Disclaimer – Harry Potter does not belong to me, obviously. This little story, however, does.

A/N - Hello, and welcome one and all! This story has been at the bottom of my computer files for a couple of years now, but I've only just found the time and inspiration to finish it. I'll warn you now though - before you even start reading - that it's sad, and depressing, and not at all fluffy (although none of my long-time readings will be too surprised by that). What I need you all to remember however, is that I do plan on posting a part two. This is not the end. All that being said, I hope you like it anyway. Without further ado...enjoy part one!

A Day in the Life

Part One

For the first time in his young life, little seven year-old Harry Potter was excited.

His messy black hair bounced on the top of his head as he rushed around his tiny cupboard, trying to get ready for the day as quickly as he could. He was literally shaking with nervous energy, so he slightly struggled to change his ratty, holey socks to slightly cleaner ones, but he persevered, because nothing could ruin his mood, not today.

Yesterday, his Aunt Petunia had taken him aside as he'd been doing the dishes, and she'd told him that it would be his birthday in a week. His birthday. He had always wondered whether or not he had a birthday; he could never remember celebrating it before, but he had always watched enviously as Dudley had received his mountains of presents.

When she had told him about his birthday, Harry immediately began to get excited. Was he going to get presents? A party? When his eyes had eagerly asked the question of Aunt Petunia, she had replied, rather stiffly, that he would get a present if he was a good boy and did exactly as they said. Harry, in all his excitement and anticipation, had missed the look of distaste that had appeared on his Aunt's face as she'd noticed the hope that had appeared in his eyes.

'They finally love me', was all little Harry could think.

As he had continued with his chores that day with renewed vigour, Harry had wondered whether his parents were as happy as he was that it was going to be his birthday. Even at such a young age, he understood that he would never meet them. His Uncle, perhaps cruelly, had explained that both his mum and dad had gotten themselves killed in a car crash and had left him with his 'hardworking relatives'. Harry knew that they were gone, and couldn't ever come back, but he still hoped that somewhere, somehow, they were watching over him.

For some reason, Harry didn't quite believe his Uncle Vernon when he said that his parents had been stupid. He didn't exactly understand what his Uncle meant when he called them 'no-good freaks', but he instinctively knew that they wouldn't have left him unless they'd had a really good reason. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking. After all, his Aunt and Uncle had known his parents; he hadn't.

All he knew in that moment, though, was that he didn't know what it felt to have someone who loved him. He knew that the Dursleys looked after him, but he could also see that they didn't care about him as much as they cared about Dudley. He hadn't let this stop him from trying though. The Dursleys were his only family, so Harry loved them and tried every single day to make them love him back. He was extra polite, he did every chore they asked him to do, he never complained. He craved their approval, their love.

Once, when he had first started primary school, Harry and the rest of the children had been asked to make a mother's day card. Harry, who knew his mum was dead and so would not need a card, had decided that he would make a card for his Aunt instead. He had worked tirelessly on it, putting extra effort on it in the hope that Aunt Petunia would see how much he loved her.

When he had nervously handed it to her, a small smile on his lips, she had simply snatched it from him, and had only taken one brief glance towards his hard work before she had torn it up and thrown it in the bin.

That had not deterred Harry though. It had hurt, yes, but at the time his young mind had just come to the conclusion that it was his fault; he obviously hadn't tried hard enough, and so he vowed from then on to be better. With every disappointment, Harry just worked even harder to please his only living relatives.

And now all the effort had finally paid off, thought Harry gleefully as he hurried to get to his cupboard before his Uncle got up for work. They're going were going to give him a present for his birthday, and prove once and for all just how much they loved him….

As the week wore on, Harry's excitement grew to almost epic proportions. At school he could barely sit still, and at home he had to physically restrain himself from searching through the house for his presents. Not even getting caught by Dudley's gang again could stop him from counting down the days and hours until it would be his birthday.

When the 31st of July finally arrived, Harry got up in his usual manner, but he did so with butterflies in his stomach and a nervous smile of his face. Since he'd never had a birthday before, he wasn't really sure what to expect. Would the presents be on the kitchen table, like they always were for Dudley's birthdays? Or would his Aunt, Uncle and Cousin hide them so that they could surprise him with them later on? The possibilities were endless, and Harry took pleasure in considering each and every one...

Harry dressed quickly, and then crept out of his cupboard with his usual stealth, running a hand through his messy hair as he did so. Harry had been extra good all week. He had done extra chores and had tried to stay out of Uncle Vernon's way, all to make sure nothing ruined this moment. He was going to have a birthday, he thought to himself, making his way to the kitchen. He was finally going to have a birthday…

"Boy!" came his Aunt's shrill tone. "Get in here! The bacon's burning!"

"Yes, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied automatically, trying to ignore the slightly sick feeling that had risen in his stomach. Something didn't quite feel right. Dudley never had to watch the bacon on his birthday…

Nevertheless, Harry did as he was told. The bad feeling in his stomach was only growing worse with each second that passed, but Harry tried once again to push it away. Only Aunt was in the kitchen after all. Maybe she was waiting for the rest of the family before she surprised Harry with his presents…

"I'm done," Harry told her quietly, holding out the bacon.

"Start on the toast, then," she snapped back without even glancing in his direction.

"I don't want toast!" Dudley proclaimed loudly as he wandered into the kitchen. "I just want bacon."

Dudley had an arm full of toys, all broken, but as soon as he saw that breakfast was ready, he dumped the toys onto the table and reached for the hot bacon without so much as pausing for breath.

"These are the toys you asked for, mum," Dudley added as an afterthought, his mouth still full of bacon.

"You're such a good boy," Aunt Petunia preened. "The church are going to be so impressed with my generous Duddikins."

