4-year-old Harry Potter stood frozen, his wide green eyes filled with terror as he watched Dudley's approaching figure. His heart pounded in his chest, a sense of impending doom weighing heavily upon him. In that fleeting moment, a small dog, with its tail wagging innocently, ventured into the garden, oblivious to the chaos it would soon bring.
Unaware of the consequences of his next step, Harry's foot came crashing down on the unsuspecting dog's paw. A sharp yelp of pain escaped the canine's lips, echoing through the air. It was a cry that set off a chain reaction, summoning a pack of dogs from all corners of the neighbourhood.
As if released from their invisible chains, the dogs charged forward, their barks resonating with a mixture of excitement and aggression. Harry's heart raced as he felt their menacing presence closing in on him, their teeth bared in a display of dominance. Panic surged through his small frame, his instinct for self-preservation kicking in.
With tears streaming down his face, Harry's little legs pumped with adrenaline as he sprinted towards the nearest escape route—the towering tree standing sentinel in the garden. He clutched onto its rough bark, each rough patch scraping against his tiny palms as he scrambled upward, seeking refuge from the relentless pursuit.
From the safety of the tree, Harry cast a desperate gaze toward the house, seeking solace and rescue from the only family he knew. But what he found crushed his fragile hopes. Marge, a hulking figure with a cruel smile, revelled in his distress. She stood idly by, a twisted spectator to his terror, refusing to intervene or call off the relentless dogs.
The darkness settled around them like a shroud, amplifying Harry's isolation. With every passing minute, the night grew colder, matching the chill that seeped into his young bones. Tears flowed freely, mingling with dirt on his cheeks, as he perched on the tree branch, his sobs filling the silent night air.
At that moment, Harry's heartache and longing for his mother consumed him. His cries pierced through the tranquillity, a plaintive call for comfort and love that went unanswered.
Daphne awoke with a start, her heart pounding as if she had just been running from an unseen foe. The sky was beginning to lighten outside her window, and she decided to seize the day. She changed into the clothes she had laid out the night before - a pair of jeans and an orange camp half-blood teeshirt - and hurried outside towards the garden near the Demeter cabin.
"Was that really Potter in my dream?" she muttered under her breath, "Is his home life that bad."
A few moments later, Daphne felt an inexplicable presence behind her, and when she glanced back at Cabin 8, there stood Harry, squinting against the early morning sun. A sudden wave of heat filled her cheeks as their eyes met for the briefest of moments. As she watched Chiron take him to the big house.
Later at Camp Half-blood, Harry stepped out of the Big House and felt an energy in the air. He turned to his left and saw Daphne walking towards him. She wore a leather chest-plate that glinted in the sunlight, with two wooden swords grasped firmly in her hands. Her long blonde hair was tied back, and her eyes were lit with excitement.
"Potter," she said, as though it were a challenge.
"Daphne," he replied.
Without missing a beat, she tossed one of the swords towards him. "I have been trained in weapons since I was three," she said. "If you want to survive out there, you better learn how to fight too - and I'm here to teach you."
The wooden sword felt heavy in Harry's hands, and his palms were slick with sweat. He gave Daphne a nervous glance and then swallowed hard as they walked towards the training area. When they arrived, Daphne stood tall with her back straight and feet planted wide.
"Harry," she said firmly, "I want you to attack me. Use only the sword and do your best. When this spar is over I will correct any mistakes."
"Um... okay," Harry replied, his voice wavering slightly. He tightened his grip on the sword and steeled himself for what was to come.
Daphne shouted the signal to start and Harry rushed her with a roar, his sword raised in the air. She stepped back lightly and whipped her sword towards him in a graceful arc. He ducked but not fast enough, and she caught him on the shoulder with her blade. He stumbled back, clutching at the wound on his arm. The clash of their swords echoed across the room as he swung wildly again, but Daphne parried it easily before connecting her boot with his chest and sending him flying.
Daphne held up her hand, her palm pressing against the air. "Stop," she said. Harry paused mid-swing, his sword hovering in front of him. He had been trying to practice with it for hours, but nothing seemed to be going right.
"Let's start with your footing," Daphne began, stepping closer and motioning Harry to adjust his stance. "You're leaving yourself open to attack when you stand like this." She demonstrated a more secure position, her feet planted shoulder width apart and her knees bent slightly.
Next, she focused on his swings. "Your movements are too wild and predictable," she said gently. "The moment you become predictable is the moment you will be killed - whether it's by a monster or a demon."
Harry nodded solemnly, taking in her words as he adjusted his grip on the hilt. "But," Daphne added encouragingly, "you do have potential. Let's try again."
