Chapter 1: Alone in the World
It was a sultry summer day in Little Whinging and the boys and girls on Privet Drive were either swimming in their pools, frolicking in the sprinklers, or relaxing on the patio - everyone, but Harry Potter. His back was badly sun burnt (which didn't help with his still healing bruises) and his hands were bloody and begrimed. He worked while everyone else played in the cool water.
How he yearned to join them, but he knew that he would get in trouble and would never be included anyway. That's because he was a freak. Well, atleast that's what the boy's aunt and uncle would say. They also instilled in him the fact that freaks were not allowed to play with the normal boys and girls as they were worried he was "contagious" His face bore a grim, wistful smile as he watched the other kids play and laugh and spray water at each other. He knew that, no matter how hard he wished, he would be able to join them. And so he worked.
He weeded the garden and the flower beds, mowed the lawn, watered the plants, and washed the car. By the time his uncle was home, he had, thankfully, finished. But, he noticed with wide eyes that he was absolutely filthy. They had a concoction of sweat, blood, grass stains and mud. He sighed; his aunt wouldn't be happy.
"Boy, get in here and start dinner!" His uncle yelled from inside. He ran inside and immediately began making roasted chicken, corn, and mashed potatoes. He had gotten quite skilled at cooking, and the meal smelled so lavish that in a few minutes Dudley was enticed to come into the kitchen early. Once he finished, he set the table and served everyone. Harry hoped they would save him some scraps since he was off punishment but he would have to wait and suffer, watching them as they ate before he would know if he would be fortunate enough to sleep with food in his stomach. He wished that they would be pleased with him - he did, after all, finish all his chores on time. They never were though, they always luxuriated in finding something to castigate him about.
"What's this rabbit food?" His uncle asked, poking at his untouched corn.
"It was a vegetable required from Dudley's diet sheet. They sent it home with him on the last day of school," Aunt Petunia explained with a frown that made her eyes sharper. She glared at Harry as if he was at fault for it.
"Dudders? Unhealthy? Who do they think they are? That's rubbish!" His uncle ranted, affronted. Meanwhile, Dudley just stared morosely at his plate and wordlessly ate his dinner, wishing the subject would pass.
Harry left the room - he didn't want be there with his uncle when he was in a right state like that. After they had finished eating, he headed back into the kitchen and started cleaning and drying the dishes, finally putting them away - which wasn't very easy for a weedy, malnourished, six year old boy.
He saw his aunt get up and make her way to the back door. Harry gulped, ran an already shaky hand through his untidy jet black hair, and warily followed his aunt outside. Terror shot through Harry like a lightning bolt when he heard her gasp a minute later.
"Those weren't weeds you idiot!" She screeched."Those were my new flowers! They were just about to blossom, too! I told you not to pick those, didn't I? Didn't I?" Her voice rose and shook with outrage and disgust.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He said quietly. Although he would never admit this, he hadn't actually weeded the flowers out. A large, brown, Labrador had come hurdling through the lawn earlier, while chasing a stray cat, managing to trample all of his aunt's new flowers in his destructive wake.
He stared firmly at his shoes, determined not to let the tears that threaten to overflow escape. He had learned the hard way, and at a young age, that crying didn't help, and could potentially lead to a severe beating.
Some of the neighbors had heard her hollering and were now curiously watching the scene unfold. She grabbed his ear, not wanting the neighbors to become suspicious, and dragged him back inside where he met face-to-face with a very irate uncle. Uncle Vernon's normally dull eyes were now crackling with anger, his face red, and his veins sticking out of his pudgy face. He grabbed Harry by the hair and pulled him into the den.
"You ruined your Aunt's flowers, did you boy? Thought it would be funny?"
"No, sir," He mumbled.
"Don't lie to me!" He roared and Harry flinched. He looked beyond furious now.
He tried to suppress tears, but they seemed unstoppable. This only seemed to make his uncle even more mad - if that was even possible. He lugged Harry to his cupboard and threw him in. The next thing that Harry saw was a belt making its way towards him making a sharp crack! sound when it made contact with the intended target. Harry had his arms extended out in front of himself as he lay down in a fetal position, eyes screwed shut. His mouth was set in a thin line and he was forced to bite his lip to avoid crying out.
"Don't expect any food for the next few days." He growled astringently.
Harry gave a weak nod and his uncle shut the door. He released a shuddering sigh of relief and sunk down into the pitiful mattress. He knew Uncle Vernon wouldn't be happy about the blood stains on the bed, but Harry couldn't find the willpower to care. He crawled under the thin, hole spattered covers, curled up into a ball, and silently cried himself to sleep.