Ironically Alive

Quietly, a young boy sat under the stairs of 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. In the darkness of the cupboard, his emerald-green eyes shone as he waited patiently for his aunt or uncle to wake. He knew that once they were up, he would have to start his daily chores and endure their constant belittling.

His finger swirled a loose strand of dark hair; it was getting quite long; it almost brushed his shoulders now, falling into his face absentmindedly. A spider crawled along its cobweb above him, repairing any damage or impurities as it went on. Harry had become fond of his tiny roommates. They kept him company and got rid of any bugs that managed to get stuck in the small room with them. 

But he also looked forward to tending to his Aunt Petunia's garden; then he could look after the flowers, and he could speak with his little friends who had been visiting more often since the weather had been getting warmer. Too bad his little friends were only young garden snakes, but hey, at least it was better than talking to his obnoxious relatives.

A hand smacks against the cupboard door, the bang ringing loudly in Harry's ears. 

Next to meet his ears was the shrill voice of his aunt. "Get up!" Another smack lands on the surface. "Up, I said, boy!"

He grimaced at her screeching as he reached reflexively for his glasses on the tiny shelf lining one end of the cupboard. Then he reached for the stringy green hair tie on his wrist—an old, worn thing that he'd found behind the sofa while cleaning, but it did the job of keeping his hair out of his eyes during the day—and fixed his hair into a low ponytail.

Harry couldn't help but think that, if he didn't know better, his aunt was auditioning for the role of a banshee in some horror movie, but alas, she was just being her usual charming self.

Light footsteps click away and into the kitchen; drawers are tugged open and then slammed shut, as is the fridge door; then his aunt pounds on the cupboard door again.

Harry grinds his teeth together as she speaks again. "Get up! Make breakfast quickly. If you burn the bacon, you won't be having any lunch!" 

The lock on the outside of the door is opened, and Aunt Petunia leaves the tight hallway, her heels clacking on the floor behind her.

Thundering footsteps shake the ceiling of the cupboard as Harry's cousin, Dudley, bounds down the stairs and stops three steps from the bottom, then goes back up several steps before leaping up and down heavily, causing dust to fall onto Harry inside his cupboard.

Covering his mouth and nose with the sleeve of his shirt, he pushed open the door and moved to step into the hall, only to be kicked in the chest, sending him back inside by Dudley's leg. His cousin laughs; it’s an ugly sound, which follows the large boy into the kitchen.

Groaning under his breath, Harry slides out of his cupboard and makes his way into the kitchen, where he begins to prepare breakfast.

"Hurry it up, boy! We've got places to be! And important things to do!" Uncle Vernon barked from his seat at the dining table, the newspaper open in front of him.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon," Harry grumbles through gritted teeth as he moves to the cooker and begins cooking breakfast. The thick-necked man pays him no more attention and continues to read the paper. Harry hopes that he gets paper cuts.

Soon enough, there are full plates of scrambled eggs, sausages, and bacon on the table. The Dursleys dig into the food, with Dudley shovelling food onto his plate, Aunt Petunia only picking small portions of each food, and Uncle Vernon scoffing food down his throat like it’ll run off his plate at any second.

Harry glances at them from his spot at the sink, a sopping washcloth and frying pan in hand, the sink filled with soapy water, dirty dishes, and cutlery. He feels a twinge of jealousy as he watches them eat, knowing that he will only be allowed a small portion of leftovers once they are finished. He sighs and continues scrubbing the dishes. 

His eyes drift to look out the window; the sun is just peeking out from the roofs, and there are the odd few clouds dotted up in the sky. Perfect weather for gardening. The tulips need weeding and need to be watered sometime this week.

At the word "trip," Harry lends an eager ear to listen in on Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon's discussion, just catching the end of a sentence.

"-she can't take him; she broke her leg last weekend. Dudley's friend will be here within a half hour, and we can't just leave him! He'll blow up the house or do something else just as ridiculous while we're gone!" His strained ears pick up the high-pitched voice of his aunt, who's trying to keep Dudley from hearing their conversation.

Uncle Vernon tosses his knife and fork onto his empty plate and clicks his fingers. "Oi, clean this up! Come on, boy! Stop moving at a snail's pace!"

Snatching the dirty dishes from the table, Harry lays them in the sink, and they disappear under the thick, fluffy layer of bubbles on the surface. Picking up the washcloth again, he begins scrubbing the stains off of the plate, still paying attention to the adult's conversation.

Uncle Vernon shakes his head, an annoyed frown tugging his moustache down at its edges. "Well, he's not staying inside my new car for three hours! God knows what he would do to it..."