Daphne's piercing blue eyes locked onto Harry's, assessing him. She took a deep breath, her calm demeanour juxtaposed with the fervour that burned behind her eyes. "Remember, control your emotions. Every action should be deliberate. Let's work on precision first."
Harry, still feeling the sting of his previous errors, nodded, trying to push away the embarrassment. He mimicked her stance, feeling a bit more grounded. "Like this?"
Daphne circled him, inspecting his posture. "Better," she noted. "But always be ready to move. A static target is an easy target."
With a slight nod, Daphne took her position opposite him. The energy in the room shifted as the two readied themselves. Harry focused intently on his opponent, watching her every movement.
Without warning, Daphne lunged forward, her sword slicing through the air. Harry, prepared this time, blocked her assault, their weapons clashing with a sharp resonance. She smiled briefly, acknowledging his improvement.
Harry parried a blow from Daphne's sword, but she was relentless in her attack. As he desperately blocked each strike, his sword began to splinter and break apart under the force.
"Potter, in a fight every part of your body is a weapon, not just your sword," Daphne called out.
Taking her advice, Harry moved swiftly and silently to get behind her. He thrusted his sword forward as she turned to block, but he had already taken advantage of her distraction; his knee flew towards her groin with full force.
Daphne reeled back, her chestnut hair tumbling out of its braid and her green eyes flashing with rage both turning red. The flush of embarrassment was replaced with a rush of anger as she lunged forward, her wooden sword aimed at Harry's neck. He quickly blocked the attack, their swords clashing in a deafening clash, sparks flying around them. But the force of Daphne's strike was too powerful – both swords shattered into splintered pieces, wood chips raining down on them both.
Harry and Daphne stood mere inches apart, the remnants of their shattered weapons scattered at their feet. The atmosphere was thick with tension, and for a moment, neither of them made a move. The echoes of the splintering wood still lingered in the air.
Harry's heart raced, adrenaline pumping through his veins. Despite the rush of battle, he found himself studying Daphne's face. Her features were contorted with a mix of fury and determination, yet he could detect a hint of respect and admiration as a bright blush appeared over his face.
Daphne's breaths came out in short, rapid bursts. She felt the sting of Harry's knee, but it only made her more focused. There was no way she would let this duel end in a tie. Gathering her wits, she lunged towards Harry again, this time with no weapon, relying solely on her instincts and combat training.
Harry, caught off guard by her swift movement, tried to step back but found himself pinned against a tree. Daphne's hand shot to his throat, pressing him with considerable force. He gasped, struggling to break free from her grasp.
"And Potter," she hissed, her face inches from his, "sometimes the best weapon is your mind."
With a smirk, she released him, stepping back and extending a hand to help him up. Harry, still recovering from the shock, hesitated for a second before accepting her gesture.
The next morning, Daphne was perched like a sentry on a worn wooden bench overlooking the strawberry fields. She motioned for Harry to take a seat across from her. When he did, he couldn't help but gape at the runes that ran up and down Daphne's arm.
"Um... hello," said Harry.
Daphne rolled her eyes and threw a thick grey book at him with more force than necessary. "Here - this is my grey book. I'm letting you borrow it for now."
"Okay," said Harry, catching the book in his lap. He noticed the spine had been worn down with use.
Daphne stood tall and resolute, her gaze steady as she spoke. "My father has all but ordered me to help you, and I intend on doing that," she said. "But first, I want to know about your home life."
Harry shifted his weight from foot to foot, avoiding Daphne's eyes as he searched for a way out of answering her question. Finally, after a stretch of silence that seemed like an eternity, Daphne asked another question.
"Harry, what do you know about demigod dreams?" She didn't flinch as his gaze darted around the camp, seemingly looking for an escape.
Harry shifted uncomfortably and scratched the back of his neck. "I-I don't know much," he stammered, "but what does this have to do with the question you asked me earlier?"
Daphne's voice was low and serious. "Everything actually." She paused for a beat before continuing. "Demigod dreams are essentially dreams that show us events of the past, present, or possible future - but most importantly, they show us things that we need to know."
Harry felt a chill run down his spine as Daphne stared at him intently. He averted her gaze and looked at the ground, feeling small and exposed under her scrutiny. "Two nights ago, I dreamt of a young boy about three or four years old being chased by a pack of dogs. He forcibly climbed up a tree in desperation to avoid them all while a woman looked on with a cruel smile on her face. The boy had silver eyes and a lightning bolt-shaped scar – so tell me Harry, what does your home life look like?"
