The Boy Who Almost Wasn't

Prologue: The Ken Payne Home For Foundlings

Thoughts

ooOoo

THE BOY WHO ALMOST WASN'T

Petunia Dursley was astonished, and that's putting it mildly, when she opened the front door to collect the milk and, along with said product, she found a sleeping baby boy.

"Vernon!" Petunia shrieked.

"What is it Petunia? What's wrong?" The question was bellowed from inside the house by Petunia's husband, Vernon Dursley - a big beefy man with little neck and a large, bushy moustache.

"Come see for yourself," screamed Petunia. "I think it's her boy!"

Clearly, Vernon knew who 'her' was, for he came huffing and puffing to stand beside his wife, and looked down at the child who had already caused so much trouble.

"We can't keep him Vernon. I won't have him contaminating my little Dudleykins!"

As if he had heard this last comment, their son, 'Little Dudleykins', suddenly emitted a roar that would put a lion to shame.

"Oh dear," quavered Petunia. "I'm coming poppet!"

"Well, we can't just leave him out here!" yelled Vernon after his distressed wife. This statement brought Petunia to a sudden halt half way up the stairs.

"Yes, you're right Vernon. Bring him in so the neighbours don't find out."

So Vernon Dursley picked up the tiny bundle and carried him inside, closing the door behind him.

Harry Potter, for that's who the baby was, looked around curiously, amazed at the new surroundings. A fresh bellow from upstairs brought his large emerald green eyes upwards to see Petunia carrying a now howling Dudley towards him. "What is my sister's offspring doing on the doorstep of our house?" demanded Petunia, looking at Harry as if he were something unpleasant she had just stepped on.

"I don't know, Petunia dear, but there's a note, perhaps it explains some of this."

So Vernon and Petunia Dursley opened the letter Professor Dumbledore had put in Harry's blankets that very morning.

It read:

'Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,

It is with deep sorrow that I must inform you of Lily and James Potter's demise. The Potters were murdered during the night by the dark wizard Lord Voldemort.

Voldemort tried to kill your nephew Harry Potter as well but, miraculously, he survived with nothing but the scar on his forehead to show for his near fatal experience.

Lord Voldemort has vanished, making Harry Potter famous.

Sadly, you are the only family he has left which is why I am trusting you to keep him safe, and reveal his past to him when the time is right

Yours,

Albus Dumbledore.'

Vernon and Petunia stood looking at each other in horror, while Dudley busied himself trying to eat his mother's best locket.

"Well that settles it. He is not staying," said Petunia Dursley, stamping her foot.

She held Dudley away from her green-eyed nephew; as if afraid her son would catch some form of deadly disease if kept too close.

"I'll take him to an orphanage then dear, shall I?" muttered Vernon.

"Yes. And I'll burn the letter," decided Petunia, none too steadily. With that, she snatched Dumbledore's letter out of her husband's hand, walked to the living room and threw it into the fireplace.

Meanwhile, Vernon had stepped out to the car and placed his unfortunate nephew inside.

It took the good part of an hour to drive to the nearest orphanage.

ooOoo

When they arrived, Vernon Dursley realised he had a problem. How was he going to explain how he had come across the child? He couldn't just blurt out the truth. That would lead to many awkward questions he wasn't prepared to answer.

In the end, Vernon came to a simple solution. He would just leave Harry at the door to wait for someone to find him. After all, that's what their kind had done to him, wasn't it?

So, Vernon Dursley left his nephew at the door of the orphanage and drove home. Consciously putting the child out of his mind, he thought about what Petunia was going to cook for his dinner.

ooOoo

Ken Payne wasn't happy.

He had another mouth to feed, nappy to change and more wailing to listen to, and what 's more, he didn't even know the little shit's name. And he needed a name for his files.

He decided to make one up himself: Last name's not a problem, but the first... Hmmm, male, ebony black hair. So... How about Ebon? Yes, that was a possibility.

Ken pulled a blank document toward him and scrawled in the child's new name: Ebon Boon.

Ken took one more look at the newly christened baby Ebon and bellowed for his wife - Helen Payne - to take it away. He couldn't stand looking at the little sewer-rat any longer. Actually, he couldn't stand looking at any of his charges any more. Ken hated his job, and he didn't care who knew it. The only highlight was the 'sport', and even that was starting to lose it's appeal. In short, Ken was bored. Perhaps some fresh meat was just what he needed. Plus he'd get more money from the government for the extra costs.

