Harry Potter woke up with a barrage of dust to the face as his cousin, Dudley Dursley, trampled down the stairs with more vigor than usual for the hefty boy. Harry squinted at the watch on his wrist and sat up, dust falling like snow from his jet black hair. Up earlier than usual, he noted, reaching for the pair of glasses resting on the shelf above his bed. Dudley then emitted a high-pitched squeal of delight, and tromped back upstairs as quickly as a boy his size could, causing another cloud of dust to drift down and settle upon Harry, his bed, and everything else in the cupboard under the stairs in which he lived. Not that there was much for it to land on.
Harry wondered about Dudley's retreat, knowing very well that the corpulent child detested using the stairs more than necessary, as they attempted to thwart his immense physique. His vague curiosity was soon answered when, after producing another eardrum-piercing shriek, Dudley could be heard shouting, "Mummy! Daddy! Wake up! It's Christmas -- come look at all the presents I've got!" This was followed by a short bout of delighted foot-stomping which shook the entire house, including, yet again, the dust-ridden staircase underneath which Harry had slept for the past ten years of his life.
He glanced over at the small insurance calendar that was taped to the wall -- he had been lucky enough to fish it out of the trash one day when no one was looking. Sure enough, it was the twenty-fifth morning of December, and that could only mean one thing -- another day spent locked away in his cupboard, hidden from view and all but forgotten by the Dursleys.
As he contemplated going back to sleep, a fresh shower of dust snowed down on him as three sets of feet came jumping, tramping, and clambering down the stairs to the materialistic happiness awaiting them below. A sharp rap came at the door of his cupboard, and Aunt Petunia poked her head in, peering at him in only mild irritation, due to the holiday spirit.
"Hurry up and make breakfast, Marge'll be here in a few hours," she snapped in greeting, and promptly slammed the door. A few remaining particles of dust trickled down from the stairs overhead and settled gently on Harry's head.
Not quite forgotten just yet, Harry thought as he crept silently into the kitchen, ignoring the sounds of rustling paper and glee coming from the direction of a heavily ornamented evergreen in the living room. He at least had a few hours before he would be forced to resign to his cupboard, where he would be instructed to make no noises and no disruptions whatsoever, and then the Dursleys would be able to do what they loved best -- pretend that Harry didn't even exist.
At least Dudley won't be allowed to bother me today, he thought as he set the bacon to fry. It was always a plus when Dudley was not able to torment him. Harry cracked the eggs into another pan, and started the coffee maker. For himself, he poured a bowl of what couldn't pass for more than lightly sugared cardboard and doused it with a sufficient amount of milk. He sat down at the empty table and watched as the sky slowly began to brighten, rays of sunlight just beginning to glint off an occasional fluttering snowflake.
Harry just stared, forgetting his mushy, soggy bits, and watched the snow fall and the sky change colours. It was only until he heard his aunt's shrill voice calling him that he was pulled out of his reverie. Dropping his bowl in the sink and scuttling over to the fry pans, he called out, "It's nearly ready, Aunt Petunia." He set out three plates at the table, poured two cups of coffee and a glass of milk.
As he was finishing distributing the bacon, Uncle Vernon barged in, followed by Aunt Petunia and then Dudley, who was playing with one of his new and presumably very expensive toys. Harry stood as far out of Dudley's way as possible, but still managed to somehow get whacked in the face as his cousin passed.
"Happy Christmas, Uncle Vernon," Harry said, eliciting a less than disapproving glance and an accompanying grunt. Harry tried to glance out through the window again, but Aunt Petunia, seeing this, gave him a mildly irritated glare and said, "Why don't you go tidy up the living room before the company comes." Seeing as how it was demand poorly disguised as a suggestion, Harry complied and made for a quick retreat from the kitchen, but not before Dudley whined, "I don't want him playing with any of my toys!"
"I won't," Harry assured him, and, after catching an untrusting glance from Dudley and a reproving glare from Uncle Vernon, he sprinted swiftly into the living room.
The living room was a complete disaster, as everything was covered with the carnage of at least a hundred unwrapped gifts -- some, Harry noticed, that were already broken, having been in Dudley's possession only a matter of not even an hour. Harry began wadding up mounds of discarded paper, placing it into a thoughtfully placed trash bag in the corner of the room. He'd have to thank Aunt Petunia for that later, for sure.
