Petunia Dursley sniffed in irritation. Tomorrow she was to send her dear Dudley to summer school, and unfortunately, the boy as well. She had thought about keeping her nephew at home, but realized that it would look highly suspicious to the neighbors if only Dudley went.

‘I’ve provided food, clothes, and a home for that boy,’ she thought indignantly, ‘and now I have to pay for him to go to summer school too. It isn’t right.’

A sly smile crossed her face as she thought of fitting retribution. Both the boys needed haircuts. She would cut Dudley’s normally, and as for the boy, well, it wasn’t her fault if the scissors accidentally slipped…

Nine year old Harry groaned in remembrance as he awoke in his cupboard. Yesterday night Aunt Petunia had decided to cut—or mangle—Harry’s hair, claiming that it was too messy. After the haircut, Harry felt the top of his head tentatively. Instead of a normal haircut like Dudley’s, there were a few streaks of fuzzy hair in some places, while in other places Petunia had given him a couple bald spots. He had looked at his aunt incredulously, but she only pushed him away viciously and walked off, her nose high in the air.

This morning, Harry dreaded going to his first day of summer school. If the other students had laughed at his large clothing and taped glasses before, his horrible haircut would only give them more ammunition. He grimaced at the sight of his reflection, then schooled his expression into a neutral one. No sense in giving Dudley an even greater satisfaction of gloating. He bent down, lowering his head, as he washed his hands and face.

After wiping himself with a towel while avoiding the mirror, he stood still in front of the bathroom door, steeling himself for Dudley’s raucous laughter and his aunt’s smug smile. He closed his eyes for a moment, wishing for all it was worth that his hair was back to the normal, messy locks that stuck out every which way. He sighed though—his wishes never come true, after all—and slowly opened the door to make his way to the kitchen and start making breakfast for his relatives.

Twenty minutes later, he finished cooking breakfast and gently set three heaping plates on the table. A piece of bacon had somehow made its way to his mouth while he was cooking, and he was thankful no one had seen. He was starving after being sent to bed without dinner after his disastrous haircut yesterday. He stood still at one end of the table, hearing Aunt Petunia call his uncle and cousin down to breakfast.

“Boy!” she called a second later, coming into the kitchen herself, “Go get Dudley’s backpa…” Her words were cut off by a startled shriek at she caught sight of Harry.

Harry just stared confusedly back at his aunt, taking note of her wide eyes and shaking finger pointed straight at him.

“Your…your…ha…hair!” she stuttered. She seemed to notice how idiotic she sounded, stiffened, then opened her mouth to yell, “How dare you bring your freakiness into our house?! Vernon!” She ran out of the room to get her husband.

Harry didn’t move, puzzled, as he doubted that Aunt Petunia was talking about the bald spots on his head that she herself created. Deducting so, he cautiously raised up his right hand to touch his head. Instead of meeting empty space, like he expected, he felt the normal wild tufts of hair. His eyes widened. He pinched himself, then touched his hair again. Yup, it was exactly how it felt the day before and the day before that. Strange, he thought, it was horrendous when he had looked in the mirror earlier. His mind worked quickly, then came to a halting stop when it found an improbable reason.

‘Could it be…the wish…?’ one part of him whispered incredulously.

‘No…it can’t be, that’s impossible,’ another, more sensible part of him denied.

But Aunt Petunia’s reaction was strange. She was surprised at first, but the surprise quickly turned to anger, almost as if she half expected this strange showing of…magic? Was that why his Uncle and Aunt so forcibly prohibited the use of the M-word—because they knew themselves that magic truly existed? Harry’s head felt like it was going to burst for all the questions whirling around inside, but his thoughts were soon interrupted by a loud shout of “Boy!” from a familiar voice.

Harry slowly backed against the wall as large stomping noises rapidly approached the kitchen. Uncle Vernon paused for a moment in shock after witnessing his nephew’s hair for himself, but he immediately continued his rampage. He stepped menacingly toward Harry, and his hand tightly grabbed the boy’s collar in a meaty fist.

“Boy!” Vernon sputtered again, while Harry dazedly wondered at the mind capacity of the man before him, having to repeat the same word twice. “Boy,” he repeated once more, “What did you do to your hair, you freak?”

“I should think it would be obvious,” Harry muttered under his breath, while he wondered if he had gone crazy, opposing Vernon like that. Well, too late now.

Vernon’s eyes bulged as if he couldn’t conceive that his nephew had just talked back to him.

“You being smart, boy?” he hissed, lifting the boy up by the collar and slamming his head into the wall, and smirking as he saw the boy wince at the pain. “Change your hair back,” he whispered dangerously, putting his face an inch away from Harry’s.

Harry closed his eyes; he could feel his uncle’s hot breath and the bits of spittle that flew angrily from his mouth as he talked.

Vernon seemed to get even madder when his nephew didn’t answer. He slammed the boy’s head into the wall again. “Change it back, freak!”

Harry looked straight into his uncle’s narrowed eyes, trying not to show the pain and dizziness he felt. “I can’t help it,” he said softly, “I don’t know how.”

His uncle growled as he saw his nephew’s defiance. The audacity of the boy! He was about to slam the boy’s head again, but was stopped, disappointedly, by his wife.

“What?” he grunted at her, irritated at the interruption, but pausing in his actions.

“Put him down Vernon,” Petunia said, “You can deal with him later. But now, if we don’t hurry, dear Dudders is going to be late for his first day. You don’t want that, do you?”

Vernon set Harry down reluctantly. “Alright, Pet,” he grumbled. His eyes turned back to bore into his nephew’s. “But don’t think you’re getting away with this. Just wait until I come home…” He sneered evilly.

Harry turned his face away, his lips pressed tightly together, not trusting himself to speak without insulting his uncle.

“Come on, boy! Go get Dudders’ things and wait by the door.” Aunt Petunia ordered. “And no breakfast for you, after that scene you caused.” She shuddered as she glanced once more at the top of his head.

Harry nodded, suddenly very glad that he had secretly eaten that slice of bacon.