Chapter the First: In Which The Dursleys are made into Playthings
Eight year old Harry Potter crouches down to the floor with a look of abject wonder spreading across his young face, he extends a prodding finger out towards the three small beings cowering in shock amidst the carpet fibres of the pristine hallway, and pokes the portliest one right in the belly.
Quite hard in fact.
It elicits a squawk of indignation, grabbing hold of the offending finger as Harry moves to pull it away; clambering, with some great difficulty mind you, atop the slim digit. The green-eyed boy brings his finger a bit closer, so that he can hear the tinny mouse-like voice of the very portly, very small figure of his Uncle Vernon.
"Now see here you loathsome ruddy freak!" his miniature uncle squeaks, gesturing with one fist in the air and his face turning a rather unattractive shade of purple. "You make my family and I normal-sized again right this bloody instant!"
Harry Potter's face took on a look of fear, remembering what happened the last time he did something "freaky". He had ended up on the school roof whilst attempting to hide from Dudley and his not-so-merry band of followers and turned his teacher's hair blue when she had blamed him for something that Dudley had done. Thus, when he had brought the letter home detailing his "miscreant" behavior, his currently height challenged uncle saw fit to "beat the freakishness out of him" as he put it. That said Harry still had bruises, a cracked rib, and what was looking to be a permanent limp from that incident. So, he choked down his fear, steeled his resolve, and thought about what he was to say.
After all, his relatives were only four and an eight centimetres tall, they couldn't hurt him.
Right?
"No."
"Now I say there's the right attitu-WHAT DID YOU SAY BOY?" the mini Dursley patriarch spits out, now turning an even more unappealing shade of burgundy. Who knew what his wife saw in him? But then again, she did look like the offspring of a terribly unfortunate horse; beggars can't be choosers one supposes.
"I-I said no Uncle." The child ventures tentatively, flinching back almost immediately from the figure still standing precariously on his index fingernail as if fearing a blow. "I-I don't know how?"
He didn't miss the rapid draining of color from his Aunt's face, nor the pitiful yet obviously false whining of his almost-as-portly-as-his-father cousin Dudley.
"Why you sorry excuse for a child!" his tiny uncle fumes, clenching and unclenching his fists as if he wished he could wrap them around something. Harry knew that something would be his neck were his uncle his regular size. "How dare you turn us into-into playthings! I'll have your hide for this, I'll, I'll-Argh!"
Harry watches as his uncle dissolves into incoherent muttering, no doubt plotting unsavoury things to do to his hated nephew once this newest incident subsides, before shaking him off his fingernail and going into the kitchen.
At least, with them being miniature for the moment, he could get a decent meal in his belly.