The Dursley's are dicks
CHAPTER ONE-
Harry Potter had returned to the cupboard under the stairs.
It wasn't by choice, his uncle Vernon had decided that freaks didn't deserve the treatment he had been getting.
So all of his so-called luxuries were no longer his; Dudley's second bedroom, his wand, trunk, books and even his broom were gone. All of his worldly possessions had been burned. His uncle seemed to take extreme pleasure in forcing Harry to watch as he burned the photo album Hagrid had given him, the only connection he had to his parents aside from genetics, page by page. The only chance he had to see his mother and father smiling and happy, his only pictures of Sirius, reduced to ash.
It's wasn't all bad though, he lost his possessions, his spirit and even Hedwig. But he did get to spend a lot more time with his uncle. Vernon even brought a knife and the reek of alcohol along with him on his visits. These little bonding sessions often ended with Harry choking on his own blood and being left incapable of movement for several hours afterwards.
Twice a day Harry could be found curled up in a ball in the corner of the room, trying desperately not to let any of his new wounds press against anything. He'd watch his uncle leave the room, blood soaked knife in hand, with Vernon Dursley's parting words ringing in his ears.
"You deserve this. After all, you're just a freak." He would whisper as the blade cut into Harry's skin.
Harry remembered the first time his uncle had spat those those vicious words at him.
Harry had only been home for three days and not much had happened, he had to do all of the housework as usual, and the gardening. He hadn't expected any less.
His dreams of a relatively relaxing summer been shattered when two members of the Order of the Phoenix had turned up at the doorstep. His cousin had rushed to answer it thinking it was Piers. Dudley had opened the door, taken one look at the people behind it, gone white and run away covering his backside. His severely bemused mother had called after him.
"Duddykins? What's wro…".
It was then that she had caught sight of Arthur Weasley and Alastair Moody at the door.
"Oh my". Was all Petunia said before she fell backwards in a dead faint.
Vernon Dursley, having heard the commotion, came barrelling into the hall and was appalled at the sight before him.
His wife motionless on the floor, his son cowering in the corner holding his backside, the wretch of a boy sitting at the top of the stairs, trying to conceal his giggles and two… two freaks standing at his door.
Harry became very alarmed at the colour his uncle's face was turning, as did Dudley. The duo exchanged a look before edging slowly out of the hall. Dudley sneaking to the relative safety of the kitchen and Harry to his room.
Arthur and Alistair, however, had vastly different reactions to that of the boys. Arthur was fascinated by the colour the Muggle was turning, whilst Moody was on red alert and raised his wand to Vernon's throat. This, of course, caused Vernon to go a very unhealthy shade of purple and Harry and Dudley to stop edging away, both choosing to turn on their heels and run.
Harry didn't know how the wizards had calmed his uncle enough to talk to him, though he had his suspicions of tea spiked with a potent calming draught. He crouched outside the door with Dudley, listening; they only caught a few snippets of the conversation, just enough for the boys to piece together that the wizards were telling Vernon about Sirius' death.
The second they heard this, the cousins' heads snapped up amd they locked eyes with each other and in silent understanding they ran to Harry's room, both knowing that Vernon wouldn't hold back with Harry now that the threat of a dangerous serial killer protecting Harry was gone. Dudley quickly bolted the door behind them and pulled his cousin into a tight hug. Harry didn't know exactly when he and Dudley had become friendly, it had just happened when Harry had come home after his second year at Hogwarts.
When Harry had asked him, Dudley simply replied that he had realised the way Harry had been treated was wrong and that a child shouldn't be locked in a cupboard, forced to do housework and fed on scraps. Harry had been slightly cautious of Dudley at first but after a few days he had relaxed and had even started hanging about with Dudley and his mates.
Harry was quite surprised to find out that Dudley and his friends were in a gang, he had known that Dudley was a bully but didn't think his cousin had the guts to be in a gang. Harry also never thought he would ever consider a gang of thugs and murderers his friends.
Once his uncle had finished his "conversation" with the two wizards and the Order members had left, Vernon made a furious beeline to Harry's bedroom. Harry was cowering on the bed with Dudley in front of him, planning to shield Harry from his father's fury.
Harry snapped out of his reverie at once when he realized that Dudley was trying to protect him. He dragged Dudley to the wardrobe ignoring his protests and locked him in making desperate pleas for Dudley to please just stay silent. Vernon barrelled into the room, face purple, nostrils flaring... gleaming kitchen knife in hand.
"Where is it?" the huge man demanded
Harry was immediately terrified.
"Where is the owl? WHERE IS IT?"
Harry tried to reply. He tried to say something to save his first friend, but he couldn't. He came to his senses as he remembered where Hedwig was, she was delivering a letter to Dervla, a member of his and Dudley's gang, and she would be back any second. Harry began to edge backwards to close the window; his uncle was looking around with wild eyes, trying to see the blasted bird and didn't notice Harry going for the window. Just as Harry reached the window, Hedwig swooped in hooting happily until she was seized by Vernon.
Harry jumped at his uncle's side trying desperately to reach Hedwig. Vernon's short temper assured that he soon became tired of his freakish nephew's antics.
Harry yelped in surprise as he was lifted off his feet and into the air, suspended by a meaty hand wrapped around his throat. He could hear a lot of things as he fought for air; Dudley trying desperately to pick the lock on the wardrobe door, Hedwig's shrieks, Vernon's furious screams and his own blood pounding in his ears, then silence, nothing.
His senses failed him as he fell into a black abyss. The last things he heard were a sharp crack and a whisper
"You deserve this, Freak."
Harry woke up the next morning in the cupboard under the stairs. Hedwig was laid out next to him with a broken neck, dead as a doornail. Once he got over the shock, he realised that he was shirtless and could feel the uncomfortable tightness of something sticky drying on his chest. He went to the mirror on the back of the door allowed a broken sob to escape his lips as he saw the word FREAK carved into his chest like a macabre brand.
Dudley watched sadly as Harry Potter, lost in his memories, still refused to shed a single tear. Dudley knew that Harry was reliving the memory of Hedwig's death, he had been there, heard everything, and seen everything. But Harry had to relive it over and over again as a prisoner in his own mind.
The poor boy was often lost in his memories at night, not sleeping. Harry never slept, not since the first attack. He was too afraid to shut his eyes, just in case Vernon woke up in the middle of the night, craving Harry's pain. Dudley cursed the world in his heart for making his best friend like this. He very nearly screamed with rage when, in the darkness of the cupboard. Harry began rocking back and forth whispering to himself.
"I deserve this. I'm a freak. I'm not normal. I shouldn't exist. Freak"