London's weather changes as quickly as the mood of a young girl who's just fallen in love. One second the sky is clear and blue; the next, a light drizzle begins to fall. Rain mixes with dust, creating a peculiar smell.
In the southwest of London's urban area, in the county of Surrey, stood a long-established primary school: St. George's Primary School.
Leaning against the inside of the outer wall were three scruffy-looking boys — clearly older students — slouching lazily against the bricks. Their greasy hair and worn expressions stood in sharp contrast to the youthful, lively atmosphere of the school, showing off a very particular kind of "personality."
At that moment, a small boy wearing large black-framed glasses, dressed in a school uniform far too big for him and with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead, hurried past them while holding a piece of bread.
The three exchanged glances. Then the tallest one took a few quick steps and caught up to him.
He threw an arm around the boy's shoulders and said in an overly familiar tone:
"Hey, look at that. Isn't this our little Steve?"
"And those fifty cents you owe me from last week… when are you planning to pay up?"
The boy had never faced anything like this before. Frightened, he lowered his head, not daring to look at them, and replied in a weak voice:
"S-sorry… I think you've got the wrong person. My name isn't Steve."
The words had barely left his mouth when he was slapped across the face. His glasses flew off to the side, and his hair became even messier than it already was.
The tall boy spoke harshly:
"You saying I can't see straight? If I say you're Steve, then you're Steve."
Maybe the noise had gotten too loud. Some of the children nearby began to look over, curious. At that moment, the other two boys who had been leaning against the wall also stood up. One was in charge of chasing people away, another kept watch, while the third dragged the small boy toward a more secluded part of the school.
Their movements were smooth and practiced — clearly not their first time doing this.
There are always students in every school who enjoy bullying others, and in a place like St. George's, there were even more of them. These three were exactly that kind.
The other children, unsure of what to do, quickly scattered in fear.
"Hand it over." The short, chubby boy snatched the bread from the kid's hands. "I didn't even have breakfast. Let me try it… pfft! This bread's awful — hard as a rock. Who'd want to eat this crap?"
Even biting down hard, he only managed to leave a shallow mark on the bread, hurting his jaw in the process.
"T-that's my cousin's favorite bread… the baguette…" The boy quickly grabbed it back and hugged it to his chest, afraid they would take it again. Staring at the faint bite mark, he spoke with a trembling, almost crying voice, "I'm done for… if Dudley finds out someone touched his food, he's going to be furious."
The boy's overly anxious reaction about the bread didn't draw much attention from the three of them. After all, he hadn't even reacted when he was hit.
The chubby boy sneered:
"And who the hell does your cousin think he is?"
At St. George's, who would dare mess with the Hobbit Trio?
"That's right, that's right, your cousin's bread." The tall boy had an idea. He crouched down and gave the kid's cheek a few light pats, speaking in a falsely gentle tone. "So, if that's the case, your cousin Chuck also owes us fifty cents. See? Now the two of you owe us a total of one pound."
"My cousin's name isn't Chuck… and my name isn't Steve…" The boy trembled with fear but still tried to argue.
He knew that if he gave in out of fear, even worse things would happen.
"Didn't you understand what I just said?" The tall boy dropped the fake kindness and instantly turned vicious. "So tell me — what's your name?"
The speed at which his expression changed was impressive.
"H-Harry… Harry Potter!"
Smack!
Harry was slapped across the face again.
The tall boy cursed:
"Still don't get it? I told you your name's Steve. You and your cousin owe me one pound in total."
The reason he kept insisting on changing the boy's name was simple. If Harry reported this to a teacher, they could claim it was all a misunderstanding.
After all, they were collecting a debt from someone named "Steve," not extorting Harry Potter.
As for the money? They could always say Harry gave it to them willingly.
However, the moment the boy said his name, the third member of the group — who hadn't spoken until now — suddenly went pale and hurried to stop the tall one:
"Jim, stop! He said his name's Harry Potter!"
"So what?" Jim asked, confused. "Harvey, what's the big deal?"
"We need to leave. Now." Harvey tried to pull the other two away.
The chubby boy, caught up in the tension, quickly asked:
"What do his parents do?"
He thought maybe they'd messed with someone they shouldn't have — kids of cops or criminals, for example.
"I heard his parents died in a car accident." Harvey blurted out, then insisted again, "That's not the point. We have to get out of here!"
Hearing that, the chubby boy relaxed. Jim also snapped irritably:
"So he's an orphan. What are you so scared of?"
In his eyes, they were about to walk away with a full pound — an entire pound — and Harvey was acting like a lunatic.
Harvey, on the other hand, was on the verge of tears at his companions' stupidity:
"His cousin is Dudley…"
"Dudley? Which Dudley?" Jim still hadn't caught on.
"How many Dudleys are there at St. George's?! Of course it's that one… Dudley Dursley!"
Harvey raised his voice for a moment, but when he said the name, he instinctively lowered it, utterly desperate that his friends still hadn't figured it out.
"Who's that?" the chubby boy still didn't get it, already annoyed by all the mystery.
"Just say it already! Are you going to keep dragging this out all day? Who is this Dursley?"
Jim, at least, still had some sense. He turned to Harry and asked:
"Hey, Potter… how old is your cousin?"
"T-the same age as me… fourth year." Harry was an honest kid, so he answered truthfully.
"A fourth-year student? What's there to be afraid of?" Jim was completely relaxed now. "We're graduating this year. What exactly are you worried about, Harvey?"
"Then this name… you must've heard of it."
As if he'd made up his mind, Harvey pulled the other two closer and lowered his voice as much as possible, afraid someone else might hear.
With almost ceremonial slowness, he spoke a single name:
"Dursley, the Food Protector."
Those words seemed to unlock some kind of taboo.
Everyone who heard them — including Harry — froze, their breath catching in their throats.