There was simply no reason for it. Absolutely none at all. But since when was the world fair?
Shaking from internal sobs and from the beating he’d just had, the tiny, frail Harry slowly picked himself off the floor and dragged himself towards the makeshift cot in the cupboard. For a moment, he let himself drift off into dreams, dreams that allowed him to see his long deceased parents once again.
Vernon Dursley shut the cupboard door with a vicious bang!, locking the door. For once the boy was quiet and obedient. His normal behaviour? Well, the freak certainly hadn’t learned them from him, nor from his wife. Petunia had warned him; it wasn’t until he saw his son fly that he finally believed. Shocked, his face flushing, he reached for his belt, and he continued to beat the boy, firmly believing that his freakishness could be beaten out of him. Finally, when the boy stopped screaming, Dursley unceremoniously dumped him onto the floor and ordered the boy into his cupboard.
“Vernon, what’re we going to do? We can’t let the neighbours see this,” Petunia said, having finally managed to retrieve Dudley, as he had latched on to the ceiling.
“We’re going to send him back where he came from, Tuni,” he said, resolutely. “We can’t have his kind around here, and Dudley can’t afford to learn your freaky nephew’s…freakishness.”
“But how?” wailed Petunia. “It’s not like I know any of his kind.”
“Are you presuming I do?” Vernon was turning redder (if that were possible), and Petunia quickly closed her mouth, knowing better than to infuriate her husband.
Vernon’s mind, small that it was, was turning quickly. “Tuni, what about that letter you got when you found the freak on our step?”
“Oh, that letter. Do we still have it? I thought you burned it?” Petunia answered, forgetting Vernon’s temper.
“You blasted woman!” Vernon yelled, then calmed down as another solution took place in his mind. “What about that woman…Pig? Grapes? With all the cats?”
“Arabella Figg? You think she’s one of them? She’s crazy, everyone knows, but I don’t thinkr13;”
“Bloody hell, woman! I’m not asking you to think! Just…go see her in the morning,” Vernon interrupted, his voice trailing off.
“Fine, I will. But don’t you expect any breakfast on the table tomorrow morning. That ought to teach you to respect me.” With that, Petunia stomped off, slamming and locking the door to their bedroom.