My Torture

-- Good Charlotte // "The Anthem"

My Torture

~Voldevie

"And therefore that concludes how to multiply fractions," Mr Simms was saying, finishing by scribbling a fraction on the blackboard. He checked his watch. "All right, you have five minutes left. Pack away your things and just talk since you've worked so hard." He walked over to his desk and started to mark another class' homework.

A piece of crumpled paper was thrown when Mr Simms turned his back. It hit a boy in the back of his head causing him to turn round.

"So, did you understand that, Potter?" Dudley sneered at the bespectacled boy in front of him.

Harry Potter, a thin ten-year-old boy with tangles of black hair on his head, was a relative of Dudley Dursley. Cousin, to be precise. As much as he hated being in such a horrendous position, there was nothing he could do. Harry had to live with him -- not to mention his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon. His parents had died in a car crash when he was only a baby, so living with his relatives was the only option. It really didn't help when Dudley Dursley was the biggest bully in school and Harry was his favourite punch-bag.

"Why would you care?" Harry bravely snapped back. No one stood up to Dudley Dursley unless they wanted a beating after school. "You don't even know what a fraction is unless it involves chocolate. You're thicker than two planks of wood!"

"Oh," Dudley said, leaving his desk and stepping closer to Harry, "am I?" His faithful follower, Piers Polkiss, had arrived behind Dudley. He was wearing a grimace and was staring in Harry's direction.

"Thump him one, Dud. He deserves it," Piers said, nodding cruelly.

"Yeah," agreed Dudley, a smirk plastered on his face, "no one calls me thick."

"In which way?" Harry asked innocently.

Dudley narrowed his small, beady eyes and told him to "shut up". He wandered over to his gang at the back of the class, leaving Harry on his own. Everyone had someone except Harry: the girls were in their own little group, discussing clothes, music and make-up; Dudley had his gang of bullies; the twin boys who were academically successful were never seen without each other; and the orchestra group who only discussed their instruments with admiration.

Harry flopped back in his chair and doodled an amusing stickman of Dudley in the margin of his jotter.

***

"Oi! Potter!" Dudley's voice yelled out across the playground.

Harry was walking around the outskirts of the football pitch, bored, and waiting for the bell to ring. He blatantly ignored Dudley.

"HARRY!" he screeched again.

Out of irritation, Harry's head snapped up. "What?"

"Nothing, I just felt like saying your name," Dudley guffawed. His gang joined in laughing a few seconds later. A record-breaker considering their average slow human reaction time.

"Hilarious, Dudley," said Harry dryly. "Surprisingly, I never, ever get tired of saying your name... Ickle Dudleykins." Harry flashed him a knowing grin while Dudley's gang stared in confusion.

"Just... shut up," Dudley replied, a pink tinge on his cheeks.

"Whatever you say, Sweetums, whatever you say." Harry walked away, leaving Dudley to swear colourfully.

"Dud?" Piers asked.

Dudley grunted. That meant continue.

"What was he talking about?"

Dudley shrugged his shoulders. "I dunno. He's a freak, isn't he?"

"Yeah... course he is," agreed Piers. "Still up for beating him, Dud?"

"Sure. As long as you quit calling me that."

"Oh," Piers said. "Sorry... Dud."

Dudley stared at him blankly. "Was that supposed to be funny?"

Piers shrugged. "I dunno. I always see it in them films."

Dudley shook his head pitifully. "C'mon, let's go," he said, walking towards the football pitch. "Whack that football in, Gav!"

***

Harry knew he was for it, like he was at least once every month. He didn't care, though. He knew Dudley would get his comeuppance sooner or later. If there was a god, something would happen to Dudley sooner or later, and it wouldn't be something pleasant.

Mrs Leyland was discussing the large difference between verbs and adverbs. Every time she turned her back to write something on the blackboard, Dudley threw a paper ball at him. He ignored him, though, Dudley wasn't worth his time.

"Now, class, a little hint to tell an adverb is by looking at the word's suffix." She turned to the blackboard and wrote, chalk scratching noisily, SUFFIX. A paper ball hit Harry head-on and Harry gave into temptation, turning to Dudley.

"What?" he hissed at him.

"Miss!" Dudley said, raising his hand. Harry immediately whipped round. "Harry keeps talking to me. And--" he gasped, staring at the paper scattered at Harry's chair, "--look! He's been making paper balls!"

Mrs Leyland was generally a nice teacher. She had short, light-brown hair, a chubby face and, like Harry, she wore glasses. Today she was wearing a pastel-green dress which was dotted with beads.

"Harry?" she asked, peering at him sternly. "Is this true?"

Harry stared at his jotter blankly. Boy, was Dudley a manipulating bastard. It was a total set-up Dudley had been waiting to perform on Harry. He could feel all eyes on him; he must have been a walking beetroot by now.

