From the Dark

Chapter Two: Abracadabra

The most terrible poverty is loneliness and the feeling of being unloved.

- Mother Teresa

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The people who inhabited Privet Drive, of Little Whinging, Surrey, were quite confident that their little piece of England was the best piece there was. Neat little houses lined the neat little street, surrounded by neat little gardens and populated by neat little families. There was a country club just up the road that hosted frequent ladies' lunches in which the housewives of Privet Drive attempted to glean gossip from one another, while the local elementary school was where all their children were sent until they were old enough to either go to Stonewall High, the secondary school located in the next district, or one of the two private schools situated close by. It was a perfectly normal, respectable neighbourhood – the last place anyone would expect to see something out of the ordinary.

The family that took most pride in their normalness were the Dursleys, who lived at Number Four. They consisted of Mr. Vernon Dursley, a rather large man with no neck and too much moustache, who had a job as the head of a manufacturing company that dealt primarily with drills; Mrs. Petunia Dursley, who was very thin and bony and who didn't work; and Dudley Dursley, their son, who didn't really resemble a boy so much as a large pink … thing. Vernon and Petunia were very careful in maintaining their normalness because they were terrified of what lay just inside the cupboard under the stairs – Harry Potter.

Harry Potter was as different from the Dursleys as night and day. Whereas Dudley was blonde and very fat, Harry Potter was not blonde and very skinny – he wore round glasses that were a bit too small for his face, and he had a shock of jet black hair that stuck out at all angles on his head. One of the only features his aunt and uncle could actually put up with (besides his ability to fit in the cupboard under the stairs, which meant that they didn't have to give him the third bedroom yet) were his brilliantly green eyes. One of the many features they couldn't stand was his lightning bolt scar.

It sat on his forehead, just above his right eyebrow and slightly to the left. Harry had always been told that it was from the car crash which had killed his parents; Vernon and Petunia knew that it was the only physical evidence that Harry Potter was a very unusual boy. Vernon and Petunia hated unusual things.

It had all started when Petunia's sister, Lily, had received a letter on her eleventh birthday, which had seen her being shipped off to a boarding school in Scotland. The unusual thing about this school was that it was a school for magic, and the unusual thing about Lily was that she was a witch.

After that it had all gone downhill; Lily met a boy at school called James Potter, and within three years of graduating they were married. That was when Petunia had severed contact with her sister, firstly because she was getting married to Vernon, and secondly because she didn't want any future family of hers mingling with their types. Vernon openly encouraged the familial rift because he wasn't quite sure if wizardry was contagious.

So it had been with greatest surprise that, one cold Wednesday morning on the first of November, Petunia had opened her door to put out the milk bottles to find a baby on her doorstep. That baby was Harry Potter.

It was very apparent from the outset that Harry Potter was strange. The people of Privet Drive were very quick to notice 'that strange Harry Potter' when he walked down the street, lagging behind his aunt and cousin and seemingly lost in his own world. Aunt Petunia walked them to school every day and, while completely blind to her own son's faults, was as quick as a whip to notice Harry's. This morning's berating had been all about his hair.

" – can't see how it got so bad – after all of the time and money we've spent on you! – absolutely ungrateful – you'd think you'd at least try to look presentable – "

Harry had tuned her out because he had heard the same thing at least a million times – Harry's hair was a hot topic when it came time for Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon to choose things to nitpick about.

Dudley was waddling next to his mother sniggering. There was nothing he liked more than to see his parents rip in to Harry (he also liked using Harry as a punching bag, but this didn't happen often because Harry was extremely fast and Dudley was extremely slow).

School for Harry was miserable. It wasn't because Harry was stupid, because he wasn't – Harry was particularly bright, and got high marks in most of his classes. It was just that all of the children who went to the school lived in Little Whinging; almost half of Harry's classmates were from Privet Drive. This made Harry the most unpopular boy in the class, if not the school, because Dudley and his gang openly hated him, and everyone was afraid of Dudley. Harry didn't exactly have any good friends – when he was in year two a boy had tried to become friends with him, but Dudley beat him up. The boy changed schools very quickly after that.

A lot of strange things seemed to happen around Harry too. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were of the impression that if they ignored something, it would simply cease to exist and they applied this approach fastidiously to Harry's 'condition'. Most of Harry's classmates just thought that he had lots of accidents; Harry himself was under the impression that he had extremely bad luck. Only Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon knew what the real reason was, and they rationalised that if they kept Harry as down-trodden as possible, they would be able to squash the magic right out of him. They always punished him harshly after an 'accident' with extended stays in his little cupboard under the stairs, and could ignore him for weeks on end. Through this cycle they hoped to end Harry's 'condition' – what they didn't realise was that they were only fuelling the fire.

