Chapter 01
Breakfast sizzled on the pan and Dudley wailed on the table. What an average morning for a special day, Harry thinks.
He flips the eggs delicately and only turns over the bacon when he knows the bottom side is crispy enough. Nearly ten years passed since the Dursleys found him on the front step, and things had changed tremendously since. For starters, the designated playroom for Dudley is no longer a playroom, but Harry’s bedroom. There is an extra set of everything in the house now as well; an extra toothbrush, towel, dining table chair, pair of shoes, and coat hanging on the rack.
Even the photos on the mantelpiece show how much time had passed. Ten years ago, there were pictures of a large pink baby the size of a bowling ball in different colored outfits– but those pictures were removed and put in albums. Now, there were pictures of two babies decorating the home instead of one. One of them was still pink but no longer as round, but the other was olive-skinned and smaller. Photographs showed a blond boy with blue eyes riding a bicycle and a brown-haired and skinned boy with green eyes chasing him. The pair were on a carousel at the fair, munching on candied apples on a stick, playing field hockey, and asleep on a blanket at a playground. In every photo, they were together, and the blond boy usually made some kind of expression that made the other giggle.
As Harry cooks, he looks at the frame sitting on the countertop beside the oven. It was a photo of him and Dudley with Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia when they were five, the family seated on a bench in a park. Harry recalls the memory of that day fondly. Dudley sat in his father’s lap and his fists were tugging on the man’s mustache while he screamed for ice cream. Uncle Vernon was barely holding onto the flailing child sliding halfway off of his lap but he smiled nonetheless. Aunt Petunia had Harry in her lap, her long neck straining to lean over and plant a kiss on his nose. Harry’s head was turned down –hence her straining– a wide open-mouthed smile painted on his face like he was laughing. Aunt Petunia’s arms were wrapped around his middle in a secure hold, and Harry had his own tiny arms holding onto the woman.
Harry smiles at the photo, remembering how safe and happy he felt at that moment like nothing could hurt him while he was in her arms. But, then his eyes fall upon five-year-old Harry’s scar.
It’s a dark mark, standing out even against the inky color of his hair. The shape is just as odd as its appearance, however, taking on the form of a lightning bolt.
He remembered asking Aunt Petunia where he got it from, and she told him it was an injury from the car crash his parents died in. He didn’t get to ask another question before she was telling him not to ask about the accident for the rest of the day. Harry decided to stop altogether, though.
But when Harry sees his reflection in the frame, the scar doesn’t look as faded as it should after several years. If anything, it looks more prominent than it did before, it being the main thing people notice about him if his hair’s parted the right way. The scar looked to have grown with him, once the size of a penny now a quarter. Harry knows that’s impossible because scars don’t grow, they go away.
Looking at the scar makes something uneasy settle inside the young boy. This always happens when he stares too long at it. And it doesn’t feel nice.
Luckily, Aunt Petunia strolls in at this moment.
“Harry, dear, you didn’t have to cook,” she tells him, running slim fingers throw his hair as she passes by. The woman greets her husband with a chaste kiss, then goes to Dudley to coddle him with pecks on the face. The birthday boy preens under the attention. He reminds Harry of a happy, fat tabby cat.
He looks down and realizes, “Huh, I already plated the food.” The eggs, bacon, and toast were sorted neatly onto four plates. When had he done that? It’s concerning how he manages to get through tasks without even paying attention sometimes.
Shrugging, Harry grabs the two largest plates and heads over to the table. It’s nearly hidden beneath Dudley’s presents, with a brand new computer, racing bike, and a second television. He can’t help but wonder what a boy who hates exercise could want with a bike.
“It’s fine Aunt Petunia,” he replies honestly, “You looked busy with the laundry, so consider it a trade.”
She doesn’t look happy with the answer but satisfied, reaching for her daisy-spotted mug filled with coffee. The woman learned early on how stubborn Harry could be when it came to helping around the house. It wasn’t her fault, but Harry hated how hard the woman had to work constantly to keep their home in shape. If she ever tried to stop him, he’d only find another mess to clean. And living with two absolutely smashing folks like Uncle Vernon and Dudley, there was always something to clean.