"Harry, since you're desperate to answer," Mrs Leyland said sarcastically, "what is a suffix?"

Harry blinked. The twins' hands were in the air before Mrs Leyland had said the last three syllables. "I don't know," he mumbled.

"What?" she asked sharply.

"I... don't know," Harry said louder. He thought about it, he really did, but nothing came. The twins were putting him off.

"Stay after the bell, Harry," said Mrs Leyland, turning to the twins.

***

"Frankly, I am very disappointed in you," Mrs Leyland was saying. "Throwing paper across the room when my back's turned, talking to your cousin..." She sighed and something seemed to hit her. "There isn't anything wrong at home, is there?"

Harry stared back at her. "I don't have a home," he muttered.

"Yes, that does seem an issue. But still, you have family. I can't see why you aren't happy, Harry -- your aunt and uncle are perfectly respectable people."

Harry remained silent, nodding despite himself. The sooner this talk was over, the sooner he would get a beating and the sooner it would be all over.

Mrs Leyland sighed again. "I really don't know what to do with you, Harry. You're an excellent pupil, perhaps not exactly academically, but you're usually on your best behaviour. I'll give you a punishment exercise -- thirty lines, 'I must not throw paper or speak when the teacher is talking'." She handed Harry a piece of paper. "Personally, I don't believe in punishments unless completely necessary, but I really don't want you to get into trouble again. Bring that back to me Monday morning."

Harry nodded, picked up his tattered schoolbag and quickly departed. The corridors were empty -- everyone had gone home. Dudley and Piers wouldn't be, though. They would be hanging around the school gates, waiting to pounce. Harry had no other option but to pass them, and even so, he could never be home earlier than Dudley. That was a Dursley no-no. Harry supposed that he could just wait until Dudley and Piers left, but he knew that Dudley would realise he was hiding.

Just as he expected, Piers and Dudley were there, arms draped around the big school gate. As soon as they noticed Harry come out of school, they started jeering.

"Harry!" Piers called out. "What did Mrs Leyland say? You get detention? Aw, what a shame -- are you gonna cry?" He then performed a heartless imitation of Harry crying.

Harry ignored him, walking closer to them. His head was bowed; he couldn't bare to face them. All he wanted to do was leave this scene -- just disappear. He knew he didn't deserve to be jeered, bullied, emotionally tortured.

This time Dudley shouted. "You know that thrashing we promised you? Well, guess what -- you're gonna get it." He grinned nastily. "We'll give you a headstart of five since we're so kind. Then Piers will go and get you."

Piers turned to Dudley. "Me?" he asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

"Yes, you, you idiot," Dudley hissed.

"Why can't you go get him?"

"Because I can't be bothered," replied Dudley, speaking slowly.

Piers sighed dramatically but let Dudley continue to threaten Harry.

"All right. One," Dudley counted.

Harry knew he should run. Piers was no Dudley -- he could outrun Harry in some P.E. lessons.

"Two."

His feet weren't moving. Harry's brain was forcing him to go, but his legs had a mind of their own.

"Three."

Maybe if he moved now he could survive.

"Four."

This was becoming ridiculous. Piers was gearing up.

"Five."

That was it. He blew his chance. Harry was going to be slaughtered in a split-second.

"Piers!" Dudley commanded. "GET HIM!"

And that was when Harrys' legs snapped into a working position. The last thing he saw was Piers' face stretched out from the speed he was running at. Harry darted around the playground -- he didn't know where to go. Somewhere behind him, he heard Dudley cheer Piers on. Harry had no idea where Piers was -- for all he knew, Piers could be less than an inch away from him, grabbing out to him. The thought itself made him move faster. He was still running around the length of the playground. There was nowhere he could go to escape Piers, and he knew his energy would collapse some time soon. Unless...

Harry knew a secret area in the school that other pupils didn't know about. There was a little alley that Harry could hide in which was behind the school kitchens. Harry often noticed the dinnerladies throwing rubbish in the gigantic metal bins from the windows. Being small, Harry could easily squeeze down the alley and hide behind the bins. It wasn't a glamorous thing to do, but if he wanted to live, it was the only option he could see fit.

He checked to see if Piers was nearby, but he was over on the other side of the playground. It didn't matter if Piers could see him; Harry was sure that only he could slip down the alley.

Harry clambered across cardboard boxes and tripped over several plastic carrier bags before he reached the bins. That was it. He was safe. Piers couldn't get him, now that he was slotted in between two bins that were double the length and breadth of Dudley.

From the other side of the playground, Harry heard Dudley screech, "He went down there, Piers! Move!"

Harry laughed softly. Piers would never fit down the alley -- he wasn't as small or thin as Harry. He heard Piers stagger to the alley entrance, breathing uneven.

"How can I, Dud? He's down there!" Piers called back at Dudley. His voice echoed.