One of the more unusual 'accidents' happened after Aunt Petunia had dropped Harry and Dudley off at school. Harry, now seven years old, had somehow managed to turn a particularly nasty teacher's wig blue, much to the delight of his classmates and the detriment of both his teacher and his aunt and uncle. After Harry had come home with an incensed letter from the school headmistress, he had faced a livid Uncle Vernon, who looked more like an angry rhino than a human. The 'accident' spurred Uncle Vernon to immediately lock Harry away in his cupboard – Harry had no doubt that this would be his longest ever punishment.

In the dark of the cupboard, Harry sat quietly, staring at some broken baby toys that Dudley had tired of a long time ago. They sat on the small rickety shelf above his bed, surrounded by other odd bits and pieces he had salvaged over the years. There were crayon drawings stuck to the walls from when he'd been a little younger, but Harry had just turned seven, and knew that he was getting to be too old to draw.

Sometimes Harry wondered what it would be like to be liked – to be someone other than 'that strange Harry Potter', with his baggy hand-me-downs and too-small glasses, constantly chased by Dudley Dursley and his gang and living in a small dark cupboard under the stairs.

Harry surprised himself when a suspiciously familiar burning began behind his eyes, followed by two fat tears that leaked down his cheeks, and it seemed that once the seal had been broken there was no end in sight. He sat there, sobs muffled into his hands and his tiny shoulders shaking, letting the despair of being a boy that no one wanted nor loved wash over him, sitting alone in the dark.

It was a few hours later when Harry finally calmed down enough to realise his eyes were terribly swollen and he had the worst headache he could ever remember having. But he also felt strangely better, and deciding that it was late enough that his aunt and uncle wouldn't hear him sneak out into the kitchen, he got up. Padding softly into the room, he made a beeline for the fridge, hoping that the inside light couldn't be seen from the upstairs landing.

When he opened the fridge, the light didn't turn on. Thankful, Harry groped around inside until his hand came across some old leftovers that had been there for a while. Dudley hadn't eaten it, Uncle Vernon wouldn't notice it missing (he didn't usually come into the kitchen except for meals) and Aunt Petunia would probably be both thankful it was gone and secretly hoping he'd catch some awful disease from it and die.

Harry softly slid a chair out from under the kitchen table and sat on it, his feet swinging a little off the ground as he opened the container as quietly as he could and began to eat. A little while later, when the container was completely spotless, Harry silently cleaned up after himself, drank hastily from the tap (he still had quite a bad headache) and then retreated to his cupboard.

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It was a few weeks after the wig incident that saw Uncle Vernon receiving another letter from the school, though the contents of this letter was much different. This letter was going to change Harry's life, in more ways than one.

It happened that during one lunchbreak when Harry was being chased once again by Dudley and his gang one of the gym teachers had spotted them. Not only was Dudley in trouble, but the gym teacher had been very interested in having Harry join one of the school's football teams. Harry was ecstatic and Dudley was being punished for the first time in his life. The only obstacle came from Uncle Vernon, who was torn between continuing his life-long mission of making Harry as miserable as possible and getting him out of the house for most of the day. The latter won out, and soon Aunt Petunia took him for a quick shopping trip to the local discount clothing store in order to buy some sportswear. Harry was elated – not only because he'd never been on a shopping trip just for himself before, but also because this was quite possibly the first time in his life where he was not only wearing something that hadn't been worn by Dudley before him, but also fit him perfectly. Soon, Harry attended his first ever training session, feeling very happy and dapper in his new clothing.

At the end of the first training session, Harry's head was swimming. Most of the boys weren't particularly keen on having Harry on the team due to the fear of retribution from Dudley, but after an hour's training, the coach seemed to be especially happy with him. Unfriendly but not unfair, the coach liked him because he was particularly small for his age, and quite agile, making it very hard for the other boys to catch up with him. He was also quite good with the ball, which surprised everyone including himself. Harry left the football field feeling on top of the world.

As he trudged back to Privet Drive on his own, he reflected on the only bad aspect of the night. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his glasses, which had been snapped in the middle at some point. Of course, it didn't stop him from getting home on his own – his eyesight wasn't terrible, it just wasn't wonderful either – it was rather like watching the world through a light fog, or maybe even the haze that accompanies intense heat. And Harry couldn't make himself care all that much about his glasses, because they were a little small for his face from where he'd grown, and this way it would force Aunt Petunia to at least consider buying him a new pair.

As he thought this, he ran his fingers lightly over his broken glasses, letting himself imagine a brand new pair that would actually fit his face. He might even ask for a different shape this time, although Aunt Petunia only ever bought the round glasses because they were the cheapest. He might even get to try on this new pair – the pair he held in his hands sometimes pinched the bridge of his nose irritatingly, and Harry hadn't known how to adjust them, and even thinking about asking his relatives made him snort.

