Start of story A/N: A longer chapter, around 4000 words. Changed the title from 'Postman's Gone Mad' to 'Love or Hate'

Thanks to all of ya who reviewed. ANONYMOUS REVIEWS ENABLED. Can't believe I had it off before. So if you'd like to drop a review for the previous chapters, or CARE FROM A FATHER, I'd really, really like that. Thanks .

Thank you Crookshanks.x for making my sentences make more sense.

"Family quarrels are bitter things. They don't go by any rules. They're not like aches or wounds; they're more like splits in the skin that won't heal ..." --F. Scott Fitzgerald.

CHAPTER 3: LOVE OR HATE?

Harry woke early the next morning having slept better than usual. His aunt and uncle hadn't woken yet, which meant it was probably not eight yet. Though it did not really matter, he doubted they would let him out after the fiasco at the zoo yesterday. So Harry lay there staring at the ceiling and let stray thoughts run through his head.

He had a dream last night. There he was in a great, big, magnificent room filled with toys and books when his mother suddenly appeared at the doorway. Harry remembered talking to her and making a pinky swear because she had promised him a present for his birthday. But try as he might Harry could only recall bits and pieces of the conversation they had, and blurred images of the scenes. But that was okay, because he remembered the most meaningful thing of all. Harry remembered hearing the words 'I love you' and a wetness of his forehead that he figured was a kiss. If only his mum was alive to do this every night, for real.

The lonely boy had always wondered what it was like to have someone tuck him into bed, bid him good night and tell him that he was loved.

Harry sighed sadly...if only. He picked up the diary and held it to his chest. There was no good crying over things like that; it wouldn't do any good after all. If Vernon or Dudley caught him crying, they would laugh and he'd end up being punished. That was one of the rules in the house; Harry wasn't allowed to cry, just like he wasn't allowed to ask questions or eat without permission. Petunia might yell at him for being a baby and threaten with something like; 'Stop that this instant or I'll give you something to cry about', but Harry doubted she would actually do anything. Petunia was never as mean as Vernon or Dudley, though she did swing a frying pan at him a few times. Uncle Vernon would probably smack him upside the head and start insulting him and his parents. Dudley would push him against the wall and hit him to make sure he was the reason Harry was crying.

THUD, THUD, THUD. BANG! BOOM! SLAM!

Hmmm. That must be Uncle Vernon getting to the bathroom. Harry thought absently, not really caring as his mind drifted back to the dream. Harry loved it when he dreamed of his mother, even though he never remember everything that happened. But he remembered her being there for him, and that was enough.

A thunderous roar came rushing down the stairs. Harry smirked; his uncle must be late for work…again.

He sat up on his bum and quickly returned the diary to the dusty corner and threw his blanket over it. He wouldn't want his relatives to find out, they would most likely burn the journal and Harry didn't know what he would do without it.

"Petunia! Petunia, where are my keys?" Harry heard his uncle bellow, searching frantically for his keys.

"On the stand next to the door, dear! Where you always put them!" Petunia hollered from the bedroom. A minute later Harry heard the door open and slam. A car engine started seconds later and his uncle was gone.

The day came and went with Harry sitting alone in his dark cupboard. Petunia let him out in the middle of the day to go to the bathroom. But the only reason she relented was because Harry had threatened to release his bowels right there on the floor; when you got to go, you got to go. In reality though, Harry just wanted to get out of the cramped quarters, if only for one minute. Also, he didn't want to come out later when Vernon and Dudley were home. Harry tried his best to avoid those two whenever he could.

After stretching out his limbs, Harry drank some water from the tap and quickly went to the bathroom and flushed the toilet. Outside Petunia stood with her hands on her waist and her foot tapping the floor impatiently. When Harry came out she grabbed the boy by one skinny arm and hauled him to the cupboard.

"You won't be getting any food today! Perhaps you wouldn't need to go to the bathroom so often, yes?" the horse-like woman mimicked in a mocking tone.

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied sufficiently cowed, nearly tripping trying to keep up with the much taller woman.

"In!" She barked in a jagged voice, driving him none too gently towards the cupboard entrance.

