Three Is Not a Lucky Number
It all started three days after the boy turned three; it was like any day in August. Warm and sunny with the usual amount of clouds. The people of Privet Drive were, as usual, enjoying the summer months. Most school-aged children were out playing, while the young tots were being doted on by their parents inside the house.
All except for three-year-old Harry Potter, that is. His parents weren't there to dote on him, and his aunt, who was at home, sure wasn't up for the task. She had another child to take care of, one that she made. She had no time for a child that was left on her doorstep, no matter whose it was.
Petunia Dursley scoffed, thinking about the younger child in her house, currently sitting at the table in Dudley's old high chair. Yes, she knew that he was too old for that, but she wasn't willing to waste more money on the brat to go get him a booster of his own. Besides he was a small boy, he fit comfortably without fuss.
Her own son was down for a nap after throwing things for a couple of hours. Petunia planned to wake him up after she finished making dinner. So deep in her thoughts, Mrs. Dursley didn't hear the first soft coo of her nephew, the one he made when he saw something interesting.
No, the woman didn't hear the noise, but she did hear the next words out of his mouth. "Hi Hi! Who you?"
Petunia froze. The boy didn't talk much, so to hear him say hi and ask something was unusual. Turning around, Mrs. Dursley really expected to see someone in her house. But she was relieved—actually relieved!—when all she saw was the messy hair of the boy.
Petunia frowned and slowly walked towards the toddler. He didn't notice her; she knew this, because when he did, he always happily kicked his feet. In fact, the boy was looking at the wall softly, smiling.
The tyke's smile slightly widened, getting happier. "Yeah! I like gween too."
Petunia's frown darkened; the boy was talking to air. She knew that kids had an interesting mind, but this wasn't supposed to happen. Whatever the boy was doing, she didn't like it; she knew he needed to stop, though, before her husband came home.
She hated any weird things that happened, especially when it came to her nephew. But if she hated it, then her husband loathed it. She wasn't too sure why, due to her living with it for years and he didn't, but she could understand that one wrong thing could make someone absolutely upset.
Shaking her head from her thoughts, she strode over to the boy before firmly grabbing his hair and turning him towards her. "Boy, I don't know what you are doing, but it better stop. I will not have you talking to nothing; you are not crazy. You haven't done this before, and you won't do it now! Do I make myself clear? Because I promise, if you keep on, your uncle will make this much worse for you."
By the end of her speech, the boy had tears in his eyes, but he didn't let the tears drop. Even at three, Harry knew that his aunt didn't like him crying, lest he be locked in his room until this time tomorrow. The boy didn't know what he had done wrong, but he nodded, not wanting to be taken over the knee by his uncle when he got home.
Petunia unraveled her boney hand from Harry's hair and huffed with a nod. Before picking the boy up and promptly setting him on the floor and instructing him to go be quiet in his room.
Petunia watched his little form scurry out of the room. She shook her head before turning around and starting back up for dinner. "That boy, I promise, is going to be very difficult."
The woman didn't know just how difficult he was going to be.