak with the woman for a while.

Sometime later, Aunt Petunia opened the door to his room and glared at him. "You… were… seen. You have ten minutes to finish cleaning up the yard. Then get back in your cupboard until your uncle and Dudders come back from the shops. After that, we need to talk." With that, his aunt closed and locked the door.

The boy rushed to clean up the garden, not taking the time he did before to sample any of the leftover food. He climbed back into his room, curled up on his cot, and tried to commit to memory the silky taste of the white liquid, the sweet crumb, and the soggy combination of the two, not knowing if he would ever get to have anything that delicious again. As he lay there, he heard his aunt lock his room from the outside.

A few hours later, Uncle Vernon and Dudley arrived home. Dudley ran by the vent in the door, arms full of toy boxes. Aunt Petunia whispered something to Uncle Vernon before they both went upstairs. The boy could hear them talking for a minute before the bellows of Uncle Vernon began to rattle the walls. After nearly an hour, Uncle Vernon stampeded downstairs like a herd of elephants, nearly tearing off the door to the boy's room, and yanked him out by his shirt, tossing him onto a chair in the living room.

"YOU… WERE… SEEN!" bellowed Uncle Vernon in a voice that was as loud as possible without the neighbors hearing him.

The child instinctively curled up in a small ball to protect himself. "I'm sorry, I didn't hear her coming."

Aunt Petunia pushed Uncle Vernon back. "There's nothing the boy can do about it now." Turning to the child, she added, "We need to explain a few things to you. Be silent and listen."

The boy nodded. He was frozen in place, crying wouldn't help, so he choked back his tears. His mind was racing, but his body wouldn't move, so he waited, unblinking for whatever came next. Dudley was watching the scene unfold in the living room from the kitchen, holding a block of the sweet brown crumbs in his hands. Some of it was smeared around his face. Seeing that much in one place made the boy's mind wander and think of the taste again.

Aunt Petunia stood near the window, looking outside in contemplation before turning to her nephew. "Do you know how the post is delivered? That's how we got you. You were delivered to us, in the middle of the night, with a letter explaining who you were. My sister was your mother. She was a freak and did unnatural things. She left my family when she was a child and went to live with other freaks. When she was older, she married yet another freak, and they had you. But then they died, and the other freaks sent you to us like you were a letter in the post."

The boy was quiet for a while, seemingly analyzing everything that he had just heard about himself and the family that he had never met. He didn't feel sad, because he didn't have any connection to the people her aunt talked about, but he was curious and asked, "How did they die?"

Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon exchanged a silent look before Uncle Vernon spoke up.

"They died in a car crash. Your father drank too much alcohol and got them killed," Uncle Vernon sneered.

"And that's where the cut on your head comes from. That scar is from the accident." Aunt Petunia added.

He had parents. Like Dudley had Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. But they died. The goldfish Dudley got last year for his birthday died too. Dudley dropped it and it died on the kitchen floor. The fish never came back either.

"In the garden, you called me Harry…" the green-eyed child said, confused.

Uncle Vernon responded, "Are you stupid? Harry is your name."

"Like Dudley?"

"No, Dudley is our son," Aunt Petunia snapped. "My name is Petunia, his name is Vernon.

Uncle Vernon added, "You are just Harry."

His aunt walked over from where she was standing at the window and sat down next to her husband. "In the garden, Karen asked me some questions about you. We need to make some changes. After the summer, Dudley will start primary school. Because you were seen, you will start preschool. When you are at school you will not mention anything about this house. You will go to school, come home, do your chores and go to sleep."

His mind was spinning. He had a name, he had always been just 'boy' or 'freak' or 'you.' Now he was Harry. Just Harry.

Aunt Petunia interrupted his thoughts and barked, "Do you understand?"

Harry didn't understand, but he nodded his head anyway.

The morning after Dudley's birthday, Harry's sleep was shattered by his aunt pounding on the door to his room.

