As Harry Potter slept in his dark dingy bedroom he was a different person. His fingers rested below his head so that his fingers just barely scraped his prominent chin, while his limbs huddled together, his knees clinging to his chest. Green eyes relaxed behind closed lids, he slept on with a ghostly ray of light cutting across his face. He hadn't looked so childlike since he was four and his Aunt had accused him of sneaking cookies.
But as rare as it was, the look vanished as Harry became aware of the incessant beep of his alarm clock. Groaning, he got up and, after putting on some jeans and a black sweatshirt, he left the house without saying goodbye to his family since they were still asleep.
Harry rummaged through his backpack until he found what he was looking for: a new box of Camels that he bought yesterday with a fake I.D. He stuck one in his mouth and then searched for a lighter, thoroughly frustrated when he couldn't find one.
"Looking for this?" said a voice to his left.
"Thanks, where'd you come from?" said Harry, taking the lighter that his friend was holding out.
"I could say the same to you. Jesus Potter, do you always wake up so early?"
"If it's so early why are you awake?"
"Dunno… felt like it I guess."
Harry looked at his friend with an incredulous look on his face. Benny never woke up early. At sixteen, Benny was a year older than Harry, and had a driver's license.
"Get in. I'll give you a ride," said Benny
"Okay," said Harry as he ground his cigarette into the road.
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Dudley Dursley was probably the most popular boy at school, being the football captain, quarterback, and Most Valuable Player (both on the football field and off). His dad, Vernon Dursley was the richest man in town, with at least ten cars and a gargantuan mansion equip with swimming pool and tennis courts. The girls fawned over his shiny, new jaguar, and his varsity letter.
Harry Potter was probably the most feared in school, with his frightening death glares, his tattered looking clothes, and his wild black hair that framed his face his completely covered his forehead. All the girls that stalked Dudley would describe him as
"Creepy" or they would have conversations such as this:
"Ohmigosh he is so… scary! I heard he almost like killed his uncle!"
"Not Mr. Dursley! He is so nice… he donated new uniforms to the cheerleading team and football team."
"Yeah I know, Mr. Dursley told me to watch out for his nephew. How could Harry Potter be so heartless?"
Harry hoped that one day he could leave the wretched neighborhood forever.
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When Harry was almost eleven, he got his first letter. It was an odd letter; the pages were thick and yellowish and all he could read was "Dear Mr. H. Potter, you have been accepted to Hogwarts school…" before his irate uncle ripped it out of his hands. Harry didn't know why, but his Uncle then decided to give him the beating of his life, just for reading a simple letter.
Then again, it was always a simple reason with Uncle Vernon. Every time he would mention something abnormal or fantastical he would receive a beating. One time Harry brought home a children's book about fairies from school and he was sore for a week. This time was the worst. No matter how hard Harry pleaded to his uncle to stop, his uncle relentlessly kept whipping him with his belt.
Tears poured down his cheeks and dribbled off his jutting chin. Only when his Aunt came home shrieking "Stop Vernon! You're going to seriously hurt him!" did he stop. Utterly spent, Harry passed out. When he woke, he was aching all over and his aunt was shoving him into the backseat of his Uncle's car. Dudley was blubbering into his pudgy arms, which had not yet been sculpted into the muscles he had now.
"I DON'T WANNA LEAVE ENGLAND! I WANT TO STAY HERE!" he screamed.
Usually when Dudley screamed like this he got his way no matter what. Not this time. Aunt Petunia just kept sobbing into her own arms and Uncle said with tight lips, "Shut up Dudley. We are going to America and that's that."
Uncle Vernon, his drill company having recently gone international and becoming a major success, was able to purchase a much bigger mansion and still work through the American head quarters of his company.
Harry stayed quiet, not knowing what to say. He hated Little Winging but had a feeling America was going to be much worse.
And it was, in some ways, at least. His Uncle hated him more, which was never a good thing, and whenever he was angry or in a bad mood, which could be as often as thrice a week, he would take it out on Harry. And on those nights, Harry wished he was still in England, ignored, and in his cupboard.
But there were other times when he loved being in America. For the first time in his life he had a friend, only one, but it was better than none at all. Benny and Harry met when Benny was thirteen and Harry was twelve. He had given Harry his first cigarette, a Marlboro stolen from his mother's secret stash. And they smoked in the morning till bus came and they had to put them out. Anything Harry wanted to know he learned from Benny, because even though his teachers despised him, he was extremely smart, though he cared little about his health; Benny did more drugs than Harry could count on his fingers.
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When Benny dropped Harry off at his house, Harry knew something was wrong; his uncle's car was never home at four p.m.
"Your teacher called," said Uncle Vernon from the study. Harry walked into the room where his uncle resided, knowing it was too late to turn back. "She said she was concerned, said she wanted to have a conference." Then he said in a dangerously low voice "what did you do, boy?"
"I don't know she's only been teaching us for a week,"
"What did you do?" Uncle Vernon repeated in an even lower voice.