Harry warred internally with himself, wrestling between his urge to tell Daphne the truth or keep it hidden from her. He looked up at her and saw the concern in her eyes, illuminated by the soft glint of sunlight.
"It's okay," he said and instantly saw her expression twist into rage.
"Don't lie to me Harry James Potter," she said sternly, her words echoing in the night air. "Our soul union lets us know when we're lying to each other. So tell me, what does your home life look like?"
Harry bowed his head in defeat, the connection between him and Daphne forcing him to finally open up. He was scared, but he knew he could trust her. Tears formed in his eyes, and Daphne noticed them immediately. "Daphne, I beg you not to tell anyone what I'm about to say," Harry pleaded.
"Unless you want me to, I won't breathe a word of it," came her response.
"My living conditions were terrible; I didn't even know my name until my Hogwarts letter arrived. The bedroom I lived in until my mum rescued me was nothing more than a boot cupboard under the stairs. I had to teach myself how to read and write from that tiny space. I never even stepped foot in school until I reached Hogwarts. All the chores around the house fell on me - cleaning, cooking food they wouldn't let me eat, mowing the lawn - and any time I accidentally caused some magic to flare or made a noise, they denied me food for days on end. All I ever got was a stale piece of bread and a cup of water." His voice quavered as hot tears rolled down
Daphne slowly walked around the bench and embraced Harry in a tight hug. His body shook as he sobbed into her shoulder, and she stroked his back in comforting circles. Softly, she whispered into his ear, "I am so sorry, Harry," feeling her chest tighten with sympathy for his plight.
"My mother told me yesterday when she took me to my manor that she was working on a plan to make the Dursleys pay," Harry said between cries. Daphne gave a small nod of understanding as tears stung his eyes.
Sirens wailed through the air as a fleet of police cars raced down Privet Drive and screeched to a halt outside number 4. Officers swarmed out of the vehicles, surrounding the house with guns drawn, while a tactical team battered open the front door with a battering ram.
"Police with a warrant!" shouted the officer in charge.
The officers rushed in and fanned out to search for the suspect, Vernon Dursley. He was sprawled on the floor between two armchairs, trying to wriggle out of an open window - but he was quickly tased by an officer waiting outside. "Vernon Dursley! You are under arrest for abuse (child, physical, mental, emotional and psychological), false imprisonment, child negligence, starvation, child slavery, cruel and unusual punishments, torture, child endangerment, attempted second-hand child murder - of your nephew Harry James Potter."
Two officers grabbed Vernon and dragged him off to a police car while another officer stepped forward and saluted his superior.
"Sergeant Barnes," he said.
"Yes, Officer Bradock," replied Sergeant Barnes.
"You have to see this," said Officer Bradock.
The two officers stood in the Dursley's opulent living room, Petunia shaking nervously in her handcuffs. Officer Rogers lifted an eyebrow as he spoke to Sergeant Barnes. "It appears we can charge Mr. Dursley with bribery, fraud and tax evasion."
"That doesn't surprise me at all," Sergeant Barnes sneered, as Officer Bradock tightened his grip on Petunia's arm and guided them towards a door tucked away under the staircase. "We're already adding resisting arrest to the charges."
Sergeant Barnes' eyes narrowed as he approached the understair door. He had seen many crime scenes in his years of service, but what he had heard about the Dursleys was particularly disturbing. Officer Bradock pushed open the door, revealing a dim, cramped space, no larger than a broom closet.
"This," Officer Bradock began, gesturing inside, "is where they kept Harry Potter locked up. A boy, no older than my own son."
The room was barren, save for a thin, moth-eaten mattress and tattered blankets. The walls had scrawled drawings and words, some of which seemed like a child's attempt to record days, perhaps even years.
Sergeant Barnes took a deep breath, trying to keep his composure. "It's a miracle the boy survived in these conditions. The state of this...this prison, and the extent of the charges against Vernon... it's overwhelming."
Officer Rogers, standing by the doorway, added, "Not just Vernon. Petunia here was complicit too, and who knows about the son?"
Petunia Dursley, looking paler than ever, seemed to have lost her arrogant air. "You don't understand. The boy is dangerous."
Sergeant Barnes fixed her with a cold stare. "And what, in your view, would justify such treatment of a child? Magic? Some mysterious inheritance?"
Petunia faltered, unable to meet his gaze. She seemed to shrink under the weight of her guilt.
Dudley Dursley, who had been sitting quietly on the couch until now, stood up hesitantly. "I want to cooperate," he said. "I have information. About... about what they did to Harry."
