Chapter 1: 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.

Harry thought he could remember a bit about his mum, but wondered if it was his imagination. He remembered being cuddled in someone's arms, and a gentle kiss, but maybe it was a dream. He often dreamed of a flying motorcycle. He learned at a very early age to never say anything about this, because Uncle Vernon would lose his temper. Aunt Petunia looked more scared than angry, he had observed. He had no idea why, except that his current hypothesis (he loved that word) was that maybe Aunt Petunia did not agree with Uncle Vernon all the time. Why was Aunt Petunia scared?

Once he arrived at home (although he had come to the conclusion the year before that it wasn't a really home for him, because then he would have a room that wasn't a cupboard with spiders to be locked in, he would be willingly offered food, given clothes that fit, and perhaps earn an allowance for the chores he did), he stowed his schoolbag in his cupboard carefully, hidden so that no one would think about looking and finding the book, and pushed his glasses up. Aunt Petunia was out, and it looked like she would not be back for a couple hours yet. He let out a short sigh (a long sigh would have involved deeper breathing.) So much to do on the flower beds, and it was only the beginning of spring. He had to do it, so he might as well get started after going to the loo. He was happy that he did not need to clean it today. Sometimes the cleaner chemicals made it more difficult for him to breathe. Anyway, he did enjoy being out in the garden.

Harry thought it a bit early for the new soil that Aunt Petunia had ordered, however. The soil itself was in a heap next to the shed. He knew he needed to work on it in a timely manner, otherwise Uncle Vernon would get upset if it did not look as if Harry were working quickly enough. Sometimes Uncle Vernon would punish Harry for being too slow. Uncle Vernon had been relatively nice recently. No being locked in the cupboard again and being called a freak by him was at a minimum. Perhaps Harry had finally done everything well enough? Really, though, no matter what, he was always the freak. His uncle could always find something, if he was of the mind, to pin on him, the freak.

The long-handled wood and metal shovel was heavy, and it was awkward for Harry to use well. He was very skinny and not very tall. He used what he could to hold up his jeans, which were much too large for him. He got Dudley's old clothes. If he could get a hold of a needle, thread, and scissors, maybe he could attempt to make them smaller. That couldn't look any worse!

Still, he needed to get as much completed as possible before it was time to start supper. Aunt Petunia left a note on the chore list concerning what he was to prepare. He was never sure if he would actually get enough food or not during the meal. Dudley, if he was still hungry, would just steal food from Harry's plate. He just wanted to be able to eat all the food he wanted without fear of it being stolen, and maybe even read an exciting book while doing so. This idea sounded like heaven. Harry carried dirt over to the flower beds that lined the front walk, one shovelful at a time. It was slow going.

"Freak, you're dirty! I'll tell mum if you come inside with all that dirt," Dudley said with a another sneer, standing over Harry, as Harry tried to smooth out some of the soil with the shovel. Fortunately for Harry, his cousin's friends were no longer accomanying Dudley.

"I won't, Dud. Leave me alone," Harry said, with defiance in his voice. He was irritated.

"Freak boy is getting angry, isn't he," Dudley said in a taunting voice. Harry just really wished sometimes he could do something to Dudley. Odd things had happened with him before (and he had gotten locked in the cupboard for them), but he didn't know how to make them happen. He squinted his eyes, thinking about the odd things, and just as Dudley was headed indoors for a snack, Dudley's hair turned purple! How had he done that, exactly?

Dudley didn't seem to notice a thing as he walked to the front door muttering "freak, freak, freak" under his breath and thinking about the tasty stash of snacks he had up in his bedroom that his mother knew nothing about.

LLLLLLLLLL

Harry still could not believe his eyes. He had really made Dudley's hair turn purple!

I don't know how to turn his hair back! Maybe it will fade before he gets home. Uncle Vernon! He took some breaths to calm himself. Should he run away? He would be locked in his cupboard for sure, or maybe worse, because Uncle Vernon would certainly be angry when he saw what happened to Dudley's hair. Harry would be blamed, of course, and he would be blamed because of his freakishness. He gave another sigh and kept working as his anxiety increased. Maybe his uncle and aunt would believe that Dudley had gotten hair dye from the shop? He snickered nervously a bit at that thought.