"Up! Now!" she yelled. "You're going to learn how to make breakfast."

It was chilly and dark, but Harry jumped up immediately, his heart pounding. He dressed in some of his warmer hand-me-down clothes and hurried out of his room.

In the kitchen, Aunt Petunia showed him some of the things that he had eaten for breakfast before and told him what the labels on the packages said. Toast, eggs, bacon, jam, salt, pepper, sausages, baked beans, tomatoes, coffee, and tea. He could already read a little from some of the packages of soil and cleaning products he had used before.

He watched his aunt's every movement carefully. After she'd finished making breakfast, they all ate together before the two of them practiced more. His aunt had him start by cracking eggs and using the can opener on the beans. He cut himself a little on the edge of the can lid but his aunt didn't see, and it stopped bleeding very quickly like it was never there. The two of them made a full English breakfast three more times, with Harry's aunt doing all the work at the stove and Harry doing the prep work. Dudley stayed for the first time they worked, pounding on the table to be served.

Harry got to eat a little of the last breakfast they had made for his lunch. He was then taken out to the backyard shed where the watering can, soil, and fertilizer bags were stored. He was given gloves that he could fit both hands inside with ease, clippers, and a trowel to help dig for weeds.

Aunt Petunia sat in a chair on the lawn, pointing out all the places he missed while he worked. She didn't seem to care that all of these places were just in areas he hadn't done yet, so he hadn't really missed them. Later in the afternoon, Harry started to head inside to avoid the postman. His aunt grabbed his arm harshly to stop him and told him that they were going to meet the postman today. His aunt sneered and ordered him to be extra polite.

A red truck rolled up to their house and a strong-looking man with a square jaw climbed out. He slung a large bag over his shoulder and began to walk up the path. His aunt waved to him and he came straight to her.

"Charlie! How are you doing today? I want you to meet my nephew, my sister's kid," she said.

Charlie responded with a wink. "Sister? I clearly remember asking you if you had a sister back when you were engaged to Vernon. I guess you were hiding her from me."

Petunia blushed and smiled for a moment before adopting a frown and saying, "She was estranged, and living in the Scottish highlands with some people who don't even use electricity."

Charlie looked surprised, "You've got to be kidding me."

Petunia shook her head, "I'm serious."

Somewhere in the north sea, a shaggy dog in a dark room sneezed.

"Where is she now?" Charlie asked.

"Sadly, she passed away," Petunia added a sad tone to her voice and deepened the frown. "She and her husband had been celebrating something and had a little too much to drink and crashed the car. Harry here survived with but a scar on his forehead."

Charlie looked down at Harry sympathetically. "Well, he's lucky that he has you to take him in."

Petunia nodded and gave a small glare down at Harry, "Thank you for the post Charlie; I'm showing Harry around the garden. You'll see him from time to time and can pass the post directly to him if you do."

"Sounds good," replied Charlie. "Good to meet you, little man. Look after your aunt for me." He reached down to ruffle Harry's hair, but Harry jumped back.

"Sorry, he's been a bit skittish. He doesn't come out of the house much," said Petunia added, rather hastily.

Charlie gave Harry an inquisitive look, handed the post to Petunia, and waved goodbye as he drove off.

Aunt Petunia looked down at him and a look of fear crossed her face. Harry looked down at his feet and saw that the grass was up to his knees around his feet in the spot he had jumped back to, but nowhere else.

His aunt said with a very worried tone, "Come with me right now to get the push mower, we need to get rid of this before your uncle gets home."

As they walked around to the backyard shed, he heard his aunt muttering.

"Freak…"

For the next week, his aunt banged on his door to wake him before the sun came up so they could make breakfast together. He enjoyed spending this time with his aunt when she wasn't yelling or scolding him. The change made him happy to get up in the morning.

One day, Petunia spoke to him before bedtime. "You know enough to make breakfast for us on your own now. I am putting a schedule on the fridge of what to make each day of the week."