Barnes raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "We're listening, Mr. Dursley."
Sergeant Barnes studied the child before him, seeing not the chubby child that the community had known but a boy who wanted to make things right, seemingly burdened by years of witnessing atrocities within his own home. Dudley seemed to be struggling with the confession as if warring with himself over allegiance to family and doing what was right.
Clearing his throat, Dudley began. "I didn't... I didn't know it was this bad," he stuttered, his gaze lingering on the floor. "I thought it was just...normal, the way they treated him, I mean." He swallowed, a tear slipping from his eye, a testament to the brewing storm within him.
"The way they... we... treated Harry was nothing short of torture. Food deprivation, constant insults, physical punishment... it was relentless," Dudley continued tears now freely streaming down his face. He couldn't look at anyone, unable to bear the shame that washed over him as he recounted the horrors.
Officer Bradock had to step away, his face etched with disgust and sorrow, unable to maintain his stoic facade. The room was thick with the gravity of the revelations, the atmosphere steeped in a deep, dark sadness that seemed to seep into every crack and crevice.
Barnes maintained his focus on Dudley, urging him silently to continue, to purge himself of the years of silent compliance.
Dudley wiped at his tears, sniffing loudly. "Harry never fought back, never spoke up. He just... accepted it, like he believed he deserved it."
"And did he?" Barnes asked, his voice ringing sharply in the quiet room.
Dudley shook his head violently, a newfound clarity shining in his eyes. "No. No, he didn't. Harry is... he's good, kind, even after everything. I... I should have helped him, protected him. But I didn't." His voice broke on the last word, the magnitude of his failure weighing heavily on him.
Petunia seemed to have retreated within herself, her face an unreadable mask, protecting her from the gruesome reality that was crashing down around them.
Barnes turned to his officers, his face tight with restrained fury. "Take her into custody. And get statements from the neighbours, anyone who might have seen or heard something over the years. We're building a solid case here. No one is escaping justice."
As officers moved to comply, Barnes turned back to Dudley. "And you, young man, have a chance to make this right. Help us get justice for Harry."
Dudley nodded, a fierce determination replacing the vulnerability that had characterized his confession. It was a long road to redemption, but perhaps, just perhaps, it was a road he could traverse, guided by the shining beacon of justice and truth.
Back at Camp Half-Blood, Harry and Daphne still sat side by side at the same wooden bench overlooking the training arena. Dappled sunlight shone through the canopy of trees, giving their faces a soft glow. Harry flipped through the pages of the grey book that Daphne had given him, his finger tracing each line of mysterious symbols. He looked up at her curiously and asked, "Daph, can you point out which ones are your permanent runes?
Daphne spoke with enthusiasm, pointing to the various runes that were tattooed across her body. There was the Agility Rune on her left shoulder, giving her lightning-quick reflexes and a sharp mind. The Courage in Combat rune on her chest glowed with a soft green light that made her unafraid of anything she faced. The Enkeli rune encircled her right arm, granting her angelic power and allowing any weapon she held to take on healing properties and be lethal against demons. The Equilibrium rune etched across her abdomen steadied her movements and gave her perfect balance at all times. Finally, the Fortitude rune carved into her upper left arm proved an undefeatable resolve. on her upper right arm, she had the three memory runes. As Daphne finished, she glanced towards Harry and saw four new runes had been added to his right arm: the three Memory Runes and Enkel
Daphne rose from her seat, her eyes meeting Harry's. She grinned slyly and gestured to the other side of the room, her voice low yet full of challenge. "Let's see how good you really are with a bow," she said. "Meet me at the archery range."
One hour later, Harry and Daphne stood in the archery range. Daphne was positioned five yards away from the target, next to Harry. Chiron and Victoria, the cabin counsellor of the Apollo Cabin, watched from a distance as Harry took up his wooden training bow with his right hand. He got into a square stance before notching an arrow into the bow and firing and hitting the target dead center.
Chiron smiled fondly at Harry. "That was very good, young man," he said.
Victoria nodded in agreement. "It's no surprise, of course—he's the son of Artemis. He's a natural at archery."
Daphne stepped up and notched an arrow on her bowstring. She slowly exhaled as she pulled back on the string; then, with a smooth motion that propelled the arrow towards its destination, let it go. It flew gracefully to the bullseye, landing in the 9th ring.
Chiron clapped his hands in admiration before saying, "Alright, now move up to ten yards."
Harry and Daphne stepped back and took up their positions at the ten-yard mark. Harry notched an arrow on his bowstring and pulled the string back until it was taut before releasing it. The arrow flew straight towards the target, striking the bullseye and earning a round of applause from Chiron and Victoria.
