Chapter 3
Three days.
That was how long he had been locked away in his tiny cupboard. How had he known? Well, that was the number of one hour bathroom breaks to freshen up he had been provided.
When the Dursley’s seemed satisfied with the fact that Harry had learned some kind of lesson, of which he was unsure but he would never tell them that, they swung the door to the cupboard wide. It was almost like they expected him to be grateful. He was, just, not for them.
That feeling of freedom had lasted a grand total of thirty seconds until his aunt had shoved a list into his hands expectantly. Harry read over the list and swallowed hard. There were chores here that would take any adult hours. With his small stature, even other kids in his class had outgrown him, it would take him weeks.
“Then you best get started, if you want to go to school come the first week.” Aunt Petunia huffed.
Harry gaped at her. Only after did he realize that no, she was not suddenly a mind reader, he had spoken out loud.
Harry gripped the list tight and slipped out the front door to the open flowerbeds. He could at least get the outside stuff done before the heat of the summer really kicked in.
With nothing more than his bare hands, he got to work. Day after day he spent a good portion of the mornings tending to the multiple gardens that Petunia had insisted on starting. If it wasn’t for the fact that she hated dirt, Harry was certain she would have turned her whole front yard into some kind of flower park. Instead, she left the hard labor of upkeep to Harry.
After the sun peeked, Harry would head inside for his one shower of the day. He was careful not to bring in any dirt from outside as he slipped upstairs. He always tried to tiptoe past any rooms, cautious to not attract attention.
Once clean, he had to hurry and start on lunch. His aunt would leave a page for what she expected to be made and Harry had to figure out the rest from there. That was fine by him. Less bodies in the kitchen meant less distractions. It also meant he could sneak his own lunch without notice, if he was careful.
After that, it was dusting, vacuuming, and any other pointless task he was set to for the day in the otherwise spotless house. By the time dinner rolled around, Harry’s body would be heavy and his muscles ached, but he ignored it all. Dinner was the hardest meal of the day to cook, and the one that always had an audience.
If all was well, he was allowed his own plate and even turned in early. That was rare, usually he was sent out of the room with some new ridiculous task like to scrub a door or the walls or something. Only after, was he allowed to go to bed and wait for dawn when it started all over again.
This was fine, Harry told himself. Normal, really, for a freak like himself to be put to some use. He tried to reason that Dudley did not have to so much as lift a towel because he was normal. He didn’t have a scar, he didn’t have a patch of white hair, or an ear that never worked right.
“This is for my own good.” Harry whispered to a flower as he pulled the dead leaves from its base.
“Ssssaysssss who?” A low pitched rumble wafted up from the flowerbed and Harry dropped his clippers. He looked around for the source of the voice but saw only the old neighbor across the street watering his already soggy lawn.
No one close enough to have said anything, and that voice had been so clear. Slowly, Harry looked back to the flower. “H-Hello, uhm, flower?”
“Not quite, though that’ssss cute.” Said the voice and Harry followed the slight hiss. He was more shocked than he should have been to come face to face with a tiny garden snake. It was no longer than his own small hand, black scales dulled by the shadows.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there, um…” Harry trailed off before finishing his question. Did snakes have names?
Wait, that wasn’t the most important thing. This had to be a dream, right? No way he was talking to another snake. What were the odds that two snakes even spoke English, anyway! Heat. It had to be the heat.
“I like Flower, if you were going to asssk about a name.” The snake hissed and Harry was sure it had kind of smiled. Could snakes smile?
“Right, uhm, Flower. I’m sorry to have disturbed you.”
“You did not. No more than the ruckusss of the humansss inside.” The little snake lifted its head to turn and face the window above.
“They are a bit loud.” Harry agreed in a whisper. He had opted out of wearing his aid in the mornings, as no one usually spoke to him so it was generally safe to do so. “You should probably find a different flowerbed. If aunt Petunia sees you she will get really upset.”
“Ssshe would have to garden to ever have the hope of ssseeing me.” The little one countered and Harry snapped his mouth shut.
“You might be right.” He said instead and went back to pulling the weeds.