She pointed to the chart on the fridge, going over the days until he could read each one. It was like a game. When he could say them all, she pulled a small digital watch out of her pocket that had a broken band. Dudley had received it for his last birthday and proceeded to destroy it within a day. The face of the watch still functioned, and the band that remained had the metal buckle on it. Aunt Petunia took him over to his room, reached inside, pushed a thumbtack into the far wall to the side of his cot, and then hung the watch from it. The time on the watch face was upside down as a result.

"I've set the alarm for 5:30 in the morning. When it goes off, you need to get up, go to the bathroom, wash up, and make breakfast. If you finish making breakfast before Vernon is up for work make yourself some beans and toast to eat. If your uncle is already downstairs, start on your other chores, and make your own breakfast after he is gone. The alarm will go off every morning."

Harry just nodded. That night when he went to bed, he looked at the clock on his wall. The seconds crept by and the minutes crawled by even slower. Before he had the watch, when he was in his room, he was alone with his thoughts, but now every moment was measured and every minute felt like an eternity. He felt the need to push the button on the side and see the soft blue glow light up his room to see how much time had passed since the last time he looked. It was maddening. Harry slowly pulled his blanket over his head and placed more clothes under his pillow and tried to go to sleep.

Before the watch, his days were routine. Harry would move from one task to the next seamlessly. His days passed easily from one thing to the next. One time, he was allowed to go to a park near the house in the evening with Dudley. He had to stay in the car until the end, but when the other children left, he was allowed to go down the slide. Once. That's how he used to move between his routine, like that slide.

Now there was a constraint. Now there was a schedule. Now he felt rushed.

By 6:20 breakfast needed to be ready. Any later and he wouldn't eat his breakfast until nine. Sometimes it would be later if Dudley refused to eat because it wasn't right in some way, so Harry would be forced to make it again. Fortunately, that didn't happen often, for as much as Dudley liked to torment Harry, he liked stuffing his face more.

At ten, he needed to be outside so he wouldn't disturb his aunt while she was watching her soaps on the TV. He used that time to garden in the backyard.

At twelve, he needed to make sandwiches for Dudley and his aunt.

From two to three, he needed to be outside in the garden to receive the post and be nice to Charlie. Charlie was always nice to him and gave him a big smile when delivering the post. Eventually, Harry didn't flinch when he tried to ruffle his hair. It felt nice when he did it.

Any time that wasn't scheduled, he needed to be cleaning inside, in the backyard, or in his room.

After five, Harry needed to be in his room until his uncle finished his dinner and went to watch TV. Then Harry could enter the kitchen to eat his dinner.

The watch was horrible.

Halfway through the summer, another element of misery was added to Harry's day. While working in the front garden, Dudley showed up with two of his friends.

A tall, lanky boy pointed to Harry. "Is that the kid my mom was talking about?"

"Yeah, that's the freak," Dudley replied.

"Hey! Freak! Do you like digging in the mud? Hoping to find your family down there?" The third kid chimed in.

Harry didn't know what to say, so he continued to pull weeds.

The lanky kid picked up a rock. "Freak! We're talking to you!" He threw the rock, striking Harry in the shoulder.

With his shoulder pounding and heart throbbing, Harry ran into the house to his aunt and hid down by her feet as she was watching TV.

"Dudley and his friends are throwing rocks at me." Harry croaked out.

Surprised, his aunt responded, "That doesn't sound like my Dudders."

She picked Harry up by the shirt and pulled him outside to find Dudley and his friends still there. Harry hid behind his aunt. "Dudley, did you throw rocks at Harry?"

Dudley yelled, "I didn't do it, I swear!"

Harry mumbled, "It was the skinny kid."

Piers gasped with indignation, "I most certainly didn't ma'am. We were just trying to talk to the freak. He refused to even look at us before running to you."

His aunt glared down at Harry, "Don't ever lie to me about my Dudders again!" She spun on her heel and walked back in without giving him a second glance.