Harry winced and immediately scrambled into the tiny space under the stairs. Well, somebody was in a bad mood today.

"Not another word from you Boy!" She yelled and slammed the door and locking it shut. "Wretched boy should have died along with his mother." She bit under her breath, stalking away from the cupboard without a backwards glance.

Petunia plopped down on the couch and started flipping through her magazines. That boy reminded her of her devilish sister every day. Those emerald green eyes were unmistakably Lily's and that unruly jet black hair were identical to James Potter's, Lily's diabolical excuse of a husband.. All through her life it was Lily this, Lily that, Lily the beautiful, Lily the miracle child, never Petunia. No, it had never been Petunia. Now her sister's offspring had to remind her of a childhood she'd rather forget. Every day, every time she looked at him she saw Lily, a sister she'd rather not recognize. Petunia sometimes wondered if she would have loved the child if only they had been your average family, living a normal, quiet suburban life. If Lily hadn't been the freak that she was, and did not marry that useless Potter boy, maybe, just maybe she would have loved her nephew. But she did not think that way often because things were not that way. They were never a normal family; Petunia was utterly ashamed of her abnormal sister and her family for not only accepting, but praising her freakishness. Then, just when things appear to be working out for the new family she'd started with Vernon. That boy had to be dumped on their front porch, with nothing but a short letter demanding her to take him in.

The boy was nothing but a parasite, infesting her perfect life with the perfect husband, and the perfect son.

Petunia hated Lily's child, she did, didn't she?

Back inside the cupboard Harry sniffed and rubbed at his dry eyes. It wasn't okay to cry. His cousin, Dudley, never cried, or at least Harry had never seen him cry. His uncle told him only freaky little babies cried, and that crying showed everyone just how weak and pathetic you were. But Harry had heard those bitter words and couldn't help but want to sob. Why didn't anyone love him? What was wrong with him that always made his aunt and uncle hate him so? Why was he always doing something wrong that made Petunia and Vernon angry? Harry just couldn't understand.

With a heavy heart, Harry took out his mother's journal once more and thought back to the day when he first discovered it.

It was some three years ago it happened. Harry was cleaning up the attic like he'd been told when he came upon a box of worthless clutter covered in cobwebs and dust. Dumping pile of the junk onto the floor, Harry began to sort through them when an old leather bound book caught his eye. At first the boy thought nothing of it, but it had a fancy binding so he flipped it open out of curiosity. A 4x3 inch photo fell out of its thin pages and drifted to the floor, it was a photo of himself, his mother and who Harry believed at the time to be his father. Harry had stared at the photo shocked beyond belief, he had only seen a picture of his mother once before, and had no idea what his father looked like.

A year before he found the diary Harry had begged and begged Petunia to let him see a picture of his mother. Harry knew his aunt kept an old family album locked in a trunk in attic. His aunt never brought it out, but for some reason never threw it away either. However, when he asked Petunia had shrieked at him to never mention that woman every again and stuffed him in the cupboard for three days. Once he was out though, Harry just went on pestering her until he made her so angry she smacked him and sent the small boy tumbling to the floor. It was three months later that Harry gathered up the courage to ask again, and he made sure Petunia was in a one of her better moods. Despite looking rather pleasant that morning Petunia freaked and Harry ended up with the garbage bin over his head. Clearly she was never in a good mood when it came to Harry and his mother. Now he had to clean up the nasty mess, and she didn't even give him any gloves. But at least she let him take a shower that night. Apparently he stunk enough as it was.

For the next week he kept on staring at her longingly whenever she was around, and one day she just up and snapped. Dragging him up the stairs, Petunia took the key, tore open the trunk, shoved a photo at him for 10 seconds, slammed the trunk shut, and kicked him out of the room...right into his cupboard.

