❝If by my life or death I can protect you, I will.❞
The Chosen One is kidnapped from the Dursley household and it turns out to be the best damn thing that's happened to him.
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THE CLOCK STRUCK ELEVEN and somewhere in Surrey, Harry Potter was still awake. His Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, and cousin Dudley had gone to bed an hour prior after stuffing themselves with dessert and enjoying a nice evening by the fire. And while Harry felt a bit tired, he couldn't bring himself to fall asleep. Between an uneventful Christmas that left much to be desired and an empty stomach, what child was able to rest easy? No, Harry wasn't looking forward to sleep, he was looking for the right opportunity to make his way out of the cupboard under the stairs and enjoy what he considered a proper Christmas dinner.
Waiting for the house to become completely still and quiet, Harry cautiously opened the little door to what was considered his bedroom. It squeaked slightly, echoing near the staircase and he waited to hear movement come from upstairs. When he heard nothing, he slid out through the small opening and tiptoed towards the kitchen area.
The house was mostly dark with the exception of the small fire that was left to die during the night in the fireplace. Harry made his way into the kitchen, hurrying over towards the refrigerator where Aunt Petunia had put away the majority of the leftovers from the Christmas meal. He pulled out the large platter that contained the roast and the bowl of mashed potatoes. He didn't care if they were cold, he was absolutely starving.
At seven years old, Harry was considered scrawny and quite gangly looking, as he was slightly underweight for his age. It made his head appear larger on his body and top of it, he was blessed with the messiest black hair anyone had ever seen. His image was not helped by the oversized clothing he was given, passed down from his rather overweight cousin.
He looked like someone straight out of an Oliver Twist production, it was only ironic that he was somewhat of an orphan. His parents had died in a car crash when he was only a little over one year old. He didn't really know what they looked like or remember any memories with them. But when his aunt and uncle were angry with him, they liked to remind Harry just how much he looked like his parents. Somehow that was meant to be an insult.
Just that afternoon when the family had been gathered around the Christmas tree opening gifts, Harry was told he was very much like his father. A proud little git that was ungrateful, simply because Harry dared to question why Dudley had gotten toys for Christmas while he had only been given socks and some of Dudley's old clothing again. He watched as Uncle Vernon's face turned a deep purple, making the large man resemble an overgrown grape.
And a minute later after being scolded for not being thankful for what was given to him, Harry was sent to his "room." When dinner was served, he didn't get to taste any of the roast that he had been smelling all day, instead, he was given old, cold porridge. He tried to stomach it, but the goopy texture was enough to make him nearly gag, and when Aunt Petunia saw that he didn't eat it, she gave him another scolding. And Harry was told that until he ate the porridge, he wouldn't be given anything else.
The joke was on them though as Harry tore off a few slices of the roast. Just enough that they wouldn't suspect him sneaking in a late-night meal. He took a few spoonfuls of potatoes as well, and one of the rolls of bread. All the while he was eating, Harry kept a listening ear out to make sure no one was coming downstairs.
