The Wizard Forgemaster

(0) The Delinquent of Privet Drive

3rd P.O.V

     It was a quiet summer afternoon, school was out and children were racing along the street as their mothers and fathers talked. Some children found it funny how it was a street yet the sign that showed which street was which called it a drive, Privet Drive. It was a boring street with every property looking the same. The only difference was the lawns, and even then there was minimal difference. The only true way to tell each house apart was the numbers that adorned every one, each looked perfectly placed on the left of the door, made with the same metal and used the same font. There was not a thing out of place.

     However, if one were to ask the people of the neighborhood what to look out for they would immediately point to the house that had the number four. "Be careful." They would warn, "There's a delinquent staying there, that poor family's troubled nephew. He's a scrawny thing with this mop of black hair and green eyes. Always wears rags. He constantly has bruises from picking fights, serves him right." Not one of them ever saw him pick a fight, but the bruises were there to prove it along with every child his age saying so, it must be true. "It's no wonder, his parents used to be drunks. Died by drunk driving, it's no wonder he's messed up in the head." They would say, usually accompanied by a scoff or eyeroll. "It was so kind of those Dursleys, taking him in and putting up with him. If it were me I'd have sent him to an orphanage a long time ago, with a child that troubled. It's why they're always yelling and setting him to work, he can't cause too much trouble if he's too preoccupied." There would always be some modicum of pity or satisfaction for either the family or the boy respectively. "His name is Harry Potter, make sure to stay away." Stay away, that was the warning they gave.

     What none of those neighbors knew was that scrawny delinquent was not a delinquent at all, that he did not choose to wear those rags, nor did he get those bruises from picking fights. They would never know the picture perfect family they pitied for being stuck with such a troubled boy was lying. While the boy was troubled, it was not in the case of delinquency. He was constantly troubled by hunger pains from not having enough food to eat, constantly troubled by the aches and pains from the bruises and being constantly worked, troubled by the words his relatives used for they have barely ever referred to him by his name; they only say his last name to worn others, else it's always been freak or boy. The boy thought his name was Freak until primary school, when the teacher called out a "Harry Potter!" during roll call.

     The neighbors would never know, would never find out what truly goes on behind closed doors, and where Harry Potter got those bruises. If someone tried to tell them they would laugh in their face and tell them to visit a shrink, that they were hearing or seeing things. Privet Drive to many was a dream: well made houses with the newest inventions made for family, a good neighborhood with plenty of children for a child to be friends with, and kind, well-off neighbors who thought the same thing. Harry Potter was the troublesome stain of that dream. No one would expect the Dursley family, their neighbors of being that stain.   

      The truth of how Harry Potter got those bruises? He got them from his uncle, with his pudgy hands that come with having an obscenely obese and overweight body when he didn't complete ever single chore in the house on time or have food ready and cooked to perfection. He got them from his just as overweight cousin and the other members of his gang while playing a game called "Harry Hunting", beating him till he was black and blue when they caught him. All the while, his aunt would watch impassively from the sidelines, sometimes joined in to slap his head to the side and watch as blood silently wept down his face. 

     Every neighbor on Privet drive would sing praises of how generous and hardworking the Dursley family is, and despair over the injustice of a nice, normal family ruined by a delinquent forced upon them. He was all alone. When he repainted the white-picket fence in a heatwave with no water until he was done, everyone looked the other way. When he wasn't seen for days at a time because he was locked in his cupboard, no one gave thought to worry. 

     When Harry Potter was told to clean the attic while everyone else was outside having fun, no one cared. While Harry Potter was moving boxes heavier than him, everyone continued to play. When Harry Potter found a seemingly untouched box in the corner labeled 'Lily Potter's things', no one knew. While Harry carefully opened the box to find photos that move showing a woman with flaming red hair and emerald green eyes-just like his- next to a man with hazel eyes shining with mirth and messy dark chocolate hair-just like his-, everyone was thankful for not having to see him. When Harry found a book called 'Celestria's Journal' with a note in flowy script that read "In case you want to learn our family history, unlike James" , there was no one to show. As he gently touched the cover with a shaking hand and eyes full of an indescribable emotion, there was no one to see. 

    While Harry read about magic, the very thing his relatives tried their very best to stomp out, there was no one to stop him. When Harry reached a message left by a regularly referenced name, Isaac, that explained how to become a forgemaster and what a forgemaster was, there was no one to see the glint in his eyes. No one did anything until it was far too late.  

(I've had this idea for a little while now and decided to go with it. The first chapter should be up soon. Hope everyone likes it!)