The small boy stared at his aunt terrified hoping he had made breakfast right. Each morning she found something wrong with his cooking and he had to suffer the consequences of it. He rubbed the back of his head where she had hit him the day before for accidentally burning the bacon. He stood on the stool in front of the stove and watched as she approached. He could feel his cousin’s eyes on him, and he knew he was hoping Harry had done it wrong once again.

Harry James Potter was considered very small for a five-year-old boy. In fact, he was the smallest in his class and because he was forced to wear his Cousin Dudley’s hand-me-down clothes, Harry appeared even smaller. You see, Dudley Dursley was a very chubby boy who had a tendency to outgrow his clothes. Because Petunia Dursley, Harry’s aunt and guardian, didn’t want to buy him clothes that actually fit, Harry was usually made to wear them. He didn’t really mind wearing hand-me-downs so much, what he did mind though, was the fact that Dudley was almost twice his height and almost thrice his weight; this caused Dudley’s clothes to practically drown him in fabric. He was always tripping over the pant legs of his cousin’s jeans; they were just too large on his tiny frame.

His Uncle, Vernon Dursley, would laugh, all the while calling him a “clumsy fool who can’t even walk properly.”

Harry knew that his aunt and uncle hated him; they had for as long as he could remember. They didn’t want him in their home and they had no problem showing him, in more ways than one, that he was utterly worthless and undeserving of love. His parents had been worthless too, or so he was told. According to his uncle both his parents had died in a car crash when he was a baby, an incident they enjoyed reminding him of often. This was the event that left him with a scar on his forehead and stuck with the Dursleys.

“Now we have to put up with your parents mistakes,” Uncle Vernon had once told him after a beating, “If your father hadn’t been so reckless we wouldn’t have ended up with you! No doubt you are going to grow up just as abnormal as your parents.”

That morning, Harry hoped he wouldn’t have to have a beating. It was Halloween morning; his aunt and uncle had told him that if he was a good boy, he could go to a couple houses as well. He would be wearing Dudley’s ghost costume from the year before. He was to stay at a neighbour’s house, Mrs. Figg while his aunt and uncle took Dudley around the neighbourhood afterward. Although Harry did not like going to Mrs. Figgs; he wouldn't mind being there eating candy while waiting for their return.

He watched his aunt as she inspected the bacon. Harry didn’t like to use the stove since he always worried that he would burn himself; especially when he was making the bacon. It was the only time he was thankful for wearing such baggy clothes, the bacon grease always splattered on the large sleeves of his sweaters.

His uncle had been against Harry using the stove at first. He remembered the conversation that taken place the day after his fifth birthday. He had sat down at the table when his aunt told him to get back up, and come with her to the stove. He wondered if he was going to be punished; would he have to touch the hot stove?

He tensed up when she grabbed his arm as he made his slow approach over to her. She paid no attention. She had a stool in front of the stove which she lifted him up to stand on. His heart sank. She was going to make him touch the stove. He felt tears well up in his eyes; what had he done this time? Although there were times when he didn’t do anything; his aunt and uncle punished him anyway. He knew he deserved it, even if he had been a good boy.

“You are a big boy now Harry,” his aunt began (Harry wondered why she called him by his name; it was rare she ever did. Normally they called him boy)

“We have let you stay here. We have fed you and put clothes on your back. It is time that you earned your keep. Now that you are five, you are old enough to help make breakfast.”

“What?” Uncle Vernon asked lowering the paper he had been reading. “Petunia dear, don’t you think you should wait another couple years. He is going to burn everything.”

“Then he’ll get a thrashing won’t he?” Aunt Petunia asked glaring at Harry who flinched. “He is old enough now to learn.”

He saw his uncle glare at him with dislike before looking back at his aunt. “He is awfully young still . . . I agree he should be earning his keep now, but I don’t know about cooking. He isn’t a bright boy to begin with.”

