Disclaimer I'm not JK Rowling (unfortunately). I do not own Harry Potter or any characters from Harry Potter. Just this fanfiction…
The sun shined down on the perfectly mowed lawns of Privet Drive. The streets were litter free and the flowers were all in bloom. Each driveway had an expensive, shiny car, the biggest of which resided in the flawless garden of number 4.
This house was home to the Dursley's and their orphaned nephew, Harry Potter. For the better part of the year, Harry was away at school. It was only in the summer holidays that he returned to the house of his only living relatives.
Whilst most children enjoyed the summer holidays, Harry despised them. It was true that the weather was extremely pleasant, but Harry, being confined to his room, was unable to enjoy it.
At the end of last term, Harry's headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, had ordered him to stay inside the house where it was safe.
Harry Potter was no normal child. For one thing, he was a wizard, for another, he was the chosen one. When Harry was just a year old his family had been attacked by Lord Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard to ever taint the earth. He had killed Harry's parents and even destroyed their house. When he turned his wand on Harry however, he was temporarily vanquished. The only evidence that Harry had been attacked at all was a lightening bolt shaped scar on his forehead, slightly obscured by his messy jet-black hair.
On the ledge of his window, Harry gazed down at the street below him. As butterflies danced to the sweet singing of the birds, Harry felt he was being mocked.
This summer, Harry thought, was dragging on like an exceptionally boring History of Magic lesson. Sighing, he removed his glasses and gently rubbed the lids of his emerald green eyes.
As each day passed, Harry missed Hogwarts more and more, and whilst his patience considerably lessened, his anger alarmingly grew. He hated being locked in the house with his dreaded muggle relatives, and he hated Dumbledore for insisting upon it. The headmaster had even requested that Harry's best friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, did not write to Harry over the summer. And to ensure that Harry did not write to them, Dumbledore had taken Harry's snowy owl Hedwig into his care. Dumbledore had also banned Harry's godfather, Sirius from writing.
Harry had spent a great deal of the summer moping. He'd also drawn a picture of Dumbledore to throw darts at. How dare Dumbledore treat Harry like such a child? Harry knew that going to the Department of Mysteries was foolish, but everybody makes mistakes. Even Hermione, the cleverest witch in his year, got things wrong on occasion.
At night, Harry was often plagued with nightmares of Voldemort. This was hardly a new thing. His dreams had been disturbed by the monstrous snake-like face of the Dark Lord since his return at the end of Harry's fourth year. Almost every night, Harry would wake from one of his tormenting dreams with a painful twinge in his scar.
Harry also had nightmares of that night in the Department of Mysteries. He was furious with himself for falling for Voldemort's vicious trick and leading his friends to such danger. Harry was also drowning in guilt with the knowledge that his 'people saving thing', as Hermione put it, had almost resulted in his godfather's death. Had it not been for Snape, Harry was certain Sirius would have fallen through the veil.
Still, if it weren't for Harry's foolishness, most of the wizarding world would refuse to believe Voldemort had returned. Also, Harry reminded himself, Sirius' name would not have been cleared.
As Harry slipped his glasses back onto his sweaty nose, the booming voice of Uncle Vernon ordering him downstairs invaded his ears. Releasing a sigh of aggravation, Harry swung his legs round and made his way downstairs, taking as much time as he dared.
Upon his entrance, Vernon threw him a look of distaste as he barked "Do something about that hair boy!" Harry made a non-committal noise in the back of his throat, causing his uncle to glare.
The beefy man with very little neck and a rather large moustache turned to the mirror to fix his greying hair.
With his hands in the pockets of his too big jeans – they had once belonged to his cousin – Harry silently waited for his uncle to speak again.
Seemingly pleased with his appearance, uncle Vernon turned back to Harry and cleared his throat to speak. "Your aunt and I will be attending a dinner party at the Mason household tonight. They pointedly refused to step foot in this house again after that stunt you pulled with the pudding." Harry rolled his eyes, not even bothering to correct his uncle that Dobby the house elf had been the soul cause of the incident.
As uncle Vernon droned on, Harry stopped paying attention. Instead, he noticed how his uncle's moustache quivered as he spoke, making each individual whisker seem alive.
Harry shifted his weight onto his right foot and fought the urge to yawn in boredom. He allowed his mind to drift further, but still managed to catch the odd word or two.
