Chapter Two - [morning]
Harry awoke with a start, with sweat down his back, soaking his shirt. He had just had a nightmare. A dementor-filled one. Harry shuddered at the sight of their faces looming in on him, hands stretched out, ready to suck out his soul.
A high, heartless laugh sounded through his ears, followed by his father's panic-stricken voice and his mother pleading to Lord Voldemort for Harry's sake.
This was not the first time he had had that dream. It had been like an endless thought, playing over and over in his troubled head.
"Boy! Get down here and watch the bacon! Don't you dare let it burn!" was the shrill voice of Aunt Petunia.
With that, Harry was pulled from his dreams and back to reality.
THUD. THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUMP, THUD.
Must be Dudley making the day's entrance, Harry thought.
Harry stumbled out of bed, changed out of his pajamas, and walked out to the hall and downstairs to the kitchen.
There was mail and as Harry picked it up, and there was his Hogwarts letter. Eager, he dashed back to his room, stuck it into a drawer, and dashed back down again, handing Uncle Vernon the rest of the mail and went over to watch the bacon.
It was burnt. Aunt Petunia was going to blow. Harry quickly ran upstairs, leaving Dudley alone in the kitchen with the bacon.
It was Wednesday, Dudley's birthday.
Harry had hoped that Dudley would have to spend his birthday eating carrot sticks and granola bars. But Aunt Petunia decided to let Dudley have a special day. She was going to let him have "real food".
Bacon, ice cream, cake, syrup, soda pop, fast food, anything to get Dudley happy again.
As usual, Dudley's diet hadn't been going well. Aunt Petunia discovered him once scarfing up donuts he had sneaked into the house with help from Piers.
She was bringing up the laundry when she walked into Dudley's room and saw him. Later, with Uncle Vernon home, they had this huge row and Dudley was put on another diet, one even stricter than the last.
The refrigerator now contained no more than what a bird would be fed in a single week.
Dudley had refused to speak to his parents now, only grunting whenever anyone spoke to him.
But, since it was Dudley's birthday, Aunt Petunia decided to get her "Duddy-poo" to cheer up and realize that this diet was good for him.
Harry could care less about Dudley. He had more important things on his mind.
He had only received two owls since departing at King's Cross station at the beginning of summer.
Hermione and Ron.
The best friends anyone could ever have. Harry felt someone was poking him in the side.
It was an owl. And with a letter from Sirius, too.
The bird was—beautiful. It was an eagle owl, with silky plumes of gold and bronze in between its charcoal feathers. He guessed that Sirius was somewhere up north, where most eagle owls resided.
Harry—
You'll be seeing me shortly. Details will follow in the next week or so.
Love,
Snuffles
That would have ranked as Sirius's second-shortest letter ever. Harry wondered when he'd be seeing Sirius.
He absentmindedly petted the eagle owl, stroking its glossy feathers.
Harry snapped back and headed over to the desk to pen a response.
Dear Sirius,
How are you? You know, the Dursleys aren't about to welcome a supposedly wizard fugitive into their house sometime soon. Miss you lots. Write back soon.
Harry
Harry watched as the eagle owl flew of with Sirius's letter, and Harry watched until—
"HARRY POTTER! WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH THE BACON?" roared Uncle Vernon. "YOU'D BETTER HAVE AN EXCUSE! DO YOU THINK YOU CAN RELAX AND LET YOUR BRAKFAST BURN AND THE HOUSE WITH IT?! EH, BOY? GET DOWNSTAIRS RIGHT NOW."
Harry leapt from his desk, threw open to door, and sprinted downstairs to the kitchen.
He tried to imagine the scene: BOY HERO DEAD AT FOURTEEN, says the Daily Prophet. He laughed inwardly at the thought.
"Are you MAD, boy? Endangering your cousin and us after what we've done for you?! Letting the house burn down? I caution you, boy, if it weren't for our pity on your selfless parents and you, we'd have thrown you to poverty! Understand?" whispered Uncle Vernon, his face a beautiful royal purple and his eyes bloodshot.
"Er," Harry said, and he walked to the kitchen to clean up the sooty frying pan. This was going to be a l-o-n-g day.
Later, in the afternoon, Aunt Petunia had assigned him to prune the rose bushes and to replace some missing tiles on the roof. His Hogwarts letter lay forgotten in his desk.
