Oct 31, 1983 - Harry 6 years old
At the break of another monotonous day in the life of Harry Potter, the dreary morning at Number 4, Privet Drive was shattered by the harsh sound of Aunt Petunia's voice demanding he wake up. The clamor of her banging on the cupboard door served as a rude awakening. "Up now, boy! Don't dawdle, we're hungry!" she screeched, her voice slicing through the stillness of the morning.
Harry, groggy and cramped from another night spent on the hard floor of his cupboard, obediently crawled out. He hurriedly freshened up, a routine perfected over years of neglect, and made his way to the kitchen to prepare breakfast. Uncle Vernon departed for work shortly after, his departure as silent and indifferent to Harry's presence as ever.
With the morning's tasks behind him, Harry prepared for school, setting out on the long walk to the dreaded place.
In school, he settled into his usual corner, a shadow among his peers. Sitting in his usual corner, Harry's mind drifted to dreams of a better life. Despite the isolation and bullying at this place, Harry persevered since he believed that education was his only ticket to a better future and a way out of the confines of Privet Drive.
The idea of quitting school never crossed his mind; he knew it would only please the Dursleys, relieving them of the financial burden of his education.
On that particular day, to Harry's surprise, the usual tormentors seemed preoccupied with a new card game, leaving Harry to his solitude. He watched them from afar, longing to be part of the group, to just be another normal kid. But fear and past experiences kept him rooted to his spot.
Class ended, and Harry began his solitary walk home. His mind wandered to grand daydreams of success and revenge against the Dursleys. He imagined them begging for his forgiveness as he looked down on them from the heights of his success. The thought brought a rare smile to his face.
Preoccupied with his thoughts, Harry absentmindedly crossed the road, failing to notice the car speeding around the bend. The driver slammed on the brakes, but it was too late. The car hit Harry, and the impact sent him tumbling to the ground, darkness swiftly enveloping him.
The driver, a man in his forties, leaped out of his car, his heart racing with panic. He rushed to Harry's side, finding the boy unconscious but, miraculously, without any apparent serious injuries. "Hey, kid, can you hear me?" he asked, gently shaking Harry, but there was no response.
Gathering a crowd of onlookers, the driver asked about Harry's home. "Where does this boy live? I need to get him to his family," he inquired, his voice laced with concern.
"That's the Potter boy. Lives at Number 4, over there," a neighbor pointed out.
With help, the driver carried Harry to the Dursleys' doorstep. Petunia answered, her expression souring at the sight of Harry. "What's happened here?" she demanded, her tone more accusatory than worried.
The driver, flustered, explained the accident and offered some compensation. "I'm terribly sorry. I didn't see him in time. Here's some money for any medical expenses."
Vernon, drawn by the commotion, appeared at the door, his immediate reaction one of irritation. "What's all this, then? Harry! What have you done now?" he accused, glaring at the unconscious boy at their doorstep.
Despite sensing the palpable hostility from the Dursleys towards Harry, he felt it was not his place to interfere further in family matters. With another apologetic look, he left the scene, relieved that he hadn't caused more serious harm to the young child and that his family had not called the police.
Unbeknownst to the driver, the Dursleys had no intention of involving the police, regardless of the severity of the situation. Their fear of any official scrutiny that might expose their neglectful, if not abusive, treatment of Harry outweighed any concern for his well-being. Thus, they opted to "handle" the situation privately, ensuring their secrets remained safely concealed from the prying eyes of the world outside Number 4, Privet Drive.
After the driver's departure, any facade of concern from Petunia and Vernon quickly vanished into the ether. With a disregard that bordered on cruelty, they hauled Harry back to his cupboard, carelessly tossing him onto the meager bed that scarcely cushioned the hard floor beneath.
Vernon's voice, laden with irritation, broke the silence. "Useless boy, always causing trouble," he grumbled, as they slammed the cupboard door shut, engulfing the unconscious Harry in solitude and darkness once more.
Their conversation soon turned to the possibility of sending Harry away to an orphanage, a thought that had crossed their minds before but had been dismissed due to fear of attracting the attention of the 'freaks,' as they referred to the wizarding world.
"Perhaps we should reconsider the orphanage," Vernon pondered aloud, his tone reflecting a mixture of frustration and calculation. "He's becoming more of a burden than he's worth."
Petunia, her eyes scanning the street through the curtains, weighed in with her own concerns. "But what if those people come back asking for him? We can't have them snooping around," she fretted, the possibility of the wizarding world's interference a constant shadow over their decision-making.
Vernon's response was pragmatic, yet it carried an undertone of resignation. "We'll keep him for now. As long as they don't show up for a couple more years, we will send him away. We tell the freaks he ran off or something. We can't risk getting caught," he concluded, setting the matter aside for the moment.
Meanwhile, Harry lay unconscious in the confines of his cupboard, unaware of the bleak plans being discussed just beyond its thin wooden door. His small, battered form was a testament to a young life marked by neglect and absence of affection—a life thrust upon him without choice, defined by the absence of warmth and the presence of hardship. In the dim, suffocating space of the cupboard, Harry's silent form bore witness to a reality far removed from any child's deserved innocence and care.