Shed
Harry doesn’t remember why he started living in the shed just after his 5th birthday. Well, he did remember Vernon yelling that animals don’t deserve to live inside, and that the freak might containment the rest of the house with his freakishness. But Harry doesn’t remember what changed. Vernon had called him freak and yelled about his freakishness before, when he was living in the cupboard. He had gotten mad and slapped him before. So Harry doesn’t remember what caused Vernon to decided he was no longer worthy of living in the cupboard and made him move out to the shed. Harry was both very grateful and terrified by it. On one hand, living in shed, despite its problems, meant he was out of sight of Vernon, and therefore out of mind. The slaps, insults, and even chores, dropped off sharply at that point, as he wasn’t allowed in the house at all anymore. To the Dursley’s, Harry simply almost stopped existing. On the other hand, Harry worried that if such a change could just happen, then Vernon could decide something much worse and Harry would have no idea it was coming. Harry had been banished like an animal, discarded like the half empty paint cans to the shed, left to rot. If Vernon changed his mind, decided Harry was not even worth that, Harry feared what Vernon might end up doing.
Those thoughts would fester at the back of his mind, but there was nothing Harry could do about it.
Petunia had told all the neighbours what a trouble maker, a bad influence Harry was. Harry could only do so much with the garden hose as his only source of water, so the fact that Harry was never clean now, that Harry smelt slightly of piss and rot, that Harry’s hair was clumped together in dirty unkempt dreads, Harry’s clothes were always stained, these things meant no one wanted to get close. No one wanted to see or listen. His teacher had held him back after class on the first day, eyes dark and sharp. “Harry, your Aunt warned me you had trouble telling the truth. I’m warning you I wont put up with lies like you told today.”
“What lies?”
“Really, Harry, do you expect me to believe that you didn’t know your name until today? Just because you weren’t paying attention is no excuse to lie. Lying makes it worse. Do you understand?”
Harry nodded, throat tight, eyes burning. He had really hoped school would be better. He should have known that hope is a lie.
“Now, as punishment, I want you to apologise to your Aunt, and you will be responsible for cleaning the blackboard and emptying the bins at the end of class every day this week.”
That day when Harry had emptied the class bin into the large skip at the back of the school, his little weak arms had given way, and he had tipped garbage down his last clean shirt (he had been saving it for the first day of school, he had been so very hopeful, to make friends, to have someone talk to him, someone acknowledge his existence). He would never be able to get the grease stains out, it was bitter reminder that hope was for boys who were wanted, who weren’t freaks. Harry was aware in abstract that how he was treated was wrong. That people didn’t live in sheds and eat from garbage bins.
Harry had tried one day to talk to the school nurse. When she had caught the smell of Harry, her nose had twisted, a grimace on her face before she could smooth it away.
“Ms Carver? I thought I could maybe sit in here and talk to you?” Harry's voice had been soft, rushed, standing in the doorway to the sick bay after he had worked up his courage of weeks after the first day of school, when she had visited the class with a smile and said they should come to her for help.
“I’m sorry Harry, by you have to be outside during playtime. Your Aunt has told me how you refuse to bathe, how you destroy your clothes. If you want more friends, people to talk to, then maybe you should wash more, take better care of your things. If you refuse to help yourself, then there is nothing I can do.” The nurse had tried to sound sympathetic, but under was distracted annoyance. Many of the little prep kids were demanding in the first weeks of school, homesick and use to getting their way. And she had already had to deal with Dudley Dursley’s tantrums 5 times in the last 4 weeks. She was not now adding Harry’s little fits to that list. She needn’t have worried, her little speech had had the desired effect on Harry, he would not bother her again. Because Harry had understood and had learnt. Bringing attention down on yourself just earns worse punishment. No one cares.
Harry often dreamt of running away. It wasn’t as if it would be very different living on the streets. Sure the shed was dry, but in summer the stifling heat was almost unbearable, and the freezing cold in winter, when the wind howled through the gaps in the walls, when his toes went a strange waxy white, and every breath burned in the cold, those nights haunted his nightmares. And sure, the Dursley’s threw away a lot of food, more then enough for Harry to find something to eat in the bins at night (he might in fact have been eating better now then before), but other people must also throw away food. And if he was away, he could beg from people who had never heard of him, not know that he was a troublemaker and filth. If he picked a place close to a decent public toilet he wouldn’t have to walk the 5 blocks he did now to use the bathroom (or remember where the old dug holes were in the backyard, so he could avoid digging up his own waste late at night when he really need to go).
