Harrry Rotter: chapter one A children's story

I wrote this story, this skit, for a bit of fun, that's all, but so many of you emailed me. saying

how much you liked it, i just HAD to publish it. Happy reading. from the crazy-mad writer.

Arrrgh!!!

Chapter One

‘No! Our best china’s in there!’

Mr. and Mrs. Privet, of number twenty-three Dorsley Drive, were anything but normal. They

had been normal only a few weeks earlier, but they were now as crazy as anyone fortunate

enough to have been incarcerated in the local loony bin.

On the outside, Mr. Privet, a tall, bald and incredibly thin man, appeared quite normal, but just

beneath the surface, barely hidden, he was a seething mass of nervous ticks, idiosyncratic

behavior, peptic ulcers and, above all, just plain loonyness.

As well as suffering from the same mad ways as her loopy husband, the extraordinarily fat Mrs.

Privet was also suffering from the dreadful infliction of hearing voices in her head. She might

hear them at any time of the day or night, and would oftentimes jump up in bed screaming in a

most alarming way, giving her husband such a fright he’d begin shaking uncontrollably. It was a

most dreadful state of affairs altogether. Despite suffering from these awful conditions, Mr. and

Mrs. Privet tried to continue living as normal a life as was possible, but hardly a day went by

without one of them experiencing a mad interlude that would make most normal people simply

roll over and die.

Before I continue on with my story I must also tell you about their son Box, Box Privet. This

child (the veritable apple of their eyes) was, like his father, of a tall and incredibly thin physique.

At times this trait would cause him to be the butt of jokes and jibes by his classmates and

acquaintances. However, he paid little or no attention, because his mind was always set firmly

on the love, the passion of his life – electronics. Upstairs, in his small bedroom, Box would

work for hours on end with his soldering iron, long nose pliers and tweezers creating, crafting

bringing his new ideas to life. It was a lonely existence, but he loved it.

I have already told you how Mr. and Mrs. Privet had been quite normal only a few weeks

earlier. In all truthfulness the Privet’s had been one of the happiest families in their entire estate

of mock Elizabethan detached houses. But now they were mad, living in fear for their lives,

the happy and contented existence they had so enjoyed in tatters, a shambles, and a shadow of

what it had once been.

You see, the Privet’s had been hiding a secret, a big secret. And while it had been contained

and suppressed, as they felt is should still be, they had been enjoying that happy and contented

life, but from the moment, the very instant this secret, this terrible secret had escaped from its

place of incarceration, a private boarding school going by the name of Hagswords,  it had come

to an abrupt end.

This secret, this big dark secret was in reality a young girl, an orphan, the Privet’s only niece,

going by the of Harry Rotter. She had actually been baptized Harriet, but from an early age

had insisted that everyone call her Harry. Let me tell you about Harriet – Harry... She was the

boldest, cruelest, nastiest child you could ever be unfortunate enough to meet. To look as her,

with her flowing locks of golden hair and a face that appeared so innocent, so angelic, one

might easily be fooled into believing that butter could last forever in her mouth without melting.

But she wasn’t an angel, no, the unfortunate truth, the terrible truth was she was an out and out

scoundrel, a bully who had no respect for anyone but herself. Bullies can and so very often do

make the lives of those living around them as miserable as hell – Harry proved to be no

exception to this rule.

While Harriet – Harry – had been safely tucked away in her school everything had been just

fine, and the Privet’s had been able to forgot about their troublesome niece, but from the

moment she broke out, escaped from that high security ‘special’ boarding school, and found

her way to the home of her only living relations, the Privets, their lives changed forever.

“Excuse me, please,” said Harry ever so mannerly, when Mrs. Privet opened the front door, to

her, “I am your only niece – will you please put me up for a few days?”

“Its young Harry Potter, isn’t it?” said Mrs. Privet, patting her on the head. “Are you on your

end of term break?”

Ignoring the question and resisting the urge to kick the condescending woman in the shins,

Harry smiled, and said, “I prefer to be called Harry, if it all right with you?”

“Yes, yes, that’s fine,” said Mrs. Privet as she ushered her through the doorway, while  looking

along the road to see if anyone had been following her. The road, however, was deserted.

“Please go into the front room,” said Mrs. Privet. The cat made a mad dash out from the house

just as the door closed.

Harry entered the room. It reminded her of Hagswords – far too much stained glass and wood

paneling for her liking. “Sit down, sit down, Harry, and make yourself comfortable,” said Mrs.

Privet. “I will go fetch you some lemonade, you must be so thirsty after so much travelling. Then

I will go tell your uncle the good news.”

Leaving Harry alone in the room, Mrs. Privet returned to the hallway where she opened the

small door under the stairs that led down to the cellar. Calling her husband, she said, “Dear….

we have a visitor…”

“Who is it?” a voice called up from below.

“It’s your niece.”

BANG. There was a sound like a baldhead striking a beam in the low ceiling, and then there

was silence.

“Did you hear me, darling?”

Mumbles from below.

“Darling?”

Mr. Privet began speaking, and in a hushed voice, he said, “I'm busy... Are you sure it’s our

niece – THAT niece?”

“Yes, dear, it’s young Harriet – I mean Harry, Harry Rotter.”

“Harriet or harry – you should know what sex they are!”

“He, she’s a girl, she just likes the name Harry, shortened, you know.”

“I don’t know if I know anything anymore,” Mr. Privet grumbled as he began making his

way up the narrow staircase, “having to deal with your ‘unusual’ relations. Puffing and

panting, Mr. Privet emerged from the cellar. “Where is she, then?” he barked, looking up and

down the hallway.

“I put her in the front room.”

“Our best china’s in there!” he hollered, storming down the hallway and bursting into the room

like an elephant was chasing after him. Inside, he found Harry carefully inspecting a piece of

their hand-painted fine bone china.

“That’s an heirloom – but it’s not worth anything,” he muttered, eying Harry’s canvas shoulder

bag with some suspicion, while also trying, but unsuccessfully, to close the battered door.

“Not worth anything?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No, not a penny…”

“Can I have it, then, as a keepsake?”

Almost choking on his words, Mr. Privet fumbled to find others that might save his prized china.

“Mr. Privet?”

“I, we, we can’t give it away… we promised your Granny, on her death bed, that we would

always treasure it…”

Studying his face, particularly the sweat beading upon it, Harry searched for signs of deceit.

“Okay,” she said, “it was just a thought.” Then scanning the room, she added, “There must be

loads of things amongst all this old rubbish that you don’t want.”

“No, no, everything’s spoken for,” Mr. Privet squeaked in reply. Then changing the subject

from their prized personal possessions, he asked Harry the reason for her visit.

“Oh, I have already told your wife,” she said, “I will be staying with you for a few days…”

This time, Mr. Privet almost choked on Harry’s words.

Just then Mrs. Privet, carrying a tray with a tall glass of lemonade upon it, entered the room,

“Everything all right?” she asked, smiling innocently.

Harry Potter? No, silly, it's Harry ROTTER

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© Gerrard T Wilson 2008