Disclaimer: If you own Harry Potter and you know it, clap your hands! *awkward silence*
Authors Note: I've always wondered, "Why is Vernon such a meanie bobeanie?" This little plot bunny hopped along and answered that question... ENJOY!
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Vernon Dursley stared down at the pavement, doing his best to avoid the attention of the group of fellow Smeltings Academy students loitering just up the road; a pointless exercise, considering his size. He was always the one they would pick out from the crowd. Even in the holidays, it seemed that it was their sole purpose to torture him. The booming voice of Vincent Jones echoed loud enough for everyone to hear, forcing the black haired boy to grudgingly raise his head to face his beefy classmate being egged on by the rest of the large lads in the group.
"Where are you going, Fatso?"
A couple of his Neanderthal friends snickered in amusement as Vernon's face burned a fierce red. One of the younger lads, eager to prove himself as part of the gang, delivered a sharp slap to Vernon's cheek, sending said boy to the ground, grasping his stinging cheek. Sneering, said boy spat at the youth sitting shocked on the footpath, staining his t-shirt that was already embedded with gravel.
"Yeah, Dursley? Dad so drunk he can't even get up off his lazy arse to get his own booze?"
After receiving a firm kick up the arse, Vernon scrambled to his feet, the tears threatening to fall from his eyes stinging nearly as much as the handprint on his cheek. He ran away as fast as he could, clutching his ears in a vain attempt to drown out the jeers of the other boys. He ran until he couldn't breathe, until his entire body ached and screamed for rest, until the cement and bricks changed into trees and grass. He fell unceremoniously to the ground, cursing his father under his strained breath.
For as long as he could remember, Vernon's father had been the laughing stock of the entire village. Philip Dursley, the no good drunkard. He'd seem oblivious when a younger Vernon and Marjorie would watch him with tear filled stumble around the house, spurting nonsense and shouting at their mother, accusing her of terrible things. He would always be so apologetic to his two children after he recovered from the latest hangover they'd caught him in, lavishing them with sweets and cakes, anything to make them forget what they had seen. The food became associated with happiness and redemption, so the two Dursley children became greedy when their father bought their forgiveness. Soon his Dad's shenanigans weren't the only thing that the judging children of Little Whinging teased him about. With the judging looks from everyone he came across, Vernon couldn't help but feel like a freak.
Finally controlling his sobs, Vernon rose from the ground, a look of fierce determination. He would shed the legacy set by his layabout father, and he would prove all of those who judged him wrong. Never again would Vernon Dursley let himself be classified as a freak.