Disclaimer: I don't Own Harry Potter, that belongs to J K Rowling, my inspiration came from this amazing story, check it out, it is called
A Hero by Celebony its quite short, will only take you five minutes but its definitely worth it, I promise.
And Just Freaked out because I looked at the date, Summer Holidays are nearly over :(
Sat in Privet Drive was a house, number four to be precise, with four occupants. A mother, a father, a doted on son, and an abhorred nephew. Petunia Dursley, despite being the woman of the household, and despite her husband probably being around three times the size of her, definitely wore the trousers in the marriage. She was a tall woman, her giraffe-like neck probably extending the height by being a good inch and half taller then a normal neck. Her neck could describe the entire family. Abnormal.
Whilst the Dursleys strived to be normal, it was this desired achievement which made them who they were, unusual to say the least. You see, people who are classed as 'normal' aren't people who try desperately their entire lives to be normal, it comes naturally and simply to normal people because, isn't being or acting normal, quite easy. Well, for most people, it is, but for the Dursleys, achieving this feat was apparently impossible.
Of course they believed themselves to be normal, two loving partners and an adorable, kind son. What, in their opinion, made their family, less normal, was their nephew. They tried so hard to cover him up, lock him away from the rest of the world, because they deemed him, a freak, and freaks aren't normal. What they didn't realise was that, their nephew was not a freak, and what they were doing to him, made them the freaks, adding to their abnormality.
The two Dursley males were big and fat, layers of skin piling up, making six packs of blubber, instead of six packs of muscle. Whilst their son was only nine, he was already well overweight, a problem which, if he stayed like this, would give him heart problems later on in life, as well as shortening his life, the sad fact was, his own parents were the reason that, if this continued, he would die at least five years before he should have, and would probably not enjoy his life, he would likely be bullied and couldn't do thinks he would enjoy because he was overweight, but his loving parents thought he was one thing, perfect. Unfortunately, their son was far from perfect, and was only being driven further away from the life he could have had.
Their nephew was the opposite of their son, drastically underweight. His ribs poked out from under his pale skin, his cheeks gaunt and small undefined bags under his eyes from lack of proper sleep, probably because his nights were filled with nightmares he didn't understand, or desperate wishes for a better life. He was obviously malnourished, and uncared for, social services had before been called, but no proof, nor no faults could be seen in the young boy, nor did the parents realise properly what they were actually doing to him, they didn't realise they were abusing their nephew, but would they care if they did?
Their days were scheduled, in a certain messy way. Petunia Dursley would rap noisily on the cupboard door, under the stairs, also known as their nephew's miniscule bedroom. He would be expected to immediately get up and start preparing a large breakfast for the Dursleys, not for himself, if he was indeed found snacking or eating some of the breakfast he was preparing, then he would receive a large smack on the head, a threat, then a promise for him to not have any food for the entire day. After he'd prepared breakfast and laid the table, all neat and ready for the Dursleys, he would retrieve the newspaper and the rest of the mail, neatly separating it into three piles, one for Vernon, one for Petunia and one for Dudley. He would then go and get changed into some of Dudley's old tattered clothes, and probably have an earthquake in the cupboard, otherwise known as Vernon and Dudley coming downstairs, he would go and serve on the Dursleys, cleaning up and maybe earning himself a burnt piece of toast as a 'reward' and a 'blessing' which he shouldn't take for granted.
Then he'd wash and dry the dishes singlehandedly, go do the laundry, tidy Dudley's bedroom and get started on his and Dudley's homework, if it was a weekend, or if it was a weekday, he'd go to school. When he got home he would immediately start doing his chores, which was of course, his chores, Dudley's chores, and everything else. Then he'd start his homework, double check it, triple check it, check it one more time then neatly in Dudley's handwriting copy down the correct answers and working and adding incorrect ones to his, because Harry Potter was not allowed to do better than Dudley Dursley in anything, anything at all. He would then start cooking dinner, then serve the Dursleys, then clean up for the Dursleys, then maybe get a piece of burnt toast or overcooked chicken. Nothing nearly as nice as what he would cook. Then he would go to his room and stay out of the Dursleys way.