Harry really hoped that his uncle would win the argument; he didn’t want to use the hot stove. However, his aunt won the argument; every day afterward he had to make breakfast. He was told that when he was older he would also make them lunch and help out with supper. Harry was shaken out of his thoughts as he watched his aunt stare into the pan of bacon.

“Well it looks as though you have finally gotten this right,” she said.

It was everything he could hope for; he had done it right, which meant he wouldn't get a beating. Sure she had said it in a mean tone, but he was used to that. He couldn’t remember if she had ever talked to him in the soft way she did with Dudley.

“And the eggs are fine. It would have been better if it hadn’t taken you three months to learn how to make breakfast though. You may have two pieces of toast today,” she contined.

“Thank you Aunt Petunia,” he said ecstatically.

He hopped off the stool and hurried to his place at the table. He was normally allowed only one piece of toast or none at all. He wondered if this meant his aunt and uncle would like him now. Maybe he wouldn’t get a beating ever again. He took the two pieces of toast that his aunt handed him, and thanked her. He saw that Dudley looked disappointed; he knew Dudley had been looking forward to Harry getting beaten. Harry wasn’t sure why his cousin had never liked him; he had never known Harry's parents.

“Four years to the day isn’t it Petunia?” his uncle asked as his aunt started putting the food on everyone’s plate.

He felt even happier when she put a tiny piece of bacon on his plate too. He realized that he could be good after all; his aunt would never have given him bacon if he couldn't. It had been a long time since he had last had bacon.

“Yes it is,” his Aunt answered stiffly as she sat down. “Well,” she said in an after thought, “tonight it will be. They died Halloween night.”

Harry knew instantly what his aunt and uncle were talking about; his happiness melted, just as the butter did on his toast. They were talking about the night his parents had died. He didn’t even really understand what 'died' meant; he did know his parents were gone and never coming back. His aunt had told him that when he had dared to ask her what it meant. He had hoped if he knew, he could be with them.

“It means they are gone and no one will see them again, which is very fortunate. We are stuck with you until you are eighteen!” she had yelled. “And how many times have I told you not to ask questions!? Especially about them!”

“When I am eighteen, will I see them?” he asked.

“NO! Don’t you get it stupid boy? They are gone and never coming back!”

She had given him a spanking afterward, forced him to do his chores, and he hadn't been allowed meals for a week. He was careful about not mentioning his parents or 'died' again. His meals were pitiful, but he knew he needed his strength to do his chores. If he didn't do his chores properly he would be beaten. He remembered a time when he'd had a week of starvation; he had collapsed and couldn't make breakfast. His uncle had given a thorough spanking for it.

“Then there was that dreadful November second . . .” his uncle sighed scowling at Harry who looked away. “They didn’t seem to care whether or not we could take on another child.”

“Exactly! I’d always wanted a daughter.”

Harry flinched as they both glared at him. He would have to try harder to be a good boy. They would no longer regret that they had him instead of daughter if he could learn to behave.

“I want a sister!” Dudley suddenly shouted. “Make him leave mummy. I need a sister. All my friends have brothers and sisters. None of them have bad cousins!”

“I know sweetums.” Aunt Petunia said in a soft soothing voice. “You could have had a younger sister. Maybe some day.”

“Now!” Dudley yelled.

Harry saw Dudley’s face going red and sensed a temper tantrum starting. Forgetting that he needed to stay to help his aunt clean up, he got up and ran from the kitchen. He went straight to his cupboard to hide. Dudley usually took his tantrums out on Harry. His aunt and uncle didn’t seem to care he was gone. He could hear them consoling Dudley who was wailing now.

Harry stared at the ground tearfully, wincing as he walked slowly behind the Dursley's. His aunt and uncle had been very angry with him for leaving the table. His uncle had pulled him out of the cupboard and given him a spanking; after his spanking, he was forced to do his chores. No one had said anything about trick or treating so he hoped he still could go. Just before they started getting Dudley ready, his aunt had informed that he had blown it once again.

