Chapter 2: Proper Possession

I hate school. Harry wrote carefully, glancing at the board to look like he was copying the word-of-the-day. He didn't honestly care what facetious meant, not with his stomach churning restlessly. He cared more about lunch, something Tom had promised they'd get today. Ugh, it felt like he hadn't eaten in ages.

School is the first step to success. You do not want to live with those muggles for the rest of your life, do you?

Harry rolled his eyes because the patronizing git might have a small point. He might not like it, but that was the way of things. Medicine wasn't made to taste good; it was made to make people better.

But even medicine couldn't help him when he got sent to the principal's office later that day.

Harry had never hated Tom so much as he did sitting in that tiny chair, Uncle Vernon squashed into the one beside him. His fat rolls were poking through the sides, making him look like a squashed sandwich rather than the apex predator that he was.

The principal was staring at the both of them with wide, solemn eyes. He was a stern, no-nonsense man, but even he would have balked if he knew what fate he was sending Harry home to. "Thank you for coming, Mr. Dursley. Mr. Potter has committed a serious offence against another student. Due to his record last year, we though it best to consult with you early on. He was caught stealing Ms. Rothwell's lunch."

"Stealing? He's always getting in trouble, this one. We'll sort it when we get home." Uncle Vernon's voice was deceptively quiet, but his face was splotched enough that Harry was quite certain he wouldn't be able to walk for a week after they got home.

The principal coughed. "Well, yes. A wonderful idea, but the reason he took Ms. Rothwell's lunch is equally concerning."

At this point, the principal turned to Harry. As if there was any way in hell he'd rat out Uncle Vernon. They'd have an easier time convincing a fish to breathe air.

"Well, get on with it, you awful boy! Why'd you take her lunch?" Uncle Vernon's beady eyes dared Harry to breathe a word.

The teacher, Ms. Bailey, redirected Uncle Vernon's attention as she cleared her throat. She gave Uncle Vernon her sternest look. "If I had to guess, he was hungry. I know for a fact that he never has a lunch or lunch money. Last year, the same pattern occurred, but most of the students were nice enough to share with the poor boy. If I didn't know any better, this points strongly to neglect. Mr. Dursley, you do recognize that neglect is a serious crime?"

"I am not neglecting the boy! We give him lunch money every day. He goes and spends it willy-nilly on childish trinkets."

The teacher arched an eyebrow. "Might I suggest you leave the money with me then? Our principal can hold me to our agreement."

Uncle Vernon went purple again because now he was going to actually have to spend money on Harry. Harry felt a whole new wave of panic. Uncle Vernon was actually going to kill him when this was said and through.

He wasn't far from the truth.

When they got home, Aunt Petunia grabbed him firmly by the collar and shoved him, book bag and all, into his cupboard.

Harry scrambled to get the diary out of his backpack. It fell open to where his pen had been left as an afterthought. I'm in for it now. Thanks a lot, Tom. Harry wrote angrily, the ink almost ripping through the page. His pen had been nicked from the junk drawer in the kitchen. He'd done it because he needed something to write with and the Dursleys had a dozen spare. He wasn't a good kid anyways. What was one pen?

Harry could hear Uncle Vernon on the other side of the cupboard, carrying on about a botched deal. It was Harry's fault. Uncle Vernon had to go and get him from school, interrupting his latest round of schmoozing. And all because he'd been caught stealing. "The teacher thinks we're starving the freak, Petunia. What will other people bloody think when they hear? He's a menace. A bloody scourge to this normal family! He's going to ruin us!"

Because, of course, it was always Harry's fault.

A shadow fell over his diary, keying him in on the position of Aunt Petunia. She was blocking the cupboard, preventing Uncle Vernon from getting close.

"The boy's being punished, Vernon," Aunt Petunia's voice was level, but Harry could hear something in it. "Leave him be for now."

I think Aunt Petunia is scared, Tom.

Why would she be scared? Harry couldn't tell if Tom was genuinely unconcerned or not. He was sarcastic and cruel as often as he was nice and understanding. It could turn on the flip of a dime. Without hearing a voice, it was very hard to tell what Tom was feeling.

Uncle Vernon's really angry today. Even angrier than usual. You made him mad, but he's going to hurt me. I think I'm scared.

"I'm going to kill that little ingrate! How dare he mess this up! I could lose my bleeding job!"

"Vernon, language," Aunt Petunia admonished.

There was a loud smack and suddenly Aunt Petunia was screaming. "HOW DARE YOU! LAY A HAND ON ME, WILL YOU? WHAT'S NEXT? DUDLEY? YOU BLOODY BASTARD!"

There was a softer smack before a set of heels clicked out of the living room. There went his defense then.

And he'd hit Aunt Petunia.

He hit Aunt Petunia. He's never hit her.

Harry barely got the words in before the lock slammed out of place and the door wrenched open. The sudden light gave him just enough time to see three words.

Let me in.

And then Harry was hauled out of the cupboard by the scruff of his shirt and slung across the room. The book went flying; the pen clattered to the ground.

"What do you think about all this, eh? Bleeding funny? Can't just ruin me job can you? You have to make me hit my wife. I'll finish this once and for all."

Harry didn't really believe his uncle would kill him. He couldn't. There was just no way.

Then, Uncle Vernon brought a glass globe down on Harry's head. It shattered, water and little figurines spilling. There was something warm and sticky trailing down his cheek, mixing with the cold water unpleasantly.

Now, Harry wasn't scared.

He was terrified.

Because he was wrong. So very, very wrong.

Uncle Vernon really intended to kill him- or at least hurt him very, very badly.

Harry screamed then. "HELP! HELP!" as loud as he could until his uncle clobbered him on the jaw and told him to shut up.

Harry did not.

There was a crunch and Harry couldn't scream, not without agony shooting up his face.

Almost instantly, a great crash echoed throughout the house, the very walls seeming to quiver. Everything went dark in the room. Vernon swore loudly before slamming something hard against Harry. Something that smelled like leather, but was far too thick to be anything but his diary. Vernon was going to beat the living hell out of him with his most prized possession.

Let me in, Tom's words floated in a smooth, comforting way. Harry decided he must be really close to death if he was imagining the voice of his friend. I can help. I won't let them touch you ever again.

There was a vengeful tone to Tom's voice that brokered no argument.

Harry finally sighed, too tired to resist the boy's pushing. He was so tired. He was so…

Hang in there, kid. I've been through too much to let this walrus of a man kill you.

But Harry was fading and darkness overtook him.

So this one is a lot shorter. I might go back later and add a few scenes from Harry's life with the Dursleys, but, really, it would be mostly filler. I am ready for the next phase. I have a few more chapters already written and will be posting them soon. I'm not sure the disclaimer is needed, but I'll give it anyways. I am not J.k. Rowling, nor will I ever be. Let me know what you guys think. Thanks for reading.