Hexad

Book One, chapter two

Harry Potter And The Bleak World. That is the name of the first book.

Chapter two of this spectacular book-in-a-book, The Vanishing Glass.

I do not own Harry Potter! This is an AU.

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Nearly ten years ago, the Dursleys found themselves in the care of a baby they hadn't wanted in the slightest, but Privet Drive had hardly changed. 

The sun rose tiredly as it always had everyday. Only the photographs on the mantle of number four had changed; Ten years ago, there was a number of pictures with a baby boy that looked more like a pink beach ball wearing all different colours of bonnets, but now, the photographs showed the same boy, though much older; Riding a bike, or on a carousel at the fair, all the this and that. 

Not a single picture showed a thing of the other child in the house.

Harry, as many called him, still lived with the Dursleys. But very quietly. At the moment, he slept still in his makeshift bed. This boy slept in the cupboard underneath the staircase. Dudley, of course, slept in a real room, as he loved to brag about. 

"Up! Up, now!" His Aunt, Petunia Dursley, shrieked, her voice shrilly. Harry woke with an abrupt start, his head just narrowly missing the wooden beam above him. "I'm up!" He said, closely followed by a yawn. It was only moments like these that he chose to speak. To him, there was no reason to speak if nobody truly cared to listen. He'd rather sit down in a corner and read a long book. 

"Well, hurry up! I need you to watch this bacon," His aunt said, and he heard the sound of her heels clacking away from his room on the hard floor. How can you even wear heels so early in the morning?, he wondered, but he stayed silent. He peeked his head out the door of his little room, only to be knocked back in by a running Dudley. "Orphan!" The boy shrieked, waddling towards the living room. But Harry, having learnt long ago it was better to not say anything, just stood back up and went to go make sure the bacon hadn't already burnt.

When he walked in the kitchen, he had almost a horrid realisation; Today was Dudley's birthday. The table was covered in presents, plates of food sat innocently on the counter, and the smell of crisp bacon. Petunia turned off the stove, and handed him the pan. "Set up the food the way my Duddy likes it," She said. Harry nodded, placing the bacon beside the bowl of sugary cereal Dudley always ate, and a cup of orange juice. When he placed the plate with the others, he sat on a stool beside the door, and read the same book he'd been reading for the last week, and ate his own portion of bacon off the plate in his lap.

Perhaps it had something to do with how he lived in a tight little cupboard, but Harry had always been a thin boy. In comparison to Dudley, who could be presented as the twin of a pig, he looked like an eight-year old, though he was ten. He looked even smaller with the large, worn-out clothes that Dudley couldn't fit into anymore. The only odd thing about Harry's appearance was a thin scar that spread the length of his entire forehead, like a bolt of lightning, or like lines stretching from a single spot. He hated it with a burning passion. 

"Comb your hair, boy!" Uncle Vernon barked, and Harry sighed, nodding, but he continued to read. It wasn't anything new to hear, because every week or so, Vernon complained about how Harry's wild hair needed a comb or brush put to it, or how he needed a haircut. But whenever anyone tried to cut his hair, it just grew back, almost always a little longer. By the time Dudley finally came to the kitchen, he complained about how he had less presents than last year. Harry scarfed down his bacon, fearing that Dudley was going to have a complete temper tantrum, which Harry learned was very bad for the plates, but then watched as Petunia bargained with him, eventually giving in and saying he'd get two more presents. Harry continued to watch as Dudley struggled to figure out thirty-seven plus two was thirty-nine, then as Petunia left to answer the phone while his pig of a cousin unwrapped multiple presents.