Chaos That Shall Reign

He instantly shot up, banging his head on the ceiling of the Cupboard under the Stairs.

Groaning, the rush of memories entered his brain.

A tantalising smile spread its way through his mischievous features as he thought of the Chaos That Shall Reign.

The Wizarding World was going to get the shock of its life.

Before he could start planning, Tom’s- no, Harry’s- door was opened forcefully. The unfortunately familiar snarl on Petunia Dursley’s face leered over him.

“Get up, Freak! I want you to look after the bacon. And don’t you dare let it burn, I want everything to be perfect on Duddykins birthday.” She screeched. Right afterwards, she slammed the door shut and made her way towards the kitchen, supposedly where the bacon was sizzling.

To be fair, if he listened hard enough, he would be able to hear the faintest sound of bacon being turned over.

Harry sighed, and drowsily rubbed his eyes. He then reached for his glasses, before realising that he didn’t need them.

The memory of his amazing, wonderful, fantastic horse-necked Aunt looming over him was unfortunately all the proof he needed.

Luckily, he wasn’t a baby again, so that was a plus.

Unluckily, he was ten or below years old, so that wasn’t a plus.

Oh.

Wait.

Harry Hunting.

Please let me be ten, please let me be ten, pleaseletmebeten- he kept on wishing as he exited the ‘room’.

Walking was instantly a problem- his legs seemed too short. It was weird.

Oh, well. As long as he didn’t burn the bacon.

He entered the kitchen, and instantly went to work as Petunia rushed out, supposedly to get Dudley ready for his birthday.

The Boy-Who-Lived started daydreaming, and his mind started to wander off towards Abraxas and Riley- no, Draco and Hermione.

Unless they both preferred their original names, of course.

But for him, it was going to be Draco and Hermione until he was told otherwise.

“Hey, hurry up, boy!“ His Aunt said, sneaking up on him as he turned over the bacon.

Grumbling under his breath, he brought out a plate quickly and placed the bacon onto it- it would do nobody any good if he accidentally took too long and the bacon was burnt.

A carton of eggs was soon thrusted into his hands. “I’m warning you…..” Petunia said in a dark tone.

He knew exactly what she meant.

Well, Wandless Magic was good for not getting his hands burnt (again, if the recent-looking fresh new scars on his hands were anything to go by), he guessed.

Nodding, Harry turned to do the eggs.

Soon enough, they were done- scrambled, just how they liked them. He placed them into a bowl, and set to work on the toast. Unfortunately, he had to do the toast separately, otherwise, the time wouldn’t have been wasted on doing something else. “They might burn,” she said, “You should be focused on one thing at a time,” she said, “You could ruin the rest of the food,” she said. And whenever the food was cold, guess what? “It’s your own fault,” she said.

So basically, almost every morning his hands got burnt.

And how he remembered all that?

Well, abuse causes PTSD most of the time, and, well…..

He doesn’t want to get into that.

As soon as the last set of toast popped out, his Aunt walked in and grabbed two of the plates. “You grab the other two, boy.” She sneered.

How she expected him to carry two plates ten times the size of his own hands at once, he would never know.

But he managed.

With a bit of Magic to help him out.

What? Innocent until proven guilty!

That being said, it wouldn’t hurt if he made the Dursleys think there were two extra presents than there actually were, would it?

And let’s pretend that they had no idea Mrs Figgs arm was broken, and that she could take him in for the day.

He wasn’t the Master of Death for nothing, after all.

Actually- his mind supplied.

Shut up, he thought in return.

AIAIAI

A few days later, the post came. He did the daily routine- made breakfast, was about to do the chores.

‘About’ and ‘to’ were the key words in that sentence.

Unfortunately, there were no leftovers for him to eat. Maybe he could sneak some bread when they weren’t looking…..

As he was scheming, Vernon shouted, “Get the post, Dudley.”

“Make the Freak do it!” Alas, if only the boy could have come to his senses sooner. It was rather enjoyable when Dudley realised the wrongs he did. The cups of tea he made were truly delightful.

“Well, go on, then!” His Uncle shouted.

“Yes, sir.” Notice the lack of caps? Yeah, he didn’t deserve those.

As he went towards the door, he realised that he might not be ten, after all.

Silently cussing at himself, he gathered the mail, and- to his surprise and delight- saw the familiar Letter from Hogwarts.

Harry snuck it under his top, and then gave Vernon the rest of the letters- a postcard from Marge included.

Honestly, the woman wasn’t even that far away. But that may have been the Apparation, Floo, and Portkey sides of him talking.

He went out into the Garden to do his chores, and hid behind a bush when he got a decent amount of weeding done.

Fingers trembling, he opened the Letter.

The Boy-Who-Lived knew he was being ridiculous, but- but what if it was all a dream? What if he really was still in the Cupboard Under The Stairs, and it was all a figment of his imagination? As unlikely as what he was thinking seemed, he was worried- and stupidly so.

Two pieces of parchment fell to the ground.

It was- It was-

Tears silently fell as the Letter slowly unfolded before him.

Only just realising he dropped it, he picked it up, and scanned his eyes hungrily over it.

He would be able to see Draco and Hermione again.

A trembling smile overtook his face, and he sobbed.

For the first time in seven years in that lifetime, the only child of Lily and James Potter cried.