Harry gives Uncle Vernon his plate first because whether it’s Dudley’s birthday or not, he’s the adult, and the man acknowledges him with a gruff nod while reading the newspaper. As Harry puts down his cousins’ plate, the boy stops his complaining (“I wanted a blue bike, not red!”) to laugh. Harry narrowly avoids flying saliva. His reflexes are impeccable thanks to Dudley’s inability to keep from spitting every time he opens his mouth.
“You’re like a maid, Harry!” He mocked. “Where’s your frilly dress and apron?”
“Where’s your bib and dummy, maybe it’ll save Aunt Petunia another load?” Harry replies, going to grab his and her plate. He places it down in front of her and she grins at him from behind her cup.
Dudley looks confused but scandalized. “At least I don’t look like a shite.”
“At least I don’t look like a pig in a wig.”
“Blind muppet.”
“Overstretched wanker.”
“Shaggy mutt.”
“Boar’s arse.”
Dudley makes a noise similar to that of an outraged goose. Harry laughs, and he can see Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia waiting to hear what their son responds with. They stopped trying to come between the boys whenever one of them would start name-calling. It was easier to just let it happen, and funnier to watch.
“Orphan,” Dudley finally throws back after a moment's hesitation, looking rather triumphant.
But neither parent found that funny. Neither did Harry, whose smile dimmed at the words. He wasn’t hurt (liar) by the words, but the suddenness caught him off guard. And it must have shown by the way Uncle Vernon shoots his son a look from over the newspaper.
“Watch the way you talk to your cousin, boy,” he warns him.
Aunt Petunia nods then tacks on, “Unless you want two presents less than last year.”
Dudley is just as surprised as Harry by how quickly the two reacted, both of their eyes wide and mouths slack open. The way the words came out so easily. They rarely ever chastise their son, neither having a bone in their body to discipline him harshly. And Harry is the better-mannered child out of the both of them (until Dudley tests him), so it’s usually quiet within the walls of their home. Harry knows his Aunt and Uncle love him, but he would have never believed they would defend him first over their son, especially on his birthday.
Harry manages to gather himself just as Dudley looks as if he’s about to cry again, shaking his head.
“It’s alright, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon,” he replies, “we’re just teasing each other. I don’t mind what he said.”
Both the husband and wife give him a flat look.
“Really,” Harry lies with a smile that stings. He doesn’t want Dudley’s birthday to be ruined.
Dudley joins in with a hard bob of his head, desperately saying, “See, he's fine!”.
Harry has to remind himself that he really doesn’t want Dudley’s birthday to be ruined. The adults relent, and Dudley looks relieved. Harry sort of wishes he didn’t come to his defense.
From then on, Harry is quiet in his seat while breakfast is finished. He listens to the plans Uncle Vernon made for Dudley’s birthday and who's going to be accompanying them, humming in agreement to things he can't really hear. He sprinkles salt onto his eggs but they’re too sweet. Was that sugar?
His mind is elsewhere. Specifically, on what Dudley had said. Harry knows he shouldn't take what his cousin says to heart because he himself was being rude as well, and Dudley lacks the skill to think before he speaks, to begin with. But he can't help it. His chest feels tight, and swallowing food burns his throat.
He’s helping Aunt Petunia clean the kitchen when Piers Polkiss knocks on the door. Uncle Vernon goes to greet him, and a moment later he sticks his rat-shaped head into the dining room to greet Aunt Petunia, shouting “Morning, Mrs. Dursley!” with childish excitement. Aunt Petunia responds in kind.
When his eyes travel towards Harry, whose sweeping, Piers gest this look on his face like he’s just seen something unpleasant. So, Harry does it back. He notices that the boy is wearing a green shirt, and it looks ugly on him. Piers doesn’t greet him, and he's not surprised when Dudley doesn't invite him to play when they stampede up the stairs. He’s not Harry’s friend and there’s no universe where they would be because if Harry got to choose who his friends were, they wouldn’t be one of those jerks that can’t even tell inside from outside.
Seriously. Harry’s pretty sure he just saw the tag on Piers’ shirt underneath his chin.
Half an hour later, Harry couldn’t believe his luck. He gets to sit in between two of the greatest people in all of London because heaven forbid they do not pinch each other. (Apparently, it was a game Dudley started but when Piers began to pinch him back, he refused to sit next to him on the ride to the zoo. Leave to Dudley to start something he can’t finish). Before he, the Dursleys, and Piers packed into the car, Uncle Vernon had given them all a stern warning.