Harry thought it had been worth it, at least now he knew what his mother looked like. The photo had been a shot of Lily standing in the snow as crystal flakes flew around her. He held the image in his mind till he could recall ever detail. Her hair was flowing backwards into the wind; her smile was so brilliant Harry could almost hear her laugher. Harry closed his eyes and imagined the scene coming to life before his eyes. The wind picked up as the downy flakes danced joyfully, flying all around. Harry never got to play in the snow, all he did was shovel the driveway and get pounded by snowballs by his cousin; at least they were softer than Dudley's fists. It didn't snow very often in Surrey, but Harry loved it when it did. He loved to watch as the snowflakes drifted down from the sky, he loved how they fell on the trees, the houses and streets, covering everything in a thin white blanket. More than anything else, Harry loved watching his fat, chubby cousin trip on the ice.

The day he found the photo in the diary Harry sat in the attic for a long time, gazing at the picture. Written on the back of the photo were the words: Lily, James and baby Harry. August 6, 1981. Went to the zoo. They were at some train station, Harry could a spot train and platform in the background. Harry stared at who he believed at the time to be his father, he really was the splitting image of him, just like his relatives had always told him. But James did not look like a bad person, or a ugly drunk, or a beggar and a thief. Harry thought he looked like a decent man, and much more handsome that Uncle Vernon.

The diary was signed in an elegant handwriting that read Property of Lily Evans Potter. Harry sat on the attic floor and opened the book. The poor little guy couldn't understand 8 out of 10 words back then, and even now Harry did not know a quarter of the words his mother used-he was only 11 after all. But for a boy barely at puberty Harry understood a tremendous amount, which is saying something considering his horrendous upbringing. Harry clearly inherited his parents' brains and intelligence. For one thing, he knew that his mom had a secret that she told nobody. He also knew that despite everyone believing that James was his dad, he was not. Harry understood that You-Know-Who, or Voldemort, was a very bad wizard. Harry found witchcraft and wizardry hard to comprehend, but he tried his best to grasp the ideas. He even tried to do magic himself, but never really got anywhere with that.

Back to the present, Harry's eyes started to ache from reading in the dim light. He rubbed at them to make the itching go away. Putting the diary back into its hiding place Harry started playing with his toy soldier, who was tragically missing a leg and half an arm. After half an hour, he got bored again. He reached for the crayon he'd nicked from Dudley and started marking the walls, which were already covered in drawings. After that Harry laid back and let his mind wander. His imagination would carry him to wonderful places. On the few occasions he overheard Aunt Petunia reading to Dudley, he found himself striving to remember each and every word. Later, he would imagine he was a character in one of those stories, like a pirate or a spaceman. Today Harry was Peter Pan. He closed his eyes and flew through the clouds to Neverland, fought Hook, and rescued Wendy. But Harry Potter, unlike Peter Pan, wanted to grow up. He wanted to grow big enough so that Dudley couldn't pick on him, he wanted to grow tall enough and run so fast Dudley's gang wouldn't catch him in a million years. More importantly, Harry wanted to grow up so he could leave this horrible place, and go find his dad. Harry wondered how long it would take before he was old enough to get kicked out of the house by Uncle Vernon.

BANG!

"Petunia! Dudley! I'm home!" A booming voice hollered from the door, snapping Harry out of his daydream.

"Oh darling, dinner's almost ready. How was work?" Petunia said in a cliché suburban housewife manner.

"Hey Dad, Dad, guess what. There was this new kid at school…."

Harry rolled his eyes and drowned out Dudley's ranting, he didn't want to hear how Dudley and his gang of three beat up and humiliated another newbie, and as long as it wasn't him he was happy. The rest of the night went on with the entire family ignoring him, which was just as well. When it came to attention from the Dursleys, it was the less the better. Harry heard the family around the dinner table, chatting and laughing. He wondered if he'd ever be able to have a family like that, and do things that families do, such as having dinner. Harry listened in to their conversation; there was just nothing else to do. Uncle Vernon talked about his day at the office, Dudley talked about his day of 'learning' (or more appropriately 'teaching' the new kid a lesson), and Aunt Petunia...Aunt Petunia just talked about this fancy dress featured in one of her magazines.

Why hadn't Aunt Petunia told Vernon about him? She had seemed to be awfully mad earlier. But whatever the reason, Harry was simply glad he did not have to deal with an angry Vernon.