"Then where do you propose we put him?!" Aunt Petunia spits out, her nimble hands gripping her cup of tea tightly.

“Maybe they can strap him to the roof like a bloody Christmas tree; maybe then he could get some peace and quiet,” Harry thought sourly while setting another plate on the draining board.

Uncle Vernon’s only reply was some dubious mumbling. "Ah, uhm..."

Harry sets the wet dishes and cutlery down on the draining board. He turns back to the table and spots that both Dudley and Aunt Petunia are finished eating. Harry quickly clears the table and washes the remaining dishes. Once that's finished, he swiftly stuffs everything back into the cupboards and drawers.

"Mummy! I want to open my presents! Come on!!" Dudley whines out as his chair scrapes on the tiles when he stands from the table, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon already trailing behind him and into the living room.

Harry follows them, a slice of partially toasted bread—it's already stone cold—hanging from his mouth with a thin layer of butter spread on it, dread gathering in the pit of his stomach. He knows from past experience how bad Dudley's birthdays could go for him. He still has a mark on his leg from where Dudley's last gifted robot was whacked on last year's birthday. He’s beginning to think that the other boy has a talent for making everything he touches a weapon. He managed to scar Harry on his upper arm with a teddy for crying out loud!

Leaning against the living room doorway, Harry squints his eyes at the brightly wrapped presents covering the floor, coffee table, and large sofa. The corners of his lips angle downward at the ludicrous number of eyesores. Ah yes, the annual celebration of Dudley's impressive ability to consume copious amounts of cake and presents without any shred of gratitude or decency. How joyous indeed. When can Harry escape to the garden or his cupboard? Harry shudders.

Dudley was crouching on the carpet, two presents already torn open at his feet; both items—a LEGO set and a toy, some type of superhero, that Harry thinks he saw in an ad on the television the other week—have been discarded carelessly on the carpet. He whips his head towards Uncle Vernon and demands, in a tone that would earn Harry a smack. "How many are there?"

"Thirty-six—" he crosses his arms over his chest and jerks out his chin with a prideful smirk peering out from under his moustache. Harry holds his tongue from commenting about the eggs still stuck in his moustache along with the coffee lingering on the ends of his hairs. It looked like a dirty broom. "—Counted them myself!"

Stepping out into the hallway, Harry watched on as his cousin argued with Uncle Vernon over how he had more gifts last year, his round face and neck turning a bright red from his outburst. Aunt Petunia somehow manages to swoop in and brighten “Dinky Duddydums” mood by offering to buy more presents while they're out today.

"Spoilt rotten," Harry thinks bitterly as a light sneer tugs at his lips. Though, Harry is also glad that it’s not him being called sickening nicknames like Duddy, Popkin, Sweetums, or Dudders; those weren’t even the bad ones.

Not long after every layer of wrapping paper is strung across the living room floor, a massacre of ribbons, sticky tape, and decorative papers that Harry will be threatened to clean up, the doorbell rings, and Harry gets sent out to answer it. He finds himself face-to-face with a grinning Piers Polkiss. The lanky boy elbows his way past Harry into the house, with his petite mother following in after him. Harry sucks in a wheezy breath as he shuts the front door.

Standing at a safe distance from his spot in the hallway, his hands rubbing his ribs from being elbowed, Harry watches on as Piers shoves a messily wrapped present into Dudley's grubby, waiting hands. It's a shiny pair of bright red leather boxing gloves. The pool of dread in Harry's stomach grows larger by the second.

Looks like Dudley's gift is perfect for his future career as a professional bully. Who knew Piers had such great foresight? Harry would have to send him flowers in the post later on.

"What time do you expect to be home by, dears? So I can clear my schedule to collect my little angel later on." Mrs. Polkiss asks, adjusting the strap of her handbag on her shoulder.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia lock eyes before Aunt Petunia guides Mrs. Polkiss back out to the front door with a smile so fake that it could be easily mistaken for a scowl. "Oh, I'd say we'll be home by seven. We'll have your son fed and all set by the time we're back, too. There's no need to rush on your end!"

"Ah, that's wonderful! Thank you again, Petunia, for inviting my lovely Piers to your outing today. It's all he's been talking about this week!" Mrs. Polkiss kisses both of Aunt Petunia's cheeks and calls out one final goodbye to her son; the boy's response is half-hearted at best, and Harry feels that the boy doesn’t appreciate such a sweet woman as his carer enough.

But then again, Harry’s standards are set so low that you might as well be playing limbo in one of the nine circles of hell with the devil himself; he really can’t afford to be picky after living with the Dursleys for so long. Anything is better than nothing, right?