But there were two immediate problems he could foresee. The first was clothes. Petunia, gratingly but fairly regularly, gave him Dudley’s old clothes. Sure, they were too big, and often stained, but they were (at that point) clean and he had no money to buy others, and layering them in winter had been the difference between waking up and not. He had also, over the months, made a nice little nest of the oldest and most stained clothes as a bed.
The second, and bigger problem, was if he ran away he couldn’t go to school anymore. And although school was lonely, where he was looked down on and had its own set of problems, it was the only source of two of his great joys in life: one, hot meals in the lunch room, and two, the library. He got one tray of food every day as part of the school lunch program, and Harry made sure to take as much hot food, often meat, as possible. Veggies and bread he was happy to take from the bin because it was obvious when they had gone bad, and as Dudley refused to eat them, a lot was thrown out. But it was much harder to tell how long meat had been in the fridge before Petunia had discarded it, and then how long it had been in the bin before Harry found it. Harry sometimes wondered if Petunia didn’t put the really old stuff on top on purpose, as they were both aware she knew he ate from the bins. He was very careful that Vernon never caught him at it. He had absolutely no wish to find out what would happen then. So meat he tried to eat only at school, unless he was desperate. Books however, he had no other source of but the school library. Harry loved the library, it was away from Dudley’s fists in the yard, and the books never hurt him, and provided an escape from his life. And once the librarian made sure he washed his hands before touching any books, she left him alone. There were worlds pressed between the pages, worlds where good things happened to good people, and bad people were punished. He knew he wasn’t a good person, that he was a filthy animal, but still, he would really like to live in a world where justice was served. Where a teenage girl could solve a murder mystery by following clues. Or where a wardrobe hid a grand adventure. Worlds with secrets in grand mansions and beautiful hidden gardens to explore. Worlds were spiders spun art to save pigs from death. Where missing experimenting fathers lead to travels in time. Where orphanages existed and there lived twelve little girls in two straight lines. Harry thought he might enjoy living in an orphanage. It was a pity that, despite what Vernon used to yell at him, they didn’t exist in England anymore, having been replaced long ago with fostering and government care.
Really, Harry would prefer anywhere but here. But life had taught him well. Such happy places and ends only existed in books. And although he knew it was bad now, it could get worse. One day he had gone from living in a cupboard, to living in a shed. Tomorrow Vernon might decided to throw him truly away, and Harry wasn’t sure anyone would notice at all.
Then in the middle of summer, just one week before Harry would turn 9 years old, everything changed with a soft hiss.
Dudley had seen a show on TV about a man who did reptile shows. Of course, he immediately demanded a show be put on for him. He was surprisingly persistent about it, Harry could hear the yells from the shed everyday for a week. A party must have been organised, because he was told in no uncertain terms that he would not leave the shed for all of Saturday, not even to do his normal chores in the garden.
Harry didn’t mind so much, the summer was shaping up to be a stinker, and working in the garden had given him bad sunburn on the back of his neck. Being made to stay in the shade all day would be ok, even if that meant no access to the hose. But Saturday rocked around and Harry was shocked when Petunia came out to his shed, a bundle in her hands.
“Put these cloths on. William has canceled at the last minute and we need to make up the numbers. You will stay at the back of the room, you will not touch anything, you will not speak. Is that understood?”
Harry was quietly stunned, not only would he be allowed in the house, but he got to go to the party? And it was a week before his birthday! He could pretend, in the very darkest quietest corner of his mind, that this party was for him. He had even gotten a present of new clothes! “Yes, Aunt Petunia.”
It took only a minute for Harry to change, and then he was inside the house, kitchen door closing behind him. It was weird to be inside. Harry couldn’t help but flinch away at the sounds of laughter in the lounge. He creeped into the room and stood up at the back, against his old cupboard door. His head almost reached the top of the smaller side of the door frame, and he thought maybe the shed wasn’t so bad, at least he wasn’t cramped up in it.
There was a knock at the door, and Petunia let in a tall thin bald man, whose face was dominated by a giant smile. He was wearing a shirt and trousers in a colour somewhere between green and brown. They both had more pockets then he had ever seen on clothing. In each hand he had a large black box the top of which was filled with tiny pencil sized holes. Behind him came a young women, who had the same round happy face, and giant grin. She at least had hair, thick and brown and in a complex braid down her back. She was also carrying two large boxes, before leaving and return with two more.
“Where would you like us to set up?”
“Here in the lounge. As you can see I have your required 10 children.”
“Yes, yes,” the man was nodding happily. He move past the 9 kids sitting around the lounge, Dudley's giant form front and center. Harry thought Dudley looked like a toad surrounded by buzzing flies.
The man then proceeded to tell the room all about lizard and snakes, before opening the first box and lifting a large grey lizard out. Harry's attention, however, had been caught by the soft hisses that sounded like it was coming from one the other boxes.