The rest of the week went by slowly with Harry bored out of his skull. He took 2 hours to eat his toast just so he'd have something to do. Harry just twisted and turned in on his blanket, trying to let sleep pass the time. Finally, after 5 long days Petunia pulled Harry from the cupboard and screamed at him to start laundry, along with the millions other things he let fall behind while he was playing in his cupboard.

Hp hp hp Hp hp hp Hp hp hp Hp hp hp

Two days later the post arrived 9:45 as usual and Harry casually flipped through them. Bill, junk, junk, letter, postcard…Hey!

Harry looked at the letter in his hands, it was addressed to him! He had never gotten any mail before. The little boy walked absently towards the kitchen, his eyes never leaving his letter as he handed the rest to his uncle.

"Hey Dad! Look over here! Look at what the freak's got!" Before Harry could even open the letter, Dudley came around him and snatched it out of his hands.

"Hey! Give that back, it's mine!" Harry cried.

"Watch that tone of yours boy!" Vernon shouted, making Harry draw back.

"What do you have there Dudley?"

"A letter, Dad, addressed to the freak over here," Dudley pointed a chubby finger at Harry, who didn't dare go near his uncle no matter how much he wanted the letter.

"Who in the right mind would send a letter to you?" His uncle sneered, taking one look at he mail he tore it into pieces and chucked it into the garbage. "Well what are you waiting for? Get Dudley his milk and bring me my coffee!"

"Yes Uncle," Harry sighed, he should have hid the letter. How could he be so careless as to let his uncle see it, and now the letter was gone and it was he could only blame himself. "And don't let me see you getting that letter from the bin, or I'll flay you alive, you hear boy!" Vernon threatened.

"Yes, Uncle," Harry muttered obediently. Harry doubted his uncle would 'flay him alive''. Nevertheless, he'd better not let his uncle see him retrieve that letter. That would get Vernon angry, and angry Vernon liked to drink, and a drunk Vernon could give him one hell of a beating.

Harry didn't get the chance to retrieve the letter unseen and sulked the entire night. That was the very first letter addressed to him, it looked very important with that coat of arms wax seal. Harry sighed; he doubted he will get another letter ever again.

But Harry was wrong, he did get another letter...and another, and another. In fact, so many letters came for one 11-year-old Harry Potter at Number 4 Private Drive, Vernon Dursley bolted the mail slot shut. When that didn't work the beefy man took it upon himself to raid the post office and demand to see their manager, only to get himself held in the police station overnight. A few days later he then stormed the media buildings and claimed that their postman was crazy, this time he got chucked out of their offices by security.Well at least he didn't try to send Harry to an asylum.

Throughout the entire week, letters came by the hundreds, all addressed to the boy named Harry James Potter, who lived in the cupboard under the stairs at Number 4 Private Drive, Little Whinging,

Surrey. Harry reckoned all this had something to do with magic; it was almost as if whoever it was sending these strange letters knew the receiver wasn't even opening the letters, let along reading them. The letters just came and came, one after the other, never stopping no matter what Vernon tried. There was even post on Sunday and there was never post on Sundays. Harry's uncle came home drunk two nights that week, Harry thought his aunt nearly screamed her head off, screeching at her husband and warning him that if he ever come home drunk like that again she'd turn him out of the house.

Hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp

"This is your fault you little freak! You are doing this, aren't you? You are!" Vernon trapped Harry in a corner and screamed at him.

"I'm sorry. I don't mean for the letters to come," Harry cried, terrified of his uncle as great splashes of tears fell from his face.

"You listen here boy! You stop making them letters come, and you get those owls away from my house!" Vernon's thunderous voice travelled through the entire house and echoed off the walls. Harry was trembling like a frightened dog, pushing himself back into the wall, all he wanted was to just sink in and disappear.

"I...I'm sorry. I'm sorry. The letters, I don't know an...anything about them." Harry sobbed, "Honest!"

"No? Fine! Have it your way boy!" Vernon began unbuckling his belt; he himself was shaking with rage towards the little boy. "This is your freakish doing, I just know it! Don't you lie to me!"

"I'm not, p...please. Uncle, I...I swear!" Harry cried and coughed, eyes wide with fear as he watched his uncle getting angrier by the second.