After he got as much of the soil in the front flower beds as possible, he had to take a break, for just a moment. He was so tired, sore, and dirty. He tried to keep clean, but when he was doing work such as this, it was difficult. He loved the feeling of being clean, but that, too, was one of the privileges he had to earn. Freaks had to earn showers. He sat down near the dirt pile for a few minutes, the shovel standing upright in the pile where he had shoved it in. He thought he had time, because Uncle Vernon shouldn't be home yet for another hour and a half at least. He would need to change his clothes soon and start dinner. Perhaps if the meal was ready, Uncle Vernon would be nice (or at least not angry) tonight. Maybe if Dudley's hair had changed back to normal. Maybe the color would fade. Normal was the key phrase. The Dursleys wanted everything to be NORMAL.

"Get up and keep working," Aunt Petunia said, as she turned up the walk, coming home from a neighbor's house. He jumped to his feet and grabbed the shovel. Petunia stealthily stepped across the to him, and whispered,

"I will make the meal. Put as much soil as you can into the back garden. Vernon wants it out of the way as soon as possible." Harry was a bit shocked at this, as Aunt Petunia was rarely this nice. He wondered what she would do if Dudley's hair was still purple when she saw him.

A mere twenty minutes later, he heard squealing tires in the front of the house. Uncle Vernon was home! Early! Harry quickly decided to diligently keep carrying shovelfuls of dirt to the flower beds in the back garden as it would be better to stay out of the way. It was a full hour early. He heard the door slam, and Uncle Vernon's heavy steps go into the house. Harry's curiously got the better of him and hid along the back of the house under an open window, so he could eavesdrop without being seen. He gently set the shovel against the wall so as to not give himself away.

"Dudley! Come down here, son! I have the news we've been waiting for!" Vernon bellowed. "You have been accepted at my alma mater, Smeltings! Starting September!"

"Oh, Vernon, that's wonderful!" Petunia said. "Yes, Duddlykins, please come down."

"I have your Smeltings stick, Dudley. It's just like mine," Vernon said proudly. Harry cringed under the window. Oh, no. Does Dudley have purple hair still? Why had that happened? He was in so, so much trouble. It wouldn't matter that he didn't know how that happened. "Bloody hell," he whispered under his breath, trying to consider his options. Run for it? He was still quite sore from his attempt to run earlier in the day. Dudley must have come down the stairs then, because there were loud gasps from his parents.

"Why is your hair purple, Dudley?" Petunia asked, her voice incredulous.

"Purple?" Dudley screamed, and Harry heard him run clumsily for the downstairs loo to look in the mirror. "Aaahhh!"

Harry's heart plummeted as he imagined that the silence from Uncle Vernon must be the rage growing and his face turning red, perhaps even purple.

Unfortunately, Harry was correct.

"That freak! Freak, where are you? You did this!" Harry heard Vernon explode, slamming around in the house, and finally, coming to the door that lead to the back garden. Harry had been debating if he could try to hide, but didn't know where, and began a limping run toward the back fence. Maybe he would try to climb over it. Yes, that's what he would do. The sound of the shovel being scraped from where he'd left it against the wall of the house came to his ears. What was his uncle planning? Now wheezing from his brief run, he was three-quarters of the way to the fence when he felt the hard, wooden handle of the shovel hit him in the back, and he sprawled face down on the ground. He tried not to panic, but Uncle Vernon had never been quite like this before. Usually he locked Harry in the cupboard and disallowed him food. Never anything such as this.

"You, boy, you! You ruined our happy family celebration with your freakishness. Jealous Dudley will go to Smeltings, are you? Trying to run away, are you? Let's see if this will finally get the freak out of you," Vernon said in low, menacing voice, to mind the neighbors. His face churned with malice as Harry twisted his head around to see what Vernon had in mind.

Harry lost consciousness shortly after Vernon struck his leg with the blade of the shovel for the first time. He was not aware of his uncle hitting and pounding his leg over and again, and the blood flowing out into the garden.