He worked in silence for a bit, though the eyes of that little snake followed his every movement. As he pulled up a rather large clump of weeds, the snake darted forwards to latch onto a large grub he had unearthed and Harry yelped in surprise. He dropped the clump and sat back just as the window slammed open.
Aunt Petunia’s slender face appeared from the window a moment later and she took in the large hole and dirt scattered about the otherwise perfect grass. “Look at the mess you’ve made! I am going to have to get a new plant to fix that! What were you thinking, boy?”
Harry held up the weeds to show that he had not even removed a single flower from her ‘perfect’ flowerbed. Petunia shrieked and shrunk away from the bundle as if he held fire. “What are you doing!? Someone could see you. Get inside this instant and clean yourself up!”
With that, the window slammed shut, leaving Harry alone with the dirt and weeds.
“Ssssorry, sspeaker. I did not mean to ssscare.” A tiny voice drifted from the new hole he had made. Harry just shook his head.
“You didn’t. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. See you tomorrow?” Harry asked as he dusted himself off. He looked up to watch the snake study him, which felt odd given the situation.
“Of courssse.”
Harry grinned. When he slipped inside he did not even care that he had been lectured, dragged upstairs, or forced to work through lunch. Not when he maybe had a friend.
From that day, Harry would hurry outside to steal conversations with Flower. They talked about everything under the sun, and sometimes nothing at all. Even on the days that Harry really didn’t want to speak, Flower would sit close by or wrap around his arm as he worked. It was nice, not having to work alone.
As Harry cleaned up from his latest morning gardening session, Flower had gone on for ages about how good his flowers were compared to other houses, he scooped up the mail. As per routine, Harry shifted through the letters to organize them in level of importance. Vernon had two bills, a magazine for drills, and something that look like an add for a new local business. Petunia had her weekly news letter and something from the school, probably a poor report from either of the two boys.
When he pulled the last letter forward he froze. There, in red ink, was his name. The letter was old and looked like it had been through a bath, but there was no mistaking who it was for. It even had his address, the cupboard under the stairs.
Slowly Harry sank into his seat, his world all but narrowed to the hum of excitement and the letter that sat heavy in his hands. With a quick tug he tore his finger through the top just as the letter was snatched away. Harry blinked, slow to react after the sheer shock of it all, and lunged at his cousin with a snarl.
“Give that back!” He demanded and latched tight to Dudley’s still baby soft face. He felt the lips moving but the rush of anger was too loud. Finally, his left ear popped and Dudley’s words broke through.
“Mommy, daddy! Harry’s got a letter!” Dudley babbled on repeat as Vernon took the offered paper.
Harry’s heart sank. Any hope he had of reading his first ever letter vanished as he watched his uncle look over the paper and pale. The color drained from his aunt next and the two of them moved in unison without a word.
Harry and Dudley shared a confused look before they rushed to the living room. They slid to a stop just as the letter was tossed into a freshly started fire. The tea kettle was placed on top just to be sure it all burned.
That had been a letter for him, the only one he had ever gotten and they had burned it within seconds. Was that a normal thing to do? Burn mail? He had never seen them do it before, so maybe his mail was a special case.
The second he thought that, he flinched. Even his mail was odd enough to cause reactions. Harry kept the letter from Flower who had asked about the commotion the next day. He didn’t want his only friend to get upset, or worse, agree with the Dursley’s.
The house was spotless, as ever. When Harry finally settled into his spot at the table for lunch he heard a faint shout from the hall. By Dudley’s reaction, it hadn’t been all that quiet. They quickly rushed from the dining room to see Petunia throwing what looked to be a small bundle of … letters.
She had thrown a good five or so letters into the fire place and lit it. Letters, all lined with glittering red ink in old looking envelopes. All of which had his name.
Harry did not know what to think. His aunt had reacted to them like they had been a rat. Was whatever was inside really that awful? Harry was dying to know just what was so important that they would send not one, but five new letters at once.
At least now he knew they were a repeat thing. If he was smart, maybe he could swipe one the next time they tried. He’d even leave the extras so that the Dursley’s could burn them and feel safe.
