Chapter 3: Dursleys

February 20th, 1987; Surrey, England

(Jasmine Potter POV)

My name is Jasmine Potter, and I am an orphan. To say that I had a miserable life would be an understatement. I was given away to my relatives to take care of me ever since I could remember, and for some reason, they hated me with a passion.

I lived with my aunt Petunia, my uncle Vernon, and their pig of a son, Dudley. They worked me to the bone, which justified by saying that it was to pay for my keep. I washed the dishes, weeded the garden, and sometimes even cleaned the house if Aunt Petunia was tired. My aunt even started to teach me how to cook, so that I would make them breakfast every day, a meal that I will not be able to enjoy myself. Thankfully, I would be able to eat a little during the cooking of the meals, meaning that I will start having actual food other than the scraps they gave me before.

It was like they did their best to make sure that I never had any time of my own, and even if I had any, I would have no energy to do anything with the small amount of food that they give me.

I was taught not to speak, to not make myself stand out, or I would get less food, and more work, and end up being yelled at by her relatives. And if you could not speak, what else could you do but listen? I was always good at listening, and when you're constantly ignored, it's very easy for people to forget that you are here. I listened as Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia argued over the fact that they didn't have enough money to live their current lifestyle. After many arguments, Vernon confessed to starting to fudge the numbers at his job slightly and taking some of it to himself.

It was obvious, in hindsight, the Dursely family did spend a ludicrous amount of money on useless things. Vernon always had the best car model, Dudley had a variety of expensive toys, so much that he needed a room, especially for them, and Aunt Petunia had a lot of Jewellery, especially pearls, that she loved to show up to the neighbours. That's not to mention the fact that they redid the kitchen twice in the last few years. I was seven years old, and I figured out that the man had to be doing something illegal to get that much money.

But for some reason, people were idiots. It was a common trend for me. The children in school were all so dumb, dumb like Dudley. They were even stupider than the adults. Honestly, I was looking forwards to making friends, to not being alone anymore, but two days in, I couldn't take dealing with the kids in school.

I knew that I was different. I was smarter than the kids. I learnt how to read before any of the other kids, I finished my math homework in minutes. It was just addition and subtraction. Seriously, why do people not get it? It's completely logical. But the other kids would rather run around and hit each other than use their brains for a few seconds. I was so bored in school, I borrowed the classroom's dictionary to learn a few new words. It didn't always work - some of the stuff was really complicated - but it was enough for me to stop being bored. We didn't even have grades, we just received a sticker with a smiley face when we did something well.

Even if school was so boring, it was better than home, where I had to work until I was too tired to move, where my mind wasn't allowed to wander, and to exercise properly. I was constantly watched by my relatives whenever I was working. It was like they expected me to set the house on fire or something. The only place where I was free, truly free, was ironic, the cupboard, where I was locked in every night.

Sure, it was small, but it was home. It was dark, but I learnt to love the darkness, to revel in it. After all, the dark was comforting, it was freeing. It was the place where I could dream of a better life, of a kinder family, and of the parents that I lost.

I didn't remember much, only a beautiful redhead woman with green eyes, eyes like my own, a laughing man with messy hair, and kind eyes, of a silly baby brother with hazel eyes. It was on the back of my head, slipping away the moment I had glimpsed a proper memory. Perhaps, I had only dreamt of a world where parents loved her, perhaps all of this was simply in her head. But in the end, it didn't matter, for what is reality but what we accept as the truth, and why wouldn't I consider her dead parents to be nothing but good kind people, who lived in a wondrous world of magic?

Dead people could be whatever we want them to be. And my parents were dead, why else would they leave me in a place like this if they were still alive? In my deepest dreams, I imagine that they would come back to life, use their magic on the Dursleys and take me home.

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That was another thing, the magic, or whatever it's supposed to be called. It was the proof that my dreams were not lies, for I had my parents' magic. I didn't have a wand, but I could move things with my mind, light things, like the lock on the closet, so that I could eat at night if the Dursleys refused to feed me.

Unfortunately, it was completely uncontrollable, outside of a few tricks. I still remember the day I accidentally turned my teacher's hair blue. Ms Stinson said that she didn't believe me when I told her that I didn't copy my homework, and my magic reacted in my anger when she told me that I was getting detention for 'cheating' because I didn't show how I solved the questions.