Just then, Helen shuffled through the door. "And not a moment too soon," Ken growled, stealing a small snatch of pleasure in seeing his timid wife tremble before him. "What kept ya?"

Helen mumbled something unintelligible and looked at the floor

"Well. Take the brat away then. Don't be all day about it."

Helen uttered a small squeak and rushed to collect Ebon from the table, which was his current location. Ebon stirred in her arms and waved his small hands about, dreaming about something only babies understand. That was one of the last good dreams Ebon ever had in The Ken Payne Home For Foundlings.

ooOoo

Six-year-old Ebon was startled out of his restless sleep by the breakfast bell.

"All wri' ya little urchins. Grub's up," hollered Cane up the stares. That was the call that had awoken Ebon every morning, as long as he could remember. Not wanting to miss the previously mentioned 'grub', Ebon hurriedly dressed, pulling on a tattered old jumper over his bare chest, and ripped faded jeans over his thin legs.

When fully clothed, he ran down the stairs to the mess hall and quickly took his place at the correct table.

'Cane' was the name the orphans had given Ken after one unfortunate child, who was hard of hearing, mistook the name Ken Payne for 'Cane', earning himself a particularly savage telling off that night, but despite this, the name stuck. Helped perhaps by the bamboo cane Ken always carried with him to assist the image he strove to convey to his wards. Anyway, Cane unceremoniously slopped a heap of lumpy porridge - made by Helen - into Ebon's chipped enamel bowl.

"Eat up 'cause you're not getting any more!" was the only greeting the orphans received that morning.

Alex, a tall sour looking boy of about thirteen, leaned over and grabbed the front of Ebon's filthy jumper. Breathing his cigarette-smoke filled breath into the small boy's face, Alex whispered something only he and Ebon could hear. The six-year-old desperately wanted to lean back, away from Alex's repulsive odour. Ebon hated the smell of cigarettes, ever since the older boys had allowed him to try one a year ago; it had burned his throat horribly, and Ebon had coughed so much he'd nearly had to be taken to hospital. Helen had said that this was a good experience for the youth (a view Ebon strongly objected to), reasoning that now Ebon had tried one, he'd never feel the need to try cigarettes again.

Ebon nodded, relieved to be able to back away, and finished off the last of his porridge just as Cane snatched the bowl out from under his nose.

ooOoo

One hour later Ebon, Alex and a few other boys from Ken Payne's orphanage were loitering near the high brick wall, which kept them secure inside their prison.

"Right, ya know what to do, don't ya Ebon?" whispered Alex. "Just keep guard an' make sure that Cane don't see us."

"You'll help me over after won't ya Alex? Ya promised. Ya know ya did." Ebon looked beseechingly into Alex's sharp mud brown eyes, his small fists jammed into the pockets of his ripped jeans in an attempt to hide their shaking.

"'Course I will. I said I would didn' I? Jus' keep watch an' whistle loud if anyone comes." With those consolatory words ringing in his ears, Ebon quietly walked over to the corner of the vine-covered wall and watched Alex and his friends climb up the ivy vines to make their escape from the Hell they had all been sharing.

Three minutes later, a soft whisper came from the other side of the wall. "Hey. Ebon. Ya want to get ou' of there or what?" then a hand slowly crept over the top of the mossy barrier and gave a slight wave, before disappearing once more.

Ebon quickly scrambled up the dense ivy vines covering the wall until his head was visible to the boys on the other side. "Righ', give me ya hand Ebon, an' I'll try an' lift ya over," grunted Alex, standing on the shoulders of the second tallest boy, himself being the tallest.

"Where do ya think you're going? Ya lackwit. Get ya sorry hide back here!" The yell came from Cane who had obviously spotted Ebon's latest escape attempt, and who was hurrying towards him rather quickly, considering he was dragging one unfortunate orphan along behind him.

"Whoops. Sorry Ebon, gotta run. Ya understand don' ya?" Without waiting for a reply, Alex jumped off his friend's shoulders, and he and his cronies ran off down the street, gloating at their good fortune, Ebon already forgotten.

Meanwhile, poor Ebon was staring in horror at the furious Cane, and wondering why the gods hated him so much. He looked from Cane to the deserted street and back to Cane again, all the while weighing his chances.

Well here goes. I've got nothing to lose and freedom to gain. With that thought, Ebon jumped the thirteen feet from the top of the wall to the ground.