Disclaimer: The literary and cinematic works of Harry Potter and its universe, are own by J.K. Rowling, Bloomsbury, Scholastic and Warner Bros. I make no claims to Harry Potter, but do own the original plot and original characters.
Speech or thoughts:
thoughtsspell castingnon-verbal casting
Tears welled up, enhancing the green that surrounded the iris; making the color shift and move as though it was the highland grass of Ireland moving in the spring wind. The reason for these tears was only five centimeter away above the left cheek. A contusion had developed after the blood had moved to help heal the damage left by a meaty right hand fist. The fist had belonged to the green eyes uncle. A horrid man of extreme weight and violence. That man's name was Vernon Dursley.
Vernon was an average man with an above average job, well for him anyway, but Vernon had been brought up in a strictly religious household. Where even the mere evidence of peculiarly was meet with a zealous response. Vernon however had not followed the teachings of his parents to their exact requirements because if he did, his nephew, a one Harry James Potter, would have been left to rot in the orphanages. The only reason he did not respond like his parents would have, was because of love. Love for his wife, Petunia Dursley neé Evans, but god forgive you if you ever called her Evans.
Petunia Dursley was a tall woman, far taller the the average British woman. A long neck that always was dressed in a necklace of a garish nature, with a pointed face. A beauty was there if one would look for it, and blonde hair almost the color of soft hay. One could almost call her a soft beauty, if only she didnt open her mouth, because for once she did, one could believe that a monster was hiding beneath the surface.
Petunia wanted no extreme harm to come to Harry, more so for the Dursley reputation than for her nephew's well being. For she felt coerced by the world that her sister left her for, to care for the little 'freak'. It is true that Petunia loved her sister, however only her sister. For the blood that course through the 'freak's' body was that of the world that tainted and warped her little sister's mind. She would care for the child because it was her sister's but she would not love it, and if it ever dared put her child or her family in danger, due to its freakishness, well then, it wouldnt be her sister son anymore wouldn't it.
It was July 31, Harry Potter's 5th birthday, now normally the Dursley wouldn't dare celebrate the freaks birth, but the Dursleys were cruel and this year they felt paricularly petty. Vernon and his progressively bigger clone of a son, Dudley, had taken it upon themselves to wake early to get a present for the space-waster.
That morning Dudley found a car boot sale and urged his father to shop there. Vernon found the symbolism gartifying, pulling over Dudley and Vernon were affronted by the sellers appearance, the woman, old, much older than the two had ever seen before. Skin loose and wrinkly like crumpled paper, wearing a tattered robe or cloak, that they were for sure, used to be a different color. Hair, matted and stained in brown and possibly red, most likely blood. Dudley was sure it was due to the old hag having as though one giant scab on her head. It took Dudley time to be able to look away, to save his stomach from resurfacing his wonderful breakfast he had had with his father. Dudley tore his eyes away on the task at hand, to humiliate his cousin, the freak. Which Dudley thought was truthfully his cousins name. Dudley perused the hags wares looking for something that served no purpose, it was then Dudley found a small hand cranked object like the dial on his mothers sewing machine. To Dudley it looked like a mini sewing machine.
"What's this?" Dudley asked holding up the machine to the hag's eye level.
It almost seemed to take the hag forever to look at the machine, when she actually did she pulled a pair of glasses from inside her robe, a disturbing bright pink color with a cracked right lense and placed them on her crooked nose.
"That...oh yes... that is a custom made metal stamper... made... made... when was it... oh yes... 1885" the hag remarked with an unnatural slowness.
Dudley smiled a beautiful, radiant smile, a type of smile that did not belong on him, due to the intentions behind that smile.
'... perfect for the freak.' Dudley thoughts seem to croon a bit.
Dudley never noticed the slight shift of revulsion in the hags eyes and as she turned away to look at Vernon, who seem oddly enchanted by a block of tethered wood. A giddy sort of look appeared on the man's face. Vernon nodded and his face morphed to a smug satisfied look. Vernon turned again to the woman and had to quickly look away, somehow the woman had appeared uglier than she did before. Vernon took the time to center his mind and looked back to the hag and proffered the tethered blocks of wood.
"How much for this and the thing in my son's hand?" Concealed animosity was present in Vernon's question.
The hag looked at Vernon's item and Dudley's item.
"The items you have... are worthless... to you... they are literally items i picked up in my travels but never... used." The slowness carried a certain tremor as the hag spoke.
"Perfect." Vernon said trying his dam'dest to conceal a smile.
Vernon slapped a couple of pounds on to one of the crates that held up the remainder of her wares and Dudley and himself got in the car and drove away.
Watching the car as they turned the corner the old hag, hacked and spit on the ground at where the two fat children last stood.
"Disgusting humans." The hag spoke with such revulsion that she had to spit again because of it.
Disappointment was one emotion that Harry had been taught(beaten) never to show to his relatives. However, he did show it on this day, a day that had meaning to others but it was just another day to him.
It started with the breakfast, Harry was required to fix all of the food. Bangers and mash, eggs, and honey tea for his relatives and for Harry, Harry had toast with jam. Next was gifts, or whatever they called them. From all of them, a very, very old book, the pages looked as though the paper would crumble, and something else. Dudley called it a 19th century metal stamping machine, but everyone would call it junk.
Harry was confused though, typically they tell him that being able to breathe air and sleep was there gift to him, today was different, and for the life of him Harry didn't know what he was supposed to do. It was this look of befuddled that caused great joy to the Dursley. Their laughter frightened Harry, for Harry had no idea for the reason for their laughter.
This was not an everyday occurrence and Harry had no clear understanding of the humor.
A flash of light brought Harry out of his confusion and felt sad and the beginning of tears. The three Dursley's ignored the frail child and began to plan, they wanted more of the pain and anguish.
"What do we do now my pet?" Vernon said with a revolting amount of glee.
Petunia had to think, it wasn't hard to come up withmultiple things,but which would have the greater impact on the little freak was the question. Due to their rearing of the freak, the boy had no idea of satisfaction. In fact Petunia faltered at how to humiliate and punish the boy further. 'It' wasnt like Dudley and had ever asked for what it wanted.
Vernon's face was turning a puce colour, trying to think of ways to make the miserable little monster suffer more. That was until Vernon thought of something, something most vile and despicable. Vernon would never call himself evil, but he would say he had evil ideas.
"Dudley stay with the freak and make sure he stays unhappy." A smug look bloomed on Vernons face as he grabbed his beloved wife and took her out of the room.
Harry kept an eye out for his aunt and uncle, something seemed different about this whole thing and that scarred Harry. Harry desperately tried to keep his aunt in his eyeline, because regardless of how he disliked his family, his Aunt was his only connection to his mother, and that was something he would suffer to keep. Dudley took his duty serious and began to punch his favorite punching bag repeatedly, and while it wasnt as satisfying as he did it before, and he didnt understand why, his father had given him a job and he was going to complete it.
The one failure that Dudley committed though was not stopping Harry from watching the fervent display of his parents, a failure that would have made a difference. Moments later Petunia would re-enter the room and gather her son and the freak and prepare them for a trip. On the mention of a trip Harry became excited, his aunt and uncle never took him anywhere before. While a little voice inside told him to doubt this excursion, the hope of a five year old was deafening.