Everyone in the entire world has a family, or they did at one point in time, Harry thought, frowning. He had remembered the elderly man on the television preaching it to his audience one night when Uncle Vernon was channel surfing, and everyone living in Privet Drive could hear it blaring.

If that were true then why did he not have one? Sure, the Dursley's were his blood relatives, but they didn't treat him like a real member of the family; he was too much of a freak. The Dursley's were consistently plain and despised anything out of the ordinary, and as far as they saw, Harry Potter was anything but normal. He didn't deserve a real family, was the conclusion he had reached after countless hours spent thinking about it. And his aunt and uncle did well to remind him of that every time they caught sight of the boy out of his cupboard.

"What are you gawking at, boy?!" Vernon Dursley, a walrus of a man with a very bushy mustache spat, breaking Harry from his thoughts.

"I thought- ..er, nothing, sir."

That seemed to satisfy the rather large man, and he spoke nothing more of it, continuing to grumble on about work and such to his frail, horse-faced wife, Petunia. The family was heading back to their quiet, serene house in Little Whinging after a pleasant day of spoiling their son, Dudley, rotten and cooing over how adorable he looked at his young age of 8. Of course, no one had paid any bit of attention to Harry, and went out of their way to love and shower him with affection.

That was just how it was. Dudley was spoiled silly while the 'freak' was ignored and unloved.

It had been this way as far as he could remember. He had only asked about his parents once, and that had been a big mistake on his part. His aunt hadn't said a word, but her eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates and she had fled the scene before Harry could ask what was wrong. He could still feel the sting from his uncle's beefy hand where it had collided with his cheek, and his words were like poison to him.

"Those freaks got what they deserved!"

Often, Harry wondered if his parents had been bad people; criminals. That would explain why his relatives resented him so much, but he dared not ask them anything more about it.

"MUMMY! LOOK AT THE DOGGY! I WANT IT! I WANT IT!"

Doggy? Dudley's screams had caught the attention of everyone in the car, and even Harry was slightly curious. He had seen a dog earlier, and faintly wondered if it was the same one.

"Where is the doggy, Duddy-kins?" Aunt Petunia asked, humouring her son. She would never allow a vicious mongrel into her clean house, reguardless of what her precious boy wanted.

Shoving his cousin aside, Dudley pointed out the back window and sure enough there it was. Scruffy, dirty, filthy, but a dog none-the-less. It's thick black coat looked as if it hadn't been brushed in years, but it wagged it's tail at the sight of the Dursley's, or Harry rather. Yes, it's smooth grey eyes were definitely staring into Harry's bright green ones.

He had seen the exact same dog earlier! And it was the same one that had been lurking near the trash cans of next door neighbor Mrs. Figg, a few days prior. This dog was following Harry!

"I want it, NOW!" Dudley wailed, chucking his ice cream into the front seat, where it missed Petunia's head by mere inches, and instead landed against the windshield with a SPLAT. Uncle Vernon slammed on the brakes, but the dog remained as still as stone.

"Shoo! Off with you, filthy vermin!" he yelled, face turning a bright scarlet. The dog blinked a few times, and trotted over to the side of the Impala. Harry and Dudley watched in awe as it started to scratch on the car door, and didn't seem to notice the horrified faces of the adults.

"THE BLOODY BEAST IS RUINING OUR CAR!"

Petunia looked as though she might faint, and held onto the car seat to steady herself. The dog continued to scratch at the door, and even let loose a loud bark that excited both the 8 year olds. "Let the doggy inside, Harry!" ordered Dudley, prodding him in the back with his fist so that he would obey. "He wants to be my dog! I want him! Do it!"

Harry had been on the verge of it, but was cut off as the engine roared back to life.

So close.

The Impala jutted forward, and didn't stop until the big, black dog had completely disappeared from view.

So very close.

It was nearly Dudley's bedtime when the car had finally pulled into Number 4 Privet Drive, and everyone's moods had turned sour. Uncle Vernon stormed into his house without a word being said while Aunt Petunia tried to console her spoiled son with promises of new toys and ice cream tomorrow, and soon he forgot all about the dog. Harry, however, hadn't. He was sure that dog had been looking directly at him, and he wanted to know why. It was frivolous, really. A dog was just a dog. There was nothing special about it; it was just some stray mutt that had probably been looking for a bite to eat.

With a sigh, Harry trudged up to the front door, and proceeded to make his way inside. But, something was wrong.

The door was locked.

He was going to have to sleep outside! This had not been the first time it had happened, and Uncle Vernon hadn't exactly been thrilled to see his nephew's terrified face when he had reached down to collect his morning paper. Harry solemnly turned and sat down on the cold, hard porch steps, dreading the morning. The only good thought swimming in his head was that it wasn't raining, and as fate would have it, the downpour started.

Harry shivered, wiping the glistening drops from his face with his ragged old hand-me-down shirt that was two sizes too big for him. At least it provided some warmth from the biting cold wind, not much, but some. He hugged himself, and lay on his side, trying to get comfortable. An impossible feat. He was feeling as alone as ever, and the rain reminded him of that burning fact as it pounded down on his small body.

By now, the Dursley's were enjoying a nice cup of tea, and probably giving Dudley a bubble bath, which he detested greatly for some odd reason. Harry would give anything for a nice bubble bath, or even a kind word or two. His whole life was just centered upon insult after insult, and he had not one friend.

He didn't blame anyone but himself. The Dursleys had instilled it into his head that he was a freak. And now, he truly believed it. Who could ever love someone like him?

Thunder roared ferociously in the distance, and Harry covered his ears. He had never been a fan of thunderstorms, and quite honestly, he was scared to death of them. His whole body shook violently, and after another loud clap of thunder, he realized he couldn't hold it in any longer. A cry, feeble and terrified, very unlike his own, escaped his throat, and he hardly recognized his own voice.

"H-help me," And it was then that he started to sob.

Will someone answer Harry's plea? Review, and give me your complete and honest opinion. :)