Dear People of the World, or whoever's even bothering to read this, I have created yet another Harry Potter fanfic, and let me tell you…I am a wreck. So far I don't think any of my previous HP fanfics have been all that good, but this idea has just been stuck in my head, so I'm going for it.

Also, I want to change to the title so any suggestions would be helpful.

Disclaimer: I own Dahlia, or DD, only.

Enjoy! : )

Why I Sort Of Like Harry Potter

Hello there. My name is Dahlia. Dahlia Petunia Dursley, or as everyone except my parents call me DD. My parents are Petunia and Vernon Dursley, and I have a fat older brother named Dudley. You may or may not know it, but my cousin is Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived and all that. My entire family hates him, but not me, at least not completely.

Perhaps that needs an explanation.

Before I was six, I was a very different person than I am now. I was overweight like my brother and Father because of my Mother's constant pampering, I threw temper tantrums every day because the tiniest thing set me off, and most of all I treated Harry just as horribly as the rest of my family. My parents always made sure to tell me that he deserved no sympathy or pity from their treatment of him because he was a "freak", and to demolish any sort of fascination with magic. I just followed what they said and often accompanied Dudley is torturing Harry. To this day I'm still apologizing to him.

Though no matter how awful I was to him, he never fought back. I mean that he did occasionally snarl back comments, and maybe that was because he was afraid of my parents, but he never hit me. He was never cruel to me for no apparent reason. I suppose it's because he's a good person.

I only realized this one day when we went to the park. Mother and Father didn't want to go, but since Dudley and I both threw a hissy fit about it, they conceded, grudgingly bringing Harry along as they couldn't very well leave him in the house alone. Though I think that's because Mother didn't trust him not to break something.

At the park I remember clearly that while I was going down the big slide and Dudley was playing tag with his friends, Harry was sitting all by himself at the swings. None of the other kids wanted to play with him because even back then they knew that he was different. We shared at least that in common. It seemed that kids tried to avoid me too, though I could never remember why.

When Dudley dragged me into a game of hide-and-seek, we started to play in a nearby forest. It wasn't all that deep, but for a six year old it may as well have been the Amazon. I was the seeker, and I looked everywhere for Dudley and his friends, little did I know that they had all led me in the wrong direction and were laughing at me in the park. Even back then Dudley was a complete ass.

Make a mental note that back then I was extremely clumsy, mostly because I was never concerned about where I was going. So naturally I stumbled over a tree root and sprained my ankle, though at the moment I thought I had completely severed it. I cried for my parents, for anyone really, but no one came. Maybe it's because I was too far away for them to hear, or perhaps Dudley heard me but thought it funny that I was crying.

I'm not sure how long I sat there crying, but eventually someone came, though not who I expected. Coming towards me was Harry, who looked warily at me, as if contemplating whether or not to help me. At the time I wasn't sure I wanted his help. But I was desperate, so I eventually started crying for him to help me. At first he just stood there, he later told me that it was because he didn't know how to approach me, but eventually got two pieces of bark and tying them to my ankle with his shoe laces. Then he helped me walk all the way back to the park, me crying the whole time but Harry didn't say a word.

When we got back Mother was completely hysterical and Father began yelling at Harry, obviously thinking that he was the cause of my injury when Dudley tried blaming him for it. I told them that it wasn't Harry, but Dudley who was the reason I was hurt. I'm still not sure if they believed me or not, but they didn't punish Harry. They didn't punish Dudley for that matter either.

After we got home from the doctors, I talked to Harry in his room, aka the cupboard under the stairs. When I asked him why he did it, he just said it was because he heard me crying and wanted to help. Even when I pointed out that I wouldn't have helped him if the situation was reversed, he said that he helped because we were family, and even if I wasn't he would still have helped me out.

Ever since then, I tried to change nearly everything about myself. I stopped eating as much (a nearly impossible task mind you), I started keeping my temper tantrums at a minimum, but most of all I started to like Harry. While I wasn't best friends with him or anything, I at least tried to be civil with him as long as he was with me. Secretly during the beginning of my reform I waited for him to slip up, I wanted him to act un-saintly to me; so that it would justify any rudeness I sent his way. I only allowed myself to be mean to him if he was mean to me first. He never was.

Everyone noticed my change, especially Mother. I knew she wouldn't approve of my friendliness towards Harry, and back when I cared about what she thought I did my best to disguise my actions. When Mother asked why I wasn't eating as much, I said I was trying to watch my weight to look like her. When she asked why I seemed so friendly to Harry, I told her that I was simply showing pity for his "freakishness".

Everything was normal, or as normal as it could be. At least until Harry got his first letter.

Please review. Reviews, especially good ones, are like the Harry Potter convention. I geek out.