“Obliviate”

Harry, a boy with jet black, messy hair and bright emerald green eyes stirred awake at the familiar, rather heavy footsteps of his cousin running up and down along the staircase. But as he raised himself from his bed to reach a hand out and grab ahold of his glasses, there was a sudden feeling. Something like a feeling of uncertainty, of unfamiliarity. Everything now felt rather odd, like the room he stood in. It was the small cupboard just beneath the stairs that he’d always lived in, yet it didn’t quite feel right. He remembered it being larger, more decorated. Now the room felt nearly diminutive and the walls rather unadorned. It all seemed colorless, monochrome, unlike the scarlet red he’d felt familiar with. But why? He’d never lived in a room bigger than the cupboard or ever had decor a shade of scarlet. The only other ‘spare’ bedroom in the house had been Dudley’s second bedroom, and he was sure he’d never even stepped foot in that room before. Yet he couldn’t shake off the feeling that he had.

While the rather persistent feeling of discomfort lingered, he’d tried his best to ignore it and get dressed. He would slip on the many-sizes-too-large shirt and baggy pants before slipping a belt through the hoops and buckling with a small ‘snap’. The only clothing he’d had were all Dudley’s old shirts or pants he could no longer fit into, or ones badly stained or torn beyond repair. Ones that Harry couldn’t see anyone daring to wear out in public and be humiliated by the visible state of quality. 
Once he was dressed he stepped outside of the room and entered the kitchen with a rather heavy sigh. Most mornings Harry was responsible for making the Dursley’s their breakfast, though he really didn’t understand why. They always complained when he served them their meals, saying that the eggs weren’t fat enough or the buttered toast wasn’t buttery enough. He never understood why they couldn’t simply serve themselves their own food if they were so picky and hated his culinary skills so much. If they weren’t so indolent they’d be able to tailor their meals to their own specific needs. But, Harry wasn’t about to complain about it straight to their faces. He’d rather avoid being punished for his attitude this early into the morning. He was bound to be yelled at or hit at some point during the day by someone, so he’d much rather make sure that happened as late into the day as possible. Though, as Dudley seemed to be staring him down with that smug little smirk, it was becoming increasingly hard to focus on not burning the bacon. He knew what his intentions were. One, was to distract him from cooking and get him into trouble, and two, was to intimidate him. Harry wouldn’t say it was working, he didn’t feel scared of him. But he knew what he wanted to do, and he really didn’t feel like adding more layers of tape to his glasses today or dealing with another nosebleed. His glasses. As the thought struck through his head he soon realized the tape had been removed from the bridge of his eyewear. Not only that, but the bridge seemed completely pristine with not a single scratch to be seen. Harry knew neither Vernon nor Petunia ever would have repaired them for him, so how did they end up like this? He only had one pair, so grabbing a different one from his usual was out of question. But his pondering thoughts were soon interrupted by a snicker from across the room. Dudley. Harry lifted his head to send a glare towards the larger boy before looking back to his frying pan and realizing what exactly he was giggling about. His bacon was seconds away from turning black and his eggs were unevenly cooked. He quickly fumbled with his spatula and pans in a rush to flip the food as to avoid any further damage.

After finishing with breakfast he lay the plates out onto the table before taking a seat and lifting his own piece of toast to his mouth. He watched as the Dursley’s sat at the table, first Dudley came running over, then Vernon took his plate with him to the couch, and finally Petunia sat beside Dudley. The room was uncomfortably quiet as Harry silently nibbled on the corner of his toast slice. They were probably thinking about what to make complaints on with the breakfast he’d cooked, which unfortunately wouldn’t be too difficult to accomplish as he had nearly burnt most of it. But the room stayed oddly quiet, until Dudley blurted out a question in his squeaky little voice, “Who’s that out there?” He’d question, pointing out at the window to a blonde strolling past in the opposite yard from their own. Harry silently listened to the conversation that continued, interested as well as to who the new person could be. Aunt Petunia leaned over slightly, tilting her head up to see the window before speaking, “Ah, he’s that new neighbor boy. Just moved in today actually- Oh, Diddykins! You could be friends with him! I’m sure he’d love you Dudley, who wouldn’t?” Harry rolled his eyes at the annoyingly high pitched voice his aunt had been using to speak towards his cousin. He never understood why she infantilized him so much, or what she even saw in him that was ‘impressive’ or ‘cute’.