They were leading him to Mrs. Figg's. She always made him look at pictures of her cats and he really didn’t want to that night. He didn’t even want to sit down. His bottom and the back of his legs still stung from his beating. He ignored Dudley who was talking about all the treats that he was going to have.

“Know what the big kids do?” he asked as they walked down Mrs. Figg's driveway, “They go out two times with two costumes daddy! Why can’t I have two?”

“When you are a little older Diddy,” Aunt Petunia said as she rang Mrs. Figg's doorbell.

“But mummy, why can’t I now?” Dudley asked. “I want lots of treats!”

“Well hello, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley.” Mrs. Figg greeted.

One of her cats shot out of the house quickly. Harry watched it go. It was a tabby cat, when it reached the end of the driveway; it turned to stare back at the house. Harry and the cat stared at each other for a few moments before Harry felt someone taking his hand and leading him inside. His aunt and uncle didn’t say anything to him; they just turned and went back down the driveway.

“How are you Harry dear?” Mrs. Figg asked as she led him to her living room, “I see you have glasses now.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Harry said scrunching up his nose. Her house always smelled like cabbage.

He had only started wearing glasses recently. His skin still bore the bruises from the beating he had received from his uncle. His uncle had been angry when they learned Harry needed glasses. Harry was insecure about his appearance; his black hair was too messy and his green eyes offended his aunt. He only liked the lightning bolt scar on his forehead.

When he sat down on the couch, tears sprang to his eyes. His bottom was still very tender. Harry tried not to think about it. He blocked the thought of the morning from his mind. He didn't realize that it would be a beating that would haunt him as he grew older.

“You got a new cat,” he said thinking of the tabby he had seen.

“Oh she’s not mine,” Mrs. Figg answered handing him a cookie. “She comes to visit me sometimes.”

Harry took a bite from the cookie, it was very stale but it was chocolate chip. He liked chocolate chip cookies, it wasn’t often he had treats at home. He knew it was the only treat he would get that night so he didn't complain.

“Cats’ visit?” he asked.

“Yes sometimes if they are hungry. So I will feed them. But you know, I would like to get a kitten. You’ve never had a pet have you?”

Harry shook his head, “Pets are messy. Aunt Petunia doesn’t want any. Dudley does. Uncle Vernon said maybe when he is older. But not a cat or dog. Maybe a fish.”

“What happened to your eye?” she asked.

“Oh . . . nothing,” Harry said looking away.

His uncle had given him a black eye when he had accidentally broken his egg yolk. It had been Dudley’s fault who had snuck up behind Harry and scared him. Harry hadn’t told mentioned it though, he was never allowed to blame Dudley. Mrs. Figg stared at him for a moment before turning away. He glanced at the television which had a black and white movie on. Harry stared at it not understanding what was going on in the movie, but thrilled to be watching at all. He was rarely allowed to watch cartoons at home.

Mrs. Figg returned with a large album; Harry knew what it was. It was the same album she made him look through every time he came over. He wondered if she had forgotten that he had seen all the pictures of her cats several times before. She saw him looking at the television and turned it off. Then she opened the album and began explaining as she always did about each cat.

When the doorbell rang an hour later, Harry was grateful. He was never happy to see his family but he didn't want to see anymore pictures of cats. He also had to go to the bathroom, but felt too embarrassed to tell Mrs. Figg. She looked up surprised as if she had forgotten that his aunt and uncle were coming back. Muttering, she got up and headed for the front door. Harry lifted the heavy album off of his lap and stood up.

Mrs. Figg returned with his uncle trailing her. He looked as if he were in a bad mood. He pointed at Harry and beckoned for him to come. Harry didn’t need telling twice. He walked quickly to his uncle who grabbed his arm roughly; he pulled him hard throughout the house and out the door.

“You really are ungrateful, aren’t you?” Uncle Vernon snarled as they walked up the driveway. “Dudders is sick because of you! What did you do to the bacon? Or was it the eggs? I thought he seemed a little off all day. He missed out on most of his night because he got sick.”

