Disclaimer: I do not own these characters. J.K. Rowling does. And I don't know who wrote Cinderella, but it wasn't me.
A/N: Hey guys! This is the first fic in my Harry Tales series, and obviously it's based on Cinderella. I'll post the second fic, Petrified Princess, once I'm finished posting this one. I realize these chapters are on the short side, but it's to break up the story where it needs to happen. Happy reading!
xoxo Allie
"BOY! GET YOUR ARSE DOWN HERE!" Vernon Dursley yelled, his purple face full of fury.
A skinny boy with messy black hair ran down the stairs. "What? What's wrong?"
"WHAT IS THIS?" Vernon gestured to a half a smudged, muddy shoeprint next to the front door.
"It's a muddy shoeprint, sir."
"HOW THE HELL DID IT GET THERE?" Vernon roared.
"Er, Dudley must have not wiped his feet," the raven-haired boy stammered, his emerald eyes worried.
"WELL THEN CLEAN IT UP! AND THE REST OF THE FLOOR WHILE YOU'RE AT IT!" Vernon spat, turning on his heel and going to the kitchen.
Harry Potter sighed and walked to the cleaning closet. He grabbed the brush and bucket, filling it with soap and water before dropping to his knees and scrubbing the floor. He desperately hated living with his aunt and uncle, but he had no choice. His parents had been killed in a tragic accident when he was a baby, but Harry had survived with only a lightning bolt-shaped scar on his forehead as a reminder. He had grown up in the cold, unfeeling home of his mother's sister. His aunt and uncle treated him like the help. He was forced to sleep in a small cupboard under the stairs, was fed very little, and was forced to do all the housework. His cousin Dudley was the same age as Harry, but they were very different. Vernon and his wife Petunia simply fawned over Dudley, lavishing him with gifts, cooking his favorite foods, and letting him get away with beating Harry senseless.
Harry hummed quietly to himself as he scrubbed the floor. Whenever he did his chores, he tried to picture what his life would have been like if his parents hadn't been killed. He had a picture of them hidden away in his cupboard, and he looked at it when things got especially difficult to handle. Harry was the spitting image of his father, James, except instead of James's caramel-colored eyes, he inherited the emerald eyes of his red-haired mother, Lily. Harry often imagined their life as a family.
They would be living in a small cottage somewhere in Devon. James would be outside, playing catch with Harry, while Lily baked cookies with Harry's younger sister. He had always wanted a younger sister, although in his daydreams her name changed. Today her name was Olivia. As the sun went down, Lily would call James and Harry into the house for supper. There would always be a wonderful Caesar salad, steak-and-kidney pie, and for dessert, Harry's favorite, treacle tart. James would discuss his day at his office, Harry would sneak food to a terrier under the table, Olivia would steal a cookie, and Lily would pretend not to notice. They'd laugh and joke, enjoying each other's company. After supper, James would help Harry with his homework while Lily gave Olivia a bath. James would tuck Olivia in to bed, and Harry would read her a bedtime story. Harry and Lily would play cards before he finally went to bed.
Usually, these daydreams brought Harry a sense of comfort, but today they just created a huge sense of longing. He was all alone in this world. His family didn't care for him, and all the students at his high school were so afraid of Dudley that nobody would talk to him. Ah yes, school. School wasn't much better for Harry, but at least there nobody would beat him (unless, of course, he pissed Dudley off, but he was usually able to avoid him). The only person at school who had ever been remotely nice to him was a boy named Ronald Weasley, with whom Harry had done a history project with. But, like everyone else, Ron feared Dudley, so their interaction was kept to a minimum.
When Harry was almost done cleaning the floor, the door burst open. A large, pig-like boy came stomping in, a large grin on his face. Petunia scurried into the room at his entrance.
"Oh Dudders! I've missed you!" she cried, swooping in on him to kiss his cheeks. "How was your day Diddykins?"
"It was fantastic mum! Hermione Granger, the most popular girl in school, is having a coming out party on Saturday. It's a masquerade ball, and the whole school is invited!"
Harry's ears perked up. "Really?" he asked. "Can I go, Aunt Petunia?"
She looked at him in disgust. "I suppose so, if you can find something decent to wear," she sneered.
"Thank you!" Harry said, smiling, before returning to the floor. Finally something to look forward to…
Dudley glared at him. Not if I can help it, Potter.
"We'll go into London tomorrow and find you a costume, Dudders," Petunia said, beaming at her son. "We'll get you the best money can buy. What would you like to go as?" she simpered.
"Batman," Dudley said promptly. Harry had to hide his snigger. Dudley in spandex? He shuddered at the thought as he dumped the soapy water and returned the bucket to the closet.
"Boy," Petunia snapped, "it's time for you to start dinner. And you had better not burn it."
Harry hung his head. "Yes ma'am." He went into the kitchen and began making a shepherd's pie. When he finished making dinner for the Dursleys, Petunia handed him a plate containing wilted salad and a slightly smelly bologna sandwich. She locked him in his cupboard and returned to the dining room to enjoy a meal with her family.
Harry sighed and sat down on his cot. The cupboard was tiny. He could hardly stand without needing to bend his neck,
and his cot took up most of the floor space. There was, however, a loose board next to his cot, and it was under this
board that he kept his most treasured possessions. The Dursleys didn't know that he had found his parents'
belongings hidden away in the far corner of the attic. He pried open the floorboard and pulled out the picture of his
parents, staring at it fondly. He set it aside, and pulled out what he hoped to wear to Hermione Granger's party.
It was his father's tuxedo, and there was a cape as well. Perhaps his father had worn it to a costume party as
well. He would go as the Phantom of the Opera.
For the first time in his life, Harry Potter was looking forward to a Saturday night.