AN: Not Mine. Belongs to J.K. Rowling.
A small child, of five years old, with wild black hair and the brightest emerald eyes stared in astonishment at his uncle and uncle's revolting sister. She was shaking her head in agreement with her brother, while meaty hands brought a decanter of whiskey to her lips. The boy's uncle reiterated and clarified what had shocked the boy, "It's the truth. Your dad was a lazy drunk with no job. He was driving home one night with you and your mum in the car, and crashed into another car. You survived with that freak of a scar on your forehead after being dumped on our front doorstep. You're lucky to be living here with us now."
"Too right, Vernon," the woman told the man. The two adults could've possibly passed as twins with their indulgent waistlines, similar straw hair colour, brown eyes and short necks. She was watching a game on the television set and quite peeved with the inquisitive five year old. She thought her brother had already explained to the boy that he was lucky not to be on the streets. "Now go get us those bags of crisps I brought and make sure to bring the plate of biscuits too." Tears welled up in the boy's emerald eyes. "What's with the sniffling? Go get them now, boy!"
Nodding, the young child trudged his way into the kitchen where his aunt was cleaning the stove before dinner. She was a thin woman, with hazel eyes, black hair perfectly coiled around her head and ruby red lips. Those lips were set in a grim line while she scrubbed the inside of the oven. Trying to be silent, the little boy tried to dry his tears while he pulled the snack from the top of the counter. Thankfully, the crisps were in a bag already, but the hard part was going to be grabbing the plate of cookies down from the counter. He wasn't exactly tall enough yet.
However, the small boy was determined. He put the plastic bag over his shoulder and reached on the tip of his toes for the crystal plate of biscuits. He knew there was an assortment of delicious tasty snacks on it, because he helped his aunt earlier that day. The boy had to be careful though, because they only made one batch.
"Mum! Harry's trying to sneak some of Dad's food!" The high pitch tone rang out from the kitchen doorway. It was the voice of Harry's cousin Dudley. Dudley was miniature version of his father, Vernon, but with his mum's wide hazel eyes. Unfortunately, said whinging had scared Harry and he tipped the plate over his head, dropping all of the treats onto the floor.
"Dudley! Harry! What is going on?" The thin woman asked as she looked out from inside the oven. She saw her son's stance and moved her eyes over to her nephew's still form. Below him was a pile of napkins. "Harry, why were you trying to grab the biscuit tray?"
Twitching, Harry murmured, "Uncle Vernon and Marge wanted their crisps and biscuits."
"That's not true! He was reaching for the top of the tray!" Dudley responded.
"Aunt Marge, Harry. Show her some respect. She's your uncle's sister. Now Dudlikins, what did you see exactly," the thin woman silently sighed. She was getting exhausted from cleaning everything before dinner like her husband asked her to, and sitting in a crouch on her toes was not helping.
"He was staring at the tray for a loooonnggg time before he finally used his hands to reach for a goodie-"
"No I wasn't –"
"Harry, is it your turn yet," his aunt interrupted him, while giving him a stern look.
"No," Harry mumbled.
"Exactly. Now Dudlikins, is that when you yelled out?" She turned to address her son.
"Yeah."
"You know that's my favourite plate. We can't yell when people are touching Mummy's favourite things, because it might scare them and they might break them."
"But I didn't touch it," the stout boy wailed. "Harry did. Why are you mad at me," and thus he began to cry. His mum quickly put her dish towel down and moved closer to her son, pulling him in for a hug, assuring him that she wasn't mad.
That was when Vernon Dursley came in shouting, "What's going on here? Harry, we asked for some snacks and now I see you made a mess. Clean it up and bring the crisps to your Aunt Marge. Why is Dudley crying, Petunia?"
Harry quickly shuffled out of the room to bring the bag with the bags of crisps in it to his aunt, after he put the crystal plate down in front of his aunt. Petunia replied to her husband, "We just had a bit of a misunderstanding. I'm sure if your share those snacks I made today, he'll be right as rain. Besides, he can watch the game with you." She had ended that while her son pulled back to look at his dad in greedy hope as she rubbed his arms in support.
"Sure, Marge'll like that. Go on Dudley, go sit next to her on the couch," Vernon responded kindly as Harry re-entered the room. He then turned to Petunia, "What're doing on the floor, woman? You look unseemly and I see you haven't finished cleaning the stove. How're you going to cook in time for dinner?"
Petunia frowned, "I will be able to get started in another few minutes, Vernon. Please don't talk to me like that."
"Talk to you like what? I asked you to do one thing, while I'm watching the game and you can't do that in a timely manner. I'm only asking how you are going to be able to start dinner if you're still working on that one task."
Petunia sighed in regards to Vernon's attitude and gave him a tight smile, "Don't worry, Vernon. I can do it. Now go spend time with Dudley and Harry will bring out the tray of biscuits to you in a minute. They've just finished frosting." Vernon smiled, nodded, and then kissed his wife's cheek before going back to the parlour to look at the TV.
Petunia turned to her nephew and told him, "Let's get to work," with a forlorn smile. They worked quietly, artistically placing the treats they worked on earlier that morning on the crystal tray with new napkins, before Marge came in around lunch. While they worked, Harry kept staring at his aunt with quick glances. Finally, she asked, "What is it?"
Taking a few moments, the little boy asked, "Did my parents really die in a car crash?"
Petunia stiffened, her lips thinned and she nodded. "Yes. Your father's to blame for his and your mum's death. Look, we're finished. Go take the tray into the parlour." Harry froze for a second, miserable over his aunt's response, and carefully took the crystal plate from her to deliver it to his uncle and his terrible sister.