Daphne followed suit, her shot making a perfect bullseye as well. Chiron shook his head in awe before addressing them both with a wide grin on his face: "You two are incredible! It looks like you've been training for years!"
Victoria nodded in agreement, adding that she was sure Harry would be able to join the Apollo cabin soon if he kept practicing at this rate.
Harry smiled, feeling proud of himself for doing so well. He glanced over at Daphne who gave him an encouraging wink before nodding towards Chiron and Victoria. "Well then, what do you say? Shall we move further back?"
Chiron agreed, suggesting they move up to fifteen yards away from the target before taking their next shots. This time, Harry's arrow landed just outside of the bullseye while Daphne struck dead center again.
Harry couldn't help but feel impressed by Daphne's skills; she seemed to be almost supernatural when it came to archery and he wanted to learn as much as he could from her. After several more rounds of shooting they finally called it quits with both of them sporting satisfied grins on their faces.
Harry and Daphne rested their bows against the side wall of the archery range. Chiron and Victoria approached the two, their expressions one of admiration and pride.
"I must say, Harry, you've got quite the talent," Victoria began, her blue eyes scanning over the target where many of Harry's arrows had hit close to or in the bullseye. "Of course, being the son of Artemis does have its perks."
Harry gave a small chuckle. "It seems that way. But Daphne's shots are nothing short of extraordinary."
Daphne blushed slightly, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Thank you, Harry. But let's not forget that you've just started, and I've been training with weapons since I was three."
Chiron leaned against his staff, his wise eyes twinkling. "It's rare to see two young demigods with such a natural aptitude for archery. I've seen many come through these training grounds, but few who have demonstrated such skill so quickly."
Harry looked at Daphne with a playful smirk. "Race you to twenty yards next time?"
Daphne raised an eyebrow, her competitive streak shining through. "You're on. Prepare to be amazed."
Victoria laughed, patting Harry's back. "It's good to see you two getting along so well and pushing each other to greater heights. Remember, it's not about being the best but about bettering yourself each day."
Harry nodded, taking the wise words to heart. "Thank you, Victoria. We'll remember that."
In the Northern London suburb of Hampstead, Hermione Granger and her parents were gathered around their living room television. The News Caster's voice echoed through the room, speaking of a police raid in Little Whinging, Surrey.
"Hey, Hermione isn't that the man we saw your friend leave with," said Mr. Granger, pointing to a grainy picture on the screen.
"It is Daddy," said Hermione in disbelief.
The news anchor's voice grew serious as he began to speak. "According to Surrey Police, Harry James Potter, an 11-year-old boy, was admitted to an undisclosed hospital earlier this week after returning home from his boarding school."
Mrs. Granger gasped in horror as the anchor continued.
"The hospital immediately called Surrey Police after no medical records were found."
The TV camera cut to the small town of Little Whinging, where Chief Constable David Williams stepped up to a podium surrounded by reporters. Everyone held their breath with anticipation as he somberly spoke. "Last night a much sought-out warrant came in for the residence of 4 Privet Drive in Little Whinging in Surrey. The reason for this warrant was twofold: the first was to gather evidence for the crimes committed against the victim Harry James Potter, and to arrest those responsible for said crimes. What followed was the most sickening case of child abuse that this agency has ever seen. They kept the child locked in a cupboard under the stairs, he was forced to wear worn-out clothes that were at least 3 sizes too big for him."
"Poor child," said Mrs. Granger.
"As of right now two adults were arrested in connection to this case, Petunia Dursley was charged with Abuse (child, physical, mental, emotional and psychological), False imprisonment, Child negligence, Starvation, Child Slavery, Cruel and unusual punishments, Torture, Child endangerment, and Attempted second-hand child murder. Vernon Dursley was charged with abuse (child, physical, mental, emotional and psychological), false imprisonment, child negligence, starvation, child slavery, cruel and unusual punishments, torture, child endangerment, attempted second-hand child murder, fraud, tax evasion, bribery and resisting arrest."
"Keep in mind this is an ongoing investigation, Harry was placed in the care of these people after his parents were murdered, Lord James Potter, and Lady Lily Potter, worked for the intelligence agency MI-5 until their murder in 1981. His grandfather was a war hero and earned a Victoria Cross on June 6th, 1944. before his grandparents were murdered in 1977, after the death of his parents, he was sent to live with his mother's older sister against the will of the late lord Potter," said the Chief Constable, flipping through some pages of his notes.