“Behave. No funny business,” he had told all three of them as they lined outside the car, waiting to file in.
Dudley looked mortified for being treated in such a way in the remarkable presence of The Piers Polkiss.
Harry only nodded. The problem was, ‘funny’ things tend to happen to Harry or around him whether he liked it or not. And the boy himself couldn’t explain why they happened, so Harry didn’t expect the Dursleys to understand.
Like when Aunt Petunia, tired of having to brush her nephew’s bangs out of the way to look at him, had taken him to the barber. His hair was cut so short and in a way that didn’t suit him at all, Harry’s head looked double the size. Dudley had laughed himself silly and called Harry a “broken bobblehead” because his scar made it look like there was a crack. The next morning, he had awoken to shaggy hair covering his view that was twice as thick as before. When Aunt Petunia saw him in the kitchen, she looked stunned for a moment but sighed and shrugged. Uncle Vernon mumbled something about liking his new hairdo.
Or the other time when he and Dudley were playing street hockey– Dudley hated running but always tried to tackle Harry– and the puck somehow managed to get stuck in Ms. Figgs’ downspout. Dudley, the seven-year-old dictator that he was, demanded that he fetch the puck because he was older and therefore Harry should listen to him. Harry didn’t have the heart to tell him that the pipes would burst if Dudley tried to climb up anyways. But, he did have the guts, and that’s exactly what the boy said before running to retrieve the object (and get away). Before he knew it, however, Harry was sitting on top of the chimney with no way to get down. Aunt Petunia had to call 999 that afternoon.
But the point is, funny business isn’t “Hahaha” funny when it comes to Harry. It’s more like, “This is a minor inconvenience in my life that’s about to become a major inconvenience in yours”, and it’s a lot messier than it sounds.
And Uncle Vernon demanded that not happen while they were at the zoo. So, for the sake of his Uncle, Harry will try to keep the funny business under wraps. Even though teleporting back onto Ms. Figgs’ chimney with a muddy puck as company sounded better than being stuck between a sausage and a rodent playing ‘pinching’.
It is sunnier than when they left by the time they reach the zoo. The place is crowded with families wearing bright colors and eating foods that smell sweet and savory. Passing through the entrance, Harry is intoxicated by roasted turkey legs, grilled burgers, funnel cake with powdered sugar, and steaming corndogs. But Piers and Dudley want dessert first, so they go to the ice cream parlor that’s a cool escape from the heat outside. It smells cold, somehow, sweet, and like waffle cones. The two boys get large chocolate ice creams with marshmallows and almonds in them, with fudge drizzled on top. Harry sticks to a lemon ice pop despite Aunt Petunia’s ushering him to get actual ice cream. He’s still somewhat full from breakfast, so he enjoys eating his sweet treat while they walk around the park.
He realizes, after around an hour of walking, that deciding to wear trousers probably wasn’t the smartest choice. Harry’s sweating and it’s no longer bearable without the ice pop. He’s walking a few feet behind Aunt Petunia, hands in his pockets, and he notices that he’s the only one wearing them. All of them– even Piers, for heaven’s sake– are wearing shorts, and Aunt Petunia is wearing a skirt. They’re brightly colored as well, like the rest of the families in the zoo wearing blue, pink, or yellow, and Harry begins to frown because that’s not the only thing he’s noticed since leaving the car.
People are looking at him. Staring.
Harry tried to ignore it at first, but it feels like ants are crawling up and down his body. He’s aware of the eyes, because ever since he could remember, once people noticed him, it was like it became difficult to be unnoticed. Some look curious. Others look confused. At worst, they look cautious.
Harry would look down at his sneakers that were torn at the toe, then he would look up and find at least two pairs of eyes trained on him. Adults, children, and those in between would look at the boy like they were trying to figure out what he is. At first, Harry thought maybe he had a stain on his clothes he wasn’t aware of, or there was a smear of food on his cheek. But, then people started to move away from him. Like how they would when one of the animals would get too close to the glass of their cage. Their eyes would still be on him.
