The Beginnings
24 June 1989
Vernon Dursley sat down to enjoy his morning meal with great happiness. The large man felt something akin to pure joy this morning. If there was one thing Vernon Dursley adored was receiving his rightful due as one of the brightest, driven, and gifted men in the whole of England. Too many of the refuse and degenerates that tainted to title of 'Englishman' worked to sabotage and undermine his efforts and keep him from his proper place.
But for the last five days, everything, EVERYTHING had gone Vernon Dursley's way.
Oscar Howard had signed the Bolson account on for a five year deal for a ludicrous mark-up that would add tens of thousands of additional pounds profit for Grunnings. Old man Grunning already promised Vernon a bonus that by itself was sufficient to pay all of Dudley's first year at Smeltings!
Then his precious heir to the family name had his ninth birthday. His son would take all of England by storm! Vernon Dursley was an excellent judge of character and potential in job applicants. In his son, Vernon Dursley saw true greatness. Why, he wouldn't be surprised one day to see his son named Prime Minister! Yes, indeed. And after that he would be given a title and elevated to the House of Lords for his successive contributions to the British Empire. The Dursley name would finally take its rightful place in the elite of British society!
And the final item topped it all off. His wife's freakish nephew had not been seen in the whole five days! The little freak disappeared after the Howards left. Or more precisely, he never returned. Vernon hummed in enjoyment as he chewed his breakfast and considered this development. Maybe the brat was taken by some deviant paedophile to be used and his body to be dumped in a ditch somewhere! What a wonderful thought!
Vernon's sick, twisted daydreams were interrupted by the sound of the front door opening and then closing.
"Pet? Back from the market so soon?" he called.
"No, Uncle Vernon, its me."
Vernon looked up, his face already turning red with anger. But something stopped him from erupting.
The brat stood there with his clothes full of mud and twigs. His jumper was torn over his left shoulder like it had been caught in a thresher. Also it looked like tar had been poured down his front. Dudley's old trainers were missing as were the boy's socks. The boy also seemed bigger; almost as tall as Dudley. But what made Vernon pause was when his eyes met the boy's eyes.
The boy's glasses were missing. Instead, his green eyes, so much like Pet's mother and sister's eyes, seemed to glow with some inner power. It was that power that stilled Vernon's tongue. The boy's eyes conveyed power, strength, and the promise of violence.
Something in Vernon just wanted to curl up and hide from his nephew's gaze.
"Wh- where have you been, boy?" Vernon managed to ask.
"The forest. Something … odd happened. I was attacked by something. I woke up last night in the forest. The remains of two rabbits were next to me. That was when I remembered. I'd eaten them. I chased them both down and eaten them."
"You chased them down?" Vernon asked scornfully. However, his voice sounded hollow even to him.
"I changed. I was faster … stronger … hungrier. I am still hungry.
Without so much as a 'by-your-leave' the boy stepped over to the counter and picked up the plate full of breakfast sausages Pet cooked before leaving on her errands. The boy started to shove the meat links into his mouth one after another.
Vernon stepped forward and made a grab at the plate, saying, "Now see here, boy! I won't have you…" Vernon's shouting was cut off in mid-stream. As he reached for the plate, the boy looked up. The glow in his eyes seemed to brighten ominously and a low, rumbling growl issued forth from his throat. The sound was more felt then heard. Vernon suddenly felt the need to reach the water closet as soon as possible.
Vernon carefully withdrew his hand and stepped back carefully. The boy resumed eating but kept an eye on his uncle.
What had happened to his perfect week? How were they supposed to deal with the boy now?
...
Dudley returned home with his friends to find the little freak weeding the flowerbeds in the front garden. Dudley strutted over to his freak cousin. Taunting the smaller boy was always good for entertainment. Sensing their leader's intent, the other boys spread out and surrounded their favourite victim like the jackals they were.
"Decided to come back, freak?" the overweight bully started. "Dad thought maybe you'd crawled off and died to leave us normal people in peace." The minions chuckled darkly at their leader's comment.
The dark haired boy simply ignored them as he mechanically continued to pull the weeds from the moist ground. This silence confused Dudley and his gang. Why hadn't the boy responded? Potter always responded. Whether they admitted it or not, the fire and resistance Potter showed was what made him a favourite target. One-on-one, Potter was a match for any of them except Dudley. But as a group he posed no real threat. In effect, he was tough enough to give them some fun but not enough to be a danger.
"Did you hear me, freak? Or did Dad finally knock you stupid?" Still the Potter boy did nothing to respond. Dudley felt a small trill of fear and uncertainty. This was new.
That uncertainty made Dudley lean over to push the smaller boy into the dirt. Except Potter suddenly stood up, turned and moved to the side in one graceful motion. Dudley barely recognized this as he fell into his Mum's prize rosebushes but his friends saw it.
Dudley gathered a few scratches crawling out of the bushes. As he stood up he was shocked to find Potter simply standing there watching him. Dudley shook off his friends' help as stood to face his cousin.
The part of Dudley's brain that would have been an intelligent, productive member of society if raised in a different environment tried to warn the oaf that something was different in the cousin. The boy was now almost eyelevel with Dudley and stood with a quiet confidence. The oaf barely noticed the target was missing his glasses but the small bit of functional brain noted the other boy didn't seem to be having any problem seeing.
The oaf ignored the brain's repeated warnings. ' Danger, Dudley Dursley! Danger! '
"That's it, Potter!" The nine year-old bully threw a punch directly for his cousin's face with all of his considerable weight behind it. The expected sound of fist meeting flesh was heard but not in the way expected.
The gang stood in shock as Potter caught the punch thrown at him in his hand and simply stopped it.
Dudley stared at his cousin in disbelief. That is when his eyes met his cousin's. Something in those eyes promised violence. The large blonde boy barely felt the warm trickle running down his leg.
"Leave me alone," the freak growled out.
The gang turned to run almost at the same time. Piers Polkis was the first to run but that quickly started the rest moving. Dudley was right behind them.
24 July 1991
The stag bound through the thicket surrounding the farm field ignoring the pull of the branches on its growing antler rack. The stag never paused to look around or check the knee-high plants for something to eat. It had much more important things on its mind.
Such as survival.
The large deer raced across the field in the pre-dawn light towards the other side. Coming close to the opposing edge of the field, the stag slowed to a stop to peer carefully around. Nothing was moving and no sound other than the laboured breathing of the stag broke the silence of the morning.
Tension released from the deer's stance. There was no sign of his pursuer. The hunter must have been lost back in the small forest. It was safe…
A sudden pain poked the stag in the side near the shoulder. Startled, the deer turned its head to find himself nose to nose with a great slobbering beast. Adrenalin and fear shot through the stag. There was no escape!
Sudden pain ripped through the deer's chest and its vision dimmed.