The purple faced monster in front of Harry reached for his arm and dragged him forward. "Last chance boy! You stop those letters this minute or you'll be getting the beating of your life!" Harry's legs nearly buckled from fright, he cringed away, trying to deal with the pain coming from Vernon's brutal grip on his forearm.

"No, I...I don't know. Please d...don't." Harry shook his head furiously from side to side, denying both his uncle's accusations and the whipping that was sure to come.

Harry continued to cry and plea to Vernon, who's other hand viced around his leather belt.

"Vernon, stop that noise or the neighbours will hear," Petunia called from the kitchen, "Now get in here and sober up, you have work tomorrow!"

"But, Petunia..." Vernon started.

"Black coffee," Petunia interrupted as her head appeared from behind the kitchen wall.

"Petunia, this boy needs to be taught a lesson! You see what he is doing? He is sending them crazy letters!" Vernon argued with his wife.

"Well, you can teach the boy the lesson tomorrow," she said impatiently, walking into the hall. "I won't have you drunk in my house; you're setting a bad example for Dudley!" With that, she grabbed Vernon's arm, hauled him away from Harry and into the kitchen. "Drink!" Harry heard her say, "And a cold shower right after this, it'll help you sober up, and I don't want you smelling of alcohol and the bar in bed! And I do not care if you can't sleep!"

"But the boy..."

"You let me worry about the boy," Petunia interrupted sharply, "You just get yourself sober, or else you'll be sleeping in the shed tonight!"

Vernon grunted something unintelligible and picked up his coffee.

As soon as Vernon left, Harry had dropped to the floor and curled up into the tightest ball. All he could feel now was overwhelming relief; he was so sure Vernon would live up to his threat and give him 'beating of his life'.

Harry couldn't think right, he had just been scared out of his wits. He was too upset to recognize what his aunt did, but one day he would remember.

"Up!" Petunia barked as she re-entered the hall, and pulled Harry to his feet.

"In!" She shouted, and gave him a shove. Harry was back in the cupboard again.

Petunia did not sleep well that night, she was confused. Did she hate her nephew? She certainly did not love him, that was for sure.

Hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp hp

Finally, it was the day before Harry's birthday. That day, owls swarmed the house like a flock of flamingos and letters started pouring from the fireplace by the thousands. As letter after letter flooded the house, his uncle finally snapped and carted the entire family to a miniature island in the middle of nowhere, and during the storm of the century, no less! Vernon doubted the London post office could find them there, and even if they could, they wouldn't bother sending any letters all the way out to sea.

Inside the cabin the entire family was fast asleep, all except for one young boy, who was wide awake with excitement. He remembered having a dream where his mother had promised him a present on his birthday and he couldn't wait for the clock to strike 12. As the weather raged outside the run-down old cabin, that little boy started to count off the seconds to his birthday.

There was only 6 more seconds to go.

5…

4…

3…

2…

1...

TO BE CONTINUED...

End of story a/n: Sorry, the end was kinda quick there, but I hope you liked the chapter.

Petunia came into the picture late in the game, during one of my many read throughs. At first the bathroom scene was just a few sentences long, just a description. But then I wrote the entire thing out cause there was way too little action in the chapter.

I've said that Vernon only beat Harry when he was angry and drunk. At first Vernon did not get that angry over the letters. But I thought the hundreds of letters would have a bigger impact on him, and make him irritated enough to drink. I had Petunia get angry at her husband for coming home drunk. At first I though Vernon didn't even talk to Harry because Petunia had dragged him right upstairs when he came home. But, that wasn't enough somehow. I decided to write the scene of Vernon getting mad at Harry, and nearly beating him. However, I did not want to write Harry getting thrashed by the belt, so made Petunia stop him. That's when Petunia's character came to my head. The title needed changing and Love or Hate just popped into my head.. Petunia's character and role, as small as it is, wasn't planned at all, she hitched along for the ride.

Yes, I am done talking. Sorry, my problem is either ranting or having nothing at all to say. Looks like I'm in the ranting mood. Stay with me here...

U must follow the laws of magic. ACCIO Reviews! (waves wand frantically)

-Next Chapter: A Reluctant Potions Master-