Harry Potter was a very unhappy child. He had been unhappy for as long as he could remember, but slowly that unhappiness turned to anger. Anger at his parents for leaving him, anger at his relatives for abusing him, anger at his neighbors for turning a blind eye to it, and anger at the world for not caring about him.
He was only eight years old, but he knew the true meaning of hard work. He had been doing most of his family's chores since he could walk, and was beat like a dog by his uncle at the slightest mistakes.
Harry Potter wasn't exactly an impressive-looking boy. He was short for his age, with unruly black hair, knobby knees, wide green eyes hidden behind ugly taped glasses, and a malnourished body that made him look like he was a refugee from a third world country. Luckily, for his relatives at least, it was hidden under his whale of a cousin Dudley's old clothes.
Right now he was struggling to make dinner for his family, barely able to reach the cooking utensils because he was too short, in addition to the fact that he was nervous about his uncle's arrival home. He knew his principal had called his aunt and uncle about the incident today. The incident in which Dudley and his gang had been chasing him through the school campus, when all of a sudden he disappeared, appearing then on the school roof! Even so, the unexpected teleportation had shocked Harry just as much as it had shocked Dudley and his gang. After the school custodian rescued Harry from the roof, he was immediately taken to the Principal's office, where he was suspended for a week.
He was just about to take the roast out of the oven when he heard the front door slam. "Boy!" he heard his uncle roar. He could feel himself starting to shake uncontrollably, and trying to tighten up to hide his fear, he headed to the living room. He had learned long ago that the punishments were always worse when he tried to hide. As soon as his uncle spotted him, he stumped over and hauled him in the air by his oversized shirt.
"Who do you think you are, boy, embarrassing my family with your freakish actions!" his uncle yelled furiously, spittle flying everywhere.
"Uncle Vernon, if you would just let me explain—"
Slap! The sound resounded through the empty living room. On Harry Potter's once pale and unmarked face was a rapidly darkening bruise, his jaw already swelling.
"Let you explain yourself?! There's nothing to explain!" Vernon shouted, his fat face looking much like an overripe tomato. "I warned you to keep your freakishness to yourself! You were well-warned, boy!"
Without allowing Harry to speak another word, Vernon began pounding his fists into the much smaller boy, adding a few kicks once in a while, oblivious to the pleading for him to stop, the frantic apologies, and the loud sobs amplified by the emptiness of the room.
Hatred for his uncle began to well up inside Harry, as it always did during these moments. His uncle always beat him for something he either didn't do or couldn't control. Even when he did something correctly, he was beaten, and so of course every time he did something wrong he would certainly be beaten.
For Harry Potter there was no right or wrong, only survival. His uncle's abuse had taught him that harsh lesson. But he did believe what his uncle was doing to him wasn't right, and like the superheroes from the cartoons Dudley always, he watched said, "Unjust actions should never go unpunished!"
But no one has ever cared about you, Potter. Who would care about an unjust action done to you? a dark voice of doubt whispered in the back of Harry's head.
Harry felt a wave of sadness sweep through him, making his eyes water. He rebelliously wiped at his eyes, refusing to cry in front of his uncle. He wouldn't give the man the satisfaction. Harry instead glared into his uncle's eyes determinedly, refusing to be broken. Vernon Dursley's face turned almost a hue of maroon at this point.
"Still got some fight left in you, eh?!," he remarked with a sneer. "Guess I'll just have beat it out of you then!"
He pulled off his belt that had been dutifully holding back an overabundance of belly fat, snapping it menacingly in Harry's face. Harry backed up against the wall, cowering in fear. His uncle was merciless, however, and was on him again in two great leaps. Beating him with the belt and stomping on his ribcage with his feet. Harry felt one of his ribs crack and screamed in pain, shutting his eyes as he grimaced.