"For God's sake, just get him and then I can beat him up!" said Dudley, agitated.

"But it's way dark in here," Piers said nervously. "There's probably rats and stuff down here."

"Well, hurry the hell up or I'll get the rats to bite the hell out of you!" This sentence contained a lot of effings -- one before every noun.

Harry could make out Piers falling over a cardboard box. That wasn't supposed to happen. There was no way Piers could go manage to go down the alley without suffocating. And yet, there he was, creeping closer and closer to Harry. A beating was now inevitable. Harry tried crouching -- maybe Piers wouldn't notice him then. But Harry had no room to crouch; he had already took up all the space. His palms were sweating now. He wondered how Dudley was going to hit him this time. If he came home in tatters, Uncle Vernon would hit him as well.

He screwed up his eyes. Why did this have to happen to him?

Harry heard a funny noise -- it was a cross between a crack and a pop. He thought for a second everything was over and Dudley was kicking him again, but he opened his eyes and found that he was on the roof of the school kitchens! He contemplated for a moment. How on earth did he manage to climb up on the roof? It wasn't humanely possible -- the wall was completely vertical with no bricks sticking out.

Then he realised something: he could spy on Dudley and Piers without getting caught. Slowly, he stood up. This was a bad idea because Dudley, watchful and sly, noticed movement on the roof and screeched that Harry was on the roof. Harry mentally cursed Dudley, but continued walking.

Something strange happened. Dudley ran into school. This was a miraculous gesture. Dudley, eager to go to school? Whatever next? Except that Dudley wasn't eager to go to school; Dudley was eager to get a teacher to get Harry into trouble. Only then did Harry realise what an idiot he was, being on the roof of the school kitchens. Of course he would get into trouble. After all, you don't go around walking on roofs all day.

Harry groaned when he noticed that the teacher Dudley had brought with him was Mrs Leyland.

"Harry Potter!" she screamed. "WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU'RE DOING?"

"I think he's on the roof, Miss," Dudley said, smirking.

"Quiet, Dudley," Mrs Leyland snapped. She turned to Harry. "Get down this instant!"

"I can't! I don't know how to!" Harry replied.

"Well, how did you manage to get up there?"

"I think the wind caught me and blew me up here, Miss."

"Don't be ridiculous, boy!" she barked. "The wind does not do that to you."

Harry didn't know what to do. He couldn't jump down; it was too high.

"I-I think you need to get the fire brigade, Miss."

***

Dear Mr and Mrs Dursley,

I wish to tell you about your nephew's behaviour. Yesterday, after school, he was found on the roof of the school kitchens. I have called him in for an interview regarding the issue. He states that Piers Polkiss was chasing him for no apparent reason and that your son, Dudley Dursley, was planning to "thrash" Harry. Also, he goes on to say that "the wind blew him onto the roofs". This is the most ridiculous excuse I have heard in my entire life of teaching (which, for reference needs, happens to be twenty-six this June). Never has a student been on the roofs and I hope it will never happen in future. We had to call for a fire brigade to get Harry down.

Harry's punishment is enclosed: two-hundred lines stating "I must not play on the school roofs." Also, I think a fortnight-worth of detention will see fit. Mrs Leyland, Harry's English teacher, adds that Harry has thirty lines for throwing paper in her class yesterday.

Yours faithfully,

Carolyn Stewarts

Headmistress

Uncle Vernon slowly placed the letter down on the kitchen table, his face red.

"So," he said to Harry. "Think it's funny, do you? Being on the school roof? What were you trying to do, commit suicide? You'd love that, wouldn't you? Have our names in mud. Well, let me tell you something, boy -- having you here with us has made your wish come true."

Harry stood up quickly, knocking his chair down and causing Aunt Petunia to shriek in fright. He wasn't going to take in another word of this.

"And just where do you think you're going?" Uncle Vernon asked. Harry ignored him. "All right -- GO TO YOUR CUPBOARD!"

"THAT'S WHERE I'M GOING!" Harry yelled back.

He opened the cupboard door, almost pulling it off its hinges, and slammed it loudly behind him. This wasn't fair. Why wouldn't no one believe him?

"ALL I TRIED TO DO WAS HIDE BEHIND THE BIG BINS SO YOUR STUPID SON AND HIS STUPID FRIEND, PIERS, WOULDN'T BEAT ME UP! THIS ISN'T FAIR!" Harry shouted in an attempt that someone would believe him.

All Uncle Vernon said was, "Who said life was fair?" before he promptly shut the kitchen door to drown out Harry's voice.

"Yeah," Harry hissed bitterly to himself, "but who said life wasn't?"

____________________________

Quote refrences:

"GO TO YOUR CUPBOARD!" "THAT'S WHERE I'M GOING!" -- My Parents Are Aliens, but they obviously said "room" instead of cupboard. That would just be child abuse.