Harry potter The Boy Who Remembers

In the smallest bedroom of 4 Privet Drive, a boy with messy black hair, was sleeping peacefully on a rather small bed. The boy opened his eyes, revealing two emerald-green eyes. His name was Harry Potter, and he was without a doubt, the odd one out of this house.

Four people called this house that screamed of mundanity and neat freaks bordering on the psychotic, their home. Yet, any outside visitors would have thought that only three people lived there. The photos were of a thin tall woman, a rather obese man with a comical moustache, and a young boy that seemed to be on his way to matching his father in his weight. No one would have thought that there was another child in this place, no one would have believed that Harry Potter lived in 4 Privet Drive.

And yet, the young boy did. He looked nothing like his relatives. He was thin and rather lithe, as opposed to his cousin's rather large figure. He shared nearly no facial features with his aunt Petunia, which was his only living relative, outside her son, that is, but he didn't really count. As far as the world knew Harry Potter's parents died when he was eighteen months old, which is why he lives with his aunt and uncle.

Inwardly, Harry was glad that he looked nothing like his relatives. Vernon Dursley revelled in his career as a manager in a drill company, and his wife was the typical gossiping housewife with too much time on her hand. As for their son, he was barely more than an underachieving student that barely passed primary school and passed his time bullying his fellow students.

Years ago, Harry remembered craving his relatives' love and approval, hoping to be acknowledged one day as a member of this family, distasteful as it may be. The young boy had grown out of that ridiculous phase. The two elders Dursleys did their best at ignoring him, although for what seemed to be different reasons.

Harry didn't understand why his aunt constantly looked at him with a pained expression of distaste and grief, it probably had something to do with his mother. He didn't understand why Vernon Dursley looked at him with fear and rage in his eyes. But one thing was for certain. The Dursleys have done their best to show Harry that he wasn't a part of their family and that he would never be.

It was devastating for a young child to realize that, but Harry was an oddly mature child. He simply accepted the fact and moved on in a way that was simply unnatural for a child his age.

While no one would ever deny that the Dursleys did not shirk their responsibility in providing him with his basic needs. He was always treated with this cold dismissal. As far as they were concerned, Harry did not deserve a single drop of warmth as far they were concerned.

The young boy did not have any birthday parties, or expensive toys to play with. He was never hugged, nor congratulated on getting a good grade in school. They simply bought him his clothes and his amenities, paid for his basic needs and left him alone.

Of course, they also did their best in making sure that everything he had would be less than Dudley's. His clothes were always second hands while his cousin got fancy ones that he would grow too fat to wear in a few months. Dudley was allowed to have swimming lessons, expensive toys and trips, while Harry sulked in his room.

Still, things could have been worse. Harry knew for a fact that this was better than being sent to an orphanage. One of his classmates lived in one, and he told horror stories about the understaffed building, with too many hungry orphans running around, desperately hoping to be adopted into a family. Harry had a room for himself, stable food to grow, and all his basic needs catered for. After graduating from school, he would do his best to either go to university or just get a job to move out of Privet Drive forever, leaving behind the hateful beings that he calls his relatives.

As for now, Harry could live with his guardian's dismissal. In fact, after accepting that they don't care about him in any way, he thrived in it. He mowed lawns and did odd jobs in the neighbourhood to earn his pocket money. He got good grades in school and was known as the smartest boy in their grade. Not that the Dursleys cared, only celebrating their son's mediocre marks.

Harry's pondering was broken by the shrilly voice of his aunt Petunia, "BOY! You have two minutes to come down before we leave for school without you, and you'll walk to school."

Startled, the boy in question looked at the alarm clock that seemed to have frozen in the middle of the night. Seeing that he had almost overslept, he stiffened and immediately sat up.

Aunt Petunia wasn't bluffing; he learnt that the hard way. As so, the boy quickly replied, "I'm coming down Aunt Petunia."