Disclaimer: Nope! I still don't own it... runs away and cries

Chapter Two: Dudley's Fifth Birthday

Harry was dreaming.

"What story will it be tonight, bud?" the deep masculine voice of his faceless father would ask. He was sitting on the side of his son's bed, a stack of books in his arms.

"The one with the giant! The one with the giant!" Harry tried to say, but he never talked in his dreams, not to his parents at least. Nevertheless, his father seemed to understand as he pulled out Jack and the Beanstalk.

"Again? I've read it to you at least five thousand times!" his father prodded playfully and laughed at the pleading look his son was giving him.

"Oh if he wants to read it, let him read it, dear," came the soft, beautiful voice of his mother as she entered with a cup of hot cocoa. "Here you are, Harry," she said soothingly as she handed her son the steaming mug. "Careful! It might still be a little hot."

"Thank-you," Harry wanted to say, but again no sound came out of his mouth. His mother smiled still as though she received his gratitude.

"O.K. now," his father started, opening the cover, "where did we leave off last night?"

"Just start when Jack reached the top of the bean stalk," mother said. She joined her son and husband by sitting on the other side of his bed.

"O.K. let's see here," his father stalled as he turned to the right page. "Alright, here we are! 'Jack climbed and climbed until he could climb no more. At the top of the beanstalk was the entrance to a vast meadow with a huge house right in the middle…"

Harry listened, his heart content. Every now and then, he would take a sip of his drink and his mother would smooth back the hair from his face. Only five minutes in he could feel sleep consume him.

"'…and then Jack saw him. The giant was tall and ugly as he called out "fee, fi, fo, fum," causing the ground to shake at his volume…'"

Harry took another sip of hot cocoa, his eyelids drooping. He vaguely felt his mother reach over and take the half empty mug out of his hands.

"'…Jack saw the golden harp…'"

His mother started rubbing her thumb over the side of his cheek.

"'…and then…'"

Harry didn't know what happened next in the story. All he knew was of the warm feeling in his stomach as his father's voice and his mother's touch lolled him to sleep.

Suddenly, his mother's hand became rather harsh as her rubbing turned into slapping.

"Wake up! Come on, boy! Up you get!" Now that wasn't his mother's voice. Instead, that was his Aunt Petunia who was slapping him on the cheek to wake him.

"Up boy! Today's Dudley's birthday and you need to help me with the chores!" She said roughly, slamming the door to his cupboard shut.

Harry's eyelids opened blearily. He saw the ceiling of the cupboard greeting him. He wished everyday that he'd wake up to his parents faces. The dream he had of them was slipping away fast and Harry desperately tried to hold on to it.

Sitting up, the young boy pulled the string next to his head to turn on the light, illuminating the space. The bulb flickered slightly (Harry was sure it was about to go out) as he pulled on his small glasses, taking in his cupboard.

His cupboard was dark and cold in the morning. There never was much to it. Just a cot, and old blanket, his stuffed dog, some small broken toys he took from Dudley, some hand-me-down clothes stuffed in a corner, and some spiders.

Harry didn't mind the spiders in his room. At least they were nice to him, unlike Dudley. They usually stayed in their webs on the ceiling all day. 'How boring that must be', Harry thought randomly.

Grabbing the same oversized clothes from yesterday, Harry quickly dressed. He had a rather large pair of kaki pants on and an itchy sweater whose sleeves had to be rolled up four times for Harry to use his hands.

Harry didn't have much, but he did have some dignity for his possessions. Before leaving, he folded his ratting old blanket and set it at the foot of his bed. Also, he would hide his stuffed dog under the pillow so Dudley never got him.

This stuffed dog meant a whole lot to Harry. He was pretty sure that this toy was also left on the doorstep along with him. The small dog had black fur and had letters stitched across its chest, but Harry couldn't read yet. Hewas only four.

Harry heard footsteps come to the door of the cupboard.

"Hurry up, boy! Dudley's waiting!" his Aunt yelled while rapping on the door.

'At least she didn't come in,' Harry thought as he tugged on the string, turning the one light off.

'If only I could remember them.' Harry thought sadly as he turned the stuffed dog in his small hands before tucking it underneath his pillow.

With a small smile on his face, Harry got up and headed for the kitchen.

Even though he's only a four year old, Harry still was required to help cook breakfast with Aunt Petunia. No civil conversation would ever be reached between the two. Aunt Petunia spent most of the time barking orders of insults to her nephew. Harry never really talked much and knew talking back meant time in the cupboard.

