Hey there! The name's Furface :) I hope you like this first chapter, and please review, even if you don't like it.
If there's anything inaccurate, please tell me :s
So yeah, enjoy :D
PS. I don't own Harry Potter
Chapter 1: Dinner at Aunt Marge's house
"Boy! Speed up! We're going to be late, remember? We're going to your Aunt Marge's house for dinner!" Vernon roared. Harry was already dressed in his smartest clothes and he had combed his hair, but he didn't come out because he liked getting his uncle worked up. He could imagine his face turning purple with rage, his chest swelling and his fists clenching, making him look rather like a pig.
Harry lived with his aunt and uncle in Little Whinging. His parents had both died in a car accident when he was a baby, and he had been put under the care of his only other living family members.
Uncle Vernon, Aunt Petunia and his cousin, Dudley hated him and made him do the cooking and cleaning. They forced him to live in a small cupboard under the stairs and wear Dudley's old (and rather large) clothes. His cousin had somehow managed to persuade everyone at school to treat him like an outsider too, and so he had no friends there either.
"HARRY!" Vernon yelled, hitting the door so hard that small cracks began to appear in the wood. The boy decided that now was a good time to come out unless he wanted to be strangled, which he didn't. He unlocked the door quietly and stepped into the hallway.
"Ready!" He smiled, "And by the way, do you know what day it is?"
"Wednesday." Vernon said shortly, glaring.
"That's not what I mean, it's a special occasion."
"Don't play games with me, boy! I don't care!"
"But, I'm 11 today!" Harry held back his tears. He had never received a birthday present in his life or any 'Happy Birthdays' either. He didn't know why he hadn't given up on expecting them yet, but the fact that Dudley always received piles (literally) of presents always gave him the hope that maybe he would receive one someday.
"Just get out of the house and into the car, boy." He tapped his right foot impatiently on the floor.
Resisting the urge to stamp on that foot very hard, Harry walked around his uncle's large body and through the door. Thoughts about running away came to his mind, but after a few moments thought, he decided it was a bad idea: he afraid of the hunger and cold that he would have to face.
"Come on, Harry! We're meant to be there in 10 minutes!" Petunia shrieked, her piercing voice causing Harry's ears some slight discomfort.
Harry muttered something under his breath but he got into the car without further fuss.
"What did you say?" Vernon bellowed as the car started to move.
"Nothing!" Harry exclaimed innocently.
"Don't lie, boy!"
"OK." Harry sighed resignedly as they turned onto the motor-way, "I said that I wished you would all die so that I wouldn't have to live with you."
Time seemed to slow down as the family soaked in Harry's ungrateful comment. After all, they had raised him, clothed him, given him a home. No one took it very well.
Petunia's eyes had become slits, her breathing heavy. Dudley had turned to glare, his hand coming up to slap or punch Harry. But the slap never came.
Vernon had also turned around, incredulous. His eyes were wide with shock, his mouth was wide open.
But his reaction was most important because he was driving the car.
'They're overreacting way too much,' Harry thought; but they didn't think so. For some reason, they were under the impression that they had been really nice to him considering that he wasn't their child, and that he was just as pampered as Dudley.
Perhaps had they been unbiased, they would have noticed that he was thin, underfed, that he never smiled and that he had never mentioned having any friends (not that he was really ever spoken to). Dudley on the other hand was more on the porky side, he was always happy because he was given everything he wanted, and he was constantly going out with friends.
But the Dursleys did not have the privilege of an unbiased view, and were shocked at Harry's ungraciousness.
Vernon caused the accident: when he turned around, the steering wheel turned with him, veering them across the motor-way and into the way of a large Jeep.
Eyes grew wide as they realised what was happening, and for some reason, Harry's scar began to burn as though it had been replaced with boiling oil.
The last few seconds came and went and the car was inevitably hit by the Jeep.
Harry became half aware of someone screaming 'Call 999!' outside, but that was all he heard before he blacked out.