In the house belonging to Vernon and Petunia Dursley, a child woke up at six o'clock in the morning to a shrill voice outside his cupboard. "Freak, it's time you learned to cook. We shan't be slaving about while you enjoy life with no responsibilities." The child was just short of 90 centimetres tall. Harry should have been taller, around 101 centimetres to be precise, but it wasn't as though the Dursleys believed in feeding Harry, did they?
The child climbed out of the cupboard, taking care not to hit the roof on the way out, a skill learned the hard way. "Yes, Aunt Tunia, I'll cook." The child smiled, hoping to be a good boy, like his cousin Dudley.
Petunia eyed Harry with a nasty glare. "Well, don't dawdle," she barked, and Harry hurried, mumbling apologies into the kitchen. She shoved Harry in front of the stove, handed him some eggs, and demanded that he make breakfast.
Harry, of course didn't know how, but before he could ask how, his aunt had left the room. Harry winced, knowing that if he got this wrong, as with anything else, he would get a beating, that was what happened to bad freaks. He didn't like beatings, so he reached up to the counter, standing on a chair for support, and found a cookbook. Harry sounded out the words of each dish until he found a recipe for eggs, and proceeded to begin to put together a meal. It took two tries and standing on a chair for Harry to light the stove, but eventually he could see flames rising from the surface. Harry found that he actually enjoyed beating the eggs, and checking on them, stirring them around the pan, although he didn't like it so hot. It could be worse, it was better than being hit. Taking the heavy pan off the stove wasn't easy, but Harry managed. Thankfully, Uncle Vernon didn't walk in until Harry had just finished setting the table. He threw a feeble insult at Harry, who had managed to sneak a taste between the stove and the table, as Petunia and Dudley, who was throwing a tantrum and demanding to be fed, walked in.
Harry managed to escape the kitchen, and returned to his cupboard, hoping things wouldn't get worse. Of course, when his aunt and uncle were involved, when didn't they? Some time later, Harry thought it might have been a while because he was hungry, his aunt wrenched open his cupboard door, and announced that it was high time the freak gave them some peace in the house.
"But where am I supposed to go?" Harry timidly asked.
"I don't care," she snapped. "Just be home in time to cook supper for my Dudders, a growing boy needs food."
And so Harry brushed off his clothes as best he could, and went outside, hoping to find somewhere that didn't feel quite so hot and sunny.