Dudley was sitting at the kitchen table around all of his presents. He would go back and forth from trying to peak into his presents and banging his fist on the table and wailing for food. Harry always saw through Dudley's trick. His cousin's goal was to make him as miserable as possible, and now he was certainly achieving it.

"Don't you see my little Diddly-Dumdums is hungry?" Aunt Petunia asked distressingly. "Make yourself useful and watch the bacon." She then went over to Dudley and continued her daily routine of smothering.

Harry got the stool from under the sink he uses to reach the stove. From over the countertop, he could see Dudley smirking at him through his mother's arms.

Harry annually thought of one thing on Dudley's birthday. Seeing that the Dursley's don't care if it's Harry's birthday or the second Thursday of May, he was usually left to wonder…

'What would my parents do on my birthday…?' Harry could imagine the necessities: a birthday cake and presents. 'Would they get chocolate or vanilla cake? Would they give me so many gifts that Dudley would be jealous?'

He could see it now: the whole family (minus the Dursleys) would be there and there would be streamers and party hats and a large chocolate cake with 'Happy Birthday, Harry' on it. Everyone would sing for him and then they could play games and not make him cook and clean and…

"Hurry up with that bacon, boy!" His uncle scolded him as he finally made an appearance into the kitchen, the paper under his arm. He spotted Dudley and his ill-tempered glare turned into a simulated smile.

"Dudders, my big boy! How old are you today?" Uncle Vernon asked as he slapped his son on the shoulder, proud as ever.

Dudley didn't seem to be paying attention to his father as he was busy trying to peek into his presents again. A very large box at the end of the table caught his attention quickly.

"Oh, Vernon! He's so excited! Oh, go ahead, Dudley, open some!" Aunt Petunia called as she joined her son and husband at the table, leaving Harry with the rest of breakfast.

Harry watched as Dudley practically dived for the large box, not having to be told twice. He heard his uncle exclaim, "Going for the best first! That a boy Dudders!" Harry watched with sad eyes as his cousin torn apart the wrapping and nearly let out a pig squeal of delight.

Dudley got his very own T.V. for his room. That way, he doesn't have to make the long walk down the stairs and into the sitting room to watch his morning cartoons. Dudley talked loudly about his new gift, as if wanting Harry to come over so he could beat him up.

"Now, Vernon, if we only had one in the kitchen, Dudley could watch and eat at the same time!" Aunt Petunia milked out. She clearly thought that this was a great way of multi-tasking.

"But where in the kitchen, deary?" Uncle Vernon asked. He scanned the kitchen before he saw the tufts of black hair over the countertop. Harry couldn't see him but he knew that the unpleasant scowl returned.

"Aren't you finished yet, boy?" came his Uncle's angry voice. Harry stepped up his stool to reply, knowing that talking back when not face to face meant a long stay in the cupboard.

"Yes, I'll be right there, Uncle Vernon." Harry grasped the handle of the pan and carefully tried to step off the stool.

A very sharp and stinging pain hit Harry's arm as he dropped the pan, clutching his arm. Some of the hot grease from the pan made contact on Harry's arm, burning his skin.

"Now look what you've done, boy!" Uncle Vernon looked ready to explode. Harry could vaguely hear Dudley wailing in the back while his mother tried desperately to calm him down.

Tears were running down Harry's face. He was biting on his bottom lip to try to mask any cry that was fighting to come out. The pan was on the floor, its contents of hot grease and bacon spewed out around it.

Uncle Vernon grabbed Harry by the hair and literally dragged him back to his cupboard. He opened the door, shoved his nephew in roughly, and slammed it shut again.

Harry sat alone in the dark for who knew how long. Hot tears leaked out of Harry's eyes and ran down the sides of his cheeks. The wails of pain were close to release as Harry shoved his face into his pillow and sobbed.

It could have been minutes or it could have been hours. The door to the cupboard opened as Aunt Petunia tossed him a cool cloth and a box of band-aids.

It was dark by the time Harry was let out of the cupboard. The house was rather empty during the day as Dudley went to the park with some neighborhood kids as part of his party. Now, all of them have returned to the sitting room and kitchen for cake and ice cream.

Harry heard the party of kids sing Dudley happy birthday. Even from the cupboard, he could hear his cousin's blows as it took one… two… three blows to get out all five candles. He could hear Uncle Vernon's proud booming voice and Aunt Petunia's shrilly blubbering.