Shutting the door, Aunt Petunia turns swiftly on her heels to return to the living room. She catches sight of Harry, who had decided that sitting on the stairs was the safest spot at the moment. She shakes her head with a thin wince working its way onto her face, looking like she just swallowed a lemon, before she shakes her head once more and continues on her way back to her husband's side. She makes it over to her husband's side without falling over the mountain of wrapping paper, ribbons, and tape, sadly.

Not even an hour later, Harry somehow finds himself wedged up against the car door with Dudley and Piers talking rather loudly on his other side. Trying to block out their chatter, Harry rests his cheek on the bottom of the window and focuses on the passing scenery. He watches the buildings and shops turn into trees and fields as they leave the town behind.

He thinks they're going to the zoo. The word had been mentioned multiple times, by everyone as they piled into the vehicle, and by Uncle Vernon when he pulled Harry aside just as they were leaving earlier. The man wasn't even subtle about it, either.

oOo 

Large hands grip his shoulders and tug him to the side. Turning his head, Harry is met by the face of his uncle. 

"You listen here, brat, and you best listen to me well." A nod from the younger of the pair makes Uncle Vernon plough on, "Dudley's trip to the zoo is to be perfect, you hear me? Any funny business," he growls out, bringing his face closer to Harry's, close enough for him to smell the cheap toothpaste the man used to brush his teeth minutes before they went out the door. "Any at all, and you won't see the sun until Christmas—Easter, even. Do you understand me, boy?"

The man's sternness left no room for disagreement, so Harry nodded silently, afraid to speak. But apparently this was the wrong thing to do. Uncle Vernon's face twisted into an ugly snarl, his voice coming out with some saliva that landed on Harry's second-hand shirt. Gross. "I said, do you understand me, freak?"

"Yes, Uncle. No funny business. Promise." Harry managed to bite it out, with his fingernails digging into his palms. His uncle just stares at him before shoving him roughly in the direction of the car and turning back to the house to lock the front door. Harry hid his rolling eyes under his black hair as he got into the car with the door banging behind him.

He gets a harsh glare from his uncle through the rearview mirror once the large man sags into the driver's seat, clipping in his seatbelt as he does so. The urge to stick his tongue out at the older man almost wins Harry over, but then he catches the sharp look his aunt sends him from her spot in the front passenger seat and thinks better of himself—or, rather, his well-being—and redirects his gaze to look out of the window.

oOo 

All in all—well, from Harry's point of view anyway—the trip was pleasant enough.

The drive there was fine. That is, if you ignore the part where they stopped at the petrol station so Uncle Vernon could refuel the car and Aunt Petunia went to top up her makeup. All the while, Harry ended up being pushed out of the car by his cousin. Then locked inside the filthy public toilets by said cousin and his cackling, rat-faced friend, and then he only just picked the lock moments before his uncle was about to drive away again.

There is nothing quite like being abandoned in a public restroom to bond with your relatives. Bonding on a different level. Harry is spoilt, really.

But if you were to pay no attention to that, Harry has enjoyed the zoo thus far.

The monkeys swinging from tree to tree caught his interest, and he couldn't help but snicker at their antics. The colourful birds in the aviary also fascinated him with their beautiful feathers and melodious songs. They’re pretty, unlike his aunt Petunia, who tried to force Harry into taking photos of her, Uncle Vernon, Dudley, and Piers standing in front of the aviary. He took the photos, ‘accidentally’ slipping his thumb and fingers over the lens in a few of them. He guesses that photography isn’t his calling; sorry, Aunt Petunia.

Dudley and Piers found terrorising the lions, tigers, elephants, meerkats, and ostriches amusing. Harry thought it was quite mean and stayed behind afterwards to apologise to the animals before scurrying after his relatives. A lemur with wide, fire orange eyes leaped onto his shoulders while he was talking to the meerkats. Its striped tail tickled his ear as it jumped down to the ground when he moved to leave.

At lunchtime, they stopped at the zoo's restaurant, though Harry ended up with only a small glass of water and a tiny portion of chips from the kids' menu. He easily avoided the waiter's gaze while he ate, his bites slow and long to make the food last a little longer.

Aunt Petunia then bought Dudley and Piers ice creams once they finished their meals—three flavours, two different toppings, and a sauce of their choice. Their dentists were going to be enraged at their next appointments. When the staff behind the counter asked what he would like, Aunt Petunia's face twisted up for a second before she ordered Harry a small vanilla cup—the cheapest thing on the list.

Looks like Harry's family trip to the zoo was a roaring success, complete with attempted abandonment and culinary cruelty. At least he got to see some cool animals.

