It was another day in the Dursley's household. Perfectly normal, thank you very much. The man of the house, Vernon, was off to work at Grunnings, a drill making company. His lovely wife, Petunia, was ready to take care of their wonderful son, Dudley, for the day. Fate did not have a normal day planned for some other members of the Dursley's extended family, however.
James and Lily Potter had married barely a month after their graduation from one Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and had a little boy of their own only a few short months later. The boy was set to have a wonderful and loving childhood, even despite the war that waged around. He had two (perhaps even four) loving parents, one (Two, even!) of whom was rich beyond imagination. He would want for nothing.
Albus Dumbledore, defeater of Gellert Grindelwald, holder of the Elder Wand, believed in many things. One of the most important, perhaps, had to be his belief in the "Greater Good" of the wizarding world. He could easily have the newest orphan that he had acquired sent to a loving wizard family, preferably Pureblood, to help the Boy-Who-Lived grow into a proper member of polite society. It would have been better if the child had never had to mix with the same filthy Muggles that plagued the earth like a disease. But it had to be done.

"Boy! Get out here and fix your cousin's breakfast!" It just so happened to be Harry Potter's sixth birthday, not that any of his family had noticed. Not that they ever did.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon!" Harry didn't mind. Of course he didn't. He was simply glad that none of them gave him special attention on his birthday.
It was a simple task, fixing Dudley's breakfast every morning. Toast, strawberry jam; two fried eggs with salt, no pepper; one pancake, no butter. Harry had it down almost to an art. Vernon was a little more complicated, seeing as he wanted something different almost every day. Petunia was the easiest, she was always up a half-hour before Harry and fixed her own breakfast. The biggest rule that Harry had for breakfast was to not burn anything. The same went for dinner, and lunch if he was fixing it. Last time he had broken that rule, his hand was held to the burner for a count of five. He hated to think what it would be if he were to burn anything again.
Luckily, today would not be the day that he found out.
"Nasty business, Petunia," Uncle Vernon was saying when Harry exited his cupboard. "That man thinks that he can just send us an extra fifty pounds and we'll be happy. It's as if we don't have to put up with the boy all of the time. If it weren't for the crazy fool, we wouldn't have the brat in the first place."
Harry didn't know who "that man" was, but he did know that "the boy" referred to him. All he could hope was that Uncle Vernon wasn't too angry at whatever Harry had done.
"Marcus at the office is bringing in breakfast today, boy. Just make my coffee, and don't mess it up or there will be consequences."
"Yes, Uncle Vernon."
"You hear the brat, Petunia? 'Yes, Uncle Vernon!' He thinks he has room to be cheeky!" It seemed that luck was not on Harry's side today, for Uncle Vernon was angry about something. Harry had always been a perfect scapegoat and punching bag, not that he knew what either of those words meant, and he would continue to be so today. "When I get home from work, I expect this house to be spotless, the garden to be weeded, and you to be in your cupboard waiting for your punishment. I haven't the time to deal with you now."
With that, Uncle Vernon stood, pulling his coffee away from Harry so quickly that some splashed out of the side and onto Harry's hands and the floor. Tearing up, Harry moved to clean up the spill as fast as his little legs could get him to a rag.

After a long day of cleaning and weeding, Harry found himself back in the cupboard under the stairs. Just in time, too, for right as the door shut on his cupboard, Harry heard Uncle Vernon's key in the front door. Three short breaths and two heavy steps later, Harry found himself face-to-face with a grinning Uncle Vernon.
"Well, boy, it looks like you've had a very productive day." The smell of brandy on his breath was nauseating for poor young Harry. "I suppose you deserve a reward for your productivity."
There was a flurry of footsteps in the kitchen, followed by a short "Vernon!" from Petunia, and Uncle Vernon straightened and looked to his left, no doubt looking toward his wife.
"Vernon, you'll never guess what Mrs. Cromley from down the street did today!" With one last look towards Harry, Vernon slammed the door to the cupboard.
Harry was left in the dark, but he couldn't help but feel that he had just escaped something horrible.

By the age of ten, Harry had learned that if his Uncle Vernon had been drinking, it was best to be as inconspicuous as possible. It seemed that his shortcomings were just as offensive to Uncle Vernon as his accomplishments.
If he were to do something that displeased his uncle, he would be given an "adequate" punishment. His punishments were mostly beatings, with a variety of objects. Belts, shoes, even one of Aunt Petunia's frying pans had become Uncle Vernon's weapon. The punishments were still better than the rewards.
When he did something that would have made his aunt and uncle proud, had Dudley done it, Harry was given some strange rewards. None of it felt like rewards to him, but Uncle Vernon insisted that Harry be grateful. Harry, however, found it very hard to be grateful for his uncle's meaty hands in places that Harry was highly uncomfortable with.
Nothing was quite that bad when Uncle Vernon was sober. Of course, there were the usual punishments for the oddities that occurred around young Harry, but those weren't near as bad as when Uncle Vernon had been drinking.

Even Dudley's "Harry Hunting" was better than a drunk Uncle Vernon, and that was saying something. It seemed that anything was better than his uncle, but oh well.