He didn't know what hurt more, his blistering, burnt arm that he had to patch up in the dark (his light bulb finally snuffed it) or his aching heart.

Harry then heard the front door open and loud, heavy footsteps vibrated the floor.

"Sorry Vernon, Petunia… I came a little later than I planned. I had to have Colonel Filibuster look after my babies. Oh, is that my little Dinky-Dudders? Look how big you've gotten!"

Harry's heart fell to the floor. It was Aunt Marge.

Harry was now sitting amongst the kids from Dudley's party. Aunt Marge almost demanded that Harry joined them just so that she could pick on the little four-year-old.

Harry tried not to give her any reason to talk or touch him. He sat quietly and didn't say a word to the other kids (all who looked rather scared of Dudley). His stomach rumbled slightly. He hadn't eaten anything all day. If only he hadn't missed out on cake and ice cream….

Aunt Marge was a big and porky woman just like her brother, Uncle Vernon. She often talked loudly about her precious dogs. She treated them as if they were her children. They all had rooms to themselves and got the best type of three meal courses out there for dogs.

"Yes, old Filibuster taking a proper looking after my dogs," Aunt Marge droned on and on. "He recons that they're all rather… 'peaky' is what I think he said. 'Now you just wait,' I told him, 'I'm about to get myself a new dog. A tough, decent dog.'"

"What are you going to name it?" Uncle Vernon asked conversationally as if buying huge, probably terrifying, dogs was part of the day to day routine in his house. He, Aunt Petunia, and Aunt Marge were all sitting around table drinking tea as Dudley showed his guest his new T.V..

"I think I'll name him Ripper. Doesn't that just sound positively marvelous?" Aunt Marge asked exhilarated.

"Oh," exclaimed Aunt Petunia. She nearly dropped her tea cup. "It's… charming…"

"Soon, our little Dudders is gonna be a man," Aunt Marge brought her attention back to the party of toddlers. "Five. Wow, it felt like just yesterday when he was born…"

"Yeah," replied Aunt Petunia wearily, "times flies."

"And than hecame…" started Aunt Marge. Harry looked up from the circle of children. He just knew that a 'he, him, you,' or 'boy' stressed that way was a conversation about himself.

"Just turned up when I went out to get the milk bottle," said Aunt Petunia in a small voice. She obviously didn't want to bring up the subject again. Uncle Vernon, on the other hand, looked as if he wanted to complain about his nephew all day.

"The little brat of a kid. He can't do anything right, and how could he with parents like his… sorry Petunia," he said hastily. Aunt Petunia went a slight shade of green at the mention of her sister, Harry's mum.

"It's O.K. dear," exclaimed Aunt Marge, patting her sister-in-law on the forearm, "It probably came from his father, just like all of his looks…"

"Yeah," sighed Aunt Petunia. She definitely didn't want to talk about this.

"But even just this morning," started Uncle Vernon's rant, "he dropped the pan of bacon, probably on purpose too. He knows that it's Dudder's birthday. It took a while too clean the mess up. It caused us to be late to the park to meet up with Dudley's friends…"

"And look at all of his friends!" Aunt Marge estimated about eight of him. "Quite the social man, Dudders, just like his father."

"Back to the boy, though Marge…" Uncle Vernon wanted to get his daily amount of complains in. Aunt Petunia got up from the table suddenly, looking dismayed. The other two looked up at her in surprise.

"I ca-, why do-, why don't we have the kids play a game?" She stuttered out nervously. "They… they look bored…"

"An excellent idea, deary!" exclaimed Aunt Marge. "Nothing like a little game to teach my little nephey-poo real life applications…. How about musical statues? Round up the chairs Petunia…"

Chairs were set with their backs creating a circle in the sitting room. Aunt Petunia brought in eight chairs for the eight guests plus Dudley…

"Now, Petunia," Aunt Marge started. "Why don't you grab another. You know, for the boy…"

"Oh," exclaimed Aunt Petunia, as if she merely forgot a chair. Uncle Vernon almost looked ready to vocally disagree.

Now nine chairs were added to the circle. Aunt Petunia also brought in her old record player in just for kicks.

"Here we are," she said as she set the turntable down, "Now, how many know how to play…?"

Harry sat in silence as Aunt Petunia patiently explained the game. Harry has seen Dudley play this with other kids before, but never had he been able to play it. He glanced up at Aunt Marge, wondering why she would let him play a game on Dudley's birthday too…!