A few of the presents were only half-opened, Dudley having rejected them upon the realization that they were A) educational, or B) health-related, in even the remotest way. Books, however unintellectual, were abandoned; toys requiring even the slightest bit of physical activity had been weakly tossed aside. Harry knew these gifts would soon find themselves gathering dust on a shelf in Dudley's second bedroom, which was devoted to housing a decade's worth of numerous other broken and unused toys that Dudley never even looked at but couldn't bear to give away to more unfortunate children, not even Harry.
All of the wrapping paper now neatly shoved into the trash bag in the corner, Harry surveyed Dudley's new acquisitions; it was always nice to be aware of what Dudley would be adding to his arsenal. There were quite a few computer games strewn about, along with an assortment of toy cars, action figures, video cassettes, and other such objects that would most likely become Harry-seeking projectiles once their initial novelty wore off.
The entire contents of a magic kit lay emptied in a pile upon the floor, and crowning the heap was a cheap plastic wand that had been snapped in half, presumably out of childish frustration.
With a glance at the kitchen door, Harry quickly retrieved the two halves of the plastic magician's wand and returned with them to his cupboard. Door ajar, he sat down on his bed and pulled a roll of tape out from underneath his mattress, where he kept his more treasured possessions (the ones he was sure the Dursleys would quickly snatch away if they knew he had them). Harry carefully aligned the pieces of the wand and wrapped a length of tape about the middle, over the break. He held the toy wand in his hand and smiled at his own craftsmanship. Holding it before him, Harry waved the plastic tube fancifully in the air.
A large family portrait of the Dursleys (Dudley was front, center, and taking up the majority of the photograph; Vernon and Petunia were on either side of him; Harry, of course, excluded) hung on the wall opposite of Harry's cupboard. Harry pointed the taped-up wand at the picture and muttered the first magical-sounding words that popped into his head.
"Hocus pocus!"
At that very instant, the picture dropped to the floor, causing the glass in the frame to crack and tinkle onto the ground.
The sound of breaking glass caused an immediate commotion in the kitchen. No sooner had Harry, eyes wide with surprise, stood up to survey the damage than the Dursleys burst into the hall, Dudley flanked by his parents, much like in the now-fractured picture.
"What happened?!" Aunt Petunia inquired shrilly, eyes darting from Harry to the broken frame, and back again to Harry.
"I -- it just fell," Harry replied, quite unsure himself as to what exactly just happened.
"Pictures don't just fall off bloody walls," Uncle Vernon growled. He looked at Harry and narrowed his eyes. "What's that in your hand, boy?"
Harry had not realized until now that he was still holding the little plastic wand. He quickly tried to hide it behind his back.
"Nothing – it's -- I found it on the ground," he tried to explain.
Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry's arm and wrenched the plastic tube out of his hand. He glared at the taped stick, then shot a scathing look at Harry.
"Where the devil did you get this?"
"I told you, I -- "
Recognizing the toy wand as the victim of his earlier tantrum, Dudley shouted, "He took it! It's mine!"
"It was broken!" Harry responded to Dudley's accusation. "You left it in a pile on the floor! You only want it back because I fixed it!"
"It's mine and I want it!" Dudley persisted.
Uncle Vernon visibly shook with rage. "How dare you take something that isn't yours!" he bellowed. "Get in your closet before I -- "
Harry didn't wait to hear the rest. Throwing the wand squarely at Dudley's round head, Harry raced back to the safety of his cupboard and flew inside. Once there, he hid under his sheet and listened for the sound of pursuit. Instead, he heard the sound of furniture scraping against the floor, and then his uncle gave a loud, harsh laugh.
"You won't be coming out of there any time soon, boy!"
Realizing what his uncle had done, Harry inquired, "But what if I have to go to the bathroom?"
"You should've thought of that before!" Uncle Vernon replied cruelly. He gave another horrible laugh and walked away.
Harry looked at his watch and sighed. He hadn't even been awake for two hours, and he was already locked in his cupboard for the remainder of the day. Well, not so much locked as barricaded. He laid down on his cramped little bed and stared up at the cobwebby underside of the stairs above him. He could hear Aunt Petunia outside of his door now, sweeping up the broken bits of glass and muttering.
"Of all days... perfect morning ruined... always causing trouble..."
Harry sighed. He took off his glasses and placed them on the shelf above his head. He closed his eyes and began to hum a random tune that popped into his head.
Only a few moments passed before there was an angry rapping on the closet door.
"Quiet down!" Aunt Petunia snapped.
Harry sighed again and rolled over, burying his face in his pillow.