Prelude:
Harry Potter cast his brilliant green eyes downwards towards his knees to stare at a scraped portion of his skin that was visibly bleeding. He had gotten himself injured, again, after his hellish get away from the kid who round-the-clock caused him torment. His cousin, Dudley Dursley. He grimaced as he quietly shut the front door, avoiding being heard by his relatives announcing that he just came in, he'd always try to sneak out and play outside if he can, but to his great displeasure, his cousin had manage to get to him.
Petunia Dursley, his mother's sister, had always been so resentful towards him for as long as he can remember. These actions didn't unnoticed by her husband, Vernon Dursley, and instead of placing his foot forward to stop the boy from being constantly mistreated, he would gladly join in doing rather despicable and more ghastly things with no inch of remorse.
The boy didn't have a choice, knowing very little about his parentage for the Dursleys rarely tell him anything about them, he only knew that they were tragically killed in a car crash, leaving Harry with no knowledge about any other living relative he could run to instead. Enduring everything they do to him and the usual derogatory remarks he received had been an everyday routine. The teasing and name calling from his cousin was always his morning greeting, and the poor boy had never been felt any affection from his Aunt Petunia, despite the fact that he was the son of her only sister. Starvation had also been a common scenario for Harry and it was very evident by the looks of him, he was rather thin, looking really underfed and wearing Dudley's old clothing made him worse looking than ever, for his cousin was a little over in the weight making his garments larger than Harry could handle.
"Where have you been?" The venom in Petunia's voice halted him from his quiet steps and it sent shivers down his spine. He had made her angry again. He slowly cast her a look, trying hard not show any signs of dread or panic, then he spoke in a calm manner.
"Just outside, Aunt Petunia." He said quietly, looking down.
"Outside, you say?" Petunia snapped, her lips twitching angrily. "And who told you that you can go wondering about the neighborhood?" She asked as she slowly approached him, he back away until he was leaning back to back with his cupboard bedroom under the stairs. As soon as he did, the front door opened with a bang to reveal a very red-faced and out-of-breath Dudley.
"I saw him outside Mummy! He was sneaking out again!" The boy exclaimed while he pointed his stubby fingers with great proximity against Harry's nose.
"I'm sorry, Aunt Petunia, I just thought I can get fresh ai-"
Harry's words were halted by a fierce slap across his face.
"Do that again and you'll get worse than that, boy!" She spat. Dudley started guffawing before he scurried away to the kitchen with heavy footsteps and Harry carefully adjusted his glasses, which has gone askew, back to his nose. Petunia visciously pulled Harry out of the way, opened the cupboard door and roughly pushed him inside. "No meals for you tonight." She said then she slammed the door shut then proceeded to lock it from the outside, leaving Harry alone in the dark, dingy and spider infested makeshift bedroom that he has. He sat over his moth eaten covers and lifted his knees to his chest. He began blowing on the wounds to ease the stinging pain then he sighed as he closed his eyes.
He had always wondered when it will be all over. They kept saying to his face that he was a very bad boy and he wondered if it was actually true at all. He never had a memory of him greatly defying his Aunt and Uncle, sneaking out to play seemed trivial and he wondered why he was not even allowed to do such a thing. Also, he haven't even started a fight with his cruel cousin despite wanting to just beat the boy senseless until he's passed out for weeks. But he knew to himself that he was not as bad as they made him appear to be. Doing the chores and the cooking made him think that his remaining family would change the way they look at him, but none of it made any difference to them. And if he was being honest with himself, he was getting exhausted and weakened day by day. He shivered, but it was not from the cold. He ruffled his already untamable black hair to ease the sudden pounding of his head, hoping his self-comfort would greatly help.
And just like many occassions, he will endure another night with his stomach growling in protests from the lack of food, so he decided to do the best option he could think of; to just curl up a little earlier than usual and hope to fall alseep immediately so he won't feel his hunger and the stinging pain of his knees anymore. Deep slumber was his best friend on times like these, not only because he was temporarily taken away from the cruel reality he was in, but because of his dream that was so wonderful but at the same time, eerily disturbing.
He had always been having the same dream almost everyday since he turned ten years old. He saw himself sitting on a magnificent, towering silver throne, and it was encrusted with brilliant green emeralds that was the exact same hue as his eyes, which shone impressively on the moonlight. On top of it were two montrous serpents that were coiled majestically together, their eyes gleaming with the same green jewels. Beneath him were people, but not just any people, they were wearing what looked like robes, and hoods hid their faces as they bowed down to his feet. For some reason, that dream had always made him feel perplexed, he was never perceived as someone important and loved all his life, but having to see people bow down to him was rather exhilarating.
"It will end. Things will get better." He whispered to himself with a sad smile before he closed his eyes, a single tear escaping from the corner of it.
His arms were mechanical as he worked on wiping the windows in a circular motion with his usual cleaning rug and his spray bottle at hand. He had seen a grey tabby cat watching the house for a while now by the fence and it unnerved him for some reason, but dismissed that feeling later on. Moving around the house gave him view of the things happening outside Privet Drive. Some lady was pushing her baby by the stroller with a small dog tied up at the handle, a few kids were on their bikes, happily catching up to each other which made him feel a sudden rush of envy, he wished he had a bike and some friends that he can ride it with, too.
"Hurry up with your wiping, boy! Useless little bastard!" Vernon yelled as he looked up behind his newspaper. Harry prided himself in being able to ignore the yelling and cursing whenever he was around and it was one of those times. He continued to look out the window while he still wiped the window he was working on spotless with his Uncle still mumbling under his breath. After a little while, Harry saw their elderly neighbor, Mrs. Figg, who was going on about her errands carrying a large brown paper bag while she tried to fish out her house keys from her purse with great difficulty. The Dursleys had always left him to her watch whenever they needed a babysitter, which Harry always reluctantly obliged. Mrs. Figg was a cat lover to the extreme and her whole house reeked at the scent of it. Harry shook his head with his lips formed in a thin line, remembering his dreaded times spent with the mad cat lady and her cold tea. Not later after Mrs. Figg's walking form passed by his view, a brown owl swooped down the lawn then was instantly gone.
He wondered about the owl.
It was an unusual sight, but he still have work to do for the day. He tried not to think about it too much but he was failing miserably. If only he could go outside again to see. He quietly went over to the front door, hoping to sneak out again just for a little bit, just to get a glimpse of the owl and what it was up to, but his plans immediately changed when he saw an envelope by the carpeted floor just below the mail slot. His eyes widened at an alarming rate, his heart started pounding inside his chest and he seemed to be rooted from the spot he was standing on as soon as he saw whom the letter was addressed to.
Mr. H. Potter,
The Cupboard under the Stairs,
4 Privet Drive,Little Whinging,
Surrey.