The third kid chuckled, "Heh heh… Dudders…"

He handed Dudley another rock. Dudley's face was red. "Don't call me Dudders!"

He threw the rock at Harry as hard as he could. It hit Harry right in the throat, sending him gasping to the ground. The three kids laughed at Harry before walking away.

Harry lay on the grass in pain. His shoulder still hurt from the first rock, and now it also hurt to breathe too. He'd thought his aunt would protect him from someone who wasn't Dudley. He had instinctively run to her and hid behind her, but she hadn't protected him. She wouldn't stand in front of him if he were being attacked. His aunt had never protected him from anything else, yet he still felt betrayed. If his aunt, his family, wouldn't protect him, no other adult would either. He was on his own.

Now, he had an element of chaos added to his day. He needed to be on alert when he was outside to make sure he didn't run into Dudley and his friends when there wasn't someone watching.

Towards the end of the summer, Uncle Vernon came home from work one night annoyed with something that happened during the day. He ranted at dinner about young people who should know their place, about how getting to the top took years of hard work, not a fancy degree and a nice suit.

"And we've got this little lying freak here at home, wasting our money and making our lives difficult at every turn."

Harry kept his eyes on his plate. Drawing more attention to himself was never a good idea.

Vernon smiled nastily. "And in just a few weeks, he's going to go off to school looking like some damn hippie. It's about time he got a haircut. BOY! Take your chair to the bathroom and sit there. You're getting a haircut right now!"

With eyes full of fear, Harry dragged his usual chair from the kitchen to the bathroom and sat in it, eyes on the door. He could hear every step of his uncle's lumbering march upstairs and back down to where he was sitting in the bathroom by the kitchen. He entered with a beard trimmer and when it was turned on, the sound made Harry's blood run cold.

Vernon's meaty hand grabbed Harry by the shoulder and neck to hold him still. Harry struggled but his uncle held him still. He could see hair falling to his side. When the trimmer nicked his scalp, for the first time, he managed to break his uncle's grip for a moment and jump up before being grabbed back again. His uncle turned off the trimmer and walked out of the bathroom closing Harry inside. This time he heard his uncle go out the back door by the kitchen and open the door to the shed. Five minutes later, he returned with a length of rope and tied Harry to the chair. He struggled a little, but every time he did, his uncle pulled the rope tighter.

Now Harry knew he couldn't get away and tried to hold as still as possible still while his uncle aggressively ran the trimmer over his scalp. He could feel knicks and cuts as his uncle amateurishly tried to get every bit of hair on Harry's head. At some point, Harry started crying and heard a large cracking sound behind him, but he just continued to stare straight ahead, tears rolling down his face, lips pressed shut. Harry was wet with tears by the end, the top of his shirt wet, and the taste of salt in his mouth. His head was cold and sensitive and could feel the scrapes and cuts he had received sting and tingle from his uncle's efforts.

Harry felt like something personal had been taken from him. He couldn't run, he couldn't fight, and crying didn't garner sympathy. He had to sit there while part of himself was forcefully taken from him. He could feel it and see it falling away from him. To add injury to insult, when feeling the trimmer cut his head, it would cause him to flinch and then the rope would rub and burn against the flesh on his arms. Every bit of pain drove the message home; this is happening and there's nothing you can do about it.

His uncle stood in front of him admiring the job he did for a moment. Then he untied Harry, dragged him to his room, pushed him in, and locked the door.

Harry lay there in the dark. He was still frozen in fear, though tears continued to flow out of his eyes. After a while, he could feel the tears drying on his face as his eyes just ran out of more to shed. His cousin would hunt him for fun, his uncle would hurt him to feel better about himself, and his aunt wouldn't believe or protect him. He was truly alone. The only thing in the world that he had was this tiny room he slept in. Trusting in the solace of sleep, but dreading the day to come, Harry covered himself with his tiny blanket and curled into himself to sleep.

