Chapter 1
It was a cold, hard winter morning in Little Whinging, Surrey.
A fresh blanket of snow settled over each suburban house's lawn in Privet Drive.
It was extremely cold, and aside from the whistling of the chilling wind and the occasional start of a car engine, usually made by an early riser heading off to work, not a sound was to be heard.
For no living thing would be caught outside on a day like today.
No one, except a small boy.
He whore a thread bare, self patched coat and ripped jeans both at least 3 times his size.
His Trainers were worn and dirty, with a few holes in each.
The boy was 6, despite his small and scrawny appearance, of which made him look 4 or 5.
The wind whipping his raven black hair and watering his emerald green eyes that shone beneath round spectacles held together with a large amount of scotch-tape, a young Harry Potter sat beneath a tree while reading a small book spread out on his lap.
His jeans were soaked from the snow and he was shivering from the bitter cold of the wind as it stung and bit at his face, but, non-the-less he was content.
He smiled warmly as he turning the pages of his book with glee. The Chronicles of Narnia, read the book's worn cover.
Harry was almost finished with it.
His eyes shone as they darted from sentence to sentence.
It was just so nice to read of far off mystical lands with magical creatures and characters.
So nice to just escape…
"BOY!"
The yell cut through the haze of silence, and Harry's train of thought, like a knife.
Harry immediately stood up.
Hiding the book beneath his too big shirt he hurried off towards quaint, suburban house labeled number 4, Privet Drive.
Slowly opening the back door, stepping in upon the thresh hold, and closing the door behind him, Harry turned to find himself face to face with his big, beefy uncle.
"Boy," he roared slapping Harry across the face.
"WHERE IS OUR BREAKFAST?" "DO YOU WANT ME AND MY FAMILY TO STARVE?"
His bushy mustache quivered on his large face, which was now a deep shade of puce.
"No Uncle Vernon," Said Harry fearfully, the left side of his face throbbing from where his uncle had hit him.
"THEN GET MOVING!"
Harry swiftly dodged a kick to the ribs as he headed for the kitchen.
He walked down the hallway, and before entering the kitchen he quickly slipped his coat and the small book still hidden beneath his shirt into his bedroom, other wise known as the cupboard under the stairs.
Silently he walked into the kitchen and…
WHAM!
Harry had collided face first onto the hard, tiled kitchen floor.
As he picked himself up he heard loud laughter behind him belonging to his fat, mean cousin Dudley who, as it seemed, had tripped him in the first place.
Harry groped around for his glasses, for they had flown off the bridge of his nose as his chin had made impact with the floor.
After finally finding them, he held them close to his face to examine their condition.
They were broken.
He would have to tape them back together, again.
In Harry's mind, Dudley was the meanest bully he had ever known.
All the young, neighborhood kids were afraid of him and his faithful gang of cronies.
He and his gang would beat up any kid who challenged them, or any kid they just didn't like.
Harry, unfortunately, was the latter.
Being Dudley's small, scrawny, odd-ball cousin had made him not only Dudley's, but the entire gang's favorite punching bag.
They had even made up a sport, Harry hunting, in which they would go to great lengths just to cause Harry pain.
In fact, his broken glasses, and the usually large amount of bruising on his face and body that came along with them were not because he was a 'klutz' like Dudley claimed. When ever Harry came home looking like that it was usually a result of Dudley and his gang's worse bullying techniques.
As Dudley waddled over to the table, Harry got up to find his aunt looming over him.
"GET UP, GET UP, YOU SLOW, STUPID BOY" his aunt shrieked.
"BEFORE MY POOR DUDDERS SRIVVALS UP AS A RESULT OF YOUR LAZINESS!"
Harry personally thought it would take many months without food to starve his huge cousin, but did not voice this opinion in fear of getting slapped.
So instead he quietly replied "yes Aunt Petunia" and hastily made to cook breakfast, careful not to burn the bacon so he wouldn't get yelled at by his uncle again.
A few minutes later, while his "family" enjoyed their breakfast of pancakes, bacon, and grits, Harry quietly ate what his aunt had given him, 1½ pieces of burnt bacon.
"Come along Diddy" aunt Petunia cooed to Dudley after finish in her food.
"We have to get you ready for school today."
"BUT I DON'T WANT TO" shouted Dudley at the top of his voice.
"I want to stay home with you mummy."
Harry looked at them in silence and rolled his eyes, they went through this every day.
"Oh popkin," cooed aunt petunia.
"I wish you could to," she was in tears at his statement of supposed affection towards his mother.
"How about I buy you some candy on the way to school, how does that sound Duddy."
Dudley screwed up hi face in thought, clearly thinking if there was anything else he could get out of the deal.
Finally coming to the conclusion that he had gotten what he wanted, Dudley faked a whimper and meekly nodded his agreement.
"Alright then" Aunt Petunia said sweetly
Harry sighed silently behind them.