The next day, he did not go outside like usual. Instead, he busied himself in the entryway with mundane chores long enough to be the first to the mail as it dropped from the door slot. Only, it did not drop.
Uncle Vernon appeared some time later from the kitchen and strode to open the front door. To Harry’s horror, he accepted the mail directly from the carrier and pulled out the letters addressed to Harry before he even shut the door. The mail man and him had a good laugh about something to do with the words on the letter.
When Vernon turned back towards Harry, his smile did not reach his eyes and Harry instinctively took a step back. The front door shut with a click and before Harry could so much as drop the broom his arm was snatched up and he was shoved into his cupboard for being a “sneaky, troublesome brat.”
Harry spent the day in darkness. He hadn’t even been upset at the throbbing in his shoulder. Whatever was in those letters was important, he just knew it. Why would they continue if they weren’t?
When Harry was let out, it was Sunday. He had a feeling that had a huge roll in just why they had let him free. He got to work, baked the weekend snacks and served tea to those in the living room. As he handed a plate with a few extra cookies to Dudley his uncle droned on about how good Sunday really was.
“Do you know why I believe this to be a good day, Dudders?” He asked, a cookie dwarfed in his large hand.
Dudley shrugged and snatched a cookie from Harry’s plate, only to open his own for Harry to take one back. They did that a few times before Petunia ordered Harry to stop his harassment and to give his plate to Dudley. Harry opened his mouth to protest but the glare he received had him sighing heavily and relenting.
Dudley beamed as he took the cookies onto his plate and set the stack on the couch cushion between them. Harry eyed him skeptically, but when his stealing of one did not raise any voices he settled back.
“Good tv?” Dudley mumbled through a full mouth in a late answer to his fathers questions.
Uncle Vernon hummed a slight agreement.
“Cause there is no post on Sunday.” Harry added.
“Right you are,” Uncle Vernon started with a proud voice before he realized who had answered. His volume dropped to a more neutral tone. “Right you are, Harry. No post on Sunday. That means no freakish letters today, no sir!”
Harry hummed more as a non answer than anything. He turned his focus onto the stack of cookies again as he swiped one from under Dudley’s hand. The glare he got for that made him smirk as he chewed happily.
A faint flutter cut through the air and had all heads turning to watch as a single letter flew out of the fireplace and into uncle Vernon’s lap. Vernon grabbed the yellowed paper with a slight tremble to his hand as he turned the letter over slowly. He locked eyes with Harry, anger had turned his face that horrible red, but all Harry could do was watch as another letter floated into the living room.
Suddenly, the room erupted into a roar of paper. Letters poured from the fireplace like a waterfall and Harry pulled Dudley up and over the back of the couch to escape the first wave. The floor was covered in letters, all with that same red ink, all had his name.
Harry grabbed a handful of the envelops from the floor and stuffed them into his pants pockets before he tore off down the hall. He just needed one. If he could just get outside, he could hide and read it and then this would all make sense and he-
Harry yelped as his feet left the ground. Large arms lifted him from the floor and locked him into a crushing embrace as he thrashed. His nails clawed at the arms as smaller hands grabbed for the letters in his pockets. Harry kicked out, connecting with something soft, as the arms squeezed hard enough that he saw spots.
The roar of the letters echoed in his ears as he was shoved hard into his cupboard. The door was locked tight as all gaps were blocked to prevent a letter or anything else from getting in or out.
Harry dug into his pockets, desperately hoping that one had survived, but found that he no longer held any paper. With a frustrated shout he kicked the door and slumped to the floor. He tucked himself into a tight ball and let the hot, angry tears come freely. He had no idea how long he had sat there, crying like the child he was.
Something light and round bounced off of his head, thrown in from the slot. Harry ignored it for a few minutes before curiosity got the better of his anger. He looked around the dark space blindly before he clicked on the old light that liked to flicker more than actually stay lit. On the floor beside him was a balled up paper.
Slowly, Harry unraveled the paper and read the horrible scratches which could have only been from Dudley.
‘Dad’s gone mad. Pack a bag. We leave in an hour.’