No one was around except the tabby cat from Mrs. Figg's place. Uncle Vernon stopped walking and released his nephews arm. Harry was still watching the cat who stared back. Harry suddenly felt blinding pain across his face and nearly fell to the ground from the force of the slap. He began to wail loudly.

He heard growling and thought it was his uncle, but through his tears he saw it was the cat. The cat was walking toward them spitting, and growling.

“What the-?” Uncle Vernon began but the cat leapt at him.

Harry stared in amazement as the cat started attacking his Uncle. He tried to fight it off, but it seemed to make the cat angrier. It clung to arm and sunk its teeth and claws in his hand. He yelled out in pain. Harry wasn’t sure what to do though he was no longer crying. He was almost glad; he wondered if that meant he was being a bad boy again. The cat didn’t seem to want to stop attacking his uncle who was screaming loudly. Harry held back a giggle; he couldn't help it. His uncle finally managed to throw it off, then he grabbed Harry and lifted him up.

He held Harry out in front of him like a shield, daring the cat to attack again. But the cat didn’t; it backed up, still growling. He had never seen his uncle run before. It wasn’t until they reached the house that he stopped running and set Harry down. Harry felt amused by it all until his Uncle glared down at him.

“You told that cat to do that didn’t you?” Uncle Vernon said angrily.

Harry shook his head frantically. How could he have? People couldn’t talk to cats! He hadn't even said a word to the cat, so how could his uncle suspect him?

“Well guess what, you can sleep on the porch for that one! I don’t know what has gotten into you today! Making Dudders sick, leaving the table without permission and now you are setting cats on me. Well you’ll see what happens when you act ungrateful!”

And with those words, Uncle Vernon turned and stomped into the house. He slammed the door behind him. Harry sniffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand. It was a cold night and now he had to sleep out here? He walked up to the porch slowly; he had never had to sleep outside before. His aunt had always gotten angry if his uncle suggested it. She didn’t want the neighbours to see him outside sleeping on the porch. The door suddenly opened again, Harry wondered if his uncle had changed his mind.

“You don’t deserve this, but all we need is for you to get sick,” his Uncle threw a blanket at Harry then slammed the door again.

Harry wrapped the blanket around him and laid down on the porch step. Tears were running down his cheeks as he stared out at the road. His wishes of having his own room with a warm bed were squashed at that moment. He knew it would never happen now. The tabby cat was sitting by the road in front of the house. It stared at him, and then crossed the front yard toward him. Harry felt scared; would the cat attack him too? It stopped in front of him and then began to sniff him. Harry stuck a hand out of the blanket.

He had never been fond of cats because of Mrs. Figg, but he liked this one. It had attacked his uncle for hitting him.

“Good kitty,” Harry murmured and petted it.

The cat started to purr, and then it climbed on top of him and lay down. Harry closed his eyes. The cat was helping him feel warm. He hoped it would stay around. He needed a friend. He just had to make sure his uncle didn’t see it. He hoped it would be gone in the morning before anyone could see it. With thoughts of having a new friend, Harry dozed off.

When Harry was sound asleep; the cat jumped off of him. It stared at him for a moment, and then suddenly it started to change. Where the cat had been stood, there was an elderly woman looking down at the small boy, who shivered in his sleep.

“Those damn muggles,” she said angrily, tears were in her eyes. “Don’t worry Harry. You won’t ever see those people again. I don’t care what Albus’s reasons are. If Lily and James saw the way they treated you . . . ”

Hoping she wouldn’t wake him, she bent down and lifted him into her arms. The child muttered a little in his sleep but didn’t wake. He looked like a very small version of James Potter. Except he was covered in bruises, the poor dear even had a black eye. She cuddled him closer, then glared at the house. When Abarella Figg had reported it looked as if Harry had been abused, Minerva had been angry.

Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had then decided to send out people to number four Privet Drive to check. Minerva had rarely seen Harry outside and neither had anyone else who had come. She also mostly came at night as she was a teacher at Hogwarts. Sighing Minerva turned on the spot and disappeared with little Harry with a loud crack.