(June 23 1984)
A bruised little face gazed out of the front window, hidden behind the curtains where he watched as the car drove out of sight, having just been attacked by an angry whale of a man.
The day had begun just like any other day in the normal looking house. A loud bellow woke the members of the house.
"Boy! Get Your lazy butt up and make us breakfast!" The boy opened his bright green eyes as the door of his tiny room, the cupboard under the stairs, was nearly ripped off its hinges.
"Yes Uncle Vernon." The child got up and walked to the kitchen and pushed a stool over to the stove to begin breakfast under the icy glare of the horse like face of his aunt. He got a frying pan out from under the counter, then walked over to the freezer, pulling out some bacon. He had just gotten back to the now hot stove, and carefully placed so bacon in the frying pan when a the sound of a stampede of full grown elephants stomping down the stairs. The source of the noise seemed to decide that it was necessary to make as much noise as possible so early in the morning.
"There's our little birthday boy!" The woman screeched as another child, often mistaken as a baby whale, appeared in the kitchen. Said whale glared at the black haired boy who was standing on the stool over the hot stove. The young whale child ran to the boy on the stool, and kicked the stool out from under the smaller child. The boy fell, taking with him the bacon he was cooking and the grease all over him and the floor. The older whale charged at the burned child yelling incoherently as he hit the child in the face. The man then looked at his watch before glaring at the little boy on the floor.
"We don't have time to wait for the little freak to make more. We'll just have to eat out. We need to leave now so we can have breakfast if we want to get to the amusement park before it gets crowded." The aunt sighed.
That is where we are now. The little black haired child with bright green eyes being left alone once again, with the order to clean up his mess. It was days like this; days where he was left alone with a list of chores impossible for a toddler to do while the rest of the family got to go out and have fun; that made him wish that he had his own parents.
After cleaning up the grease from his little arms and face, and cleaning up the floor the young boy prepared to start the list of chores. A list with chores no human could possibly expect a 3 year old to be able to do. Big chores like loading and unloading the dishwasher, doing the laundry, cleaning the attic, mowing the grass, and washing down the walls.
*There's no way they could expect me to finish all of this before they get back!* He thought dejectedly. It was the truth though. Not only was he supposed to have all the chores done before they got home, he knew that if he failed he be beaten much like he had been a few minutes ago and then he would be locked up in the cupboard without food.
He decided to start with the kitchen first since he was already there. He started off with unloading the dishwasher, being careful not to break any of Aunt Petunia's plates and glasses. He decided to eat the few pieces of bacon that he had been able to cook before Dudley kicked the stool out from under him. Then washed up the plate and frying pan.
Before doing anything else he walked into the living room, checking the floor for any blood from the beating. Seeing a few stains he worked at scrubbing the carpet to get rid of as much of it as he could.
After he finished with that he decided to go to the attic. The dusty area hadn't had anybody enter in years. He decided that if he was unable to finish his chores and needed to make himself scarce, he could probably hide up there until they went to sleep.
It would be a good hiding place, because he aunt would be too busy spying on the neighbors, and gossiping. His uncle didn't have the physical energy to climb all the stairs. He was lucky if he could chase him up the regular flight of stairs, let alone up a second flight. And his whale of a cousin was always too busy watching t.v. or playing video games to bother getting up unless there was food involved.
The attic wasn't all that big, but it was very dusty. It was where his Aunt and Uncle kept useless junk. He decided to start on the left side, where a big red trunk sat in the corner.
The trunk was a beautiful black leather with silver finishing. In the middle was a small silver plate with the letters HJP. There were 3 silver buttons, but here was no zipper on the trunk. Curiosity got to the green eyed child as he feebly clawed at the trunk, unknowingly opening some small half healed cuts on his little hands from yard work the day before. A few drops of blood splashed the letters on the silver plate. A scroll suddenly appeared in front of the boy.
The boy jumped back in surprise, looking around, trying to figure out where the strange scroll came from, because he knew it had not been there before, and it couldn't just appear out of thin air. His aunt and uncle said so. Things couldn't just appear like magic, because magic wasn't real.
Cautiously he scooted closer to the trunk and scroll, watching the area warily, making sure nothing else would just appear. When he got closer the scroll unfolded itself. The words looked like it was written in gold ink.
Welcome to the magical trunk of Harry James Potter.