“Stupid shinny man, I will not be prodded! You will open this box, and I will bite you! I will bite any who try and poke me!”
The man had stopped talking, asking if there were any questions. “Make it move,” Dudley whined at his father.
To which the man had chuckled, “Betsy here is very placid. If you’re gentle you can pet her.”
Dudley jumped at the chance, pushing two of his lackeys out of the way when they didn’t move fast enough. In the commotion, Harry couldn’t hear the hiss any more. A shed skin and some teeth were handed around, while the man spoke of crocodiles.
After that they were shown a massive python, which Dudley posed with for Petunia. The other children (apart from Harry) went forward and also had photo with the giant snake curled around their shoulders. Harry kinda thought it was stupid to let a snake known for squeezing it prey to death to wrap itself around your neck, but he keep his month shut.
The next was a few snake skulls, which when they were past to Harry, he thought he felt oddly delicate. How something so fine could kill was thrilling. The man was talking all about venom and milking a snake. To illustrate he open one of the smaller boxes, and Harry froze as he heard the hissing voice again. The snake was a beautiful soft blue grey, not very large, only maybe 2 ft long, but it was hard to tell with its body writhing to try and get away. Its head was a large diamond, and fit easily in the reptile mans pinching hand.
“That hurts shinny man! I will kill you! I will be happy to watch you scream in pain! Let me go!”
“The Sri Lankan Pit Viper is not a deadly viper in most cases. As long as you get to medical attention quickly. Sir Hiss here was donated only last week to me after the death of his old owner.”
The reptile man continued as if the twisting form in his hand, his fingers pressed tightly around the snakes head, wasn’t promising his death. The man had a jar with a stretch of rubber over the top, which pressed the snaked open jaw to. The hissing become muffled, as the snake continued, “I will kill you! It hurts! Let me go!”
“He will be milked regularly, and the venom is sent to special centers where they can make an antivenin.”
Quickly the snakes dripping fangs stopped, and the man put the now exhausted snake back in its box, before tightly capping the jar and then passing it around. No one bother to hand the jar to Harry, still frozen at the back of the room. Couldn’t anyone else hear the snake? He had been shouting! But Harry knew no one else could. Snakes didn’t talk. And if Harry thought he was hearing them it was not a good sign at all.
Harry couldn’t say what else the man said, he had a brief impression of frogs from the last box, but he couldn’t process anything. Soon the man was asking questions again, and everyone was jostling around. Harry creeped forward and crouched next to the box where he could still hear the exhausted snakes grumbling, even if he couldn’t make out any words.
“Hello?” He whispered. No one was paying him any attention. “Can you really talk? Why can no one else hear you?”
“Who is that? Who speaks?” Harry peered down into the dark box, though the tiny holes. One large slitted eye regarded him back.
“My name is Harry.”
“A little man? A speaker.”
“Do you mean a boy?”
“Yessss.”
“Then I guess so. Why can’t everyone else hear you?”
“I will tell you little speaker, if you get me out of this box.”
“I can’t do that!”
“Just undo the latch and I will do the rest.”
Harry considered. He would get in such trouble if caught. But he really wanted to know why he could hear the snake and no one else could. So he guess he just had to make sure he didn’t get caught. “I’ll undo the latch, but wait until I’m on the other side of the room before you do anything.”
“Done little speaker. I will hide and find you after.”
Harry flicked the heavy bolt off, and lifted the latch. He then quickly moved back in front of the cupboard, checking to see if anyone noticed, but everyone was still to involved in the frogs to care.
Only because he watching for it did he see the lid lift and the snake slither out of the box and under the couch. For a brightly coloured snake, Sir Hiss sure could disappear when he wanted.
The show was quickly winding up. Harry stood nervously to one side, trying to not look at the now empty box. But to his surprise, when the open latch was noticed, the girl looked in the box and heaved a sigh of relief then closed it and took the box outside, not saying anything about the lack of snake. Had Harry imaged the whole thing? Maybe he was going crazy. It wouldn’t surprise Harry at all if he was. He had read only a month ago that prolonged social isolation made people go crazy. He had just thought it meant all social contact, and people still interacted with him, if only to insult him.
As the reptile man was hustled out, so too was Harry, past the large platters of food in the kitchen. Hopefully there would be lots of left overs. Petunia might even put them out tonight if he was lucky.
Petunia closed the door to the shed behind him with a hiss very similar to the snakes, “Stay here and don’t make a noise.”
“Yes Aunt Petunia.”
