Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters, I am just playing with the ideas and am not profiting from their use

There are places in the world that just scream dull. The very air is heavy and placid, leaving a feeling of normalcy and a plodding way of life. Usually this is not something to be striven for, rather a product of a type of lifestyle, though some deluded souls do endeavor to be nothing so much as plain.

Privet Drive, of Little Whinging, was one such area that had fallen under the spell of day to day life. Every household was structured and common place, much like their neighbors and their neighbors' neighbors lives. The husbands went off to work, while the doting wives stayed home to clean and gossip.

From the exterior, every home was the same, with simple variations of size and color. Yet, with closer inspection, one would see the sordid truths beneath the glazed eyes and placid manner.

Such as, the wife living in number 13, was having an affair with the piano instructor who came by increasingly more often. Or how the little old lady from number 8 has the habit of "accidentally" walking out of stores with items that will never appear on her receipt. Perhaps how the horribly spoiled boy from number 4 is not, in fact, the only child in that house. That couple from number 20 aren't actually married even though she is pregnant with their second child. Or how the husband from number 2 just realized he is gay and does not know how to tell his wife of 8 years.

All of these are very interesting facts, and they would make wonderful stories, but the most interesting at the particular moment in time is that of the never seen child from Number 4 Privet Drive. To begin, we will have to go back to how he came to this—home, 3 years ago.

The poor thing was orphaned in a tragic incident that I am sure you are aware. The events that follow may not be so well documented. Once the scene was surveyed, and the young child discovered, it was decided that he should be taken to his last remaining relatives to be raised. Now, mind you, this was done with the greatest of intentions. But, the road to hell is, as always, paved by those great intentions.

With no true assessment of the situation, and with no warning to the unsuspecting guardians to be, the child was wrapped in a slightly singed blanket, a thoughtful note tucked carefully in with the slumbering child, raw scar still visible beneath his fringe.

Admittedly, the entire situation could have been handled better, but what is a great leader to do? The rest of the world is celebrating, they have to desire to be burdened with the terrible truths that lead to this great victory. Who has the time to make a educated decision? Now is the time for action, though the war is over, the mindset is not, quick decisions or no decisions.

So what was done was done, and the deliverers of this child left, if not with light hearts, than with clear conscience that they could now celebrate in freedom, knowing the child would be loved and cared for.

When Petunia Dursley, resident of 4 Privet drive and aunt of the slumbering bundle of joy resting on her doorstep, opened the door to gather the days milk and paper she was greeted by such a surprise that her voice caught in her throat with a half formed gasp. There was no need to scream, for that would be unseemly, and she did not want to draw attention to herself in a time of confusion. With a darting glance around the street, she swooped up the child and scurried into her kitchen to figure out what was going on, and why some baby was on her doorstep.

Calling for her husband she examined the baby, noticed the ghastly scar, searched for a clue and found the letter. Her husband ambled in, settled back on his legs to compensate for his hefty build, just as she finished the letter. Of course he inquires after the presence of a strange child with no warning and when he learns that he is indeed the child of his wife's never mentioned sister, he is understandably curious.

Now, Vernon Dursley is not an unreasonable man. He is quite charismatic and fairly good at reading people, it is what has given him an edge in his position selling industrial drills. He knows that his lovely Petunia does not like speaking about her sister, but he also knows that she still loves the estranged Lily, and his dislike for the Potters stems from the hurt he sees on his wife's face when ever they are mentioned, not because of any abnormalities or quirks he may be aware of.

After the conversation that follows the reading of the wise leader Dumbeldore's letter, Vernon is not sure what to think, but understands that his wife is the expert in the area and reacts as she does to something to far beyond his experience. They discuss possible avenues, from an orphanage to actually raising the child with their own beloved Dudley, and for a time the latter seems possible, until the child awakens and those liquid green eyes stare up and Petunia and all the hurt ever felt from the perfect sister rises within her and she can hardly bare to look at baby Harry. If they are to raise him, it will not be as a son, but a ward they are burdened to care for.

So, Vernon spent his Sunday clearing out the second bedroom, making it habitable for a 15 month old babe, though not as opulent as his own sons by any means. While Petunia avoided the eyes of the curious toddler, checking for a diaper and being surprised that one was not present. Apparently Harry was potty trained early, leaving one less thing for Petunia to worry about.

Now she would do as the letter said, raise Harry within her household until he was retrieved for schooling, and perhaps teach him to be normal like her wonderful family.

So it went, for almost half a year, until the day that the Dursley's noticed Harry's magic. This was not the first time he had used accidental magic since coming to live with the Dursley's, but it was the first time the adults would witness it. Dudley and Harry adored each other, and would play for hours with nothing but laughter and squeals coming from Dudley's room. Harry would float a toy over to himself if he could not reach it, and Dudley would laugh, thinking it was a game. Harry especially liked Dudley's stuffed black dog, which he would always reach for when ever they played.

This particular day he was reaching for the high placed toy, willing it to him from its spot on the top shelf, when Petunia came in with a few snacks for the boys. She found that as long as she did not look into Harry's eyes she could be civil and a good parent to him.

She opened the door quietly, always enjoying seeing the children play, when she noticed both boys staring intently up at the top shelf. Following their stares she saw a toy floating down towards Harry's outstretched hands and Dudley clapping happily, ready to point at what he wanted Harry to get him.

With a shriek she snapped up the child by his shirt, hauling him down the stairs and to the recently emptied cupboard under the stairs for a time out. Shoving him into the dark space she told him to never do 'that' again, or else.

Leaving the terrified and confused boy in the dark space she returned upstairs to make sure her beloved Diddums was unharmed by the traumatizing events. Harry cried in the dark room, wondering what was wrong and why Aunt 'tunia was to mad.

It became a routine, anytime magic was done, or something odd and unexplainable happened, Harry was shoved into the cupboard. Soon he realized why he was being punished and he stopped doing magic as much as he could.

Sadly, Harry was not the only young wizard in the Dursley household and when he stopped the magic did not. Dudley wanted to stretch is magical wings as well, though he as well learned not to practice magic in front of his mama, as he was terrified of the dark.

This went on for a while without it coming to Vernon's attention, but finally he came home from work, expecting two happy boys, only to fine one sullenly quiet and one mysteriously absent. Upon learning Harry's punishment, and the reason behind it, he was shocked and worried, hoping that Harry was okay.

He hoped that his wife's actions were for the best, because he did not truly understand everything, and was not around to witness everything. Life went on, and the incidents continued and Harry was still blamed. Soon it was for things unrelated to Harry or magic. A plate was mysteriously cracked, her roses did not bloom or a vase broke. Petunia was so used to blaming Harry that she continued, and it soon bled over into everything.

By the time Harry's second year with the Dursleys drew to a close he spent most of his time in the cupboard under the stairs and never was allowed to play, especially not with his cousin. He wasn't hugged anymore, and hardly touched. Though he was fed regularly, he never go any treats and rarely acknowledged. He was almost like a ghost of the family, there but not.

Confused and scared, Harry did not know what was happening or why. He stopped the magic, really he did, why wouldn't they hug him. Even Uncle Vernon was ignoring him now. By the time the third year had rolled around Harry was sleeping in his cupboard, doing chores and never spoken to unless he was being yelled at.

The poor child remained confused but now thought of himself as a bad boy. He would do what he was told, trying so hard to be good, but still he would go to bed, curled up on his little cot crying from hunger and sadness, unable to stop apologizing in the now familiar darkness.