In the morning, Harry woke up at 5:30 to the soft beeping of his alarm but his room was still locked from the outside. Not knowing what to do, he laid back down on his cot and was about to start crying again when he reached up to touch his raw and cut-up scalp to find a full head of hair.

Harry wondered if the last day was just a dream and ran through the entire previous evening in his mind, trying to figure out where he had gone to sleep before the haircut and couldn't. If it was somehow a dream, Harry couldn't remember why his door had been locked from the outside. His mind wandered with the possibilities. He tried to think of the last time he had a haircut, but couldn't remember when that was.

At around 6:30, he heard his uncle coming down the stairs so he called out and knocked on the door. He heard his uncle cursing as he realized the door was still locked and his breakfast wasn't ready. When the door was opened he let out a scream unbefitting a man of his size seeing Harry there on his cot with a full head of messy black hair. His uncle slammed the door back and ran upstairs faster than Harry thought it was possible for him to move.

Still confused, but knowing he was running late, Harry ran to the bathroom to wash up and make breakfast. When he arrived, he looked in the mirror to see it was cracked in multiple places. He remembered hearing it crack while his head was being shaved, so he assumed his uncle had bumped it. Harry rushed to the kitchen and started breakfast.

He could hear his aunt and uncle talking to each other upstairs and at about 7:15, just as he finished with their meals, they came back down, his aunt first but he could see his uncle creeping in behind with hesitation. His aunt stifled a scream as she saw him, looking fearful. She demanded, "What did you do to your hair?"

Not being able to explain it at all, he timidly replied, "I just woke up and it was like this. I thought it was all a dream until my room was still locked from the outside."

His aunt and uncle looked fearfully at each other and Vernon said in a small voice, "Go to your cupboard now, and don't come out until we tell you."

Harry retreated to his room. He ended up being there until he had to make breakfast the next morning, watching the seconds creep by on that horrible watch.

Three weeks later, it was Harry's first day of Preschool. His aunt and uncle had barely said a dozen words to him since the haircut incident that didn't contain Breakfast, Garden, or Freak. Dudley, who hadn't realized what was going on, kept up his 'Harry Hunting' with Piers and Nigel.

Harry had overheard his aunt gossiping that the third member of Dudley's gang, Nigel, was given the name in an attempt to make him feel royal and elevate their family. Nigel seemed more inclined to do the exact opposite.

Aunt Petunia gave Harry one of Dudley's old backpacks a few days before the term began, only for it to turn up the next morning ripped to shreds. Harry of course received the blame, even with Dudley standing next to him and laughing. Uncle Vernon dug out one of his old briefcases as the only other alternative as the rest of Dudley's old backpacks seemed to have completely vanished. The briefcase was a reddish-brown leather with some tears in it, the inside liner was ripped in a few places, but it was solid.

Harry played with the number lock on the case until he found numbers that felt significant to him. His scar itched as he set the lock to 1031. He then put in three notebooks, each had at least half of the pages torn out, and as many pens, pencils, and markers he had managed to stash in his room under his cot over the last year - three of each, plus one red colored pencil. Harry wasn't sure he would get the chance to eat on the first day, so he also put in four slices of toast with strawberry jam the day before, along with two pieces of black pudding. His planning paid off in the morning as when he went to pack the sandwich he was allowed to bring, it was snatched by Dudley before it ended up in his case. Of course, no one listened to him when he mentioned it. He wasn't sure why he even tried.

His aunt drove Dudley to his elementary school and after being dropped off, then took Harry to a smaller school nearby. The school was surrounded by a fence, and the playground was filled with children his age. His Aunt Petunia walked him through the gates towards another adult waiting there. The woman was about a head shorter than his aunt, with wavy dark blonde hair, and a look of caring on her face. Petunia introduced herself and Harry before turning to leave.

