Harry Potter and The Philosopher's Stone (Revamped)

Chapter One

Mr. and Mrs. Dursley of number four, Privet Drive, were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much. Petunia Dursley was a tall blonde woman, one who would stay at home, clean and bake like any perfectly normal woman would have done at that time. Her husband, Vernon Dursley, would work at a large company in a light brown tuxedo and a blue tie, as well as eat and love all of his wife's cooking, as any perfectly normal man would have. And their son, Dudley Dursley, played games all day and watched the telly with his childish tea and brown, boring eyes like a perfectly normal son. They were happy, content, and nothing strange ever happened to them.

They were all gathered in their baby blue coloured living room, watching a game show together on their small television. Dudley had his eyes stuck to it, whilst Petunia was handing Vernon his bottle of beer for the night. It opened with a fizz and that's when the door clicked.

Now, when you look around the house, you see many pictures. There's one on the mantlepiece of Petunia and Vernon on their honeymoon. They're on a beach at sunset and Vernon certainly didn't have the body he used to. Then there was one on the coffee table of Petunia holding Dudley when he was just a little baby. He was in nothing but a white nappy and had anger stained on his face, as he still did. There were many of the three of them on their endless holidays and happy adventures. However, did you see Harry Potter, the Dursley's nephew, who had been living with them since Petunia's sister Lily passed away? There was no sign of any other child living there.

They had forgotten about him until they heard the door to his cupboard under the stairs open wide and his slender, pale body limping out into the living room. His thin face looked almost emotionless and his large, apple green eyes had the only sign that this wasn't the life he wanted.
"Hello, Mr and Mrs Dursley." his shaky voice began to speak, as he stroked his thick, black hair out of his glasses and eyes. "I see you're prepared for dinner. Is there anything in particular you'd like?"

"Boy, did we give you permission to leave the cupboard?" Vernon snarled.

"Well no, sir, and I apologise. However I came out to start making you dinner." Harry stuttered, not looking up from the floor to meet his uncle's piercing gaze.

Vernon responded with a "Get to it then!" and Harry turned to the kitchen. Since Uncle Vernon hadn't specified what he wanted, Harry thought a lovely pasta would be nice. So, he pulled out the pot from the cabinets, turned on the oven and began his magic. Soon enough, a delicious smell was engulfing the air, just as the Dursleys gulfed their dinner. Harry, of course, didn't get any despite the hard work. He would only get leftovers, though the greedy pigs rarely had any. He headed back to his cupboard under the stairs, quickly grabbing a breakfast bar for dinner. This wasn't unusual for him, and that day, as well as the day after that and the day after that and so on, would be this way.

Until one day, the 10th of July 2012, he would recieve a certain something from a certain someone about a certain somewhere. But that day, he rose like it was any other. He was the first up as he didn't sleep in his cramped, little cupboard and he immediately went into the kitchen to begin preparing for breakfast - he was making his special pancakes for the Dursleys. Half way through his cooking, he heard many creaks on the stairs, as if an elephant was walking down them itself. Of course it was his Uncle Vernon. He sat straight on the couch, completely ignoring Harry and was soon followed after his Aunt Petunia who forcefully took over the cooking and demanded he recieve the mail for everyone.

So, Harry set off down the hallway, passing his cupboard where he slept, passing the stairs that Dudley would undoubtedly begin running down on soon, and reached the front door. There were about 5 letters there that day, each one addressed to Vernon and a package for Petunia. He was about to walk back and hand over the post when he saw an unfamiliar name on one of the letters. It said his own name. Not Vernon Dursley, Dudley Dursley, Petunia Dursely or even Mr President. It was Harry's. Somebody wanted to talk to him.