"I told I don't know what you're talking about!"
"Don't you raise your voice at me, boy!" Uncle Vernon came at Harry. Harry tried to leave but to his horror, the door had locked behind him. Uncle Vernon took Harry by the collar and pushed him up to the wall. "You think you can win, huh? You'll never win, you'll always be as worthless as your no good father."
"Fuck you," said Harry in a cold voice. Uncle Vernon grew purple and slammed his fist into Harry's face. Harry saw spots before his throbbing head regained consciousness. His uncle hit him again, and this time in the gut, which made Harry keel over.
"We put your sorry little ass through school, we gave you clothes, and food, and shelter. AND THIS IS HOW YOU REPAY US?" shouted Uncle Vernon, saying each word with every whip of his belt. Tears leaked out of Harry's eyes; even after years of living with the Dursleys, the belt still hurt enough to make him cry. After Harry's Uncle was done, he threw down the belt and walked out of the room, leaving the study silent. Harry then walked down to his room: the storage room connected to the basement where hot water heater resided. And he let the hum of the heater lull him to sleep.
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"It was your uncle, wasn't it?" asked Benny leaning against the locker next to Harry's before their first class at school.
"What?" said Harry, pretending to be clueless.
"It was your uncle that made you look like shit, wasn't it?"
"No," said Harry curtly.
"Oh so you just decided to beat yourself up last night?"
"Just shut the fuck up."
"Man, you gotta get out of there."
"Yeah? And go where?"
"You can stay with my folks" said Benny. Harry scoffed.
"Yeah, I'm sure they'll love that, having one of your druggie friends crashing there. Besides, my uncle won't let me leave."
"So… he hates you… but he wants you to stay?" said Benny incredulously.
"Look, it's complicated." Just then the bell rang. "I've gotta go."
"Never thought I'd see the day when you would be eager to get to class," said Benny with a smirk.
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Harry groaned when he remembered which class he was going to: American Studies. In other words: Dudley's class. Harry wasn't afraid of Dudley, though he had been cornered by Dudley's gang to many times to count; he just hated Dudley with a passion.
Harry groaned again when he realized that the only seat left was in front of Dudley.
"You're late, Harry." said Ms. Hutchinson.
"So?" replied Harry with a glare. This was the teacher that had called Uncle Vernon.
"See me after class," said Ms. Hutchinson with a glare. Harry sat in his seat and proceeded to do nothing for the rest of the class.
"You're dead Potter," Dudley whispered into Harry's ear.
"Funny, I'm still breathing," replied Harry tonelessly.
"Didn't I tell you not to come near me at school?"
"I wouldn't want to."
"Well, you're too close now."
"What are you going to do about it, Dud? Tell Daddy?" Dudley's voice got even lower.
"I don't need Dad anymore." Dudley then sat back and ignored Harry for the rest of class.
When class was dismissed Harry was about to leave with the others when Ms. Hutchinson said, "Not so fast, Harry. I believe I asked you to see me after class."
"I see you. Can I go?" snapped Harry.
"Stay a while. I'll write you a pass."
"Okay…"
"May I ask where you got that lovely shiner from?"
"It was a gift from my dear friend Mildred."
Deciding to play his game Ms. Hutchinson said, "I see… and may I ask why you live your Aunt and Uncle?
"No."
"What happened to you parents, Harry?"
"Isn't this somewhere in your file of my entire life or something," asked Harry.
"I would rather hear it from you."
"They died when I was one. In a car crash. Why the fuck do you care?"
Instead of admonishing Harry, Ms. Hutchinson simply said, "I care about my students."
"That's a load of bullshit."
"Why are your eyes blue?" asked Ms. Hutchinson abruptly.
Taken aback by such a ludicrous question, Harry said, "What?"
"I mean is that your real eye color?"
"No…" said Harry slowly, "they're color contacts that my uncle makes me wear"
"Makes you?"
"Yeah, he says he says my green eyes remind him of my whore of a mother. Can I go now or are you not done interrogating me."
"Two more things," said Ms. Hutchinson
"What? What more could you possibly need to know?"
"Are you from England and can I see your forehead?"
Getting used to Ms. Hutchinson's absurd answers, Harry simply said "Yes," in exasperation and flipped his bangs up revealing his scar. Ms. Hutchinson looked like she saw a ghost. She absentmindedly wrote Harry a pass, which Harry took as he hurriedly left the classroom.
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Harry looked for Benny that afternoon but he was nowhere to be seen, so Harry decided to walk home instead. On his way, two cars full of football player pulled up to curb. The window of the familiar looking Jaguar rolled down and Dudley's head poked out.
"I told you you were dead Potter, and I never lie.
A/N: In case you're wondering why Dudley and Harry go to the same school, a lot of rich kids go to public schools in America because often times the public schools are excellent in the wealthy neighborhoods. Plus Dudley probably stayed because of the football team and his friends.