Chapter 2
Harry slowly opened his eyes, the first rays of sunlight peeking through the cracks in the cupboard door, rousing him from his fitful slumber. He could hear his aunt Petunia's shrill voice echoing through the house. “Up. Up! Get up! Don’t make up wait all day for breakfast boy!" she screeched.
Harry groaned and crawled out of the cramped cupboard that passed for his bedroom. His usually vibrant pink hair was a dull grey today, reflecting his glum mood. He stumbled into the kitchen, pulling his worn t-shirt and too-small shorts on as he went, not that anyone cared what state of undress he was in.
"Freak, make sure you cook the bacon extra crispy today for Vernon. And don't give me any of your sassy lip!" Petunia threatened, brandishing a wooden spoon menacingly.
"Whatever. Like I get any breakfast anyway," Harry muttered under his breath. He hated how his relatives treated him like their personal servant, never once calling him by name. Always 'boy' or 'freak'.
After cooking a full English breakfast for the Dursleys and receiving a hard smack from Petunia for not setting the table correctly, Harry slunk away to await further orders. He fidgeted restlessly, unable to sit still for more than a minute. His stupid brain flying one hundred miles an hour with thoughts of every topic made it impossible to relax.
"Boy! Go get the mail!" Vernon bellowed from his favourite armchair. Harry shuffled off to the letterbox, his stomach growling since he hadn't eaten.
Returning with the mail, he started sorting through the envelopes and papers when one caught his eye. "Mr. H. Potter...Hog..." The words were obscured by his uncle's large, fleshy hand snatching it away.
"What the devil is this?! Hogwashy..” Vernon screeched in outrage, waving the letter at Petunia. “Pet!!”
Petunia snatched the letter and read it quickly before handing it back to Vernon to burn in the rubbish bin. But that wasn't the end of it. Letter after letter arrived that week. They came through every window crack, were pushed under the door, even appeared in eggs they bought from the shop. It was chaos.
"ENOUGH!!” Vernon roared, his face beet red. "PETUNIA! PACK THE BAGS! WE'RE GOING!" The Dursleys threw their things in the car and sped off in a frenzy, leaving the letters scattered on the lawn.
They stayed in a different hotel each night, but the letters always found them. Poor Dudley whined incessantly about missing his favourite TV shows and being hungry and bored. Harry just stayed quiet, rocking back and forth on his feet. Nowhere was ever far enough for the Dursleys to escape the Hogwarts letters.
Finally, on the eve of Harry's eleventh birthday, they arrived at a miserable little shack perched precariously on a rock in the middle of the sea. A fierce storm raged outside as Harry lay on the dusty floor, Dudley's snores from the sofa nearly drowning out the howling wind.
As the clock struck midnight, Harry closed his eyes and wished fervently for a proper birthday cake with creamy frosting, just for one moment forgetting where he was. But before he could even open them again, a tremendous BANG shook the flimsy shack.
The door vanished in an explosion of splinters and smoke...
And there, in the doorway, stood a massive bearded stranger holding a pink umbrella.
The world outside, it seemed, was about to reveal its secrets to him. And Harry Potter, the boy with the pink hair, was ready. The adventure, the magic, and chaos was finally within his reach.