Eeman

Purple Hair

April 1991

Harry Potter loved school even though many thought he was rather odd (his cousin Dudley to blame), except for the Librarian. He spent lunch and recess every school day in the library. The Librarian thought it was the best for him because he could read whatever he wanted, and he often chose fiction for the escape. In fact, the Librarian (he always thought of her a kind of super hero, and so always thought of her in capital letters) had taken to getting more advanced fiction from the public library, just for him to enjoy (Uncle Vernon did not care for Harry going to the public library as that would distract him from his chores.) More importantly, he felt some love in the school library. Just now, he was reading Children of the Dust by Louise Lawrence. It was not a difficult read by any means for the 10-year-old. The Librarian had just thought that he might enjoy it. He had it in his schoolbag this moment, taking a chance with it, risking the wrath of Uncle Vernon. If Uncle Vernon found it, he would be locked up in the cupboard again. Perhaps this evening, he would get a chance to read it. The first section was quite sad thus far. Everyone was dying of radiation sickness after nuclear bombs were dropped all over the UK. If such a thing actually happened, he would not want to die slowly like Sarah and William in the book.

Harry was too lost in his daydreaming to realize that Dudley and his gang were right behind him. Usually, he did not let his guard down, or let anything cloud his thoughts while walking home from school. Dudley and his friends liked to play Harry Hunting.

"Hey, Freak," Dudley said in a mildly creepy voice from behind his left shoulder, and before Harry could react, Dudley drove a fist into his ribs. Harry groaned and bent over gasping for a moment, each breath worsening. He didn't think a rib fractured this time, but he was still sore from his last rib fracture. The group of bullies laughed. Harry was not altogether sure if he could run, but realized that he needed to try, otherwise Dudley's punch was always an invitation to the others to do the same. He took off as fast as he could, as fast as his achy ribs and hip allowed. He used to be so fast, and he missed full-out running. Now his maybe-asthma was getting worse. Harry saw spots in front of his eyes for a moment, as he stopped behind a tree down the road. He tried to catch his breath while peaking around to see where his cousin and fellow bullies were. They were laughing, but they looked like they were turning off to the nearby play park instead of following him.

Harry began trudging along again after using the inhaler the school nurse had finally procured for him. His relatives had no interest in taking Harry to a specialist as was politely suggested to them. In fact, they rarely saw to Harry's health. Uncle Vernon said that because of Harry's "freakishness," he could heal himself. What usually happened was that injuries seemed to heal, in time, for Harry. He had realized that he perhaps did heal a bit faster than other people, but pain would linger for a long time. This was true for the case of his hip and leg. A year and a half before, Dudley had shoved Harry down the stairs at Number Four Privet Drive, and the pain was incredible for a while, but most of the pain went away after only week. The remainder of the pain had never gone away. Dudley accused Harry of provoking this incident (Dudley thought Harry had stolen something from his room) and Uncle Vernon had believed him. Uncle Vernon thought the sun shined from Dudley's arse.

It took him longer than usual to get home to the Dursley house. Besides fiction, he also liked anatomy and medical books, and had figured out that if he did indeed have asthma, it was definitely exercised-induced. He had no clue if he had allergies.

After the loo and a glass of water, he would need to get his assigned chores done as soon as possible so that he could be free to finish reading his book, as well as avoid anything "extra" and being locked in his cupboard without food. Again. He often wondered if his real parents would have treated him this way. He knew from books and neighborhood families that there were very loving families out there. Perhaps it was just all fiction? Maybe everyone just put on an act like his aunt and uncle did frequently? Harry was not sure, but they had new neighbors just directly across the street from Number 4 Privet Drive, and the mum there with three little children always seemed loving and kind while they were outdoors playing together. He really hoped that it was not an act. He liked to believe his mother would have been the same way.