Harry James Potter, beloved savior of the wizarding world, was up at the crack of dawn, fixing breakfast for the Dursleys. Really, it was quite routine for him, as he had been cooking for the Dursleys for as long as he could reach the stove—with a stool. So he didn't mind that he had to cook for them. He'd been glad, really, as it gave him something to do. Well, other than cleaning and the outside chores that the Dursleys always had him do.
Sometimes he was even able to sneak a bite or two, to supplement the meager fare they always gave him. Not that he was complaining, oh no. That would be ungrateful if he complained, and the Dursleys would have none of that. Not from him, anyway.
Harry glanced around the pristine kitchen and shuddered. His aunt always wanted everything spotless.
He briefly recalled another kitchen, nowhere near as pristine, full of laughter. There was also a soft, sweet voice humming a tune, then later, happy voices saying "Happy birthday, Harry!" The voice closest to him was female, his mother. He felt tears blur his eyes as he recalled her voice.
Harry was rudely jolted from the flashback by the smell of something burning. 'Oh no! Uncle Vernon is going to be so mad,' he thought, panicking. Hurriedly, he pulled the eggs off of the stove and scraped them into the trash can. Opening the door, he hoped that the smell would go outside before they had a chance to notice.
No such luck.
Petunia had been up, primping and preparing herself for her morning out with her "precious Dudders" and had smelled the burning food. "Vernon!" she screeched. "That boy burned the food! Get up and take care of him!"
Vernon stumbled to the kitchen (having just woken up) and caught sight of Harry scrambling to put more eggs in the pan. "Boy!" he shouted. "I had to wake up because you burned the food. You're really gonna get it now! After all that we've done for you—we took you in, we feed you, and we give you clothes—and you can't even manage to cook without burning something! Well, you wanna burn something, how about this!" And he took Harry's hand and held it to the burner. Harry had learned long ago that screaming and pleading did no good—in fact, it only made things worse.
Vernon flung Harry's hand away from him. "Now see to it that you don't burn anything else, or you'll get no food for the next month, you ungrateful freak! Make sure breakfast is ready by the time I get back down here, or it'll be even worse for you!" Then he turned around and stormed back out of the kitchen.
Harry finally let out a little whimper and ran over to the freezer, placing his hand on the nice, cold, frozen package of sausages that the Dursleys enjoyed having for breakfast. He pulled it out, relishing in the feel of the cold against his burned hand. At least the cold would stop his hand from burning further.
Scrambling around, he managed to get breakfast on the table before his uncle returned downstairs. Vernon sniffed disdainfully. "I see you can do things right when you want to, boy," he sneered. "But it shouldn't take me threatening you to get you to do as you're told. Perhaps I should punish you anyway, once we're done with breakfast. Maybe that'll get it through your thick head."
Harry's face drained of color, but he made not a sound. Answering his uncle, or making any noise around him, really, would just make things worse.
"Haha!" Dudley cried out. "The freak's gonna get it! The freak's gonna get it! Can I have a go at him, too, Dad?"
"Of course, Dudders," Vernon replied. "But finish breakfast first," he added upon seeing Dudley about to abandon his breakfast in favor of beating up Harry.
Once the Dursleys had finished breakfast, Vernon loomed over Harry. "It's time for your lesson, boy," he hissed, reaching one meaty hand towards Harry. Having no choice, Harry mentally prepared himself to take whatever his uncle and cousin had in store for him.
Harry felt cold water being poured onto his face. "Get up, boy!" Petunia shrieked. "You have work to do!" She thrust a piece of paper at him and added, "and clean up this mess!"
Harry took the paper and groaned. He hurt so much! What had happened? Suddenly, he recalled his uncle saying that he would "teach him a lesson." I must have passed out, he thought. Groaning again as he picked himself off of the floor, he looked with dismay at the list of chores. His aunt had already left the room to do her last-minute preparations to take Dudley out, and his uncle had already left for work. Soon, he told himself, soon I will have the house all to myself. He grabbed a towel and began cleaning the puddle of water that was left after his aunt had poured water on him to wake him up.
Petunia poked her head in the kitchen. Satisfied that Harry was working, she snarled, "And be sure that all your chores are done before your uncle gets home, boy. Or you'll wish you were never born."
"Yes, ma'am," Harry whispered respectfully, never once raising his eyes from what he was doing. Petunia nodded and then swept out the door with Dudley in tow.