Harry sat on the edge of his nest of rags, now a good foot thick, and actually quiet comfortable, if somewhat smelly. It was hard to tell time in the shed, but after the noise from the house had died down, and the sun shifted to the long twilight of the summer time, Harry was dropping in almost sleep.
Until a soft hiss cut through the quiet, “Little speaker, let me in before those pigs see me.”
Harry jerked up right and quickly opened the shed door. There, almost invisible against the green grass, was the viper. The viper didn’t hesitate to wind itself up Harry's leg and hiss, “Well, close the door!”
Harry did, and found himself in the deep dark of the shed. He was afraid to move with snake now draped around his neck.
“Sit down little speaker and we will talk.”
“Right yes. Sorry.” Harry was trembling. There was a venomous snake around his neck, and he doubted the Durselys would do anything to help him if he was bitten.
There was a moment of quiet, then the snake hissed, “I left behind a skin and illusion. The stupid shinny man will not notice I am missing until tomorrow. They will not know it was you. So stop trembling like prey.”
Harry swallowed. “What do you mean illusion? Is that why only I can hear you?”
“Yes and no. You are a speaker. Speakers are very rare. I have never meet one before. But before I was left with the shinny man I lived with a witch for a little while. She spoke about such thing sometimes. She liked to pretend she could understand me. It was from her I learnt to make a false image.”
“Oh. Wait a witch? Like a evil old women?”
“She was not old. She was only your size. I do not know if she was evil.”
“Like a real witch?” Harry’s voice was flatly disbelieving. A talking snake sure, but witches? Especially what sounded like kid witches? No.
“Yesss a real witch.”
“How did you end up with the shinny man then?”
“The little witch got big, one day she went away and didn’t come back. Her brother sold me. He did not like me at all, he always smelt of fear and no magic. That day he smelt of grief.”
“Oh.”
“You have magic too little speaker. I will stay with you. You are now my little speaker. My Harry-mine. If you try and sell me or leave me behind I will bit you.”
“I can’t have magic! Magic isn’t real!”
“You are magic. Now go to sleep. I’m tried.”
“You can’t just! I’m not yours to order around!”
“Oh really Harry-mine? You want me to bite you?”
“No!”
“Then do what I say.” Then the snake cooed. It was the most disturbing sound. “Do not worry Harry-mine. I will take care of you. You are mine after all.”
Which Harry found surprisingly comforting, and he settled slide ways into the nest. He didn’t have a lot of choice, and the snake hadn’t bitten him yet. Just before slipping into sleep quickly, soft scales pressed against his neck, Harry thought to himself, best birthday ever./i>
Harry was informed the next day that the snake would not, absolutely not, answer to ‘Sir Hiss’. As Harry weeded in the burning sun, the snake curled up next to him on a nearby rock. The snake assured Harry he would know if Petunia or Dudley decided to come out into the yard. So they debated what to call the snake. After much back and forth, mostly of Harry suggesting names he had read and explaining their meaning before the snake vetoed them, they settled on ‘Apep’ after the ancient Egyptian god. Harry had argued that the snake shouldn’t take the name of a god normally representing evil, but the snake had said he like being associated with darkness and chaos.
And maybe he was a little evil. But not, of course, to his Harry.
Harry wasn’t sure if the snake was joking or not. He decided he didn’t really care.
Apep went everywhere with Harry, normally curled around his neck. No one seemed to see Apep, if they ever looked at Harry at all. At night, when Harry looked through the bins, the snake hunted mice from under the house. Harry had asked how the snake was so active at night time, but Apep had simply said it was because Harry was magic. Well, and then tried to explain about how Harry leaked magic everywhere, and Apep was, as Harry’s master, able to soak it all up. Apep also mentioned that Harry wouldn’t be having any more accidental magic because of it, unless his life was in danger. Which started a whole other talk about accidental magic. When confronted with the fact his freakishness was magic, Harry had flatly denied it, until both Harry and Apep had been exhausted and cranky. Apep gave in, and said simply that Harry would get a letter eventually and go to the Magic School.
“But I can’t afford a boarding school! The Dursely's will never pay for it.”
“You will go. You must. You will have to get money then.”
“How?”
“I will think of something.”
Apep had thought about it a long time for a snake, in fact all week. He was a very smart snake, helped along being born and raised in high magic fields, and now bound to Harry’s powerful magic. Most normal snakes thought little but about eating, sleeping, and mating. Apep, however, thought about a lot of things, and learned. The witch had done lots of magic in front of him, and some he found he could do too. Not all the complex things, but hiding, and a little misdirection were easy. Illusions. And now, bound to his Harry, that magic was even easier. Apep could feel things inside him changing. But he didn’t think he should bother Harry with that. Harry-mine had enough to worry about. Like getting money.