Son of the Dark Lord

Chapter 3: Life with the Dursleys

Harry's first few years with the Dursleys weren't too terrible. They were not wonderful by any means, but they were much better than what he would experience with them later. He slept in the crib until he was four, forced to sleep balled up in a fetal position to fit. He did not receive any toys, or extra food, but he was not unduly starved. He was not punished often, as his magical core was not strong enough to cause much accidental magic. Of course Dudley would poke and prod him, tease him, and generally make his life miserable. However, he was not forced to do many chores or to serve the family. That all changed on his fourth birthday.
His birthday was celebrated in much the way his previous two had been. Petunia let him sleep an extra hour then woke him with a harsh knock on the door and a demand that he wake up and help with breakfast. She hoped that he would soon be old enough to make breakfast on his own. He was nearly tall enough to man the stovetop with his step ladder. However, what was different this year was that he didn't answer her immediately. He was sitting on the floor wondering how he had gotten there. Petunia opened the door to wake him up and gasped. Harry was sitting among a mess of broken wood. The color of the chunks let her know that it used to be Dudley's crib.
"What have you done?!"
"I don't know Aunt Petunia! I woke up on the floor. I don't know what happened!"
"You nasty little liar! Just wait until your uncle sees what you have done. Vernoooon!" Harry cringed, fearful of Vernon. He had only been beaten once before, and it was not an experience he wanted to repeat. He racked his brain for an explanation. He remembered waking up last night and being annoyed that he was unable to turn over. He remembered kicking the bars of the crib angrily, wishing they would disappear, but he didn't remember anything after that. Vernon Dursley suddenly appeared in the doorway. He took one quick glance at the room then fixed his stare on Harry.
"You! What have you done to Dudley's crib? Explain yourself!" Harry cowered on the floor.
"I don't know what happened uncle. I'm sorry! Please don't hurt me!"
"Hurt you? First a freak now a liar. Implying that your uncle hurts you. Have you no shame?" Petunia glared at Harry. She stalked out of the room, leaving poor Harry to the mercy of Vernon's anger. After a fierce beating, Harry found himself locked up in the cupboard under the stairs for the first time. Little did he know how much time he would be spending in that cupboard in later years. He was left there all day without any food, only allowed out once to use the bathroom.
That night he was roughly pulled out of the room and given a small sandwich and a glass of water. He heard a few grunts coming from the hallway, but didn't dare leave the kitchen. After about half an hour, he was steered out of the kitchen and shoved back to the cupboard.
"You sleep in here now, boy!" Vernon spat the words at Harry. Harry looked into the cupboard and noticed that a small, cot-like bed had been erected in the small space. There was hardly any other room. He also noticed that the few clothes that had been deemed "his" were shoved onto the shelves at the head (or foot, depending on how he chose to sleep) of the bed. Vernon turned and walked away, revealing Petunia looking oddly at Harry.
"Yes Aunt Petunia?" She thrust some socks at him roughly. He took them, looking up at her, confused.
"Happy Birthday. Now go to bed." He looked down at his birthday present, knowing he should feel grateful, but he couldn't work up the feeling when he realized they were a pair Vernon had particularly disliked. He knew he needed to say something or risk another punishment.
"Thank you Aunt Petunia." With that, he set the socks on a shelf and lay down on the bed. Petunia closed the door and he heard the lock click. He lay awake for a very long time before finally drifting off to sleep.
Over the next few years, the Dursleys piled more and more chores on young Harry. By his seventh birthday, the only chore that Vernon still did was mow the lawn, and that was only because Harry didn't have enough strength to push the mower. Poor Harry made breakfast and lunch, cleaned the house, did the laundry, trimmed the flowers, cleaned up after Dudley, washed the dishes, swept the walkway, and watered the lawn on a weakly basis. Petunia made dinner, but only because she didn't feel Harry was capable enough to do so.
Every free moment Harry had, he was locked in his cupboard. He was allowed use of the bathroom three times a day. Five minutes in the morning to use the facilities ad brush his teeth, one minute in the afternoon to use the facilities, and ten minutes in the evening to take a shower. He was never allowed to watch TV or play any games. His only time outdoors was when he was doing outdoor chores. He very rarely left the house.
The Dursleys usually locked him up when the left the house, whether it be for grocery shopping, dinner, a movie, or any other short outing. Two glorious days a year, Harry spent time with Mrs. Figg, the crazy, cat loving neighbor down the street. He was left with her for Dudley's birthday, and for Petunia's and Vernon's anniversary. They liked to do something special as a family on that day. Harry was also left with Mrs. Figg when the Dursleys when on holiday. He was never told before-hand, he would simply wake up one morning and be told to pack his things. He always hoped it meant that the Dursleys had decided to take him with them, but he was never that lucky.
When Harry started school, it was found that he needed glasses. The only reason the Dursleys allowed that expense was because they were sure the headmistress would report them for neglect. After this, Harry was sure he would enjoy school. He couldn't have been more wrong. Dudley now had more opportunities to play Harry hunting-his favorite game. He was scolded by his parents for playing at home as it distracted Harry from his chores. He also often made Harry his punching bag with the aid of his best friends. Harry had tried appealing to the other students, but it did no good. The other children stayed away from him because Dudley didn't like him. Dudley had quickly established himself as the school bully. Whatever Dudley and his gang said, the other students did. When he told them to stay away from Harry, they did. When he made fun of Harry, so did the other students. Poor Harry didn't have a single friend.