The weight of this revelation hung in the room. Hermione looked distraught, her fingers gripping the armrest of her couch.
"It's unfathomable," Mrs. Granger whispered, tears forming in her eyes. "All these years and no one knew. How could this happen under everyone's noses?"
Hermione swallowed hard, her face pale. "Mum, Dad, we have to do something. I can't imagine what Harry must be going through right now."
Mr. Granger's jaw clenched, "The system failed that boy. After everything his family did for this country, he gets treated like this? It's disgraceful."
The news anchor continued, "Sources close to the investigation have revealed that the school Harry was attending since September, Hogwarts, a boarding school in Scotland, was unaware of the extent of abuse Harry suffered, believing that he was well cared for by his aunt and uncle."
Hermione snapped, "Unbelievable! How could they not have known? There were signs."
Mrs. Granger tried to calm her daughter, "We don't know everything, love. There may have been other factors."
The news broadcast then cut to a scene of a large gathering outside a government building where a protester was speaking, "We demand justice for Harry Potter! The system that failed him needs to be held accountable."
As the broadcast continued, showcasing people around the country rallying for justice and reform in child protective services, the Grangers sat in silence, the weight of the situation sinking in.
The air was heavy in the Surrey Police Station, and as Vernon Dursley was led to an interrogation room, his face was pinched with worry. Inspector William Smith took up position in front of him, adjusting the handcuffs that secured Vernon to the chair. He pushed his glasses up with a single finger and cleared his throat.
"Mr. Vernon Dursley," he began. "I am Inspector William Smith of the Surrey Police, and I'm here to ask you a few questions about the charges brought against you."
Vernon's eyes widened as he sputtered out a response. "What am I being charged with?"
"You are here today on charges of abuse (child, physical, mental, emotional and psychological), false imprisonment, child negligence, starvation, child slavery, cruel and unusual punishments, torture, child endangerment, attempted second-hand child murder, fraud, tax evasion, bribery and resisting arrest." He paused and adjusted his wire-framed glasses. "Victim being Harry James Potter."
Inspector Smith carefully placed two identical manila folders on the table between them. One of the labels read Potter, Harry J., Age 11, while the other said Dursley, Vernon M., Age 38. He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses before continuing. "I haven't had a chance to speak to the young boy yet, as he is recovering from his injuries at Surrey Children's Hospital. I'd like to start with you first if that's alright. We have not interrogated Petunia yet, I will interrogate her later."
Inspector Smith looked at him sternly and spoke in a measured tone. "You earned 8.90 Pounds an hour working at Grunning Drill Factory, and we have that well documented," he said. "We also know that you received 1050 pounds from the young potter's inheritance every month for the care of Harry. According to Board of Inland Revenue laws, that income should've been declared and taxed, but you didn't mention it or pay taxes on it." Smith paused to let his words sink in before continuing. "On top of that, you received an additional 525 pounds from the Department of Child Welfare every month, which you again failed to report or declare on your taxes. Both payments were meant to be used to help take care of Harry, and yet they weren't... so where did the money go?"
Vernon Dursley's face went through several shades of purple, a clear sign of his growing distress. Beads of sweat started to form on his forehead. The room suddenly felt much smaller, as if the walls were closing in on him. The magnitude of the charges, some of which he hadn't been fully aware of, seemed to weigh him down, pressing on his shoulders and threatening to crush him.
"Mr. Dursley," Smith continued, seeing the man's reaction and pressing the advantage, "over the course of 10 years and 8 months, that amounts to 201,600 pounds. That is a significant sum of money. Moreover, the fact that Harry, as evident from the medical reports, was malnourished and abused raises questions on what exactly you did with all that money?"
The inspector leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. "Did you spend it on yourself? Your family? Did you save it, or did you perhaps funnel it into some offshore account or engage in illicit activities with it? Perhaps you used it to bribe officials or others to turn a blind eye to the mistreatment of the boy?"
Vernon tried to swallow, but his throat felt dry. "I...I don't know what you're talking about," he stammered, trying to deflect the weight of the accusations. "I used that money for Harry's upbringing, I swear."
Smith leaned back, a cold, calculating look in his eyes. "Really? So, you're telling me that Harry, who was found locked in a cupboard, wearing tattered clothing and clearly showing signs of prolonged physical abuse, received the care and support that 189,000 pounds should afford?"
Vernon shifted uncomfortably in his seat, unable to meet Smith's gaze. "We... we had expenses," he muttered weakly, "and things were difficult."
