"GET UP!" a loud screech from Aunt Petunia was the start of Harry's day, he got up mumbling angrily under his breath. What was the point in being the boy who lived if he had to survive in this dump? He grabbed his ugly jumper with Dudley's old food stains and quietly ran down the stairs slipping on the dreadful piece of clothing on his small frame, despite all the Quidditch he did his body still stayed slender and the years his relatives stuck him in the cupboard with no food made sure to keep his height at five foot five with no hope of gaining more. He knew that if he got up a minute later uncle Vernon will take out his belt.
He arrived in the kitchen, quickly observing his uncle missing with aunt petunia standing by the stove, the loud munching noises to his left reminded him of Dudley's quick appetite, his cousin was still as big as a whale, with his giant stomach bulging out, the diet petunia put him on since he was eleven obviously not working. A smack to his head snapped him out of his daze.
"Boy, what are you waiting for, grab the pan and cook breakfast for us. We feed you and put clothes on your back…" he tuned out her familiar daily ramblings and began to cook, the repetitive task was easy for him and quite relaxing. The window was wide open and he could see the garden he worked on all summer, flowers and other plants blooming brightly, the sky was a brilliant blue the perfect day for a nice round of Quidditch he thought nostalgically. That reminded him Ron and Hermione still haven't contacted him despite the many letters he has send them, it annoyed him, the fact that they got to stay at Grimmauld place and not him. He knew for a fact that Dumbeldore gave them special training, he was not as oblivious as people thought he was. The sudden excuses they gave him when he asked where they were, Ron's proud face and Hermione's pitiful stares as they talked to him about the war and how important it was for him to study as if he were a mere child. He was the one who should apparently defeat Voldemort why didn't Dumbledore give him special training. What was he thinking, they are his best friends – he will give them time to explain.
"MUM! The freak's not doing his job. Make him do his work and stop with his freakishness" Dudley's loud voice rang around the kitchen. Shit … the loud thundering of feet clambering down the stairs, made him burn his fingers, he ignored the pulsing throb and carried on scrambling the pile of eggs expertly pouring them onto a large plate, just as the kitchen door slammed open. His uncles big face appeared red and bleary, his eyes bloodshot as the alcohol he consumed the night before filling up the kitchen with a purged scent.
"whes my breakfaast!" Vernon slurred heaving his large body onto one of the three seats situated at the table, the wooden chair creaking loudly. Harry grabbed the plate of food he prepared and large glass of orange juice placing them carefully in front of his uncle. He held in his breath, he hoped that Vernon would ignore him and let him sneak out of the kitchen. But the meaty hand on his arm reminded him of his poor luck.
"You call this food!" Vernon grunted squeezing the thin wrist, harry grit his teeth, angrily holding back his pain. He looked pleadingly at his aunt, but she avoided his desperate gaze. Vernon shoved him on the floor, spitting in his face. Dudley started jeering at him laughing happily as he watched his father begin to beat his small cousin.
"Get him dad… the nasty freak needs to be taught a lesson!" Dudley shouted in glee, his food spraying everywhere, his piggy eyes alight. Petunia bustled around her son ignoring the harsh kicks and punches her husband landed repetitively on her niece… at least he got some form of exercise out of this she mumbled under her breath, besides her freakish niece didn't need any help from her… yes that was right… her Dudders was hungry after all.
After his uncle settled back in his seat. Harry stayed on the floor his body bruised and in pain, he began to get up painfully not making a sound, he got to his room collapsing on his little cot. His black hair spread out around his thin pillow half covering his small, pale face. Tears sat on his green eyes but he refused to cry… he wouldn't cry. Why did this always seem to happen to him, what did he do to deserve this. Voldemort, his damn relatives – everything. No one bothered to help him back at Hogwarts. Hermione knew of his abuse, he told the Weasleys three years ago… if only Sirius was alive, maybe he could have lived with him, Sirius was the only one who understood him and actually listened, a tear ran down his delicate cheek as he thought bitterly of all the plans they had set for this summer. Why should he save the wizarding world if they blindly followed everything the press said about him, he wasn't crazy Voldemort is back and thirsty for his blood. Dumbledore was just using him for his own gain to keep his dwindling popularity. He was tired of being everyone's doorstop.
As the soothing hoot of Hedwig began to calm his nerves, Harry began to doze off maybe the pain will go away if he rested his eyes for a bit…
He didn't notice the bright light that began to spread from his blocked, magical core, he didn't see the windows of number four private drive smash, the rumbling of repressed magic beginning to rattle the objects In the little room. A police siren ring loudly, emergency began to ransack the house, no body noticed the petite body vanishing from number four private drive.