Harry Potter

First Chapter

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CHAPTER ONE
Clowns and Magic
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Harry Potter is quite the well-known name. Many people knowing of it presumed to know the child it belongs to as well, but the truth is that they did not. Those who knew the name but not the face imagined a boy that was very powerful for his age, with everything he could ever ask for. The ones who actually had some sort of contact with the child saw a terrible delinquent, remembering the poor Dursleys that did all they could to take care of him. In truth, Harry Potter was as far as one could get from these presumptions. In fact, Harry Potter was not even a boy! She was just a small girl, below average height for malnutrition. Her bedroom was the cupboard under the stairs, and she had no friends due to her cousin. But, as Harry was constantly reminded, people would believe what they wanted no matter who she really was.

It was on her cousin's birthday that Harry realized just how far that sentiment reached.

Dudley's birthday always held a special place in her heart as the worst day of the year, and Harry thought it was perfectly reasonable to think 'with reason' at the end of that thought. Every year, something especially terrible seemed to happen. One year, while she was at Mrs. Figg's house—her babysitter for whenever the Dursleys went out—Harry fell while climbing a tree and broke her leg. Every year she obediently woke up when Aunt Petunia knocked on her cupboard door, and every year Harry followed every instruction to the letter. It never made a difference, just the same way her birthday and Halloween always ended up disastrously. If Harry believed in magic (and you surely could not prove she did!) she would rightly assume she was under a very specific curse.

Unfortunately, given that her aunt and uncle would certainly lock her in her cupboard for a week without food should she refuse to prepare for Dudley's special day, Harry did not have the option of politely declining. Well, she could, but that would be a very stupid decision and would probably result in her doing it anyway, just with a few extra bruises. So, come June 23, Harry did not utter a word of protest as she was woken by her cousin stomping on the stairs (the only reason he would ever rise early) and snatched out of bed by her aunt's sharp nails. She concealed her hiss of pain when she was thrown at the already heated stove, burning the tips of her fingers, and quietly prepared her relatives breakfast.

As with every year, Harry was strictly warned to not mess up "Dudders' special day" before being allowed to make herself plain toast for her own meal. (As always, she ignored the jealous rumblings of her stomach.) Harry ate standing in the kitchen where she could see the Dursleys (in case they suddenly needed something, which she would be expected to quickly supply). It was an alright affair this morning; Vernon and Petunia praised Dudley while he was busy shoveling food into his mouth and he boasted for himself while his fork came down for another scoop (horrible manners, really, Harry's hard work was spilling everywhere). Then, after quite a few helpings, Dudley announced he was done and quite ready to open his presents. For this, too, Harry remained in the kitchen, ever reluctant to bring unnecessary attention to herself. (Her aunt had really drilled that lesson in, always insisting Harry remain in the background and never, ever reveal her true gender.)

All seemed to be going well, in any case, and immediately Harry knew that something very bad would be happening later on. Her bad luck would consistently spread itself out over the day or culminate in one big happening, such as the broken leg incident. She felt a little better when she heard that Dudley was not satisfied with his number of presents, however. Maybe the day had just had a late start, and she had burned her fingers earlier, after all. Additionally, she heard Vernon reluctantly inform the soon-tearfully-protesting Dudley, she was now to be sticking with the Dursleys all day rather than staying at Mrs. Figg's. That definitely made for a well-rounded day of grief. Reassured, for the moment at least, Harry obliged when her uncle shouted at her to get the door. She only felt better when Dudley pushed her into the wall in a rush to get there first, crocodile tears from before completely absent, and meet his friend. Her stinging elbow was only momentary pain; a mostly good day would surely end in lasting scars.