Aunt Marge almost had a malicious smirk on her face when she looked at Harry. Whatever she was planning, it wasn't going to be pretty.

Once Aunt Petunia was done explaining the game, everyone took their places as the spindle of the tonearm made contact with the record, emitting a jazzy tune. Harry got a little shove behind him as he almost forgot to start walking.

Surprisingly, when the music stopped, Harry got a chair to himself. Dudley had pushed a little girl half his size to the floor to get a chair. She almost looked ready to cry. The rest of the small party guest looked at each other, wondering which one of them would receive the next shove by the birthday boy….

The game continued on. The jazzy tune continued for almost a whole minute before it stopped. Once again, Harry got a chair to himself. This time, a small boy with sandy hair got out. He had purposely jumped away at the end of the song to stay out of Dudley's reach.

As the game progressed, more and more children went out on purpose to avoid Dudley's fists. Harry, on the other hand, was enjoying himself. This game was rather fun. As long as he let Dudley win, he could appreciate the game.

The number of players soon diminished. In the final round, it was just Harry and Dudley. As Aunt Petunia was clearing the room for the one chair, Dudley was maliciously massaging his knuckles. Harry gulped.

The music started up again and the two started walking around the remaining chair. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge looked absolutely furious at the thought thathe could beat out their perfect little Dudders.

Aunt Marge came up with a solution as she stuck out her cane. It hit Harry hard in the shins, causing him to tumble to the ground. Dudley, who was walking as close up to his cousin as possible, tripped over his cousin and fell to the ground, creating a small earthquake in the sitting room. Harry felt the wind being pushed out of his lungs as his lardy tub of a cousin crushed him.

"I saw him, Vernon!" shouted Aunt Marge angrily, "I saw him do it! The boy purposely tripped Dudley over so that he could win!"

Uncle Vernon's look of fury turned suddenly into one of delight. Now, he can tell his nephew off for cheating….

Aunt Petunia looked ready to tell Aunt Marge what really happened but stopped herself right as she started stuttering.

Dudley sure took his time to get off Harry. He sure looked mad and now had a perfectly good reason to pound his scrawny cousin into a pancake. Before he got to him, though, Uncle Vernon came and grabbed Harry by the scruff of his itchy sweater.

"Go to your cup- your room, boy," he threatened and gave his nephew a rather harsh shove in the right direction. Harry didn't need to be told twice as he took off to his cupboard at top speed.

The party ended about an hour later. The doorbell rang repetitiously for ten minutes as parent after parent came to pick up their rather frightened child.

Harry had to wait for everyone to clear out before he could risk a food run. His stomach kept reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything all day.

The light in the cupboard seemed to be out for good. Harry desperately wished that it would still come on. Only the darkest of dark in his cupboard came on nights like this….

After all the guest plus Aunt Marge left, Harry heard Uncle Vernon's heavy footsteps as he ascended the staircase, spraying sawdust in Harry's eyes. Next up was Dudley was he charged up the stairs, causing the sawdust to rain over Harry. Aunt Petunia was last to come. She was probably finishing cleaning and straightening up in the kitchen. As she walked by the cupboard, Harry heard her footsteps stop for a moment before she too went to bed.

Now that the house was silent, Harry desperately wished for his light to return. Suddenly, the bulb flickered back to life. Harry just figured that Dudley's pounding footsteps screwed the bulb in tighter.

As quietly as a mouse, Harry crept out of his cupboard and into the kitchen. He opened the fridge to make himself a small sandwich. He sat at the table, his emotions on hold as he quietly ate his midnight meal.

'If only they were alive,' Harry thought again sadly. His imagination came to play again. He could see them now, his mother and father sitting around the table with him. His pathetic sandwich had morphed itself into a grand chocolate cake. The streamers and balloons that were once up for Dudley's party returned, only now they were red and gold. His beloved stuffed dog was real and perched on the floor beside his chair, wagging its tail. 'If only they were real….'

"Make a wish, Harry," the voice of his mother would say. Harry would oblige, wishing for a way out of the Dursleys. He closed his eyes, blew out his invisible candles over his magic cake.

If he listened closely, he could have sworn he heard his parents clapping, his dog barking. Instead, he opened his eyes to the empty kitchen. Only he and his half eaten sandwich, now covered in spit were left. A sad smile tugged on his lips.

After raiding the kitchen a little more for food, Harry soon returned to his cupboard for the night. He once again dreamed all through the night, as happy as could be….

TBC

Next Chapter: First Day for All

The next chapter will be up within the next week.