When I wake up, I am on a table. Yes, a table. Still in a basket.
"Um, not to be rude, but I am NOT tonight's dinner." I look up and see a tremendously ugly woman before me, frowning. She is skinny and lanky, unlike the person next to her. His face, including both chins, is red and contorted into a scowl.
"Wizard scum," he growls.
"Excuse me, I am no more scum than you are skinny. And wizards aren't real. Idiot."
"We've got no choice but to take him in," groans the woman.
"Petunia, let's take it (I want to slap him-it? Him. HIM.) to an orphanage," he says.
*Note to readers, why didn't they? Wouldn't it have been much easier? It would have given Harry such a better life, would it not?*
The conversation bores me, so I begin to cry. Baby instincts.
"It's crying, Petunia," the man said.
"Go take care of Dudley, he's probably hungry. I'll take care of this."
She feeds me, then lays me down in a dirty, broken playpen. No matter how much I cry, she doesn't let me out.
As I sit there, crying, I see another boy walking by, a rubber duck in hand.
"Can I have a toy, pweeze?" I ask him politely.
"No, you stupid baby," the boy laughs back. He sits and plays with his toy and eats his cookie (like the fatty needed another cookie) right in front of me, torturing me. I kept saying things like,
"Where's mommy?" But the boy would shrug. When the ugly lady walked by, I would ask her the same. She didn't even look at me. I begin to cry, feeling left out, and I wanted Mommy. The boy went over and listened to their conversation. I sit silently, hoping he'll tell me what they're saying.
"Your mummy is dead, you stupid idiot," he giggles.
"Dudley, we don't say words like that," says the woman.
"To him, it's okay, though, Dudley," chuckles the man.
"No, Vernon, we don't want him repeating it to the children at school. He is suspended for biting that boy, remember."
"And you told him to use his words, and he will. If they're stupid, he'll call em that, rather than biting them."
That is the stupidest logic I've ever heard. Of course, I haven't heard much in my one year of life.
"Stupid baby," I giggle at the boy. He sticks his face tongue out.
"Mum, he called me stupid!"
"He can't talk, dearie," says the woman, not looking up from her book.
"Ha, I beat you, I win," I laugh.
"This, time. Next time you won't be so lucky," the fat little boy says, walking away.