"Harry, you ungrateful boy! Get up!"
It was the second time Uncle Vernon had called him, and Harry didn't dare wait for the third. Pulling on his trainers, he opened the door to his cupboard, prepared to face the world. He was not, however, prepared for the wrath of his aunt.
"What happened to your hair? I just trimmed it last night and it's already down past your ears!" his Aunt Petunia hissed, her horse-life face inches from his own. "Get in the kitchen and start breakfast."
Hearing his uncle behind him, Harry ducked a second too late, receiving a sharp smack to the back of his head, no doubt for his audacity in permitting his hair to grow so quickly. Shuffling his feet, Harry made his way to the kitchen. He was used to being treated as a pseudo-slave, despite the blood relationship he shared with the Dursleys. Harry Potter was always treated as unsuitable and unwanted. He knew he would never belong here.
Pushing the bread down into the toaster, Harry didn't bother to adjust the heat down to where his Aunt liked it. He wasn't going anywhere; he could simply pop the toast when it was finished. Turning towards the cupboards where the dishes lived, Harry glanced out the window. Slightly overcast, probably with a strong chance of rain. What a typical, boring day.
Reaching for a plate, Harry froze. He had noticed something outside, on the outskirts of his vision. He sometimes did. Harry thought that he must be psychic or something, for he always saw things that the Dursleys claimed weren't there. After being locked in the cupboard under the stairs for three days for seeing something when he was nine, Harry kept his visions to himself. Yet he knew they were real.
After all, he was seeing one now, as clear as day.
This one looked, at first glance, like a distorted boy. He, or it really, for Harry was never sure of their gender, was facing away from the window. It was hidden from the view of others by the car it stood behind. Although Harry was only ten, he was certain that the creature was no higher than his shoulder.
With a closer look, Harry could see that it was not a young boy who had wandered onto the lawn. The hair on its head was stringy and long, a sort of yellowish-grey. Parted around two long, pointed ears, the hair hung to the creature's shoulder blades. The thing was well dressed, with white shirtsleeves covering thin arms to match the long, boney, dirt-colored hands. Altogether, Harry could think of no name to call it.
Suddenly the creature turned toward Harry, causing him to jump with surprise. He only had a quick glimpse of the long nose and shocked eyes before the creature disappeared.
What had Harry just seen? To all appearances that thing had been monitoring Harry. They all seemed to be watching, or guarding, him.
"What are you looking at, boy? If that toast is burnt it's coming out of your dinner tonight!" Uncle Vernon, his large chins quivering with each word, lumbered toward Harry. Ducking his uncle's hand, Harry moved over to the toaster. Popping the bread, he grimaced at how thoroughly black it had become. No amount of scraping would save this toast. Sighing, Harry chucked it into the bin, knowing full well that dinner would be extra small tonight. He would probably eat with only the company of the spiders that live with him in the cupboard under the stairs.
Oh well, at least he had the creature to dream about. If only there was another world, one where such creatures were common and dreams of flying motorcycles were true.
Maybe Harry Potter would belong there.