Harry Potter lay quietly in his cupboard under the stairs, knowing any minute that his Aunt Petunia would be down to demand that his chores begin. He had long taught himself to be awake before her summons; for to be slow in rising earned him a beating and no breakfast. Still, at nearly eleven, he failed to wake early on occasion, and the beating from the day before last could still be seen in his blackened eye and ribs decorated in multicolored bruises.

The boy was used to such injuries. Petunia and Vernon would often punish him, whether for moving too slowly, being in the way, or even for strange things that just happened. Harry was also Dudley's favorite punching bag. The whale Harry was forced to call cousin often came around with his gang to pin Potter and pummel him until what little food he'd manage to consume that day would come up. A lack of food and constant beatings had left the boy with nothing but bruised skin hanging on brittle bones; making his hand-me down clothes look even bigger on his frame and leaving him with an uncontrollable shake in his hands. Harry did not much like his appearance.

There was only one thing that the boy did liked about himself; a white scar on his forehead that looked like lightning. Harry felt that the scar set him apart from the Dursleys and would often dream of fantastic stories of how he had received it, although he was sure all of them were nothing more than fantasies. Harry wasn't quite sure where the scar had come from. He'd had it for as long as he could remember, and he knew better than to ask his Aunt and Uncle anything, so making up stories was the best he could do.

A jingle of chain warned Harry that it was time to begin his day. Aunt Petunia threw open the unlocked cupboard and thrust a spatula into his hands.

"Cook the breakfast boy," she demanded, staring down at him as if he were a bug she longed to crush. " And you had better not burn anything."

"Yes Aunt Petunia," replied Harry as he quickly rose and darted out of the cupboard, spatula in hand. From the ingredients set on the counter, bacon, eggs, and toast seemed to be the menu of the day. He got to work, flinching every time scalding bacon grease hit his hands, while his Aunt filled the kitchen table with a mountain of gifts.

Harry groaned inwardly, he had nearly forgotten that today was Dudley's Birthday. It was his least favorite day, next to Christmas and his own birthday, and he knew it meant that today would be filled with plenty of pain. Last year, to celebrate, Dudley had tied him to a tree in the backyard and practiced with his new BB gun, with Harry as the target. It was to the restrained boy's greatest relief when the lard had sat on, and bent, the gun after only three days. This year could only be worse.

As if thoughts could summon him. Harry could hear the giant thuds of an overweight hippo running down the stairs. The smaller boy shrank backed as a winded Dudley burst into the kitchen, followed by a more leisurely paced Vernon Dursley.

"Happy Birthday Duddykins!" squealed Mrs. Dursley as her son began counting the presents. Vernon sat down in a chair barely capable of holding him, chuckling at his sons enthusiasm. Glimpsing Harry cowing from the corner of his eye, his expression turned to one of rage and disgust.

"What are you doing just standing there boy," barked Vernon. "Hurry up and serve my breakfast!" Harry jumped into action and quickly made three plates heaped with hot, greasy bacon and eggs. Two of the plates had enough on them to easily serve two regular people, or three on diets, but the boy knew that his uncle and cousin would clean their plates of every scrap and still want. The third plate was more of a regular serving, although it looked practically tiny compared to the heaps on the other plates, and was the perfect size for his skinny aunt.

Harry stood to the side has his relatives dug in, discussing their plans for the day. The boy knew better than to ask for a share; he would get whatever burnt scraps were left after they were done.

"Hurry and eat now Dudley my boy." said Mr. Dursley between the mounds of food he shoveled into his maw. "Don't want to be late getting to the zoo; want to get our money's worth."

"But I still have to open my presents!" Protested Dudley loudly. Chunk of food flew from his mouth and from Harry's vantage point he could see a large chunk of egg now hanging from one of the gifts.

"Don't worry Duddy," Mrs. Dursley comforted her son. "Your gifts will still be there this afternoon, at the party with all your little friends."

Before Dudley could argue the phone rang. Petunia quickly answered it as her son decided to return his full attention to stuffing as much food as possible into his mouth. Potter stared on, both disgusted and jealous. It did not take long for his aunt to return, with a look of worry on her face.

"What's wrong Petunia, dear?" her husband asked, face now pressed to the morning paper. "One of Dudley's friends not able to make it?"

"That was Mrs. Figg," she said slowly, almost as if she couldn't believe it. "It appears she can't take the boy today; suffering from a broken foot."

Everyone froze, for just a split second as their brains processed the information. Harry recovered first, shirking away in a desperate attempt for the door. He knew that the Dursleys would blame him, just like they did when anything else went wrong. But before he could take more than a step, Vernon was on top of him, face purple with rage.

"BOY!" he shouted, lunging for Harry's cowering figure, fists curled. "WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

"Nothing, I didn't do ANYTHING!" cried Harry as Mr. Dursley's meaty clubs found their mark, striking harry arm and torso with heavy blows. "I didn't even know Mrs. Figg got hurt!"

"DON'T LIE TO ME!" Vernon roared, spittle flying everywhere. "YOU PLANNED FOR THIS TO HAPPEN!"

The abuse continued until the boy was unable to do more than cry incoherently. Finally Petunia pulled her husband off the boy, but not before his fat fist clipped Harry's black eye, causing him to black out.