There was an odd tingling warmth in his fingers as he continued to daydream about a pair of fictional glasses, and Harry glanced down. He nearly dropped his glasses.

He no longer held two sections of a pair of broken glasses. He wasn't even sure if he was holding his own glasses. He instead held one perfectly healthy pair of glasses, gleaming as if they were brand new and hadn't seen lots of abuse at the hands of Dudley. They weren't round, either – they were slightly rectangular, but still looked enough like his old pair that no one would have noticed. For a moment Harry looked around wildly, wondering if he'd accidentally picked up the wrong pair of glasses. But … they had been broken. They had been so broken that they weren't even connected anymore. He'd held them in his own hands, had run his thumbs over the jagged edges of the broken bridge. He'd even kept them in separate pockets! And yet, here he was, holding a gleaming pair of new glasses. With shaking hands, he lifted them to his face.

They fit. Perfectly. They were the right size, and they didn't pinch his nose. Harry could hardly believe his luck. They were even the right prescription.

Taking them off again, he gazed down at them, his face split in a grin. He ran all the way back to Privet Drive, fighting the urge to laugh hysterically. He almost forgot to take off his muddy football boots before entering the house, and was too excited to eat much of his dinner. His mind was racing with thoughts – impossible thoughts that only continued to race around his head faster until he finally collapsed inside his cupboard. Thoughts about all the accidents that had ever occurred around him – the blue wig – the one time he'd ended up on top of the school kitchens – that night all his hair had grown back. Harry was almost shaking, he was so excited. The more he thought about it, the more excited he got. One part of him whispered, what if … ? while another part said, but it's impossible! He tried to tell himself sternly that magic simply wasn't real, that he had just turned seven and was getting too old for this nonsense. But the other part drowned him out. Harry couldn't see how it made sense any other way. How did a pair of broken glasses mend themselves and change shape if it wasn't through magic? How did a sweater just keep shrinking and shrinking until it was too small to fit over Harry's hand, let alone his head, if it wasn't through magic?

As Harry thought through it more and more, he convinced himself that there wasn't any other way. Scrambling up from his bed, he grabbed one of the baby toys from the shelf, and set it down gingerly on the ground. He was trembling with anticipation.

He settled himself in front of the toy, not quite sure what to do but convinced that he could do it. He reached out a trembling finger, touched the toy, and tried to imagine it moving.

Nothing.

Frowning, he pressed his fingers to the toy again, and closed his eyes, imagining it flying across the room. Opening them again, he saw that the toy was wobbling, but wasn't really sure if it was because he was making it wobble or if it was because of the tremors in his fingers.

For the next half hour he sat in the same cramped position, trying to make the toy move. He touched it; he imagined it; he pointed his finger at it. Nothing seemed to be working, and it was here that Harry began to feel the first pangs of doubt niggling at him. The more it didn't move, the more doubt Harry felt, until he finally fell back, feeling sad and drained and empty and even more lonely than usual. The familiar pricking behind his eyes was back, and Harry fought to keep his tears at bay. For a short time he'd thought … he'd hoped that this was all real … that he really was magical … that maybe, somewhere out there were people just like him, able to make accidents happen … that he wasn't as desperately alone as he felt … A tear trickled down his cheek …

And with a sound like a firecracker going off, the toy launched itself across the room, hitting the ceiling and shattering off into different directions. Harry's head jerked up and his eyes searched wildly for the noise. He found it in the broken pieces of the toy, scattered across the room, each one smouldering faintly. The smell of burnt wood filled Harry's little cupboard, and Harry found himself crying again, not in sadness but in pure unadulterated relief.

If there were others like him, maybe one day they'd realise that he was here, and they'd come to get him. Harry feel asleep with another headache and wet cheeks, and dreamt of endless possibilities, happier than he had been in a long while.

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OMG! I know! Like, one line of dialogue in that entire chapter! I'm so sorry about that – I kept on trying but it just didn't fit.

This is really a filler chapter just to get things rolling. I was going to have another bit where Dumbledore was leaving Harry with the Dursleys, but figured that JKR has already written that one, and that it's probably better for us to see Harry growing up. This chapter is really about setting up Harry, because he's just so cute and small and cuddly and probably all knees and elbows but whatever.

Wave goodbye, peeps, 'cuz he's not going to stay that age.

Oh yeah, and Harry has to play a sport because he doesn't have Quidditch and he needs something, right? Football codes for soccer, btw. And besides, I love football and really, it was either football or cricket. Oh, the options.

Thank you for reading! Please review!

x Sweartoad