Harry Potter and the Way of Things

Chapter 1: Boy who Lived

The freak in the cupboard under the stairs. The Boy Who Didn't Have a Name. Or rather he did have a name, he simply hadn't figured out what it was yet. At four years old, he had not had much time to contemplate this, for he had more important things to think on, as it stood. However, he did spend a fair deal of his time in the cupboard crying. Not heavy, loud tears, the kind that his cousin cried, almost constantly, but rather, soft and fearful, and... resigned.

The little boy with pitch-black hair, snapped open his green eyes. For as long as he could remember which was quite far back, he shifted from sleep to consciousness in a single moment. One second he was dead to the world, then next he was laying in his cupboard with his eyes closed. Sometimes the Dursleys had only just woken, but most days he had to wait for an hour or so before they would rise. By the morning, the most painful of his injuries had all but vanished, leaving way to sore bones and underfed muscles.

Boy, Freak, Potter, he wasn't sure which was his name. He did know that if any were to be said by his aunt or uncle, they meant him. He knew which combination of tone and name meant trouble though.

He remembered the first time Vernon had really hit him with a good deal of force. He had been three at the time. He sat in the living room with Dudley, his seal-like cousin. Dudley sat in the center of the floor, playing haphazardly with a set of blocks.

Boy sat in the corner of the room looking on at the scene with envy in his heart. He wanted the blocks, held in his cousin's pudgy hands. What made him and Dudley so different? Why did Dudley get blocks but not him? As he thought this, he felt a thin strand of ...energy, reach out from him and across the room to the blocks. Though he could feel the energy he could not control it. Fascinated when the blocks rose into the air, and began to move towards him, he reached out to take them and then, "AHHHHHHH!" a shrill scream erupted from Aunt Petunia. Vernon jerked to look at Petunia, but Dudley was looking at the boy in the corner.

Suddenly terrified as a mean grin was sent his way by his cousin. Crocodile tears formed in the corners of Dudley's eyes as he let out a pathetic sob, meant to draw attention. "F-f-freak took blocks" Dudley wailed. The angry eyes of Uncle Vernon landed on him, as Vernon's face took on a rather unflattering pink shade. Standing up, Vernon began to make his ways towards the scared (now shaking) little boy.

"Why you! How dare you display your freakishness in front of my son! To steal from him after all we have given you, you ungrateful shit stain." Uncle Vernon was above him now, shouting down at him. He grabbed him roughly by the arm and picked him up, till his feet touched the ground. Petunia discretely took Dudley back to the nursery. "Well? What do you have to say for yourself? Speak up Potter!" When the raven haired child said nothing, his uncle shook him for a few seconds. "Can't even think for himself! What are you, retarded?" Vernon roughly drags Harry into his room, the cupboard under the stairs and slams the small door closed. The click of the lock is heard a breath later.

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Boy sat in his cupboard, late in the evening, while the Dursleys ate the food he cooked, thinking about names. Sometime in the last week, it had occurred to him that everyone has two names. There was your family name, like "Dursley", and a proper name. Something you called people you liked. Which is how he had come to the conclusion that Potter must be his family name, the Dursley's didn't like him and wouldn't use his proper name. He knew that 'Boy' wasn't his proper name either. Dudley was a boy too.

Dinner finished, and Dudley was sent up to bed for the night. Vernon and Petunia made their way to the living room, and sat to watch the television for a while. They weren't actually watching though, he could hear them speaking in hushed tones, only catching every couple words.

"You saw.... But the letter... orphanage... our safety... freak... Harry Potter... danger... This is settled" He heard more clearly "Please don't bring it up again Tunie"

Harry, Harry Potter, he tested the name out in his mind. It certainly sounded better than Freak, or Boy. And the family name was right. It sounded... perfect. Harry fell asleep that night with a good feeling, repeating the words over in his mind.

I am Harry Potter, I am Harry Potter, I am Harry Potter.

Harry sat in his cupboard. It had been a good day. As far as living in the cupboard under the stairs went. He had woken up before the Dursleys, and sat complimenting life for about an hour. Petunia had come down the stairs at exactly seven A.M. She opened the locks on the cupboard quickly and quietly.

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"Go use the loo, boy. Wash your hands!" she whispered/shouted at him. He had done so, and then began to prepare breakfast, as per usual. He cooked and set the table, watched the Dursley eat, and was allowed 2 slices of plain toast, and a single scrambled egg. After that he had gone about his chores, Dudley left the house to play with friends and Vernon left for work.

Petunia was not a nice woman by most people's standards. However, she was not violent, like her husband, merely vindictive and petty. He ignored her as he went about cleaning different rooms of the house, and she ignored him. They did not speak, which was fine by him, it left Harry to his thoughts, which were sometimes jumbled or too fast to catch.

Today he was thinking about what he had taken to calling 'his energy'. Lately his energy had been acting up whenever he felt almost anything. Not too noticeable to someone who wasn't looking for the signs. Harry tried his very best to keep his energy under control. To not do anything 'freakish'. Well, not in front of anyone. Whenever he would be allowed outside for a few hours, he would go into the woods behind the park.

There he would sit, sometimes for hours trying to make his tendrils of energy move the way he wanted them to. It was difficult because he couldn't actually see the energy. He had to imagine it. So far he'd been able to pick up a rock (which had been crushed in the process), start a fire (one he almost couldn't put out), call a twig to himself (which almost smacked him in the face), and once, he forced a rabbit to stay still while he pet it. That one he was the least certain about. The thread of energy had gone straight from his head to the rabbits, locking the rabbit in place as he thought, Stay, really hard. It was an odd experience.

Afterwards he felt exhausted, and had almost crawled from the front door to his cupboard and slept.