In hindsight, it was understandable after the fact, but there was nothing to do after that. My relatives were called and it was the first time Uncle Vernon ever beat me up. But the most curious thing was the expression on his face. It was both furious, but he was mainly afraid. I did learn to be observant, after all.

Afterwards, I did my best to stop my magic from going out of control. I still used it, sometimes, to tie Dudley's shoelaces together, to escape the cupboard for more food, and little stuff, but my magic was still unstable. After getting beat up even further, I learnt that my magic was linked to my emotions, and to avoid getting it out of control, all I had to do was to stop feeling emotions.

My punishments started to become more violent, even if magic wasn't involved. It seems like Uncle Vernon grew a taste for it, and there was nothing I could do to stop him. I once even tried running away and going to an orphanage somewhere, but I felt intense pain the moment I left the house with the intent of never coming back. I understood then, that magic was involved, and I was cursed to have this place forever be my home.

Every day became a routine as I slowly lost more and more of myself, until one day, Aunt Petunia had too much wine and slurred out, "You're just a little freak, just like your mother. Lily, my 'special' little sister. Even she couldn't stand you, if she gave you away to us, just to take care of your freak brother. Must've realized what a fucking monster you really are!"

My world was shaken. I had dreamt of having a true family, of someone whisking me away and taking care of me. But my parents were the ones who did this to me. They're probably the ones who put up some sort of magic so that I couldn't leave this place and just forgot about me. What did I do to deserve this? What could possibly warrant the constant torture I have to endure?

It was on this day that I truly understood how much I could hate someone that I barely even remember. That day, a burning hatred for the Potters was born. It was the only time I let myself feel anything in a very long time.

A part of me broke, that night. It was the first time that I realized that I was truly alone in the world and that even Death wouldn't reunite me with my parents. I was a prisoner in this place, in this horrible house that looks so pretty from the outside. I stopped living from that day and just went through the motions, without thinking, without feeling. The Dursleys had won, and I was broken. All it took were a few accidental words from my drunk aunt.

I didn't care about uncle Vernon's announcement of our travel to America for some weird deal he was trying to pull from some sort of Strange doctor. I knew that I would stay locked in another country. And why should it matter? I would forever stay as a caged bird, unable to fly no matter how much I wished I would, in the past. I just didn't care anymore.

I also didn't wince when my uncle beat me after the meeting didn't go too well, with the now, Freak Doctor. Was he a magician as well? In the end, I was knocked out, by my uncle's hand, in the streets of New York City.

It seems like the Dursleys finally decided to get rid of me. I didn't understand why, to be honest; I cleaned for them, cooked them food, and weeded their garden. They never bought me any toys and my clothes, which are probably their only expense, were bought used, from a very cheap store. That's not mentioning what the neighbours and teachers were going to say when they realized that I was gone.

But that's not what's important. The Dursleys have left me, permanently, and for the first in my life, I was free. It didn't matter that I was a child, alone, in a foreign country. I didn't have any identification, and if I just use a made-up name and act like the other idiot children, I could find a nice orphanage to take me in. I don't think that they would reject a child. I only need to research the orphanages where my life there wouldn't be worse than my life at the Dursleys.

But right now, I was alone, with no money to pay for anything. I did my best to use my magic to pickpocket what looked like rich people so that I would be able to take care of myself until I find a proper orphanage. Maybe I'll even be adopted by a nice family. Maybe I could have a father and a mother who would love me like mine were supposed to, that wouldn't give me away because of my magic, and who wouldn't call me a freak.

So, after eating an actual full meal, I decided to walk down Manhattan in the hopes of finding a library that I could use to find a good orphanage. I always wanted to go to a library, but there wasn't one in my school and I wasn't allowed to go to the public one, since it would distract me from my chores. I had always imagined it to be an entire building filled with books from the floor all the way up to the ceiling.

While I was walking, I walked past a jewellery store which exploded, sending me flying from the blast. As my consciousness was fading away, all I felt was resignation. What a fitting way was for me to die, on the first day of my miserable life when I tasted true freedom.