Chapter Three
Number 4, Privet Drive
Little Winging, Surrey, July 30, 1991
England
Dudley Dursley was eleven. For a long time he was the leader of his gang. The other members were Piers Polkiss, Malcolm, Gordon, and Dennis. Harry Potter was eleven. He had short, black hair, blue eyes, and wore glasses. Dudley couldn't beat him up, since he was too fast for him. The point was Harry Potter's origins was magical. 'Harry, breakfast is ready', Petunia said. He nodded. Since he had spent a decade in the house, he was sleeping, eating, and working in the Cupboard Under the Stairs; he wasn't used to being confined. Harry opened the door. He left the bed, the windows, and other places. He had sensed trouble was coming, as he saw mysterious figures in robes, and hats on their heads. He smiled at them from the window. They waved back, as if seeing him for the first time. Consequently, he wasn't made to feel bad about the strangers. He felt comfortable with their kind; he hated the human kind, since he wasn't made to be safe-yet. Dudley waited for him. As usual, he was eating too much food, and got everything after he cried until his eyes was red. Harry knew it was an act.
Then he got a letter.
And he knew what that meant.
Someone knew about him.
And he smiled.
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