Warnings: Implied child abuse, self loathing

Chapter Two - A Minor-Major Birthday Interruption

Little Harry Potter, currently ten years old (to be eleven if anyone would ask him, which nobody did and therefore nobody really knew) was, without a doubt, currently the most unusual thing in Little Whinging.

For instance, he slept in a cupboard under the stairs. Most children, at least as far as he knew had bedrooms. (The son who lived in this house had two.)

For another, he was small and skinny and dark skinned, with ugly taped up glasses in a world of pale people.

Harry Potter understood three things about his life beyond those facts: don't ask questions, don't protest more than you can get away with, and hard work would not get you happiness, only grudging tolerance. Remembering these things grew easier by the day, especially in regards to his caretakers, the Dursleys.

The Dursleys were a self-admittedly proud, middle class family who tolerated no shirking of duty (unless you were their son), no foolishness (unless you were their son), and no abnormality (unless you were their neighbors, and then they would just make fun of you. They had no tolerance for the quiet, the different, the strange, and as far as they were concerned, their nephew was all of those things and worse, because he was related to them. He was a blemish on their good name and lives. And they never let him forget it.

So, unlike most children as far as he knew, Harry was woken by the loud banging of his aunt Petunia on the door of his room, the cupboard under the stairs.

"Up!" she barks through the slit in the door. "We have Dudley's birthday breakfast and you aren't up to complete it!"

"Yes Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, voice dutiful as he pulled the two large sweaters and holey socks on. The pants he wore were still tied tight around his thin waist with a raggedy belt of his Uncle Vernon's. Once in a while, he wondered why they gave him their old clothes. It would look better for them to donate them and have him just buy from thrift stores.

Then again, the Dursleys did so hate to spend money on him. His glasses were old and scratched and had been broken more than once by Dudley's eager fists. The tape wasn't going to last much longer he was sure.

Harry made to exit his cupboard, only for a rough shove to send him sprawling to the floor. Harry scowled a little as the tiny door swung shut. He picked himself up and made his way forward again. Within minutes he was watching the bacon, listening to Petunia, who on most days looked like a horse to Harry and shouted like one, as she babbled on over her son's blonde and round head. She cooed at him in delight, as "eleven years old only came once in someone's life after all"!

Harry steadily ignored them, listening to the sound of the spice grinder with the coffee beans instead.

"Hurry up!" thumped the whale of a man from the other side of their son, mustache quivering.

"Yes Uncle Vernon," Harry replied, flipping the bacon with the tongs, followed by the sausages. He turned off the coffee maker and lifted himself on the step stool, a cautiously considered birthday present from Aunt Petunia when it was clear he would help (do work for) her in the kitchen and wasn't quite tall enough to do things without hurting himself. And punishments were different from incompetence. There would be too many questions about grease burns on upper arms.

There was a sudden, terrible wail from behind him. Harry made himself not turn, focusing on getting plates and tray tables filled in case Dudley decided to upend the whole thing before they could even eat. That had happened before when his grades and Harry's had come back at the same time and the teachers had informed the Dursleys that their son was only allowed to make it to the next grade if he helped out in the library and went to summer school three times a week.

It had been one of the only times both parents had had to put a foot down about their son. They'd even tried telling the teachers that Harry had cheated when he'd come by with positively average grades. But then the test scores had happened and they'd all left that building positively inflamed with embarrassment, even Harry himself. He also remembered having to sneak to the kitchen quite a lot after that.

So Harry hurried to set things out of Dudley's line of fire and his parents' stumbling reach, so nothing could fall and he be blamed for that as well.

"How many are there?" Dudley shouted, face rapidly turning red as a cherry. Harry ignored him, busying himself with putting salt in the coffee grinds, along with sugar.

"Thirty-six," Uncle Vernon said proudly. "Counted them myself."

"Thirty-six?!" The wail started up in the back of his throat again and Harry ducked. "Buh-hut last year I had thirty-seven, Dad!"

"Well some of them are quite a bit bigger than last year," Harry's uncle said as Harry handed him the coffee in its mug.

They were. Harry could see the bicycle that would last three days, the board games that would get pelted pieces at his head, the game station that would be thrown out of the bedroom window, the books that would be shredded. They should just give him money and be done with it.

Harry shuddered to think of the rotund boy with a credit card in his fat pockets.

"I don't care how big they are!" Dudley said with a stamp of his foot. His lower jaw was starting to wobble, which made his whole face wobble. It should have been funny but it never was. It meant trouble and more often than not, the Dursleys' tempers meant trouble for Harry. So he stayed off into the corner and scarfed down his own measly breakfast of runty bacon and burnt toast with ruined butter and the most overcooked egg as quickly as possible.

"How about this dear?" Aunt Petunia's voice was shaking a little itself, and it was always when the trembling started that Harry knew it was over. He wasn't as good at it, but he could do it. "When we go to the zoo today, on our way back, we'll buy you two new presents. Three if you're really good. How's that pumpkin?"

Dudley's sour face eased up a little. "Well, well that's all right then, I suppose," he said, voice mildly less grumpy.

Harry dared to lower his shoulders.

There was a knock on the door.