The woman responded quickly making his aunt turn around impatiently and remain for a moment longer, "My name is Lauren Davis, I will be little Harry's teacher for this year. If you would like, Mrs. Dursley, you can wait outside the gates to watch Harry play a little before class starts."

His aunt replied quickly and without care, "That won't be necessary," walking quickly to the car. Harry watched his aunt drive off and slowly exhaled. It felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, and he looked up to see his teacher looking down at him curiously.

She spoke up to say, "My name is Lauren, you may also call me Mrs. Davis. Your aunt will be back at 3:00 to pick you up."

"Yes ma'am," Harry responded with a touch of grief in his voice.

Mrs. Davis proceeded to tell him that he had another ten minutes and a bell would ring. At that time, he needed to come to the blue door next to them.

Harry wandered around the playground, not approaching any of the other children. He had noticed a girl with brown hair and glasses watching him as he was talking to Mrs. Davis, but she didn't do anything else, so he left her alone. Harry explored the playground, seeing stacks of tires to play in, some animals with seats on their backs mounted on large springs, a metal climbing structure, and a slide. Just before the bell rang, he climbed and went down a slide for the second time in his life.

The classroom he was led into was brightly colored with small boxes against the wall.

Mrs. Davis started off the class with a greeting:

"I want to welcome all of you to preschool at Tanners Wood Day School." She paused to allow that to sink in. "I will be your teacher for the next year where you will learn everything you need to know before starting primary school. Before you begin, I'm going to go through your names and I want you to answer when I call yours."

Mrs. Davis proceeded to call out names until she arrived at Harry's. Harry was ready to answer, but she called out "Harry Potter," and Harry remained silent. The girl with the glasses made an 'eep!' noise when his name was called, but Harry hadn't been paying attention to remember hers. Mrs. Davis called him again, and he didn't answer. She walked over to him and said, "Harry, I called your name."

Harry looked confused and responded, "I'm just Harry, my uncle told me that I'm just Harry."

Mrs. Davis responded, "Do you go by Dursely like your aunt?"

"No, just Harry"

"Well, your name on the roll here is Harry Potter, I assume that is your mother and father's name."

Looking thoughtful, Harry simply nodded and smiled.

Mrs. Davis returned to the front of the class and finished the roll call. Then she asked all the children to go to the boxes on the wall and put their bags and coats in the boxes with their names. They were allowed to ask for help if they needed it. A few children did need help reading their names, but Harry was able to find his spot quickly. He knew his name 'Harry' but did not know 'Potter.' When he saw 'Harry Potter' on his box, he stared at it, committing Potter to his memory, and then put his briefcase inside.

The rest of the morning the children were given a tour around the classroom. They were shown the toybox, which didn't even have half the number of toys that Dudley had, but still, more than Harry had ever played with. A bookcase with small chairs was in the corner of the room filled with colorful stories and adventures. There were four tables around the room, each with four to six tiny chairs, and a large multi-colored mat that looked like it was made of puzzle pieces in the front of the room next to a large chalkboard with numbers and letters all around it.

The children were allowed to explore the room and find things around that they liked. Harry didn't interact with the other children and the other children didn't interact with him. After looking at the books, Harry steered himself towards a table on the side of the room that had lots of boxes of colored clay in them and spent his time molding it into all sorts of animals. By the time lunch came around, he had made a dog and a horse with wings. He had dreams in the past about both but had never had any way of creating what he saw in his head. He had tried drawing them on the walls of his room, but it was hard to do in the dark.

After he had eaten his lunch, which had gotten stale in the last day and a half, he returned to his clay table. Mrs. Davis however, approached him and told him the class was going to have their nap now. Harry suddenly realized that it was after lunch and he heard his aunt's voice in his head ordering him to work in the garden.

Harry responded in a confrontational tone, "No, now I need to go work in the garden."

"At home, you might want to play in the garden, but right now all the children at school need to sleep," Mrs. Davis said to Harry.

