At what seemed like 2 in the morning, Petunia Dursley woke up as her alarm went off. She didn't think much of her alarm clock, even if it had been a wedding present from Vernon's late mother. It made an annoying, thin, reedy sound which was not something you wanted to wake up to.

She was contemplating getting rid of it and buying a new one, when suddenly Vernon rolled over and continued snoring. Like a pig, she thought vindictively. She still hadn't forgiven him from last night's episode.

She didn't like the boy, everyone knew that. From Vernon, to Dudley, to the neighbours (Petunia's social life had decreased rapidly after she had Dudley), it was a fact. But that still didn't mean Vernon could beat any child under her care. Despite the fact that Lily was dead, Petunia still felt a tiny spark of loyalty to her late sister, and she felt it was her responsibility to take care of her son.

If the boy had been normal, she could have accepted him, maybe even liked him a little. But because he was so obviously one of those freaks, she didn't dare get attached. From what she knew of those wiz- freaks, they took your family and loved ones and fashioned them into tools, pawns designed to manipulate. They could and would get you killed, and they wouldn't bat an eyelid.

With that thought firmly in place, Petunia rose from her comfortable bed, and made the journey downstairs.

"Boy!" she snapped, her hard exterior back on. "Get up out of bed and cook Vernon and Duddikin's breakfast NOW!"

There was no response.

Cursing in fury, Petunia yanked the door open.

"Boy! I said GET UP!"

"Mm coming Aunt Petunia." He muttered weakly.

"You better be!" she hissed.

He clambered out from between the thin sheets and stumbled with such lack of coordination into the gleaming kitchen that Petunia wondered if there were something wrong with him. She shrugged it off as tiredness and followed him into the polished room that she worked so hard to keep spotless.

The boy wandered clumsily to the fridge, plucked out some bacon and put the packet on the side of the gas cooker. Something that amused her was that he had to go and get a stool on which to stand on to reach the frying pans that were hung on hooks above the stove. Her Duddy would never have to do that, she thought proudly.

She forgot to mention the fact that even if he didn't, he still had no idea how to cook it.

Harry turned the cooker on and then got to work on the sausages, putting them under the grill. Petunia watched for a moment, and then joined in, helping him cook breakfast. It was her own way of apologizing for being so harsh earlier.

When they had started the eggs, Petunia went to get dressed, after all, she was an upstanding member of the community and it wouldn't do for any of the neighbours to see her looking so dishevelled, with her hair sticking up in all directions. Harry went to sit down at the table but as he did, the timer went off for the bacon, signifying that the rashers had finished cooking. He went to get it, but as he grasped the handle, the room went black.

The last thing he saw was the saucepan crashing down, down on top of him. Then there was pain…

And then it stopped.