Harry had been heading for the cupboard when he noticed Petunia holding the telephone to her ear. He took a few steps back to listen in on the current conversation she was having, though it didn’t turn out to be too pleasant of news. She was speaking with who he’d assumed to have been the new neighbor boy’s mother, and was asking if he could come over to meet Dudley. He’d hoped the answer would’ve been a refusal, because if this boy was anything like Dudley at all he would want as far away from him as possible. He passionately hated all of his cousin’s friends and wouldn’t doubt for this person to be like the others if he somehow got along well with Dudley.

After some time there was a knock and the blonde was led inside, Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon carried the world’s fakest smiles and spoke in unusually polite tones, nothing like the ones they used toward Harry- and speaking of Harry, he was about to turn around when his eyes suddenly locked gaze with the pale blonde’s. They stared at each other for a moment, both having the unusual feeling of familiarity, but it was the much paler one who spoke first, with a question and a quizzical squint. “Do I know you?” As Harry had opened his mouth to respond, he caught glance of Petunia’s baffled look, and she was soon quick to cut in. “I think you’re mistaken dear- there’s no way you two could know each other. Er- why don’t you speak with Dudley here?” She motioned towards the chubby boy, quickly trying to steer the subject to a change, and seeming rather desperate to do so. But Harry couldn’t shake off the feeling that he did know this person in some way, but he definitely couldn’t talk to him about it at the moment. Not around the Dursley’s. So instead of speaking, he sent them a ‘we’ll talk later’ look before stepping away and heading back to the dreadful cupboard.

Though, it didn’t take long before they were able to speak with one another. About ten minutes later Harry heard Dudley’s heavy footsteps stumbling along the stairs, and he took this moment to creak open the cabinet door, peering his head out through the crack. “Hey!”, he hissed towards the new neighbor, who stood at the door, most likely already on his way towards leaving. “Come here”, Harry opened the door farther and motioned for the blonde to enter, but he must have thought Harry didn’t mean actually stepping inside the cupboard, because once he approached the door he stopped instead of entering, and when harry pulled him into the room a look of surprise crossed his face as he spotted the bed pressed untidily against the wall. It was something Harry had been so accustomed to throughout the years of living with the Dursley’s that it never crossed his mind how odd it must seem for someone’s bedroom to be a stair cupboard. “So,” Harry started, glancing up at the other male. “What’s your name?” There had been such an unmistakable feeling of familiarity throbbing in his head, that feeling when you know that you’ve seen someone’s face before or heard their voice, but can’t quite place a finger on where. 
“Draco.”, Replied the other boy. The name slid off his tongue in a way as if it’d been said frequently in the past. Harry squinted at Draco, his eyes trailing along his facial features, desperately searching for  anything to make it all click. Something to answer his burning question, the question of where. Where he had possibly seen him before. “So are you going to tell me your name Or what?”,Draco raised a brow, awaiting an answer. The sudden voice pulled Harry out of his tangled thoughts, bringing his attention back to answer. “Harry- it’s Harry, Harry Potter.” By Draco’s change of expression, it was clear he had been experiencing the same forgetfulness. There was a moment of surprise in his eyes, that soon faded into one of deep thought. But before either of the two boys could come to a conclusion or agreement on where they’d once met, the heavily thumping footsteps belonging to Dudley returned. Harry opened the cupboard door and shoved Draco out. “Go, we can talk later”, He spoke in a hushed whisper before slowly closing the door as to not make any sound, hiding himself away once more.