Harry wasn't so sure about that, but he didn't dare say anything. 'Generous' was a strong word though, particularly as Dudley had been promised a brand new T.V. for his room if he 'donated' some of his toys to charity. Although, since Aunt Petunia only wanted him to do it so that she looked good in front of her church friends, Harry wasn't sure she was a particularly good judge of generosity either…

"Boy!" Uncle Vernon snapped as he finally joined the family. "Don't just stand there looking stupid. Make some toast!"

"Yeah, Harry," Dudley smirked. "Make some toast."

"Fine," Harry told them, holding back his anger as he set about doing as they asked. He would forgive them, he told himself. Once they gave him his birthday presents, it would all be okay. They would love him…

"Boy…"

"Coming, uncle," Harry said, hurrying as much as he dared to place the requested toast onto the table. He pushed some of Dudley's unwanted toys back slightly as he tried to make room for his own plate. On it he placed a single piece of toast – but no bacon, since he knew without asking that that would be reserved for his cousin and uncle.

Harry nibbled at his toast without a word of complaint, too intent on battling with the nerves bubbling in his stomach. He glanced at his aunt in anticipation, certain that the surprise was coming. She'd told him it was his birthday after all. It wouldn't be long now…

"What are you staring at, boy?" she snapped, glaring at him. The rest of the family stopped eating to glare at him too, and Harry swallowed nervously.

"Nothing," he mumbled, losing his nerve.

"Mum, I'm done," Dudley eventually told them, accompanying his announcement with a loud belch. "I'm going to watch T.V."

Dudley left without another word, and Uncle Vernon stood up as well, patting his stomach appreciatively.

"I'd better be off as well, Petunia," he said, reaching over to give his wife a kiss on the cheek. Then he glared at Harry. "And Potter, this mess better be cleaned up by the time I get home, or you'll be in a whole heap trouble…"

"But…" Harry began, before trailing off at Vernon's thunderous expression.

"But what?" his uncle challenged, his face already turning the oddly shade of puce that signalled danger. Regardless though, Harry decided to continue. Because he had faith. They loved him. They did…

"But it's my birthday," Harry blurted out.

The silence rang in the kitchen louder than any noise could have made. Harry wanted to break it, he wanted them to break it, but he didn't dare speak. He didn't dare breathe. Finally, his Aunt spoke, but it was with a look of distaste so striking that Harry almost shrank back with the force of it.

"Oh, is it?" Aunt Petunia replied, almost purposefully matter-of-fact. She turned away from him. "I'd forgotten."

And with that one word, in that specific moment, Harry's faith in his family finally evaporated, leaving behind nothing but disappointment and anger. He knew now, in that moment, that his Aunt didn't love him. That she didn't even care for him. He was a burden, an afterthought, someone to shove in the cupboard so that the real family could pretend he didn't even exist.

"You ungrateful freak," snapped Uncle Vernon, pulling Harry forcefully out of his thoughts. "How dare you…?"

Vernon reached forward and grabbed the smallest, most pathetic toy from Dudley's unwanted pile. It was a small model horse, part of an old set that had been systematically destroyed by Dudley piece by piece until the horse was all that remained. The rider was missing an arm, the horse was missing a leg, and horse's left side had been painted green during Dudley's brief obsession with aliens.

It was pitiful, and Uncle Vernon was offering it out to Harry. Harry took it with a shaking hand.

"Here, boy," Uncle Vernon began cruelly, gesturing towards the 'gift'. "Happy birthday."

Aunt Petunia laughed, which probably hurt more than anything else, even the disappointment.

"A broken little toy for a broken little boy," Vernon continued. "It's all you're good for. It's all you'll ever be good for, and don't you forget it."

"I won't," Harry mumbled, hand still shaking.

And he wouldn't, that much he was certain of. As he stood up, the horse figurine still clutched in his hand, he knew that this was one lesson that would stick with him forever.

"Good. Now clean up," Aunt Petunia added with a firm nod. "And be sharp about it."

If there was a hint of regret in her tone, Harry didn't catch it. As he focused on doing what he was told though, Harry decided that he didn't care. Not anymore. He didn't care if she regretted it. He didn't care about having a birthday. He didn't care if she loved him…

Harry forced back the tears and clutched the horse more tightly in his hand, almost to the point of pain. He didn't care though, he told himself. He wouldn't care…

"Potter," his aunt snapped. "What are you still standing here for?"

"Oh," Harry said quietly, glancing around at the now clean kitchen. When had that happened? "Sorry…"

"Just go," his Aunt said, dismissing him with an uncaring wave of her hand. Harry took the not-so-subtle hint and left without another word.

He immediately went to his cupboard, even though he hadn't been explicitly sent there. It was the only place in the world that actually felt like his though, and he found that comforting, in a rather pitiful way. He was resigned, in a way, to having nothing. To being nothing.

Regardless though, once he was safely inside, he lifted up the small toy horse and studied it closely. Vernon was right; it was like him, he decided. Worn-out. Unwanted. Broken.

Harry placed the little chess soldier almost reverently onto the shelf in his cupboard and closed the door behind himself. As he stared at that lonely, broken toy, he hugged his arms to his chest and blinked back the tears as best he could, desperately trying not to let it out.

He didn't care, he told himself, repeating the mantra over and over again as the dark enclosed him. He didn't care.

A/N - So what did you all think? I realise that this is an extremely depressing imagining of pre-Hogwarts Harry, but I stand by it. Harry's life at the Dursleys was no picnic, and I don't think I could ever write anything different. That being said, I do plan on posting a part two (hopefully soon) with a slightly more optimistic ending. Who would you like to make an appearance? I already have someone in mind, but I'd be interested to hear your thoughts. Let me know, but until then, and as always, thanks for reading!