Now, though, they were entering the reptile house. The last stop before heading back to Little Whinging. It was quite warm, and Harry rolled up his sleeves to try and stay cool. He did wander off from his aunt, uncle, cousin, and Piers, reading the signs and information on the creatures behind the glass casing, and whenever a creature looked at him, he said hello. After all, it was only polite.

Then he came across the snake section; they were all so fascinating! Skins of scales that shed four to twelve times per year, venomous fangs that could kill a fully grown adult within minutes, vibrant colours that were either used for camouflage or mating with potential partners in the wild, and so much more. The snakes were definitely his favourite.

At the moment, Harry was peering into the exhibit of the boa constrictor, the largest snake at the zoo. The space seemed a bit small in his opinion, but maybe it was just because the snake wasn't fully grown yet?

His heart leaps into his throat as he locks eyes with the biggest snake he's ever seen in his short ten years of living. It flicks its tongue out at him; Harry tilts his head to the right; the snake copies him; he tilts to the left; it copies him again. A pleased giggle slips out of Harry's mouth.

"Who might you be?" Green eyes drift to the information board nailed to the wall beside the window. "Oh? Your name isn't posted here," he hisses, barely paying attention to the change of his voice, turning back to the snake, which has just coiled its lower half into a spiral underneath itself. "But it does mention that you're a male boa constrictor and that you are originally from Brazil. Do you miss your old home?"

The snake shakes its head from left to right. Harry blinks. "Oh, you must've been born in—” he scans the information board briefly “—captivity then. Wait—do you understand me?"

The snake nods his head up and down.

Harry's eyes widened in delight. "You do! Oh my—I thought it was just the garden snakes that could speak to and understand me!" His mouth curls up in a smile, his hands ball up into fists, and he raises them in front of himself to lean up closer to the glass and over the barrier, warmth spreading throughout his body.

Before he can do anything else, though, someone roughly knocks him away from the window, and he lands awkwardly on the ground. Fixing his glasses on the bridge of his nose, Harry turns back to see who pushed him. It's either Dudley or Piers, who are both now tapping excessively on the glass, separating them from the snake Harry was just talking to.

His blood boils beneath his skin, and once Harry exhales a harsh breath, the glass to the exhibit vanishes. The two other boys flail their arms as they fall forward and land head-first into the small pool of water at the bottom of the snake exhibit. Harry's jaw goes slack as he watches the boa slither his way out over the bannister and coil up beside him on the tile floor. He’s much longer up close, Harry discovers.

Banging draws his eyes back to the exhibit; the glass has reappeared, and Dudley and Piers are both now frantically pounding on it, their eyes darting behind them as if searching for something.

A scream echoes throughout the large room. Aunt Petunia comes running from behind Harry and covers her mouth as she sees her son trapped behind the glass.

Her reaction then causes Uncle Vernon to come stomping over, and he then hollers for the staff. "You! You! Get my son out of there this bloody instant! Hurry it up! There's a snake in there too! I've seen it! If my son gets bit by that pest, I'll sue the lot of you!"

Harry, remaining tactfully silent, slips away from the panic-stricken staff, the snake now resting bodily on his bony shoulders and its tail end coiling around his too-thin waist. No one notices him, or the snake, for that matter, as they exit the reptile house. Harry walks gingerly towards the exit, his heart pounding with nervousness and fear, wondering what he will do with the snake now that he has it.

Why hasn't anyone noticed the very large snake wrapped around his body like a second skin? How did the glass disappear? Why did no one ask him where he was going without an adult with him? What is going to happen when he gets back to the Dursleys' home? Uncle Vernon is sure to blame Harry for all this.

The snake tenses around Harry's arms loosely, making him focus back on his surroundings. He looks around and realises that he's walked out to the car park and is now standing along the treeline at the edge of the zoo.

"Thanksss amigo. Those nestmatessss of yoursss are quite unpleasssant. I hope you don't get too much of a punissshment for helping me. Sssee you, little sssspeaker." Harry nods absentmindedly to the snake's soothing voice, waving goodbye to him once he slithers off into the greenery.

Harry turns on his toes and begins to wander over to Uncle Vernon's car. He sits down on the gravel to the left side of the car and leans against the wheel, shifting a little when the nuts on the tyre dig into his back. He fiddles with the loose ends of his hair boredly.