That was his routine, and at the time it seemed it would always be that way until he was sixteen and the Dursleys would kick him out on to the streets and he'd be the teenager everyone stared at in pity and disgust. That was what his life seemed destined to do, but, destiny has a mind of its own sometimes, it likes change, who doesn't? So unluckily, or luckily for Harry, he became ill, very ill. It was on the morning of the fifth, sprightly birds were singing as May's sun shone pleasantly, seeming to mock Harry, who was stuck in a dark dingy cupboard, coughing hoarsely. Petunia came downstairs as she always did, pounding on the door and wandering off. She ignored the boy's raspy coughs, passing it off as him being a little ill, or faking it to get out of chores. It wasn't until twenty minutes later, Petunia in the shower, when Vernon walked down, he was staring intently at his phone, watching something on it, he turned it off and walked into the kitchen, beelining to the coffee table, focussing on retrieving his pile, hoping desperately that the Jenkins had replied with a positive answer, hopefully something along the lines of, 'We will have as originally discussed and an extra thousand.' That was what he wanted at least. He frowned as he reached the table, no letters or newspapers insight, he turned slowly. The table wasn't laid, and he couldn't smell the sweet scent of bacon cooking, he growled slightly, the Freak hadn't done his chores.
He angrily stomped to the cupboard under the stairs, ignoring the coughing of the boy, at least for now he was ignoring them. He yanked open the cupboard door and peered his head inside, not venturing in because there was not enough room for one grown man in their, let alone an obese grown man and a young boy. The sight shocked him, his nephew was wrapped in his thin, tattered, stained sheet, shaking and sweating despite being obviously cold, his already pale face seemed to reach the shade of a ghost's and his thin limbs were wrapped together tightly in an attempt to stay warm. His nephew was ill. He quickly withdrew his head and shut the door, contemplating on what to do next. A minute later he made his way up the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible as to not disturb his sick nephew, while he considered him a freak and a burden, he understood what it was like to be ill. Vernon made his way into his son's room, checking he was asleep before locking it, it would not do for Dudley to go make the situation worse.
He went into the guest bedroom and prepared the bed, placing a sheet on it to protect it before returning to the cupboard and lifting his frail nephew's quavering body, holding him close to his body and lifting him up the stairs, he neatly tucked him into the bed, the boy not awakening the entire time. He went downstairs and got a hot water bottle, prepping it before making yet another journey upstairs and giving it to his nephew, pity present in his eyes. He closed the door and went to his wife, who'd just finished dressing.
"Harry's ill." He simply stated, staring at Petunia who raised an eyebrow at him,
"The Freak you mean? Why does this matter to us?" She sneered without even a glint of compassion in her eyes,
"Really ill," Vernon reiterated, but Petunia didn't care,
"And?" She responded,
"What would you do it if was Dudley?" He asked desperately,
"If it was our dear Dudders? Well that is a different matter, Duddy isn't a freak!" She exclaimed,
"What would you do?" Vernon asked again, surprised at his own calmness,
"I would, give him a hot water bottle, some water and make him chicken soup." She told him exasperated and confused by this, since when did he care about the freak.
"Can you make him chicken soup?" Vernon asked,
"No, that is a waste of our resources." Petunia looked at him as if it was obvious, and as if giving her nephew proper food was the most stupid thing he'd ever say,
"Pet please?" Vernon asked trying to stop himself from sounding frustrated,
"No. No. No. End of." She raised her eyebrow daringly before returning to the bathroom to apply makeup, Vernon sat on the bed, hands on head, confused as to how he should act in this situation, so he slowly came up with a plan. Yes, Vernon Dursley was thinking. He owned a company, he isn't exactly going to be dumb, the only reason someone would think he was, would be because his 'dear wife' treated him as if his IQ was in single digits, when in fact at the moment he felt as if that was her. So narrow-minded. He stopped for a second a reflected, his words triggering memories, bad memories, why'd he ever been so mean to Harry, his wife's nephew, his son's cousin? He couldn't come up with a reasonable explanation, his heart heavy like led, filling up with guilt and anguish, why'd he been so stupid. He shook his head harshly, he needed to stop thinking about this or he'd get a headache and wouldn't be able to help Harry.
"Pet?" He called, and his wife came slowly into the room, tying her hair into a neat bun, "I just had a sterling idea, why don't you take Dudley to Thorpe Park, our darling son will love it, I can't get off work but it would make me feel much better if you weren't here potentially getting infected with whatever disease H- The Freak has. I'll call in to his school tell them both the boys were ill and need to stay home." He offered and Petunia nodded slowly, anything for her perfect little Dudders.
"Ok then, I guess I have to make breakfast seeing as the Freak got himself ill. You call up the school and get Duddy ready, I'll see you down in a bit darling, its good to see that your not so misguided as you seemed to be earlier." She walked out the room, luckily missing Vernon's low growl, he didn't get why she was so misguided, nor why he had been. However, before he over contemplated that he needed to first call up the boys' school, then his work, fortunately owning a company has its bonuses, he decides his own holidays, then again, looking after his sick nephew while his sick (a different kind of sick) wife took his son to an amusement park didn't enter his idea of a holiday. But his nephew needed him, now more than ever, and this time, he'd be there