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There are many things that Harry Potter hates.
He hates the Dursleys, children, and schools.
He hates loud noises, warm days, and the sun.
He even hates his own name.
But most of all, Harry hates things that are 'dirty'.
He hates specks of dust, pencil carvings, and food stains.
He hates oddly shaped eggs and untrimmed gardens.
If one were to diagnose him, they'd say he had OCD, also known as obsessive-compulsive disorder.
To him, this means that he just can not deal with imperfect things.
Whether in grammar, spelling, visuals, audio or otherwise, he needed everything to be perfect.
He needed everything to be clean.
But unfortunately for him, many people disagreed with his ideology.
In fact, many criticized him for it.
And, by many, I mainly mean his family.
His 'family.'
Now, unlike the Harry Potter from some other universes, this one is a little...cold.
Now many it was because he had an absolutely dreadful childhood, or maybe it was just in his nature.
Nevertheless, Harry Potter was not one to cross.
Here's the story of what happened when some people did.
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Harry's POV
I absolutely despise mornings.
The sun blinds your eyes, the gift of sleep gets taken away, and worst of all, the Dursleys awaken.
They aren't actually too bad when they're asleep.
But right when morning comes they rear their ugly heads.
This morning was no different.
I, of course, woke up by myself, unwilling to start my morning with the unique sound of a whale screaming at my face.
I slept in a small cupboard under the stairs, which barely had enough space to fit a tiny bed, resembling a crib, let alone an 11-year-old boy.
I unlocked the cupboard door, utilizing my lock-picking skills to their fullest potential.
I sucked in a deep breath, calming my mind just the tiniest bit.
One wrong step and I'd be beaten bloody.
Sunlight had already started seeping in through the windows, providing enough light for me to see my surroundings.
I quickly tiptoed across the room, my heart pounding in my chest.
I unlocked the door to the house and quickly sprinted to the mailbox.
I opened the mailbox, peering inside to see an absolutely stunning envelope with a large red wax steel.
There was an emblem of a badger, eagle, lion, and snake, all surrounding the bold letter H in the middle.
Below the emblem were some Latin words.
I chuckled as I read it, a small smile creeping up my face.
"Never tickle a sleeping dragon?" I whispered to myself, my eyes fixed on the words.
Suddenly I heard a creaking, and I realised that the Dursleys had awoken.
I didn't have the time to open the letter, as staying alive was obviously a priority.
Quickly, I scurried back to the house, and locked the door, praying that they didn't notice anything out of the ordinary.
I got back to the cupboard, shutting my eyes closed, along with the cupboard door, locking it so that it was the same as before.
One minute passed, then two, then three.
Eventually, after 7 minutes and 18 seconds, the door creaked open.
"Up," Vernon stated, not even trying to hide his hatred.
I quickly got out of the cupboard, not daring to look the man in his eyes.
I stared at the floor, and rushed over to the kitchen, unwilling to waste a single second of the day.
The first thing to do was to create the meals.
Today was egg day, so of course, I had to make the Dursleys their favourite eggs.
Vernon liked hard-boiled eggs. They were probably the simplest to make.
Petunia, on the other hand, liked an omelet with a large number of vegetables so that she could stay 'nice and pretty.'
Dudley, the bloody menace that he is, likes bacon, bacon, and would you look at that, bacon.
But he's very picky about his bacon, forcing me to make it the 'perfect amount of crispiness.'
Oh, and I also make him scrambled eggs.
After I make the meals I prepare the drinks.
Vernon liked water, Petunia liked Chai, and Dudley liked soda.
Yes, he had soda at breakfast.
But I wasn't complaining, the faster he destroys his body, the faster I am to getting rid of that tosser.
I served breakfast to the Dursleys, barely stopping myself from taking just a piece of bacon from Dudely's plate.
But freaks don't deserve food.
I washed the dishes, listening in on Vernon and Petunia's hushed conversation.
I couldn't hear much, but what I did hear was...concerning, to say the least.
"The letter is...witches...Dumbledore...Hogwarts...attic..."
I don't know what a Dumbledore is, but I do know what the other words mean.
The witches probably being the most concerning, although Hog Warts gave it a run for its money.
Why were they talking about witches?
Had they finally gone mental?
There's no reason to talk about witches. They aren't real now, are they?
I let out a small sigh, and focused on the dishes, not allowing myself to think of such useless things.
There was work to be done after all.
After I washed the dished I started my morning, and afternoon, and nightly routine, all of which included chores.
Actually, all they consisted of were chores.
Chores, chores, chores, all I ever did were chores.
Not that I minded too much.
In fact, cleaning had become therapeutic in a way.
I swept away the dust and mopped, the floor, I took out the garbage and made sure it got to the correct place.
Eventually, I made my way to the garden ready to trim the plants.
But instead of trimming the plants, I looked around, making sure no one was watching, or able to watch.
Then I fished the letter out of my pants holding it curiously.
This is surely what Vernon and Petunia were whispering about.
I carefully opened up the letter and read it eagerly.
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HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY
Dear Mr. Potter,
We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress
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I looked at the letter with dead eyes and sighed.
Yep, a scam.
Who names a school Hog Warts?
But of course, the gears in my head started turning and things started to...become unignorable.
Like how did whoever sent the message know my name?
Why was it addressed to my cupboard?
Of course, the Dursleys could have sent it.
It could just be a tool to make fun of me with.
But the Dursleys despise magic. They would never make a joke like this.
It could be someone from school...but none of them know I live in a cupboard.
It could be Dudley...but his brain cells are too nonexistent for this.
I rubbed my temples as a headache formed.
Who the fuck sent this?
Then I remembered the words Vernon and Petunia said.
Attic.
I had to go to the attic.