The clicking sound of heels announced that aunt Petunia was ready. She was a skinny woman with a long neck and horse-like teeth. She had high cheekbones and her eyelashes were congealed together with mascara. Vernon smiled at his wife and proudly stated that she looked radiantly beautiful. Harry bit the inside of his cheeks to contain his laughter. That particular colour of her dress made Harry think she'd simply rolled around in some manure.
Aunt Petunia took her husband's compliment gratefully and rewarded him with a gentle peck on the lips. Harry cringed as Vernon's moustache shuddered with delight. Uncle Vernon then readjusted his trousers before giving his nephew a final warning not to upset Dudley in any way, then offered his arm to Petunia and led her out.
The door slammed shut and the gravel crunched under the tyres of the car as Vernon pulled out of the driveway.
Swivelling his head around, Harry glanced at the clock. It was 4.30 in the afternoon and the sun was still shining. Too lazy to head back upstairs, Harry dropped himself ungracefully onto the couch. He nearly sank to the floor as he was in the place Dudley usually occupied. Being heavier than a baby whale, Dudley's incredible weight had been murder for the sofa, and indeed any chair he chose to sit on. He'd already caused four chairs to break and collapse by sitting on them with his immense load.
Reaching for the remote, Harry heard a thunderous belch from his enormous cousin, Dudley, who was just waddling in from the kitchen. Clicking on the T.V, Harry began flicking through the channels, all the while feeling Dudley's piggy little eyes burning into him.
Growing rather irritated, Harry lashed his body around to face Dudley. He raised his eyebrows and looked at him enquiringly. When Dudley remained silent, he felt a strong urge to throw the remote control at his balloon shaped head.
Harry returned his focus to the television in an attempt to ignore Dudley, whose eyes were still trained upon him. Not long after, Dudley began to taunt Harry. He said that Harry was a worthless freak and his parents got off lucky by being killed.
Boiling with rage, Harry dug his nails into his palms and continued to stare determinedly at the T.V. Inside his head, a little voice that sounded very much like Hermione's, told him to ignore his cousin.
However, no matter how hard harry tried to block Dudley's sluggish voice, each and every word hit Harry like a brutal blow from a Whomping Willow.
A strong desperation to storm from the house bubbled and frothed inside his chest. As Dudley moved closer, invading Harry's personal space, he finally snapped. Rising to his feet, Harry stepped right up close to Dudley and bellowed in his face.
"Just shut the fuck up Dudley, you don't know what you're talking about!" Harry's cheeks had turned red in anger and his whole body shook with rage.
Rather than being intimidated, Dudley seemed delighted with the reaction he'd got.
"How are you gonna shut me up then, Potter?" Dudley asked gloatingly. "Let me guess," Dudley continued, his eyes shining with vicious intent, "you're gonna get Cedric to sort me out? Oh wait," Dudley said mockingly whilst Harry stiffened. "You can't get Cedric to sort me out. He's dead because you got him killed, just like your parents. So tell me, did he scream?"
Smack! Unable to take anymore, Harry had swung his fist straight into Dudley's nose. Staggering, Dudley cradled his bleeding nose and edged away from Harry as he raised his fist for a second blow. This time, Harry's fist made contact with Dudley's huge stomach, causing him to double over. Harry then kicked his cousin in the balls and in a sudden surge of recklessness, he exited the house leaving Dudley on the floor, whimpering in pain.
Seething, Harry slammed the door behind him, and took off furiously down the silent street.
Arriving at a park, Harry sat himself on one of the swings, his blood still boiling with fury at Dudley and his big mouth. Normally, he didn't let Dudley's insults bother him, but this time there was a sadistic voice telling him that Dudley's words were true.
Suddenly, the hairs on the back of Harry's neck began to stand on end. Casting his eyes around the seemingly deserted park, Harry reached into his pocket and clasped his hand around his wand, which he had recently taken to keeping upon his person at all times. Looking around he saw nothing, but a prickling sensation in his scar told him his eyes were betraying him.
Not wanting to face the cause of his unease, he broke into a sprint. He'd barely made five desperate steps before a hand covered his mouth and he was hit with what was unmistakably a stunning jinx as a wave of nausea took hostage of him and his world went black…
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