Inspector Smith shook his head. "Mr. Dursley, the evidence against you is damning. Not only do we have financial records and witness testimonies, but we also have the very vivid and painful scars on a young boy's body. It would be in your best interest to cooperate fully, as we will be digging deep into every aspect of your life and finances to uncover the truth."
Smith continued, "You see, this case has now garnered national if not international attention. Harry Potter isn't just any child, Mr. Dursley. His case is being closely followed by many. There are organizations, activists, and even celebrities rallying to ensure justice is served in this case. Your transgressions, your lies, they won't just be brushed under the carpet this time."
Dursley's hands trembled, and he could feel his heartbeat echoing in his ears. Smith, seemingly unimpressed, pulled out a series of photographs from one of the folders and spread them across the table. They were images of Harry, showcasing his pitiable condition. Photos taken at the hospital showed his emaciated frame, battered skin, and haunted eyes that seemed to have seen far too much for his young age.
Dursley's face contorted as he looked at the images, his heart sinking further with each photograph he saw. "This isn't just about money, Mr. Dursley," Smith said, his voice colder now, a hint of disgust creeping into his tone. "This is about basic human decency, about protecting a child who was left in your care, who was supposed to be treated as family."
He paused, letting the gravity of his words, the monstrosity of Dursley's actions, hang heavily in the room. Smith could see the walls Dursley had built around himself starting to crumble, the façade of a caring guardian shattering under the weight of undeniable proof.
"Do you have any idea of the psychological damage this boy has endured under your roof, Mr. Dursley? The nightmares he must have suffered? The loneliness, the fear?" Smith leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper, "Tell me, how do you sleep at night knowing what you've done to that boy?"
Vernon's eyes darted around the room, a wild, panicked look in them as if seeking an escape, a way out of the nightmare he was currently living. But there was no escaping this. The consequences of his actions were finally catching up to him, and there was no way to avoid the reckoning that was coming.
Smith took a deep breath, steadying himself before continuing. "You have a choice now, Mr. Dursley. You can continue to lie, to pretend that you are innocent, but know that we will not stop until the truth is unveiled. Or, you can cooperate, provide a full confession and help us build a case that will ensure justice is served for Harry."
Vernon's face was a maelstrom of emotions, a twisted canvas of fear, guilt, and realization. For a moment, it seemed like he might break, might let the tears that welled in his eyes flow freely as he faced the true horror of his actions.
Finally, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper, he murmured, "I didn't think it would come to this... I didn't think anyone would ever find out."
Smith sat back, his expression hardening as he observed the broken man in front of him. "Well, Mr. Dursley, it seems the time has come for you to face the consequences of your actions. And believe me when I say, justice will be served, no matter what it takes."
And with that, Inspector Smith rose from his seat, leaving Dursley alone in the room, a shell of a man haunted by the darkness of his past and facing an uncertain, but undoubtedly bleak, future.
Petunia Dursley jerked against the restraints, her gaze darting around the interrogation room. Inspector Smith stepped into the chamber, placing two thick manila folders on the table and looking at Petunia with disdain. The folder labelled Potter, Harry J., age 11, lay open for all to see, accompanied by a detailed report of Petunia's alleged abuse and neglect.
"Mrs. Dursley do you why you are here today," said Inspector Smith in a cold voice.
"It's the freak's fault," spat Petunia in reply.
"You are being charged with Abuse (child, physical, mental, emotional and psychological), False imprisonment, Child negligence, Starvation, Child Slavery, Cruel and unusual punishments, Torture, Child endangerment, and Attempted second-hand child murder," said Smith slowly as he ticked off the charges on his fingers "Victim being your Nephew Harry James Potter." Smith looked closely at Petunia, "Your husband has been less than cooperative if you cooperate, I will be lenient on you."
Petunia's face blanched, making the wrinkles on her face even more pronounced. The gravity of the situation started to sink in, and a nervous tremor made its way down her spine. The sterile and cold room was in stark contrast to the life she led in her perfectly normal home on Privet Drive.
"You've got it all wrong," Petunia croaked, her voice trembling. "I did what I had to, to protect my family."
Smith snorted. "Protect your family? By locking a child in a cupboard? By making him work like a slave and not providing him with basic necessities?"
"My sister left him on our doorstep," Petunia shot back, her eyes flashing. "We never asked for him. But he was different. He wasn't like Dudley. Things happened around him, strange things. We just wanted a normal life."
Inspector Smith's eyes bore into her. "Being different does not justify abuse, Mrs. Dursley. Every child deserves love and care, regardless of their origins."
