Chapter 10
Harry woke to the faint sound of wind rustling through the trees, the eerie quiet of the house pressing down on him. He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light filtering through the cracks of the boarded-up windows. For a moment, he forgot where he was, a fleeting sense of confusion quickly replaced by the cold memory of the night before.
The stew.
His stomach churned at the thought of it, a strange heaviness settling inside him. Whatever it was he’d eaten, Harry was sure it wasn’t something normal, something good. He swallowed hard, trying to push the thought away.
With a groan, he sat up, the thin blanket falling to the side. The room was far better than his cupboard back at the Dursleys’, but it still felt... wrong. It was too quiet. Too strange.
Harry’s bare feet touched the cold wooden floor, sending a shiver up his spine. He glanced around the room—a plain bed, a small desk covered in dust, and a wardrobe that looked like it hadn’t been opened in decades. It was far more than he was used to, and yet he still felt trapped.
Hunger gnawed at him despite the unease in his stomach, and Harry decided to head to the kitchen. He’d spent part of the night exploring the house, but it was big, dark, and full of creaking noises that made him jump at every turn.
The kitchen was exactly where he’d left it, the faint smell of last night’s stew lingering in the air. Harry wrinkled his nose, determined not to think about it.
The table was bare, but on the counter, he found something new: a loaf of bread, a carton of eggs, a block of butter, and even a jar of jam. Harry stared at the items, his stomach growling despite his apprehension.
“Did it leave this for me?” he muttered under his breath, glancing around as though the monster might suddenly appear.
The thought unsettled him. Why was it being... nice? Last night it had stared at him with those horrible teeth, claws tapping against the floor as it watched him eat. He hadn’t been able to see its eyes—if it even had any—but he could feel its gaze.
Shaking his head, Harry pulled the eggs and bread closer. “Doesn’t matter,” he told himself. “It’s food. Real food.”
Harry fumbled with the old stove, managing to get it lit after a few tries. The butter sizzled in the pan as he cracked the eggs, watching them bubble and fry. The smell was comforting, almost enough to push away the lingering unease.
As he worked, his mind wandered. What was this place? Why had the monster taken him here? And why hadn’t it... well, why hadn’t it hurt him?
He thought back to the Dursleys. They would have yelled at him by now, called him lazy or ungrateful. But here... there was silence. No one was shouting. No one was watching his every move.
Except the monster.
Harry’s hands trembled as he flipped the eggs onto a plate, the knife slipping as he cut the bread. He spread a thick layer of jam, his movements slow and deliberate. The monster had left these things for him. It wanted him to eat.
But why?
Harry sat at the table, poking at his food, when the faint sound of footsteps made him freeze. They were heavy, deliberate, and growing louder.
The monster was back.
His heart pounded as the door creaked open, the massive figure stepping into the kitchen. In the daylight—or what little light there was—it looked even more unnatural. Its skin was ashen, its limbs too long, its claws curling and uncurling as though testing the air.
Harry clutched his fork tightly, his knuckles white.
The monster sniffed the air, its head tilting slightly as it caught sight of the plate in front of him. It made a low, rumbling sound—not a growl, but something almost... approving.
Slowly, it placed a new bag on the counter, the same as the one from last night. Harry’s stomach turned at the sight of it.
“I’m not cooking that again,” he blurted out, surprising even himself.
The monster stopped, its head snapping toward him. For a moment, Harry thought he’d made a terrible mistake. But then it made another sound—almost like a huff—and turned away.
Instead of leaving, the creature crouched in the corner, its claws dragging lightly against the floor. Harry could feel its presence, heavy and unsettling, as it settled in to watch him eat.
Harry forced himself to eat a bite of toast, the sweetness of the jam doing little to calm his nerves. The monster didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. It just watched.
“You know,” Harry said quietly, his voice trembling, “you could’ve just asked. You didn’t have to... take me.”
The monster tilted its head, as though considering his words.
“I mean, I didn’t like it there,” Harry admitted, barely above a whisper. “But this... this is weird.”
The creature made no reply, only shifting slightly in the corner.
Harry finished his meal in silence, each bite heavy with the weight of the creature’s presence. When he finally set his fork down, the monster rose, its movements fluid and unsettling.
It gestured to the bag on the counter, then to Harry, before disappearing through the door once more.
Harry stared at the bag, his heart sinking. Whatever it wanted from him, he wasn’t sure he wanted to find out.
The house grew quieter after the monster left, its heavy footsteps fading into the distance. Harry let out a shaky breath, pushing the untouched bag of... whatever it had left far across the counter.
“I’m not cooking that,” he muttered firmly to himself.
Instead, Harry turned his attention back to the bread and jam, wrapping up the leftovers neatly and placing them in the creaky old cupboard. As he moved around the kitchen, he noticed something new: a small, tattered blanket draped over the chair by the table.
He hadn’t put it there.
Harry frowned, running his fingers over the soft fabric. It was old, patched in places, but warm when he wrapped it around his shoulders. Had the monster left it for him?
“Doesn’t make sense,” Harry said aloud, his voice breaking the silence. “It’s a monster. Monsters don’t care if you’re cold.”
And yet, there it was.
Later that day, Harry decided to explore more of the house. With the blanket still wrapped around him like a cape, he ventured into rooms he hadn’t dared to peek into the night before.
The house was massive, with twisting hallways and rooms filled with forgotten furniture covered in dust. He found a room full of books—some so old their covers were falling apart—and another with broken toys scattered across the floor.
One room had a window that wasn’t boarded up completely, letting in thin beams of sunlight. Harry stood there for a long time, feeling the warmth on his face, until a sudden noise made him jump.
The monster was back.
It didn’t slam doors or stomp loudly, but Harry could always feel when it was near. The air seemed heavier, and the soft creaks of the floorboards felt deliberate.
“Hello?” he called out hesitantly, clutching the blanket tighter.
The monster appeared in the doorway, its massive frame blocking the light from the hall. In its long claws, it held something small and strange: a collection of twigs and feathers tied together with a piece of string.
Harry tilted his head, confused, as the monster stepped forward and held the object out to him.
“For me?” Harry asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
The monster didn’t answer—it never did—but it set the bundle down on the floor in front of him and backed away.
Curious, Harry picked it up. It wasn’t much, but it looked like... a gift. The string was tied carefully, the feathers neatly arranged.
“Thanks,” Harry said softly, glancing up at the creature. “It’s... nice.”
The monster tilted its head, making that strange huffing sound again, before retreating down the hall.
That night, Harry curled up in the bed that was still far too big for him. The little bundle of twigs and feathers sat on the nightstand, next to a candle he’d managed to light.
The house wasn’t so scary anymore. It was still strange, and the monster was still terrifying, but... it didn’t feel like the Dursleys.
Here, Harry could breathe.
As he drifted off to sleep, the monster appeared in the doorway, watching silently for a moment before retreating back into the shadows.
For the first time in a long while, Harry felt safe.
?