Harry Potter was born pretty. He was the type of baby that didn't just receive "aw"s, but stares, gasps, and occasional looks of jealousy. His green eyes were vibrant and large; his skin pale and soft, and his lips a soft pink. He was, in every way, a beautiful little boy. When Voldemort pointed his wand at the child, it was with reluctance, because anyone who looked this far from normal had to have some type of extraordinary ability. He almost forced himself to hiss the Avada Kedavra, and when it backfired, he wasn't even surprised. Disappointed, enraged, and horribly weakened, but not shocked. Harry was picked up by none other than Hagrid, half-giant on a motorcycle, and left on the doorstep of his Aunt and Uncle Dursley, on Number 4 Privet Drive.
Petunia Dursley woke up on November first to the soft whimper of a baby coming from outside the house. Her immediate thought was of Dudley, but he never whimpered like that, and a few seconds later she heard his wailing cries from the spacious bedroom next to hers. She stiffened in her bed then, at her next thought. There was a serial killer on the news the morning before, one who used crying sounds outside windows to lead women out of their homes so they could be killed. She shook Vernon with a hand on his shoulder.
"Vernon," she whispered hoarsely. "There's someone…thing at the door. Vernon, get up!" He sat up groggily and slowly, murmuring about getting a decent amount of sleep for once. He rose from the bed with a creak and shuffled out of the room. Petunia rose behind him, and entered Dudley's bedroom, lifting her son from his crib, then rocking and comforting him back to sleep. She put Dudley into his bed again and listened as the front door opened, Vernon growled, and the whimpers stopped. She was aware of her husband's feet clunking back up the stairs. He reached the top, with a small bundle in his arms, and handed it to her.
She looked down at the child wrapped in blankets now resting in her arms, wavy black hair obscuring those bright wide eyes. He was smiling brilliantly, and he was perfect. He wasn't pink or large like Dudley, and she hated him for it effortlessly. He was Lily's son; she knew that right away. His emerald eyes and flawless skin, they were clear indicators of it. He was the wonderful boy of wonderful Lily, and now her Dudley would have to go through the same things she did. Because Harry was special, she could tell, and Dudley was not. Petunia had to raise Harry, and Dudley had to live with a cousin who was better than him, just as she had to live with a sister better than her. She hated Harry, and she swore that Dudley's life would be different. Dudley would have her love, and Harry would not. Harry was beautiful, and it made her furious, it made her hate him even more than she ever could have anticipated. She wouldn't love him. She swore it.