/Author's note:

/It gets better later on; I might come back to rewrite the beginning.

Welcome, Player!

Your identity has been automatically set to: Harry Potter

An eight year old boy stared at this icon in surprize and confusion, clearly dumbfounded by such a spontaneous pop-up. There he was, sitting in his cupboard, when, suddenly, that message sprung up and startled the living daylights out of him.

Race: Human

Class: Wizard

Speciality: ?

The boy, apparently named Harry Potter, was now entirely lost. The boy was a hundred percent sure that he was a human, but a wizard? His uncle always taught him that magic, sorcery, and other hocus-pocus was freakish and did not was just about to dismiss the window as a hallucination when he was struck with wonder. He wondered "what if?" What if magic was real? What if he truly was a wizard?

-"Am I?"- The words escaping his mouth were barely a whisper, but the closed space of the cupboard made these words seemingly echo throughout his small little prison. The uncertainty of the question left him oddly at peace; somehow, he knew that if he was, in fact, a wizard, he would soon know.

With such a comforting mindest, Harry drifted off to sleep; only to smash his forehead on the cupboard ceiling a couple moments later, as a loud yell reverberated through the house.

"Up! Get up! Now!"

As Harry opened the door of his cupboard he was greeted with a sight of a thin and lanky woman. The main attribute of this woman was, as Harry noted for himself, her long and overextended neck, perfect for spying on neighbours. Her name was Petunia, Harry's aunt. It was surprising for such a thin and skinny woman like her to have such an explosive temper and a toxic personality.

"Are you awake yet?"

"Nearly…" - groaned out Harry, holding his hurt forehead in mild discomfort.

"You better be up! It is my Duddikin's birthday, and I want everything to be perfect!"- Strictly exclaimed Petunia, before looking at the boy and raising her voice - "Why are you still in the cupboard? I want eggs and bacon for breakfast, so get on it!"

Harry groaned. He knew that on the birthday of his cousin the family would go somewhere to have fun, and leave him with the most annoying and infuriating cat lady ever, Mrs. Figg. Mrs. Figg truly loved her cats, and would, if not make him play with her cats, then would make Harry drink tea while looking over the thousands of pictures of her cats that's she so dearly loved.

-"GET THE BLOODY BREAKFAST DONE, YOU IMBECILE!" - This loud tell made Harry jump in his cupboard and smash his forehead against the low ceiling once again and yelp in pain.

Harry Potter came out of the cupboard and smashed the door into its frame as if to punish the cupboard for the pain that it caused. The day didn't start well in the slightest. Slightly grumpy, he dragged himself to the kitchen to fulfill the order he was given. This has become the routine for the young boy; wake up, get yelled at, cook breakfast and finish his chores; but just because it was routine, that didn't mean that he liked it in any way. He was envious; envious of his cousin. Cousin that got birthdays, didn't have to do chores and was spoiled. But the little boy could do nothing but obey.

The breakfast was done and the family got together to enjoy the food that Harry had made. Albeit eight, Harry was really experienced in the delicate craft of foods due to being forced to cook most of the time. Aunt Petunia majorly disliked cooking and usually made Harry cook any and all holiday meals as soon as he was able to pick up a frying pan. But Harry was alright with cooking; it gave him ample time to himself, and allowed him to wallow in "what if?'s" What if he was a wizard? What if he didn't have to live there anymore? What if the ceiling of the cupboard was just an inch higher? Albeit he could daydream, he didn't have definite answers for any of those questions.

Harry was rudely interrupted from his daydream by his cousin, who started crying over one of the presents being a little too small for his liking.

-"We will get you a new one when we go to the city today, alright, Duddikin?" While aunt Petunia was fussing over her precious child, her land whale of a husband was smugly grinning, as if proud of his child. This man was a true businessman, believing that his child was growing up with the same determination to squeeze out anything he ever wanted out of any situation, much like himself. Although a businessman, he included emotion in many of his real life decisions, such as his major dislike of a boy named Harry Potter who was dropped of to their house 7 years earlier. So, obviously, as soon as he remembered that Harry was in the same room as him, his face darkened, and a frown marred his face.

-"Petunia! What are we going to do about the boy? We are going to the city, and I do NOT want to take the freak with us. Should we leave him with Mrs. Figg?"

Oh, how he didn't want to go! Mrs. Figg was truly a place where he did not want to be.
As his aunt was about to confirm his uncle's decision and send him to Mrs. Figg, their eyes met. Harry's emerald green eyes were met with a piercing, hatred-filled gaze; these eyes bore into Harry's, the hatred burning in her eyes... then, suddenly, they disappeared. Her EYES were gone. Instead, her eye sockets were filled with two murky crystal unseeing balls... But Harry didn't have enough time to be surprised before those balls were replaced with her slightly more lively eyes again. Those eyes no longer held such burning contempt and hatred, rather, some of it was replaced with doubt and confusion.
"I don't think we should send Harry to Mrs. Figg… just let him stay at the house..."