Alone
By Aeris
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Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. You're pretty dense if you thought that I did.
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In the Dursley household, there lived four people. There was Mr. Dursley, a plump, no-neck man with a furious temper. His wife, Petunia Dursley, was a scrawny woman, whose appearance was in contrast with that of her husband's. Their son, Dudley, was a terrible brat, with a plump body to match his father's, and a sadistic love to torture others. Especially his cousin, Harry Potter. The Dursleys took in Harry after his parent's untimely death, which his aunt told him to be in a terrible car crash. Perhaps that would explain the medium-sized, lightning-shaped scar on Harry's head.
Of course, his aunt was lying, but Harry would find that out much later.
Harry was looked down upon by his aunt and uncle, and tenfold more by his cousin. He slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and went hungry, only given scraps to eat, while his fatter relatives ate their meals. Poor Harry lived out the first decade of his life alone, unloved, and neglected.
Alone, unloved, and neglected.
Harry often pondered on things. He wondered what his real mum and dad were really like. 'I'll bet they were kind, and loving,' he thought one day, after being thrown in the cupboard by his aunt, after a boa constrictor escaped from its cage at the zoo the day before. Amazing how his aunt and uncle seemed to punish him for the things he didn't cause…or didn't seem to cause, anyway.
Bringing his knees to his chest, and resting his chin upon them, he stared at the back of the cupboard door. 'I bet they'd never lock me in a cupboard.'
'Mum and dad… if they were still alive, I bet we'd live in a nice house, and I'd have my own room. And my own bed. I'd get to eat real meals, until I was so full I'd think I'd pop like a balloon!'
Harry sniffed, and hugged his knees tighter, 'I wish you were still alive, mum and dad. I hate living with 'them.' If only you were still alive, you could come and rescue me from this.'
Tears beginning to spill over the rims of his eyes, Harry cried. He bowed his head and cried tears of grief. Grief for the parents he never knew, and for this life of hell with the Dursleys.
Harry wasn't let out of that cupboard until summer holiday. And not long after that, the letters started to arrive. Letters addressed to Harry Potter, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
By Aeris
------
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. You're pretty dense if you thought that I did.
------
In the Dursley household, there lived four people. There was Mr. Dursley, a plump, no-neck man with a furious temper. His wife, Petunia Dursley, was a scrawny woman, whose appearance was in contrast with that of her husband's. Their son, Dudley, was a terrible brat, with a plump body to match his father's, and a sadistic love to torture others. Especially his cousin, Harry Potter. The Dursleys took in Harry after his parent's untimely death, which his aunt told him to be in a terrible car crash. Perhaps that would explain the medium-sized, lightning-shaped scar on Harry's head.
Of course, his aunt was lying, but Harry would find that out much later.
Harry was looked down upon by his aunt and uncle, and tenfold more by his cousin. He slept in the cupboard under the stairs, and went hungry, only given scraps to eat, while his fatter relatives ate their meals. Poor Harry lived out the first decade of his life alone, unloved, and neglected.
Alone, unloved, and neglected.
Harry often pondered on things. He wondered what his real mum and dad were really like. 'I'll bet they were kind, and loving,' he thought one day, after being thrown in the cupboard by his aunt, after a boa constrictor escaped from its cage at the zoo the day before. Amazing how his aunt and uncle seemed to punish him for the things he didn't cause…or didn't seem to cause, anyway.
Bringing his knees to his chest, and resting his chin upon them, he stared at the back of the cupboard door. 'I bet they'd never lock me in a cupboard.'
'Mum and dad… if they were still alive, I bet we'd live in a nice house, and I'd have my own room. And my own bed. I'd get to eat real meals, until I was so full I'd think I'd pop like a balloon!'
Harry sniffed, and hugged his knees tighter, 'I wish you were still alive, mum and dad. I hate living with 'them.' If only you were still alive, you could come and rescue me from this.'
Tears beginning to spill over the rims of his eyes, Harry cried. He bowed his head and cried tears of grief. Grief for the parents he never knew, and for this life of hell with the Dursleys.
Harry wasn't let out of that cupboard until summer holiday. And not long after that, the letters started to arrive. Letters addressed to Harry Potter, from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