If he didn't get his chores done, there would be punishment. Harry raised his voice, "No, I need to go to the garden now! I'm not tired!"

Some of the other children, who had been lying down on mats around the room started to look up at Harry. Mrs. Davis reached down to put a hand on Harry's shoulder, but he flinched and suddenly Mrs. Davis fell over backward, hitting her head on the ground on the corner of the colored mat. She got back up quickly, but as she did, her hair became the same color as the mat where she hit her head, a bright blue.

Harry realized something strange was going on and ran out of the room to get as far away from it as possible. Harry ran outside to the corner of the playground near the slide and crouched down by the fence and started to pull grass in the corner. He had nowhere to put all the grass he was pulling, so he just stuffed it in his pockets. Harry heard a window opening on the side of the building and looked up to see Mrs. Davis with her bright blue hair leaning out a window on the side of the building holding an owl that flew off.

While the sight was weird, Harry pushed other thoughts aside and continued to dedicate himself to pulling the grass from the edge of the fence.

Thirty minutes later, Harry saw two men with strange red coats walk through the playground. After a few minutes, Mrs. Davis came out into the yard, her hair back to being dark blonde again. She walked over to Harry and crouched down.

"Harry, do you take naps in the afternoon?" Harry shook his head no.

"Most children your age need to take naps as they get tired very easily. If you don't want to take a nap tomorrow and in the future, you may do something else as long as it is quiet and does not interrupt the children that do want to nap. Is that ok?" Harry calmed down, a little and realized he could keep his schedule, but maybe also play with the clay.

"I will need to talk to your aunt about what happened with my hair though."

"No, no, please don't tell her. I'll get in trouble." Harry began to panic and look around for a place to escape.

Mrs. Davis tried to calm him down, "It's alright, it's very natural for you to do that when you're angry or scared."

It didn't help, Harry continued to search desperately for a way to escape the situation, and a small wind began to blow around the yard, "No, please don't tell her, I'm a freak, don't tell her, please don't tell her."

Mrs. Davis looked at him curiously and backed off, and the wind died down. She asked, "Has something strange happened to you before?" Harry nodded. "What happened?" She asked.

In a very small voice, Harry said, "I got a haircut a few weeks ago, and then the hair grew back overnight." Mrs. Davis looked very interested in that. She prompted him to ask how his aunt and uncle responded. Harry didn't respond and just looked at the ground, tears beginning to form in his eyes.

Sadly Mrs. Davis just told Harry, "you don't need to tell me. Don't worry, I won't tell your aunt about today."

Harry's breathing slowed down and he lay down on the ground. The wind that had been blowing around him calmed and dispersed. In a few minutes, he fell asleep, his last thought being that he never saw the men in red coats leave the school. Mrs. Davis picked up the sleeping child and placed him next to the others in the classroom.

The rest of the day went well and Petunia Dursley picked Harry up at three.

After he left, Lauren Davis wrote another letter, attached it to the leg of an owl, and watched it fly off high into the clouds to the north.

Author's Note: I'm using my creative freedom to make Dudley one whole year older than he is in canon. Petunia is older and got married the year before Lily in canon. So it makes sense, instead of just making them a month apart. It gives Dudley more room to be mean and his own friends that aren't the same age as Harry.

Harry's vision is fine, no glasses needed. I feel like the only reason he was given glasses in canon was to look like his father.

I tried to imagine Harry's neighborhood beyond privet drive, but had a hard time doing so because Little Whinging doesn't actually exist. The movie set of #4 Privet Drive however does exist. I started to explore the neighborhood on Google Maps and found many interesting things I could incorporate into my story.
So, since the fictional world of Harry Potter doesn't exist in Harry Potter, I am using my creative freedom to put Privet Drive where it stands on the WB movie set Watford. If you look it up, imagine the whole movie studio is a nice residential neighborhood. I particularly like it because it borders on Abbots-Langley which has different real places in the town that I will use in my story. After all, they fit well in terms of names and distances.