His Parent's Love

A baby is born with a need to be loved--and never outgrows it.

--Frank A. Clark

The mind of a child, no matter how innocent and trusting can be affected and even injured. A child's desire is to be loved, and children carry this sort of love buried under their skin, waiting to give it away. Some children have happy families where this love is fruitful. Some children have sad families where this love, though growing, can be strangled. Still, other children have families that don't care, and their love is ignored.

One boy, who had an abundance of this sort of love, had no idea what to do with it. As a small toddler, he would run wildly to the thin legs of his Aunt, grasping them with his chubby arms only to be shaken off. He would smear large pieces of construction paper with blue paint and hand them to his Uncle. His Uncle would promptly deposit the paintings into the dustbin.

This little boy had yet to learn what was wrong.

One stunningly bright August morning, the sort of morning that stings at the eyelids once the sun creeps into the sky, the Dursleys planned a trip to the department store to buy Dudley new clothing for his first ever year at school. Aunt Petunia perused through the aisles, picking out "darling little outfits," and wiping the occasional tear from her eye as she told her husband, "I can't believe our ickle Diddy-dums is growing up!"

Harry obediently trailed behind the family, but his gaze followed all the different children shopping hand in hand with their parents. A little girl trotted next to her father, jumping and swinging her arms, when her foot suddenly skidded and she fell flat on her stomach. Her father quickly scooped her up and rubbed her back soothingly until her fists stopped grinding at her eyes. She took great swallowing breaths, smiled a watery smile, and hugged her dad around the neck. The man laughed in a deep boom and set his daughter back on her feet.

Harry was transfixed with the sight, so much so that the Dursleys were what seemed like miles ahead of him when he finally came to. He ran to catch up, all the while wondering whether his Aunt or Uncle would pick him up if he fell like that. They'd have to, he thought, staring at the backs of their legs. Grown-ups have to love kids if they're hurt.

Later that day Harry was playing in the backyard, pretending that the stones he had lined up were toy cars, when Dudley started throwing things at him. This irritated Harry so he scooped up the pebbles, branches, and dirt around him and started throwing them back. Dudley threw harder and then became frustrated, charging Harry and punching him in the nose. Harry flew backwards, his back slamming against the ground, causing him to gasp for breath.

Harry coughed until he swallowed a lungful of air and started to cry. He saw Aunt Petunia rush out but then halt as soon as she met his eyes. She looked down at him, her feet rooted to the ground, as Harry attempted to sit up. He shakily crawled over to his Aunt and sat at her feet, touching her leg and leaning his head against it. Still she did not reach for him.

Harry's tears reduced to irregular sniffs and he drew his eyes up to his Aunt's. She crossed her arms and looked away from him. Shaking her leg from his grasp, she walked inside. Harry wondered what he had done wrong.

It was a week later, when Harry asked about where his scar came from, that he decided one needed parents to be loved. The Dursleys simply didn't have enough room in their family to love more than their own child. If the Dursleys could love that rotten Dudley then Harry expected his parents had certainly loved him.

Though Aunt Petunia hated talking about the Potters, Harry was able to glean enough from her to dream about them. Sometimes he felt like that was almost enough.

On a cold, lonely night Harry woke with a start from a terrible nightmare. The wind whistled loudly and Harry heard the windows rattle from the inside of his cupboard. He had dreamed a ferocious creature was chasing him down a dark alleyway until he was trapped. The creature laughed in a high, unearthly pitch and Harry awoke in a flash of brilliant green light.

He was sweaty and shaking, the weight of his fears pressing heavily onto his chest. The wind sent chilly drafts through the cracks of the cupboard and Harry drew his blanket around his arms. He wanted to be held. Tears itched at his throat as he imagined how arm is would feel in his mother's embrace, tucked away in her arms while she softly comforted him in his ear.

Harry closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself. He imagined his mom was holding him, rubbing his back and whispering, "It's all right love, it was just a dream."

It made Harry calm down, but at the same time, it hurt. Each dreamed embrace spurred a powerful ache; even though it was the happiest he could make himself, the love he craved was barely above a whisper.