The Boy in the Cupboard

Chapter 1

Arabella Figg had lived in Little Whinging for months without once glimpsing the boy. None of the other neighbors were suspicious. As far as they were concerned, the Dursleys only had one child. Dudley Dursley was a round, tow-headed toddler who was often seen screaming or kicking his figurines around the yard.

Arabella raised her concerns to Dumbledore, but they were brushed aside. Surely the boy was inside napping when Arabella passed by- no matter that such a young child should never be left alone. Arabella's attempts at questioning Mrs. Dursley were met with suspicion and hostility, which only increased Arabella's own suspicions.

Months turned into a year, still with no sight of little Harry. Arabella flooed Dumbledore, her frantic tone increasing with the frequency. Perhaps the boy preferred the backyard, Dumbledore said, or was with his uncle, even on business days.

The rest of the neighborhood remained blissfully unaware of anything suspicious. Arabella was about ready to call the muggle authorities when there was finally a sighting of another boy's face peering out the window of Number 4. The boy had pale, sunken cheeks. His black hair was a mess, and his green eyes stared unseeingly at Privet Drive.

Arabella hadn't seen it herself, but the gossip about the too-thin boy made its rounds. Mrs. Dursley spread the tale of her nephew. He'd been orphaned in a car crash that also left him with traumatic head injuries. Little Harry hated leaving home, didn't eat well, couldn't speak or toilet train. The rumors continued to flow. Arabella knew most were false- Harry's parents weren't drunks, and she knew Harry was younger than Dudley by only a month, rather than a few years like everyone else estimated.

People whispered that perhaps the boy had been disabled even before the crash. Arabella had heard Harry had been a lively, happy baby who hit every milestone on time. But he'd been hit with a killing curse as well- nobody knew the effects such a curse would have on its only survivor.

Still, the boy was old enough to attend school, even a special school suited for his needs. Yet Petunia walked only Dudley to school.

Only when Arabella brought up the prospect of the boy being disabled did Dumbledore acknowledge her worries. He'd send someone to check, he said, but was sure the boy was fine.

Alastor Moody clomped down Privet Drive under his invisibility cloak, only removing it when he stood on the stoop to Number 4.

The door was answered by a long-necked, sour faced woman, whose nose immediately scrunched up at the sight of Moody's dirty, long coat, frazzled mane of hair, the chunk missing from his nose.

He pushed past her, not one for pleasantries, especially not when something important caught his eye. The hall was immaculate, the kitchen floors gleaming through a doorway, but Moody's magical eye, currently hidden under a bowler hat, was focused on the stairs.

Even knowing the sight that would greet him when he opened the small, padlocked door, Moody had to brace himself. The cupboard was infested with spiders. Cobwebs hung from the underside of the stairs. Curled on a dirty cot mattress was Potter, wearing nothing but a soiled nappy. The boy's back showed signs of a belt, his arms were bruised. The spiders had scuttled away when the door was opened, but Potter remained motionless.

The Dursley boy said something about the monster in the closet.

Moody's remaining chunk of a nose flared at the strong mixture of cleaning chemicals used to block the stench of urine and excrement.

Potter didn't respond to his name. He didn't acknowledge Moody when he bent, somewhat awkwardly with his prosthetic leg, to lift the boy out. If he weren't in a muggle suburb, Moody would have thought the boy had been kissed by a dementor.