Involuntarily, Harry shielded his face with his hands, screaming for his uncle to leave him alone, to stop this torture. This beating was by far the most painful one he had ever received, and though already accustomed to such negative treatment, Harry could barely tolerate the pain his uncle was inflicting on him.
Suddenly, Harry felt a tingle erupt from his fingertips. If his eyes had been open, he would have seen blue thunder erupt from his fingertips, striking his uncle in the chest. Harry felt the beatings stop abruptly, and opened his eyes.
What he saw chilled him to the bone. His uncle was laid out on the floor, his skin charred black, piggy eyes glassy and lifeless. A shivering mess, Harry scrambled back in revulsion, retching all over himself.
Did I do that, he mused disgustingly. Of course I didn't… I couldn't have. I mean, I hate the man, but this... he trailed off thinking. But deep inside of him, subconsciously, he knew his late uncle got exactly what he deserved.
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Petunia Dursley was a bitter woman. She had always been jealous of her sister, Lily, and her magical powers. Lily had always been perfect. She had the perfect body, perfect face, perfect smile, perfect husband, and the perfect son. Quite frankly, the word 'perfect' itself left a bitter taste in her mouth. Petunia's parents had always preferred their youngest daughter to her, all because she was "special". Petunia was the only one to see Lily for what she truly was… an unnatural freak!
When she received her sister's son on that faithful Halloween night, she knew it was the best possible thing that could have happened to her. She could finally exact her revenge on her sister. She underfed the boy, gave him all of Dudley's old clothes, made him do all the chores, hindered his education, and gave him a couple of whacks upside the head with a frying pan, but she never really physically abused him that was Vernon's job. He beat the boy enough for the both of them, and of course she subtlety encouraged Dudley to do the same.
So of course when she heard the tell-tale sign of Vernon arriving home, and the beatings beginning, she did nothing to stop it. But when the sound of the beating suddenly stopped, she figured it was time to investigate. She gingerly made her way down the steps, Dudley eagerly waddling behind her. No need to rush… After all, what could the freak possibly have done to Vernon? But as soon she turned the corner into the living room her heart skipped a beat. There lay her husband, flat on his back, his skin black as if it had been charred by fire, eyes open and unblinking. She screamed, throwing herself onto her husband with a loud wail. Dudley just stood there gaping stupidly, not able to comprehend what was happening. She never noticed her nephew, pathetically huddled into the corner, watching them like a cornered animal.
After a few moments it had sunk in that her husband was dead. Someone was to blame for this. She spotted her nephew cowering in the corner and stormed towards him, using a hand to wipe a charcoal-like powder from the front of her dress as she shook a blackened finger at Harry.
"How could you do such a thing, you insolent little monster?!" she shrieked. "What did you do to him!?"
With that, Petunia turned quickly on her heel, rushing towards the kitchen. As Harry watched on in fear, she gathered utensils in her arms as if trying to protect them from some impending robbery. Rather, she moved back into the living room, beginning to chuck her kitchen utensils at him. Knives, forks, spoons, pots, pans, all came hurtling at his head. One of the knives came close to hitting Harry, who was miraculously able to dodge at the last minute. Another almost hit him before blue thunder erupted from his hand once again, deflecting the knife and knocking his aunt out in one fell swoop. Dudley was still standing there looking stupid. Harry was floored by what he had done, but didn't stop to think about it before he was bolting out the back door. =
It was a fiercely cold October night, making Harry wish he had grabbed a coat on his way out. He moved continuously through Little Whining, Surrey, determined not to think about what had happened. He had only stopped once in order to shed his raggedy shoes after a sole snapped, a decision he soon learned was a mistake, losing half his body heat in five minutes.
He made it to a gas station soon after that, where he spotted a delivery truck. Completely wiped out and freezing cold, he took a chance by sneaking in the back of the truck while the owner was inside sipping coffee. It was cold inside the truck, but there were no frigid winds as there were outside. With a sigh of relief he rolled himself into a ball, and succumbed to the darkness.
