Chapter One: The Call
I had lived six years with the Dursley's before something magical came into my life.
The Dursley's liked to think of themselves as an ordinary family. A nice normal, simple family who obeyed the laws and didn't stand out in anything but an 'ordinary', normal way.
Vernon Dursley, the man of the house, was a proud businessman, a loving father and a caring husband. He had worked hard, earned his way through university on the Rugby Team, and precured a respectable position in a respectable business, caught himself an educated house wife and lived in a nice, safe, neighbourhood. There was absolutely nothing about Vernon Dursley that stood out, that made him different or special.
Petunia, the woman of the house, was the perfect wife, a proud mother and an attentive wife. Every evening, she would keep her husband apprised of all the gossip that she heard from her neighbours and what they're 'unruly' children had been up to while describing their own son's perfect day. Petunia had trained to be a nurse before she married Vernon and decided to stay at home in order to raise their children. As far as she was concerned, a good mother and a good wife couldn't hold a job at the same time because it took time to make sure that the home stayed maintained and the children were tended to at all times.
Dudley Dursley was their son, a perfect, intelligent and loveable boy. In the eyes of his parents, Dudley could do no wrong. He learnt to cruel, and then walk, at the perfect age. He was so clever and learnt to talk early!
At least these were the delusions that they lived by. I knew different.
Petunia was a shrew of a women with a horse like face who didn't keep her house; or at least, she hadn't kept her house in a few years. Instead, she had me do it. She hadn't raised her hand to do a single chore in the house in nearly three years since she had taught me to do them to her exacting and high standards. She no longer cooked for the family, she didn't clean and she definitely never did any of the heavy lifting. The only thing Petunia would even think of doing was the front garden, and even than she was only doing the work for appearance sack with me working next to her and doing the majority of the weeding and planting. Despite passing the entire chore list off to me, nothing was ever good enough for her perfectionist tastes.
Vernon was an overweight, short tempered man who hated having taken on the burden of his nephew. He resented having been forced to remain in the largely lower middle-class neighbourhood instead of moving up because he couldn't take on a promotion in one of the bigger areas of his company. He resented how his neighbours whispered behind his back about the wraith of a boy he had taken into his care. Vernon was easily triggered in violet rage.
And then there was Dudley, their spoilt son of a boy and someone I am ashamed to say is my cousin. He was overweight like his father, and the attitude of his parents meant that he didn't know right from wrong. He expected to have his way all the time. And he didn't see anything wrong with beating on his cousin – or even the weaker kids at school – because he was never told off for doing so; in fact, he was encouraged 'to put his cousin in his place'. He wasn't smart and he didn't learn because he always had his cousin do his homework for him.
When I was younger, I didn't know my own name. They only ever called me 'Boy' or 'Freak' but when they were forced to send me too school Petunia told me my name. She had to, because it would have been weird if I couldn't answer to my name on the register. And so, I learnt that my parents christened me Harold James Potter but I was usually called Harry by the teachers (the only people who used my name). When I got back from my first day at school, I carved my name into my wall so that I would never forget.
That was two years ago now, and I had learnt much about who I was. Before I was allowed to go to school, I thought I was a burden. A freak. Something no one cared about and no good at anything. But now, although no one cared about me I had learnt that I could be better. I wasn't a burden, and I wouldn't be a burden on anyone when I grew up. I would be strong.
So, I learnt. I never handed in my own homework – always losing it to Dudley's vicious hands – but I learnt from doing Dudley's homework. And I hid as many playtimes and lunch breaks in the library as I could manage. Once I had learnt to read using the beginner's guides and the tapes in the library, I didn't stop. My favourite subjects were history, law and the study of society (focusing on psychology, sociology and social issues). I loved to understand why everything happened the way it happened and why people acted the way they do.
It was through my study of historical figures that I learnt I needed more than just my mind and my intelligence to prevail. I needed to be strong physically. I used the chores Petunia gave me, and I did everything I could to get stronger. I lifted more than I should when working in the garden. I carried heavy pans full of water when I was cooking. I stayed after school three days a week (while Dudley was out watching movies with his father) to use the climbing frames, the ropes and the punching bag. On Saturdays – while the family was out shopping – I was kicked out of the house and I used that time to head into the forest and practise fighting styles (sometimes using a stick as a sword, or otherwise teaching myself how to stand or how to get out of hold) which I had learnt from books or from watching clips on the computers. It wasn't as effective as it would have been had I found a teacher, or even a partner, but it was all I could do until I could find a friend of similar mind.
It was my seventh birthday, a Saturday, and I was in the woods. I was kneeling in the middle of the clearing, hands resting on my knees as I went through the breathing exercise, which I had started up only the week before. I had read that it was good for keeping control of your emotions and ordering your thoughts and I knew that I struggled to hide my pain from my relatives. So now I had decided to do the breathing exercise before each training session and whenever I was locked in my cupboard.
I had just slipped into my sense of calm, feeling like I was barely even attached to my body as the only thing that mattered was my steady heartbeat. No thoughts, no feelings, no pain, no anger. Just my heart beat. Steady and unstoppable. But then the music came. Like from a dream. It was soft. The sound of a piano.
It started out as a feeling
Which then grew into a hope
My eyes snapped open as I looked around, thinking that I had been discovered. But there was no one in the clearing.
Which then turned into a quiet thought
Which then turned into a quiet word
Climbing to my feet I tried following the music deeper into the woods.
And then that word grew louder and louder
'Til it was a battle cry
It pulled on my heart, like the words were just meant for me. A call from something old; something ancient and powerful.
I'll come back
When you call me
No need to say goodbye
Just because everything's changing
Doesn't mean it's never been this way before
All you can do is try to know who your friends are
As you head off to the war
Finally, I came to a stop in front of a very old oak tree. It was the tallest tree in the forest, wider than anything else I had seen before and its branches were thick and sturdy. It was like this tree was built to hold up the world. And if I wasn't mistaken, it was in the heart of the forest that boarded the west side of Surry.
Pick a star on the dark horizon
And follow the light
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
As I listened to the song, I noticed that the roots of the tree almost formed a door. Ever curious, I knelt down and reached out a slightly trembling hand to touch it.
You'll come back when it's over
No need to say goodbye
Now we're back to the beginning
It's just a feeling and no one knows yet
But just because they can't feel it too
Doesn't mean that you have to forget
Just as my hand came into contact with the roots of the tree my world went dark and all I could hear was the song. Full of so much hope, so much joy and wonder. And yet, such sadness and sorrow. It was a song of compassion and future hellos. And yet it was also a song of goodbyes and I'll miss you's.
Let your memories grow stronger and stronger
'Til they're before your eyes
You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say goodbye
You'll come back
When they call you
No need to say goodbye
The last of the song was drowned out by the triumphant roar of a lion as I lost consciousness.
This chapter was edited and updated 10/04/2022