By definition, 'normal' is conforming to a standard, or the expected state of things.
It's also what Vernon and Petunia Dursley insisted that they were. There was nothing odd, strange, or unusual about them whatsoever. Except, there a certain member of the household who was a constant threat to that image.
His name was Harry James Potter, the son of Petunia's sister, Lily. Unfortunately, while the Dursley's had a son who they coddled and spoiled immensely; they barely acknowledged Harry's existence when they could, referring to him as 'boy' at best.
And that was fine with him, as far as he was concerned. To be honest, he considered them as people he was sadly stuck with until he had the means to get out. And frankly, he was well aware that he wasn't 'normal'. By their standards, at least.
He'd known ever since he bit the ugly man when he pointed that stick at him and started saying the same two words that caused his parents to die. He didn't know why the man had blown up after Harry bit the stick, taking a finger in the process, or why it blew his house apart, but he did.
Served him right, though
For one thing, as he got older, he found that he was a lot bigger than other kids his age. At ten, he was good foot taller and twice as heavy. Thankfully, compared to 'dear' Cousin Dudley...who was built like a four foot tall bean bag chair, Harry was five-six and a hundred and sixty pounds of muscle.
He thought it was funny when, after the school forced Vernon to take him to the doctor for shots, the doctor was befuddled - and possibly a little jealous, if the look on his face had been any indication - at how he had only had half a percent of bodyfat, much less how hard it was to get the needle in, thanks to Harry having more of a hide than skin. The doctor had noted that it felt far tougher and thicker than human skin should really be. He must have broken at least three needles on Harry's shoulder before he finally made it.
Thankfully, that plus the muscle also equaled that he was considerably tougher and stronger than...well, a few adults, actually. Marge, a hateful old cow who looked down on Harry even worse than the Dursleys, once made the mistake of trying to hit him with her cane during Dudley's fifth birthday party to keep him from winning a game of Musical Statues. The look on her face when she ended up just breaking it across his shins still made him laugh.
That was also when he developed his 'three strikes' rule; the offender had two chances to realize their idiocy, then he would inflict pain. Dudley's friend Piers Polkiss, or as Hary tended to call him, Ratboy (he didn't know why no one else noticed, but the boy stank...like old socks and sour milk), had gone through that more than once.
You'd think getting knocked unconscious and losing at least three teeth would be enough to make him rethink his interest in provoking Harry. At least Marge still had one more strike to go before he followed through with it.
Of course, since Dudley was about as smart; after the party was over, he tried (key word) to beat Harry up for beating him at the game. All it got him was sore hands for the rest of the day and a warning that it was one for him as well as his aunt.
Unfortunately, like Piers, Dudley seemed to constantly forget. It was one particular morning that showed how easily that happened. He was woken up early one morning by heavy, and annoyingly deliberate stomps up and down the stairs, which happened to be right above the cupboard he dwelled in. Even in the pitch black of the small area, he had no problem watching the dust and spiders being dislodged above him. He scowled as the fat twit shifted to jumping on the steps right above him.
And then growled.
Dudley smirked as he ran up and down the stairs above the 'room', he knew Mummy and Daddy would never punish him, so he decided to make his freak of a cousin miserable.
However, that plan came to a sudden, and rather scary end, when a growl rumbled from the cupboard, making the step vibrate slightly as it resonated, followed by a less-than-pleased tone.
"Dudley."
The boy stopped dead. Shaking, he gulped and hurried down. Just in time to see the padlock on the door undo itself. No matter what kind of lock his Dad used, bolts, combination locks, even chaining it, the door would open whenever his cousin wanted. Dudley backed up as it opened and Harry looked out, his glowing, green-eyed glare the only thing visible despite the lack of anything available to cast a proper shadow. He whimpered when he saw him hold up two fingers, tipped by claw-like nails.
"That's two, Dudley." Harry said, his voice far deeper than any ten year old had a right to. "Remember what happened last time?"
He nodded so fast, the second chin he was already developing wobbled.
"Then why do you insist on constantly demonstrating the opposite?" Stepping out of his lair, as he preferred to call it, he showed how easily he could loom over his cousin. The lights behind him flickered as if a storm was advancing, a low growl echoed around them like the roll of thunder. "Again, that's your second strike, Dudley. Are you that eager to have your parents pay another doctor bill? Sometimes I wonder why I even bother, though, since you tend to forget that faster than your multiplication tables."
"I-I'm sorry...!" He managed to squeak out, folding up on himself.
A somewhat foul odor hit Harry's nose shortly after, forcing him to fight the urge to gag. "Ugh...fine. I'm more than likely going to regret this before the day is out, but it is your birthday today." He looked his cousin dead in the eye, he didn't really enjoy the overweight twit's presence all that much, but he wasn't cruel. "But, ONLY because of that. Go change before your pong starts lingering."
Not needing to be told twice, he bolted back upstairs, holding on to his backside. Harry just sighed and yawned, stretching now that he was fully awake. Soon a more pleasant scent reached him, once he recognized instantly. Petunia always cooked two or three pounds of bacon on Dudley's birthday.
"What've you done with my son, boy!?" Vernon snapped, glaring at Harry like he could make him back down from intimidation. He must've heard it but was too lazy to come in himself.
"I informed him that he's on strike two again for his stunt on the stairs." Harry rolled his eyes at the massive pile of gifts on the table. He mentally guessed that less than half of those presents would last a week before Dudley broke or got bored with them. "Just like you still are." He added, looking Vernon in the eye with the exact same glare.
It was no secret in the house that Harry had little to no fear of his older relatives. Vernon learned that when Harry first found himself at the Dursley house after the ugly man's explosion. He'd snarled at Dudley when he started pinching and poking him, and the man tried to hit him for it.
Fat bastard nearly lost two fingers in return. Like Dudley, he'd tried 'punishing' him after the party with a belt. However, it didn't hurt thanks to his hide, regardless of how hard the fat man tried to swing. It did make Harry mad though, and he let his 'uncle' know.
He'd never expected to see a grown man shit himself so utterly. Needless to say, Vernon hated him. And the feeling was mutual. Petunia wasn't fond of him as well. However, she seemed more worried about what the rest of the neighborhood would think if they did kick him out. That or reluctant to cause a scene.
Either way, she just tended to glare at him and demonstrate her own dislike by coddling Dudley in front of him. "As extravagant as this little event looks to be, I'll pass." Harry made his way to the back door, snatching a handful of cooked rashers on his way.
"Where do you think you're going!?" Vernon's jowls tensed up as he scowled at the boy. "Put that back or I'll-!"
Harry cut him off. "What? Make me sit and watch as your son throws another temper tantrum after he learns he's got two less presents than last year? I can think of stuff a lot more entertaining, Vernon." He ignored the angered sputtering and headed out, savoring his purloined treat.