He tilts his head back against the wheel, staring up at the grey clouds rolling in the sky above him. "If all outings are like this, I think I'd prefer to be stuck with Ms. Figg and her army of cats instead...."

oOo 

It ends up being thirty minutes later when the Dursleys and Piers exit the zoo gate. The two boys are shivering uncontrollably under thick towels with different animals on them. It's quite a funny sight since both boys have bright, tiny cartoon animals on the towels. Aunt Petunia is fumbling and blabbering "comforting" nonsense to Dudley and his friend, and finally, Uncle Vernon is fuming. No, Harry is telling the truth; there is steam coming out of Uncle Vernon's ears, and his face is turning an alarming shade of purple. The man is almost the same shade as his maroon jumper by the time the group reaches the car.

Harry stays quiet and out of the way as Aunt Petunia ushers Dudley and Piers into the back of the car, and he keeps his mouth shut back to 4 Privet Drive, Little Whinging. The sky is turning into a mixture of fluffy reds and oranges. Mrs. Polkiss greets them in tears as they pull into the driveway, and she frets over Piers once he hobbles his way over to her, still gripping his towel tightly in his hands.

Uncle Vernon merely nods in the pair's direction, following Aunt Petunia and Dudley inside the front door. Harry barely makes it in the front door before Uncle Vernon whirls on him. His feet leave the floor as his uncle grabs him by the collar and yanks him up. 

Harry braces himself for the worst as Uncle Vernon's face turns red again with anger, and he presses him against the front door, which slams shut from the action. Harry winces as his ribs creak in his chest.

"YOU!" Uncle Vernon bellows, "DID I NOT WARN YOU BEFORE WE LEFT?! NO BLASTED BOLLOCKS!"

Harry is flung from the door and lands on the scratchy carpet right outside his cupboard. The air is knocked right out of his lungs. 

"NO FOOD!"

Uncle Vernon whips open the cupboard door, which clatters into Harry's face, making him see stars. He blinks in a poor attempt at removing the stars from his vision.

Ah, yes. Another heartwarming family moment with the Dursleys. He's surprised they haven't won Family of the Year yet.

"NO WATER!"

His uncle grips his left elbow. 

"NOTHING!" 

Harry's nose sluggishly drips blood as he's chucked inside the cupboard.

"YOU CAN STAY IN THIS DAMNED CAGE UNTIL I SAY YOU CAN COME OUT!"

A pained yelp escapes his dry throat as his foot gets caught in the door and his uncle kicks it closed. The lock on the outside is slapped until it's fully locked, and Uncle Vernon's enraged eyes meet Harry's wide-open ones through the thin gaps in the small grate on the cupboard door.

"You should've learnt not to mess with me, you little freak," he snaps, and then all Harry sees is black as his uncle shuts the cover over the tiny opening.

He holds his breath as his uncle's footsteps thunder up the stairs, and a door is closed with a bang, the action vibrating through the house. Cradling his battered nose, Harry wheezes as he searches through his little collection of belongings. His hand finds a small box at the farthest corner of the space and pulls it into his lap. Clicking it open, he grabs the small flashlight—one that he ‘borrowed’ from Dudley’s scout bag when he stopped going to scouts a year ago—and sets it down on the shelf to his right, switching it on.

Now provided with the ability to see, Harry sifts through the box and pulls out a tiny nose splint—it was either a lollipop stick or something else at one point—a plaster and tissues. The first thing he does is remove his glasses, and then he tugs off his shirt. Harry rolls up one of the sleeves and bites down on it. Then he grabs the splint, bites down harder on the fabric in his mouth, and shifts his nose back into its original place. Blood gushes out and spills directly onto the rest of the shirt not being chewed on by his teeth.

He takes the splint, snaps it in half, pauses for a second, screws his eyes shut, and pushes it into both sides of his nose. The pain is excruciating, but he knows he needs to stop the bleeding. Passing out will only make the healing process more complicated. And messy, ugh, he’ll need to scrub the stains out of his shirt.

Grabbing the tissues, he gnaws on his shirt, chanting swears that would make a nun—and his aunt—paler than snow in his head, and presses them into both sides of his nose. He takes a deep breath and hopes that the makeshift splint and packing will do the trick until the end of next week. Finally, he peels the packaging off of the plaster and places it on the bridge of his nose with a muffled wince.

Letting the shirt drop from his mouth, Harry takes a deep breath through his mouth and carefully wipes the tears from his face while trying to avoid touching anywhere near his already bruising nose. He slumps against the wall and allows his eyes to flutter closed, exhaustion weaving its way throughout his body.

He wishes that he was somewhere other than here. Hopefully the Dursleys will at least give him a few scraps of their meals through the grate; who knows how long he'll be stuck in here?

At least he has the spiders and his little army soldiers to occupy him.