Even the teachers did not particularly care for him. As he had gotten older, his magical core had grown more powerful, making him more prone to bursts of accidental magic. When Dudley (who had been held back his first year and was now in Harry's class) and the other students teased or hurt him, he often released bits of magic, causing the oddest things to happen. Dudley (who had learned quickly to charm his teachers) would blame Harry every time, having learned from his parents that it was always Harry's fault when something went wrong. This would, of course, earn Harry multiple punishments at school as well. He didn't understand how his teachers could say it was his fault. How could he have possibly turned his teacher's hair blue? And how was it his fault that the chalk exploded in the teacher's hand? He couldn't explain it at all.
By his tenth birthday, Harry was deemed strong enough to mow the lawn, so that chore was added to his weekly list. Even worse, he was now punished extra hard if Vernon or Petunia felt a chore was finished too quickly, too slowly, or improperly. He would be denied at least three meals in a row for chores that were done improperly. As a result, Harry quickly lost the little weight he had managed to keep on. He looked almost sickly.
One night, as he was sitting miserably on his bed, he thought of the dinner he had seen Aunt Petunia cooking earlier. She had made roast. The more he thought about it, the more upset he became. He had been mowing the lawn when Dudley threw a shoe out the window and hit him in the head. Harry had stumbled, accidentally mowing a few of Aunt Petunia's prized flowers. He had been immediately sent to his cupboard. They wouldn't listen when he said Dudley had hit him.
"It's not my fault!" He whispered angrily to the empty cupboard. At the last word, the door had silently creaked open. Amazed, Harry peaked his head out. There was no one to be seen. He quietly stole into the kitchen and gathered up some food. He also found a paperclip so that in the future he could sneak out of his cupboard easier. He then tiptoed silently to his cupboard and enjoyed the feast he had procured.
As Harry's eleventh birthday neared, he felt excited for the first time in his life. He would be going to a different school than Dudley in the fall. Dudley had been admitted to some fancy-pants boarding school that his father had attended. Harry would be going to the local public school. Despite being teased by Dudley, he was looking forward to it. He hoped no one would pre-judge him. Dudley and his gang wouldn't be there, so no one would cause him to be ostracized. Petunia had reluctantly taken him shopping for a new pair of shoes (Dudley's feet were so much bigger than his that his feet slipped right out) and a book bag .
His excitement over finally having some of his own things waned when he went into the kitchen the morning before his birthday. It smelled like a public toilet. Vernon and Dudley wrinkled their noses when they walked into the kitchen as well.
"What the bloody hell is that smell, Petunia?"
"I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things gray for Harry to wear to school in the fall." Harry gulped, imagining what he would look like on the first day of school. Probably like he was wearing bits of old elephant skin. So much for fitting in. He sighed.
"May I sit in the garden, Aunt Petunia?" She turned and glared at Harry.
"Have you done all of your chores for the week?"
"Yes, Aunt."
"Including whitewashing the fence?"
"Yes, I finished that yesterday."
"Don't get impertinent with your Aunt, boy!" Harry flinched, waiting for a blow as he apologized.
"I'm sorry Aunt, Uncle. I didn't mean to sound impertinent."
"Just go out to the garden. We don't want to be bothered today." Harry left the kitchen quickly before they could change their minds or assign him some other chore. However, as soon as he was in the garden, he wished he could do something else.
He spent a very lonely, boring day wandering between the garden, front yard, and his cupboard. Harry heard the Dursleys planning an excursion to London to buy Dudley's clothes for Smeltings. Harry desperately wanted to go. He had never been to London. After a while, he heard it settled that they would go in a weak. Harry hoped they would include him. That night, Vernon stopped him as he headed to his cupboard after dinner.
"Harry, your Aunt and I are expecting a visitor tomorrow. You will need to welcome him, then I want you to make yourself scarce, do you understand me?"
"Yes, Uncle Vernon. I'll be sure to be up and ready early. Shall I make extra breakfast as well?"
"No, he won't arrive until afternoon. Now go to your cupboard." Harry trudged into his cupboard and shut the door behind him. A single tear escaped him as he contemplated spending his entire birthday locked in his cupboard. Little did he know how wrong he was.

Alexander Interlude:

Twelve year old Alexander Fleamont Potter smiled as he helped his younger godbrother Neville practice potions. Neville was going to start Hogwarts this year, and Alex wanted to make sure that his favorite professor had no reason to bully his godbrother.
"Nice work Nev! You'll do great!" He said, ruffling Neville's hair. Neville smiled at this.
"Thanks to you Alex." He said quietly. Alex smiled at him. Soon familiar footsteps came into the room. Alex looked up to see Augusta frowning softly. Alex sat up.
"Is something wrong Gran?" He asked.
"We need to talk Alex." Augusta replied. Alex frowned but he followed his grandmother out of the room. The two entered into the sitting room where Augusta sat Alex down in front of her. She took a deep breath before speaking. "Now, I know that this may come as a shock to you but there's something you need to know. You have a younger brother." Alex felt his entire world stop.
"A what?" He asked quietly.
"A younger brother dear. His name is Harry, and he's about a year younger than you. I'm sorry that I wasn't able to tell you sooner, Dumbledore forbade it, for Harry's protection as well as your own." Augusta said softly. Alex looked down at his hands and then back up at his grandmother.
"What's he like?" Alex asked quietly. Augusta smiled.
"I'll tell you all about him." She said.