Petunia swallowed hard, her eyes darting to the incriminating folder with Harry's name on it. It contained photos of the cupboard where he slept, the faded and too-small clothes he wore, and the numerous statements from Harry detailing the years of abuse he endured.
"I didn't want him to grow up entitled like Lily did," she murmured, more to herself than to the inspector. "I wanted him to understand the real world."
Smith leaned forward, resting his hands on the table. "The real world doesn't treat children like that, Mrs. Dursley. Children are to be nurtured and protected, not abused."
A silence stretched between them, interrupted only by the hum of the overhead lights. Finally, Petunia spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, "What will happen to Dudley?"
Inspector Smith took a deep breath, "Your son is in protective custody for now. If you cooperate, he may be returned to a family member or guardian, assuming they're fit to care for him."
The mere thought of Dudley being separated from her was a sharp pain in Petunia's heart. She had always wanted the best for her son, even if it meant crossing boundaries with Harry.
With a defeated sigh, Petunia spoke, "Very well, Inspector. Let's begin."
The air in the room seemed to tighten, a pressure settling around them as the gravity of Petunia's decisions settled heavily upon her shoulders. Her frail form seemed to diminish even more in the uncomfortable chair she was seated in. Smith observed her closely, his sharp eyes discerning each nuance of her expressions, the clenching and unclenching of her hands, and the hesitant breaths that escaped her. It was a dance of regret and realization, and for the first time, it seemed Petunia was coming to terms with the depth of her transgressions.
Inspector Smith, despite the stern and unyielding presence he portrayed, harboured a flicker of empathy. It was a necessary trait in his line of work, to understand and navigate the complex web of human motivations and frailties. But as he glanced again at the folder that chronicled years of young Harry's torment, that flicker waned.
He retrieved a recorder from the drawer beside him and pressed the record button. The red light blinked to life, a silent witness to the unfolding confession.
"Now, Mrs. Dursley, I want you to tell me everything from the beginning. And remember, the truth might be your only ally here," Smith instructed, his voice losing the cold edge it had previously carried.
Petunia seemed to crumble before him, the façade of the strict and unforgiving caretaker she had played for years finally showing cracks. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she started to speak, her voice cracking under the weight of her words.
"It was resentment, you see," she began, her voice choked with suppressed sobs. "I resented Lily, my sister, for being so... magical, so loved by everyone, while I remained in her shadow, always overlooked."
Smith stayed silent, encouraging her to continue with a nod.
"I feared Harry would turn out just like her, attracting attention and overshadowing Dudley, my only child," she explained, her voice gaining a hint of the fierceness that had fueled her actions all these years.
"The envy poisoned me, Inspector," Petunia confessed, her eyes glistening with tears now freely flowing. "I thought if I could suppress Harry's abnormality, suppress his 'magic', we could be a normal family. But it spiralled out of control, the anger and resentment taking over completely."
Smith listened intently, the grim line of his mouth a silent testament to the gravity of her revelations. The room seemed to absorb her words, bearing witness to the darkness that had infiltrated what should have been a safe haven for a child.
Petunia's confessions grew in detail, recounting years of neglect and cruelty, instances where she had allowed her husband, Vernon, to mete out punishments that no child should ever endure. With every word, the weight seemed to lift from her, replaced by the crushing burden of guilt and realization.
Hours seemed to pass as Petunia bared the ugliest parts of her soul to the sterile room and the stoic Inspector. By the time she finished, the room had darkened, the only light coming from the harsh overhead fluorescents.
Smith stopped the recording, his face a hardened mask of professionalism masking the torrent of emotions roiling within him. He had seen many things in his career and witnessed the depths of human cruelty, but the betrayal of a child by his family always struck a deep, raw nerve.
"Thank you, Mrs. Dursley, for your cooperation," he said, his voice betraying nothing of the turmoil inside him. "This will be used in the investigation and upcoming trial. I hope, for Harry's sake, that justice will finally be served."
Petunia nodded, a broken shell of the woman she had once been. As she was escorted from the room, she cast one last, lingering glance at the folder bearing Harry's name, her face a twisted visage of regret and sorrow.
I had to split this chapter into two parts, Payback Part I and Payback Part II, Part 2 will be released Friday. The reason for the split is this chapter would have been over 10k words long without it.
Thank you, everyone, over 200 favourites on FFN, and 80 kudos on AO3, this fic is my most popular fic out there and I appreciate every review, Fav, follow, kudos, etc. I try to read and reply to every comment so please read and review.
Payback Part II will go into more detail on the plan that Artemis alluded to in Chapter 4 but you are seeing the results of the plan in this chapter.