Sighing with relief, Harry slowed his movements a little to give some relief to his aching body. But he had to continue working, lest he get worse when his uncle got home. Once he finished cleaning up the water, he turned his attention to the breakfast dishes and cleared them away, washing and drying them, then putting them in their places.
Next on the list was taking the trash out and then cleaning the kitchen until there was not a spot left. Having done this for so long, it only took him a half an hour. Then he moved on to the living room, the bathroom, Dudley's room, his aunt and uncle's room, and the hallways, leaving each of them spotless—just as his aunt liked them.
Now for the outside chores, Harry thought, as he looked up at the sun. He had long ago learned to tell what time it was by the position of the sun. It was eleven o'clock. Maybe if he had at least the weeding done, his aunt Petunia would give him something for lunch.
Sure enough, when Petunia and Dudley arrived home an hour later, the weeding was done. A few minutes later, Petunia walked out the back door where Harry was pulling out the trimming shears. "Here's a sandwich, freak. Wash up with the hose. You'll eat out here and then get back to work."
"Yes, ma'am. Thank you, Aunt Petunia." Petunia nodded in response and then swept back into the house. Harry washed the dirt off of his hands and proceeded to eat his sandwich.
Hmmm…Aunt Petunia is being generous today. Lettuce, tomatoes, and a full slice of bologna? I don't think that's ever happened before, he thought as he savored his sandwich. Remembering the rest of his chores, he hurriedly ate the rest and set about trimming the bushes. After the bushes were done, he mowed the yard and then watered the garden and flower beds, pleased that he was able to complete it all before his uncle got home.
Later that evening, Harry sat in his cupboard, thinking over that brief memory to see if he could recall anything else. He could not, but he relished the sound of his mother's voice humming. It seemed almost like she was humming right next to him, and it lulled him to sleep.
Harry's dream
"Harry, love, open your eyes," said a red-headed woman with the same green eyes as Harry. Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. "That's it, love, look at Mummy."
"M-Mum?" Harry asked, sitting up, wide-eyed. He quickly took in the area around them. He recognized it as the park near his school.
"Yes, Harry, come here, love," Lily replied, opening her arms to her beloved son. Harry walked over to his mother, who waved her hand over him, healing his wounds and bruises. Curling up in his mother's arms, Harry snuggled into her warmth. "No going back to sleep, yet, Harry. I have a message for you."
Harry smiled up at his mother. "A message?"
Lily nodded. "Yes, dear. Few know, but I have a brother. He is my half-brother, but he lived with another family—he lived with his mother and step-father." Harry's eyes were glued to his mother's face, drinking in every word she said and memorizing her sweet, lilting voice.
"He was unaware that he is my brother, but he knows now. It may be a few days, but he will come for you. His name is Severus. You know, I never wanted you to live with Petunia—I know that she hates magic. Yes, my son," Lily added at Harry's incredulous look, "magic is real and you are a wizard. Petunia thinks that magic is weird, which is why they call you a freak. But I was magical, too, and would you say that I am freaky?"
Harry shook his head. "No, Mum. You're wonderful!"
Lily smiled at her son's exclamation. "Exactly. Now, it is almost time for your day to begin. Once Severus comes, he will answer any questions that you have. Ask him to tell you about me and your father. He will tell you the truth about how we died. Remember that I am always with you, love." Harry nodded and hugged his mother.
"I love you, Mum." Tears filled his eyes.
Lily hugged Harry tighter. "I love you, too, my precious son."
Harry woke up from his dream, a tear slipping down his cheek. Slowly, he relived the dream in his mind. He'd seen his mother's face! And she loved him! He smiled, still feeling like his mother's arms were around him. Then he recalled what she'd said. His uncle was going to come rescue him!
Scrambling to get ready for the day (which never took him long at all), he suddenly realized that he no longer felt achy. Then he remembered that his mother had healed him. He smiled. Oh, how he loved his mother!
"Boy!" he heard suddenly, "Get up and make breakfast! I won't have you lazing around all day!"
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, pushing open the door of his cupboard and beginning his day, fighting to keep the smile off of his face. The Dursleys would not be happy if they saw him smiling. Fortunately, he was well-versed in the art of keeping his emotions to himself. He had to in order to survive in this house.
But the knowledge that his mother loved him, was always with him, and that he would be rescued soon, aided him in being content for the first time since he came to live with his aunt and uncle. He knew that today was going to be a very good day.