Harry Potter GEN Z dialect

Chapter 2- The Glass That Yeeted Itself

It was like an eternity, almost ten years, since the Dursleys had woken up to find their nephew on the front step, but Privet Drive was still super basic. The sun revealed the same front garden and shiney brass number four on the Dursley's front door; it crept into their living room, which was almost identical to the night when Mr. Dursley saw the fateful news report about them hooter birbs. Only the pics on the mantelpiece really showed how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there had been lots of pictures of what looked like a chonky beach ball wearing different colored bonnets - but Dudley Dursley had the worst glo up ever, and now the pics showed a chonky blonde boy riding his first bicycle, on a carousel at the fair, playing Amogus with his dad, being hugged and kissed by his mom. The room lowkey didn't show that another boi lived in the house, too.

Yet Harry Potter was still there, asleep at the moment, but not for long. His Aunt Petunia was awake and shrieked in her Karen voice for the first noise of the day.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

Harry woke with a start. His aunt tapped on the door again.

"Up!" she screeched. Harry heard her trodding toward the ktichen and then the sound of a frying pan being put on the stove. He rolled onto his back and tried to remember the dream he had been having. It had been a good one. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. It totes felt like deja vu.

His aunt was back outside the door.

"Are you up yet?" she demanded.

"Nearly," said Harry.

"No cap you need to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn. I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."

Harry groaned. So done.

"What did you say?" his aunt snapped through the door.

"Nothing, nothing..."

Dudley's birthday - how could he have forgotten? Harry slowly unstuck himself from his bed and started hunting for socks. He found a pair under his bed and, after pulling a spider off one of them, put them on. Harry was used to spiders, because the cupboard under the stairs was full of them, and that was where he slept.

Once clothed he made his way down the hall into the kitchen. The table smol beneath all Dudley's birthday presents. It looked as though Dudley had gotten the new computer he wanted, not to mention the second television and the racing bike. Exactly why Dudley wanted a racing bike was a mystery to Harry, as Dudley was a big heckin' chonker and hated exercise - unless of course it involved throwing hands. Dudley's favorite punching bag was Harry, but he couldn't often catch him. Harry didn't look it, but he was fast af.

Probably had something to do with living in a dark cupboard, but Harry had always been small and skinny for his age. He looked even smaller and skinnier than he really was because all his fits were old clothes of Dudley's, and Dudley was about four times as thicc as him. He wore round glasses held together with a lot of Scotch tape because of all the times Dudley had punched him on the nose. The only thing Harry liked about his own appearance was a very thin scar on his forehead that was shaped like a bolt of lightning. He had had it as long as he could remember, and the first question he could ever remember asking his Aunt Petunia was how he had gotten it.

"When your parents wrecked their whip and died," she had said. "And don't ask questions."

Don't ask questions - that was the first rule for a quiet life with the Dursleys.

Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen as Harry was turning over the bacon.

"Comb your hair!" he barked, by way of a morning greeting.

TO BE CONTINUED