His eyes flicker from a baby in a red stroller to a green sign. It looks like the street signs at home, with the words ‘GORILLA HABITAT’ engraved on it with an arrow pointing right, and another sign saying ‘REPTILE HOUSE’ pointing left beneath it.
Harry stops to stand in the little shade that the pole provides. He wipes off the sweat gathering on his forehead and breathes deeply through his nose. The dry heat makes his throat almost painfully dry, but he doesn’t want to ask for a bottle of water. He can wait until lunch.
Down the stone walkway going right are Uncle Vernon and the two boys who are chatting rather loudly about fighting the chimpanzees. Aunt Petunia walks towards him.
“Harry, are you alright?” She asks when she’s near, concern coloring her voice.
This close, Harry can see her hair frizzing from the heat. But it’s kept hidden enough by her large sun hat that provides more glorious cover from the sun when she stands next to him.
The boy shrugs and replies, “‘S hot.” Aunt Petunia shakes her head like she knows that’s not it.
She’s right.
“I left it alone at breakfast because I didn’t want to ask in front of Vernon or Dudley,” Aunt Petunia murmurs.
She’s no longer looking down at him but instead, her eyes are focused on the moving crowd ahead. She watches them like how Harry does, not looking for anything in particular but aware at the same time. Her hands are crossed over in the front and she holds her small brown purse that compliments the yellow dress she wears.
“Left what alone?” Harry asks, rising and lowering his toes, playing dumb.
He keeps his eyes trained forward. He hopes that she’ll stop, but Aunt Petunia tends to barrel toward her problems instead of leaving them alone.
The woman answers, “The comment Dudley made about you being an orphan. I know it hurt.”
Harry knew it was coming, but hearing it out loud hurt more than he could prepare for. He tries to distract himself from the constricting feeling in his throat by thinking about how Dudley looks like one of the gorillas he’s probably harassing from across the glass right now. When that doesn’t work, and Harry begins to realize that it’s not a dry throat that’s going to make his eyes burn, he starts to fiddle with his fingers. But he doesn’t respond to his Aunt.
Because it did hurt. It felt like someone took a branding iron and shoved it through his chest, then told him to walk it off. And Harry wanted to cry, but it wouldn’t have been fair to. Not to Dudley, who hadn’t shed a tear when Harry called him a pig, or to Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, who’d been generous enough to give him a home. They didn’t have to take in the son of two dead parents, both of whom they never met together, but they did. And how shameless Harry would be to not appreciate that.
Aunt Petunia must realize she’s not going to get any reply because she continues.
“I’m not your mother, Harry,” and wow, okay, this feels awful, “but you are my son. Just as much as Dudley is.”
His eyes widen and his head snaps up to look at her. She stares down her long, sharp nose, looking at Harry differently than how she usually does. There’s no weariness, concern, or playful easiness. Then she turns, her dress flitting as she crouches so that they’re face-to-face. Her brown eyes bore into his, and she takes his small hands into hers. Harry looks down at them. He can see her veins while he cannot see his.
“Even if you weren’t my son, though, you’re not an orphan. And do you know why?” Aunt Petunia asks him with a gentle voice.
Harry shakes his head. He doesn't, and he wants to know what she's thinking so maybe he can think the same.
Aunt Petunia raises one hand and cups his cheek. Her thin lips curve into a smile with the grace of a petal flowing in the wind. She strokes one thumb under his eye like she’s wiping away tears. Harry doesn’t know if she is or not, all he can focus on is how beautiful his Aunty is.
“Because every time I look at you,” Aunt Petunia explains. “I see your mother and father. You have James’ skin and wild hair, but you have Lily’s green eyes.”
Harry’s lower lip trembles. His Aunt’s expression falls a bit at that.
“Everyone stares at me because of my skin,” he reveals shamefully.
At first, Harry panics because he thinks it’s the wrong thing to say by the way her face scrunches like how it does when she’s heard something unpleasant. But then, she fixes it back to normal and she shakes her head.
“The way your skin looks is a gift, Harry. From your father. Don’t let others shame that gift.” She tells him kindly but sternly. “Do you understand?”.
But Harry wasn’t having it. Why was she telling him all of this?
He responded with a bitter tone, “It didn’t feel like a gift when Owen Tuckers from class called me a brownie.”
