The Three Brothers: The Cure

Breakfast of Champions

29th November 1990

"Get UP!" the voice bellowed and pounded on the door for half a minute.

The only occupant of the room opened his eyes and silently sat up on his bed. Harry James Potter or freak, as he was commonly addressed to in this household, prepared himself for the day up ahead. The thin, worn out mattress under him had been hardened by years of use. It was far from luxurious, but a much better alternative to his previous accommodations in the cupboard under the stairs. So, no reason to complain, really.

Harry got up and exited the room - the smallest bedroom in 4, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. He quickly made his way to the bathroom, aiming to finish his morning rituals as quickly as possible. He was given this privilege twice a day for five minutes, and he really didn't want to waste any of it. The memories of doing that were not pleasant, and Harry didn't have many pleasant memories to begin with.

He had been living with the Dursleys - his relatives and adopted family since he was a baby. For nine years he had called this miserable place his home, and he couldn't wait to get out of here one day.

This was actually the first rule that they had drilled into him; that this place was his home, whether he liked it or not. When he had asked why he was given a hard slap on his head and introduced to the second rule of the Dursley household; don't ask questions.

After finishing up in the bathroom, Harry proceeded to the kitchen to do his first chore of the day. Cooking breakfast for his family. The Dursleys liked to feed themselves as much as they disliked feeding Harry, and Harry was as thin as a stick.

"What took you so long, boy?" Aunt Petunia sneered at Harry from the table, a cup of steaming tea near her pursed lips. "Don't dilly-dally around now, get cooking."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied mechanically. Moving into the kitchen, he deftly picked up the skillet and set to make six-and-a-half helpings of breakfast- eggs and bacon with toast. Three were for Uncle Vernon, two for his cousin Dudley, one for his Aunt Petunia, and a half helping for himself.

As he worked in silence Petunia gave him a long look, looking for signs of any insincerity. Not finding any, she returned her attention to the folded newspaper in front of her.

As Harry was frying the eggs, his thoughts drifted off to the dream that he had this morning. There had been a flying motorcycle in it. And a large man.

He had had this dream many times over the years, and he liked it better than the other one which he saw often. That one was quite unpleasant, with a woman crying and flashes of green light. His musings were interrupted by Aunt Petunia's shrill voice

"Watch it freak! Don't you dare burn the bacon again."

Muttering a quick apology, Harry concentrated on the breakfast again. Once he was done, he ladled out the eggs and bacon on the plates, making sure the servings were correctly proportioned; his being the only one allowed to be lesser than usual.

He carefully brought the plates to the table and placed them at the appropriate positions on the table.

------------------------------------------

"Breakfast is served," Mark called out. "Come on dad, hurry up or it's going to get cold."

"Yeah, give me a second," the reply came back from the bedroom. Mark drummed his fingers on the table impatiently, his eyes darting to his plate every other moment.

A tall figure of John Smith soon entered the room walking in slow but solid steps. Seeing the look on his son's face he couldn't help but comment.

"You know, you can start your breakfast without me right?" John pulled a chair and seated himself gingerly.