"Mail's early," Uncle Vernon began, and Harry saw him exchange a glance with Aunt Petunia. That meant the mail wasn't early. It definitely wouldn't be. So what was it? Had they forgotten something? That wouldn't be good. Harry quickly moved the plates back and went to get the door. No one needed to ask him, and no matter how hungry he was, he didn't want to stay there and watch them decide to make him do it anyway.

So he went to the door. There was no mail, as expected. There was another knock, a little faster this time. So Harry opened it. He saw a tall woman, dressed in a tartan sweater and soft, worn slacks. Her red hair was tied up in a bun and she looked down at Harry for a moment like she expected mischief and mayhem in his wake, staring down his belt that held up Dudley's old pants. Then her eyes softened somehow, giving Harry this impression of a much nicer Mrs. Figg.

"Hello, young man, my name is Minerva McGonagall. I'm here on behalf of the Ministry Educational Department's Testing Branch. Is your family around?"

"Uhm…" Harry fidgeted. The Ministry? Like the government? What… what did they want with the Dursleys? Were Dudley's grades so bad that the government had to get involved? "They're in the kitchen, ma'am. Would you come in? I can fetch them."

"If you would be so kind."

Harry scurried away back into the kitchen, making sure the woman went into the sitting room before doing so. "Uncle Vernon," he said quickly. "Some woman from the Ministry wants to see you!"

"Someone from the government?" Aunt Petunia narrowed her eyes. "What did you do, boy?"

"Nothing! I didn't do anything!" Harry protested. "I can't do anything with you locking me in the cupboard!"

Vernon narrowed his eyes at him. Harry was very close to the door and grateful for it. At least he could dodge from here. Petunia pet his arm. "Dear, we mustn't if they're in the house."

Vernon subsided, even while Dudley glared at Harry over the table.

"She asked for tea," Harry said, even though she hadn't. He went to the kettle anyway and began to fill it with water.

Petunia rose from her seat at the table, and her small portion, left unfinished, went into the sparkling new fridge. The Dursleys had such a love-hate relationship with the rapidly changing technology of modern society, something Harry had never understood, especially with their giant modern fridge. It was probably to look good. He watched her go, picking up the nice cups and the earl grey from the higher cabinet.

"We'll open your presents after we've chased her off, Dudley," Vernon said in a gruff voice. "Best behavior, now."

Dudley glared at Harry for a moment more. Then he nodded. "Three presents!"

"Four," Vernon said instead. Dudley beamed and scarfed down his breakfast practically in one gulp. Then he wiped his face and threw the dish almost at the sink. Harry ducked by reflex and focused on the kettle and the tea. The Dursleys left the room and for a moment, Harry was left alone in blissful silence.

Then Petunia screamed, loud enough Harry thought the windows would shatter. "You!"

His uncle thundered right after. "You get out of my house! DId that boy call for you? What are you doing here, disturbing normal people?"

Had Harry let a murderer into the house? Well he was definitely staying out of the room. If he got into the cupboard fast enough with the phone he would be able to call the police and be safe from harm. He just had to be fast enough… and running from Dudley made that possible.

Still, had to act natural, just in case.

He picked up the tea tray. Certain he wasn't going to buckle at its weight, he carried it through the door and towards the sitting room.

Dudley was clutched close to Aunt Petunia's chest like she was intending to shield him with her bony body. Dudley himself looked rather perturbed. Harry carefully set the tray on the nearest table. The woman nodded at him in gratitude, and wasn't that strange?

Vernon, however was very close to purple and swung around to face him. "Did you call her boy?" he seethed.

Harry was lucky he didn't drop the tea tray. "I don't even know who she is!" he exclaimed, "I've never seen her before today!"

"Don't you lie to me-"

"Oh that is quite enough." Something flashed in and out of existence before their eyes and suddenly Vernon was completely silent, mouth opening and closing but no words coming out.

"Dad!" Dudley shrieked, so much like his mother for a minute there.

"He will be fine, Mister Dursley." The woman's tone was quite snappish now. "I have caused him no harm and I endeavor not to do so. Now, Mister Dursley, Mrs. Dursley, if you do not mind. I would like to get all of you and Mister Potter up to speed. You are quite close to being behind schedule." She cast a pointed look at Harry's aunt, who had puffed up a little the longer she had spoken.

Then, looking at her husband again, she ground out a single word. "Fine."

"Very well." The woman gestured to Harry. "Please sit. This will be a discussion that involves both of your boys and your family."

Petunia sniffed and Harry held back a snort. He wasn't their boy, and judging by the look on McGonagall's face, she didn't believe he was either. "In what sense?" She was more tense than usual, her bony shoulders so high they might be outreaching her ears.

The woman folded her hands into her lap. "As of 1992, the requirement by international law is that every child at the age of eleven is tested for their soul compatibility and to invite them possibly to our campus. We also offer the potential for remedial testing of the parents, to possibly educate them."

"Uhm." Harry didn't want to interrupt, it felt wrong somehow, but he thought he might as well because he was still lost. "Educate them, us, in what?"

And for a moment, the room chilled, so much it felt like winter in summertime as the woman stared at the Dursleys. If she could kill them, she would.

Then the room was sweltering hot against the air conditioning.

"Why, Mister Potter," she answered, too long to get an answer at all. "Magic of course."