“What?”
“He told me to go back to where I came from in front of everyone,” Harry spewed, “but I don’t know where I come from. But I couldn’t tell him that because then he and all the other kids would know that I don’t have parents because they died in an accident!”
His blood boils as he reveals what had happened. Thinking back on it now, Harry’s mad that he only stood there when Owen said what he said. He should have done something else, like punch him or throw a stapler at his head. It would have felt good. (A part of him knows it wouldn’t have). But, Harry didn’t understand the implications until one of the older students told him during recess what it meant. His hands ball into fists at the memory, shaking so hard that he doesn’t realize what he’s doing until Aunt Petunia pulls him into a tight hug.
She smells like artificial flowers, her dress is itchy, her hat is kind of poking his eye, and it’s too hot to be near anyone right now. But it’s everything to be hugged by her. He’s held too close to hug her back so his arms hang awkwardly at his side and his hands gradually limpen. He sees other people looking in their direction from over her shoulder, but Aunt Petunia doesn’t care right now, so Harry doesn’t either.
When she finally pulls back, Aunt Petunia looks him in the eye, all seriousness evident. “Tell me the next time someone ever says anything like that to you, Harry. I’ll punch the cunt in the face.”
Harry’s so caught off-guard by the last part the laughter bubbles out of his throat before he can stop it. Aunt Petunia always tried to avoid swearing if she could, as it was ‘unbecoming’ of a lady. He starts laughing and he doesn’t stop, even after Aunt Petunia tells him to confirm, and it’s so absolutely ridiculous that she chuckles before standing straight and looking in the opposite direction that the others went.
“The boys are probably trying to fight the apes,” she tells him with a ‘what can you do’ look. “Want to go look at the snakes and get some more dessert?”
Harry nods his head because snakes are cool, and dessert is cooler, but Aunt Petunia’s the coolest, and she takes his hand in hers as they make their way to the Reptile House.
At that moment, all his troubles seem to flow away.
—
And it comes back with a vengeful force.
The funny business that Harry had been successfully avoiding was nowhere to be seen until he and Aunt Petunia entered the Reptile House and saw the Boa Constrictor.
Or rather, it was nowhere to be seen until Dudley and Piers joined them in the Reptile House and saw the Boa Constrictor.
Harry had been talking to the snake, licking remnants of fudge from his fingers, except he didn’t actually think they were talking because people cannot just go up to an animal and start a casual conversation. Aunt Petunia had ran into a friend from work and began chatting with her, so he and the reptilian bonded over their mutual understanding of being orphans, and just as the young boy was about to learn whether or not it’d been to Brazil, Dudley came crashing in. And that’s not an understatement, because he actually sent Harry crashing to the ground when he shoved him out of the way to see the snake. Piers followed suit, stamping on Harry’s hand in the process.
What happened next came so fast that nobody noticed until it was too late– one moment, Dudley and Piers were pounding on the glass cage, and the next, they lept back and let out howls that would shatter the glass. If it were there, that is. Harry gasped when he saw that the cage had vanished.
The great snake uncoiled rapidly and slithered out of its confines, gliding through the legs of people who were screaming and running for the exits. As the snake slid past him, Harry could have sworn he heard it hiss something in English– a thank you of sorts– before leaving him and a stunned reptile keeper stunned frozen.
The zoo director fumbled over his words in apology while Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia bombarded him with angry (and downright hurtful) accusations. Piers and Dudley sat together trembling and prattling on about how it had tried to bite off his leg (Piers) and squeeze him to death (Dudley). Harry said nothing the entire time, not wanting to add fuel to the fire but also having nothing to say to begin with, But, the worst part came when Piers finally managed to calm down and say, “And I saw Harry talking to the snake, right, Harry?”.
The Dursleys wait until Piers is out of the house and Dudley is asleep in bed before starting on Harry. Uncle Vernon looks like he wants to say something, but Aunt Petunia stops him. The woman tells her husband to go sit and that she’ll get him some Brandy, and that leaves Harry fidgeting at the door. She is so tired when she returns to him that she only managed to tell Harry, “Go rest. We’ll talk in the morning.”
And not for the first time that night, as Harry lays in bed, does he wish that morning never comes.