A few years later
He was definitely used to the way things were now, it was a harsh life but he knew he had to deal with it. He knew he was special, a knowledge that kept him thriving each day. It differentiated him from the Boy and the Freak, both names 'lovingly' endeared to him by his relatives. Harry knew that things could only improve from here.
Ever since the night when his Uncle Vernon had broken his arm when he was 8, strange things had been happening. One of these was when he woke up the next morning to find his arm completely pain free – it had healed itself. Harry could recall another time, a few months after, when his Aunt Petunia cut off all of his hair due to her dislike of its scruffiness. It had grown back by morning, much to the anger of his Aunt. Many nights since then, he'd experienced dreams, only to find that the things he'd dreamed about happened soon after. When he was 9 he'd dreamed of finding one of Mrs Figg's cats dead on the side of the road, and three days later, he found exactly what he'd dreamt he would find. This phenomenon happened more often than any other strange things. Harry could recall another time, a few months ago when his Aunt Petunia cut off all of his hair due to her dislike of its scruffiness. It had grown back by morning, much to the anger of his Aunt.
He knew that things were going to change today. Something in his gut told him that his fortunes were soon to change.
Today was his last day of being a 10 year old, not that his relatives cared, they were more interested in his overly large cousin. The only reason his relatives cared for him was because they were required to, it was an obligation of family. And they made sure that he knew it. His only living blood relative was Aunt Petunia, and through marriage to her, her whale of a husband and son.
Still living out of his cupboard under the stairs, he was required to do all of the work around the house as payment for his relatives taking him in when no one else would. Harry was constantly being reminded that he was an unwanted nuisance. With the increase of chores in the garden, Harry albeit lean and malnourished, had a small, but muscular frame.
Midnight had come and gone before Harry knew it, and with the stroke of the clock, he turned 11. Disappointed that nothing happened, he said goodnight to his friends and tucked the small, worn blanket around him as much as possible, and went to sleep.
The morning led to yet more disappointment with his relatives being unnecessarily cruel. They got him up early to complete many different chores, twice the amount of any other day, including getting him to make his favourite foods, without allowing him any and instead forcing him to watch them eat while he had a crust of bread and water, before making him work outside under the summer sun in the garden.
Just after Harry came back outside after preparing lunch for his relatives, he noticed something strange. Sitting atop his Uncle's car was a white bird. As he walked closer to his Uncle's car, he realized that the bird wasn't just any sort of bird, but a snowy owl with a letter attached to its foot. Curiosity got the better of him and he coaxed the bird closer, gently releasing the letter when the owl was close enough. Released of its package, the owl flew off into the distance, leaving a slightly confused little boy behind.
Harry turned over the thick envelope and found it was addressed to him. It read:
Harry Potter,
The Cupboard Under the Stairs,
4 Privet Drive,
Little Whinging
He hid it in his pocket to read in the safe confines of his cupboard when he'd finished with the chores he was required to do.
Harry went to sleep that night, happier than he'd been on his birthday in a long time. The envelope was a definite fake, but the fact that someone went through so much effort to send it to him was an astounding concept. Noone had ever gone to that much trouble to send him a letter, even a fake one before. Maybe someone was looking out for him.
A week after receiving and discarding the thick envelope, the boy was weeding the garden again, enjoying the soothing and repetitive chore. Until something pointy hit him in the back of the head.
Harry looked up to find a black, cloaked figure holding a stick at the back of his head. As he analysed the strange figure, he noticed a few features similar to those of a person in his dreams. A large hooked nose, limp shoulder length hair, dark eyes, and altogether sharp features.
"Harry Potter?" questioned the strangely dressed man with an air of expectance.
"Yes?" asked the little boy in return, wondering what the strange man wanted with him.
"You Imp. This simply will not do. No son of Lily Evans will look like this in my presence. You will go to your room and change into something far more presentable. Well, what are you waiting for? That wasn't an invitation!" thundered the strange man.
Compelled, Harry made his way back into his relative's house and straight towards his cupboard, and began to rummage around for something deemed more presentable. Unbeknownst to him, the man had followed him into the house and was watching on with interest.
"What are you doing going through there?" he demanded. "Your clothes are in your room, not a cupboard under the stairs. Hasn't your Aunt taught you anything?"
"Sir, I mean no disrespect, but this is my room. See?" said Harry after he moved aside to show the man his wordly possessions.
"I see. And how many rooms does your cousin have?"
"He has two rooms."
"And how long have you been living in your cupboard?" The man questioned.
"The whole time I've been living here," Harry replied earnestly.
Having heard the commotion of the past minute, Harry's Aunt came down from upstairs and rounded the corner. She stood very still once she caught sight of the strange man demanding Harry change.
"Snape?"
"Petunia, how very nice to see you," the cloaked man began. "One would think that you would take better care of your poor, dead sister's son. How could you overlook the fact that he has been residing in the cupboard under your stairs for the past 10 and a bit years when your son has two rooms? What possible reason could you have for imposing such a high level of neglect upon your nephew?
"Now for the reason I came today, Potter, you didn't respond to the letter you were sent last week by owl. I am aware that you received it as the bird returned without the letter attached. Don't shake your head at me! Accio Hogwarts Letter!"