Frankly, he was quite unsurprised at Dudley's Good ability to manipulate his mother.
He had watched his aunt many times as she gave into almost all of his cousin's whims and wants.
"And you," said Aunt Petunia venomously while turning her gaze and talking to Harry.
"Get going, your done eating, and I don't want another letter from your teacher saying that you late again."
"Yes Aunt Petunia" said Harry quietly before exiting the kitchen.
Since he wasn't allowed the privilege of riding to school like Dudley, Harry had to leave earlier and walk to school.
But he really didn't mind very much.
He would have rather been walking to school than riding to school in a car with Dudley and his gang, who usually carpooled together. Hurrying to make sure he wasn't late, Harry quickly grabbed his coat and a large plastic back that served as his back pack.
Then he silently and carefully removed the small book from under the lumpy mattress of his small cot and placed it hastily but securely in his bag.
To hide the book, Harry placed a few pencil stubs, half an eraser, and the math sheet he had completed for homework over it so it was obscured from view.
He had to be careful not to let any of the Dursleys see what he was reading.
They hated fantasy, magic, fairy tales, or anything 'unusual' and 'out of the ordinary' in any way, shape, or form.
So whether it came as books, cartoons, pictures, or any other kind of source, it was forbidden, shunned, and hated at the Dursleys.
If they caught him reading the very thing they had strived so hard against permitting it in their household, Harry shuddered to think. Finally, after packing his "back pack" and pulling on his coat, Harry opened the door, stepped out into the bitter cold and headed for school.
The wind nipped mercilessly at any of Harry's exposed skin as he walked along the side walk of magnolia Crescent to the local public school, St. John's Primary.
The slushy, gray snow on the side walk seeped through the holes in his trainers, soaking his socks and numbing his feet with every step he took.
He let out an audible sigh as he trekked on and recalled the events of earlier that day.
Nothing out of the ordinary, just the usual routine.
Even Dudley's tantrum had been right on schedule. 'At least he didn't turn the table over this time,' thought Harry darkly.
The last time he had done that Harry had lost his miniscule breakfast to the kitchen floor.
For as long as he could remember, Harry had always witnessed Dudley's temper, which seemed to rival all but Uncle Vernon's. Always witnessed his aunt spoil her "Ickle-Duddykins," giving him everything he could ever want while she treated Harry like a bug or a speck of dirt.
It had never been easy, living with the Dursley's, but at a young age Harry had quickly adapted a system of survival with his "family" that consisted of 4 main rules…
Don't Ask Questions!
The Dursleys hated answering any questions of Harry's, particularly of his past, and he was severely punished if ever he asked any.
Don't speak unless spoken to.
This rule was one Harry learned the hard way at an early age when he was 3. He had whined that he didn't want to go to Mrs. Figg's cabbage smelling house with her and all of her cats while Dudley and his friends got to go to the fair for Dudley's birthday. His cheek had earned him a lot more chores that usual and an extra painful punishment later.
Always do what Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon say.
Even if it means lying to teachers and other grown-ups about his constant injuries and bruises (nearly all made by his uncle while he was being punished for being a bad boy) by telling them he was indeed a klutz just like his aunt, uncle, and cousin all stated.
Dudley always wins.
Whether it was a simple board game or a question of telling on Dudley if he beat up and teased Harry at school, Dudley would always win. If Harry told the truth and said Dudley was teasing him Dudley would get told off by a teacher, but then Dudley would run off home and tell his parents that his cousin had falsely accused him of bullying and Harry would get punished by his uncle for lying.
But if Harry lied and told the teacher that he was just making up stories he would be told off by the teacher, but he would be in far less trouble with his aunt and uncle.
That is, so long as he or she didn't call them to report what "Harry" had done.
Bottom line, Dudley always wins.
Harry had followed these rules all his life and they had always helped him live a somewhat quiet life in the Dursley household, and He was grateful for it.
True, it would be nice to be loved and appreciated, to be hugged and kissed by a mother.
But Harry had never been shown that kind of treatment before, why should he now.
It was like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon always said, "You're a bad boy, a freak, undeserving of any love.
You should have died like you good-for-nothing parents."
Harry let out another loud sigh and looked up at the sky where small snowflakes were now falling, delicately resting on his head and shoulders as he walked on.
Sometimes he did wish he had died instead of merely getting a scar, a souvenir of the car crash that took his parents lives.
Slowly, he reached his hand up to his face and traced the lightning shaped scar on his forehead with his forefinger.
Most times Harry dreamed that by some miracle they lived and he had a happy life with them instead of the dismal life at the Dursley's he was actually living.
But that would never happen.
Harry broke free of his morbid thoughts for a moment and stopped. He was almost to his school, and Dudley and his gang would be already there, perhaps hoping to ambush him before he got to class.
At this thought Harry started towards school again at a much faster pace, hoping that he could get to class before Dudley got him.