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"Boy!"
Harry sighs ever-so-softly at that familiar nickname. He swings his feet off the lumpy mattress, opening the creaky cupboard door with a certain resignation that can only be weathered after years of the same dull routine (Sunday, Tuesday, Thursday are his day for the more undesirable duties). He trots into the creme tiled kitchen and shoves up his battered sleeves in anticipation for the drawn-out task ahead: dishes.
At seven years old, Harry's used to completing the frighteningly basic household chores of the Dursley family.
One would think that they have enough help with their house 'helper', Minccino, but Harry assumes they enjoy watching him work from that mighty throne of a leather couch. He doesn't mind though; Minccino isn't bad company, as she's certainly much better than the alternative.
Entering, Harry nods to the dust-coated Pokemon as she fluffs her stone grey tail vigorously against the stubborn counter stains. Minccino flicks her snow-tipped ears in acknowledgement of him, but refrains from emitting any sort of squeak, which would surely result in a stern hand from the great oaf currently molded into his reading chair, doing just about everything that isn't reading.
Harry looks to his spindly aunt for confirmation that he is embarking on the correct task and, judging by Petunia's nasty tilt-of-head towards the sink, he's guessed correctly. Unafraid of the plates piled on top of one another like mounds, he sets to work, as he'd like to continue reading the book he checked out from the Little Winging library just down the street (The Starter Selection it's called; the little old librarian seems to have a soft spot for him, so she remains tight-lipped at the name and picture of 'Vernon Dursley' on Harry's library card. To be fair, his uncle seldom uses it—and never for books pertaining to Pokemon of all things) even if it's only for five minutes.
He scrubs and scratches absentmindedly at the fine china for what seems like days, until finally the last plate is pristine and polished. He runs his finger across his scar, eyes drooping. Minccino has retreated to her cage and is likely sound asleep, considering the time. Harry tip-toes to his tiny cupboard and yawns with drowsiness. He stretches his branchy arms and cracks his back like a rusty machine, readying himself for sleep. He'll need it for school tomorrow; thankfully he didn't have utter displeasure of encountering Dudley today, but the same won't be said for a school day.
To his dismay, just as he tugs off his shirt, Petunia orders, "Boy, come and feed the rat!" from the living room where she's probably lounging, virtually carefree, save her prominent despise for her burden of a nephew. Harry bites back the urge to correct her—Minccino is definitely not a rat, but whether Dudley is could be debated. Harry knows full well that this last ten minutes awake could cost him the needed energy to slip away from Dudley and his blind followers tomorrow morning, but he heads to the pantry anyways, selecting the stale, off-brand Pokemon food that the Dursleys feed to their 'rat' in minimal amounts. So much for a few minutes to read.
Harry passes the living room and is promptly ignored by his TV-mesmerized aunt and uncle—fine by him, really, they could die on that couch for all he cares (which he, a seven year old, shouldn't be thinking about, but his circumstances have matured him years above his physical age).
The floorboards squeal at him lightly as he makes his way over to the minuscule cage that Petunia bought for Minccino about a year ago (up until then, she was sleeping un-soundly outside, in their mediocre garden. Harry thinks that they didn't want the neighbors questioning their treatment of the Pokémon, resulting in the thirteen-dollar wooden cage that Minccino treasures despite its worthlessness). He unhooks the latch and stifles a giggle at the pokemon's blatant eagerness to feast.
Usually, Uncle Vernon leaves five-ish pebbles of food for her to eat, which Harry knows is way under the regulations for feeding house-approved pokemon.
So, Harry gingerly drops twenty or so chestnut pebbles into Minccino's plastic dish, trying not to make too much noise.
The chinchilla Pokémon poofs out its tail in startled gratitude and leaps out of the meticulously built wood chip nest and towards the bowl. She chomps down on the top layer like she hasn't eaten in days—which, to be sadly honest, could be true. It wouldn't be the first time the Dursleys have forgotten about the hardworking creature doing all of the heavy lifting.
From his angle, Harry can count the ribs on the ravenous normal-type, just like he can do for himself in the bathroom mirror these days. Her tufts of fur are disheveled and matted in the same way his hair is. He never speaks out against his family's decidedly unorthodox treatment of him, but something about seeing innocent Minccino on the brink of starvation causes brutal resentment to rear its head inside of him. He has half a mind to march into the living room and demand that his uncle explain himself.
Harry knows for a fact that Minccino tend to detest uncleanliness (he made sure to read about them on one of his discreet library escapades), and the dirt and muck gathered on this one's skin must be killing her. Of course, Uncle Vernon would never bother in a million years to groom such a 'wretched' Pokémon. After all, they're either dangerous animals or household servants (which is scarily familiar to how they appear to perceive Harry). The acrimony seethes in the pits of his stomach, slowly burning his core, because how could anyone treat a living thing like this? How can these people treat him like this?
But all at once, that ire is sucked out of him, and his ember burns out, like it was never there at all.
Unaware of the unnatural shift to calm, he shakes his head and winks good-naturedly at Minccino, whose mouth is packed with food, as if to say, 'Shh, this can be our little secret' in regards to the copious (at least in their eyes) amount of food in her bowl.
He waves her goodnight and pads past Petunia and Vernon, this time staying entirely out of sight in case they decide to send him to fetch the mail or something.
The cupboard door closes with a tiny dink, but it's drowned out by the artificial laughter bursting from the speakers in the other room (Harry notes that he should snatch something from the library recycling bin to soundproof his walls; he saw a bit of discarded foam last week that could still be there). He pulls his scratchy blanket up to his bony shoulders, accepting that he's never going to find a comfortable position with a mattress of this quality.
He simply closes his eyes and wonders if holding his breath until he passes out will speed up the process.
Strangely, that thought flees his mind as quick as it entered and Harry finds himself in a blissfully dreamless sleep.
***
"'Pet?"
SMACK.
Harry jolts out of bed as if he'a been hit with a thunderbolt, scraping his head on the wood shelf he fashioned a month or two ago. An echoed sort of laughing reaches his ears, reminding him of a tickled child.
Disoriented, he hastily rubs the sleep out of his eyes and assesses the interruptor of the only peaceful sleep he's had all month.
It takes a moment to comprehend what he sees.
At his eye level, a tiny, purple cloth-looking Pokémon floats, gazing at him with a great level of amusement.
Reassured that it isn't Uncle Dursley coming to discipline him, Harry actually experiences a rare piece of delight (See, he doesn't often come across pokemon other than Minccino, since the general public pretty much shuns any non-normal-type out there. He's gone to those horrible Poke-Zoos a few times, but they always make him feel bad for the Pokémon kept inside. But, anytime he's stumbled upon a wild Pidgey or Pidove, he's been over the moon with excitement and curiosity, and this instance isn't any different).
"Hey there," Harry mumbles in silent awe as the amber-eyed creature nuzzles playfully against his arm, "What exactly are you?"
"Shuppet!" It responds in a high-toned voice, rearing its tiny horn-thing upwards.
"Shuppet?" Harry rolls out the name on his tongue and smiles down at the Pokémon, "Well, hello, Shuppet. My name is Harry Potter, and I'm not going to hurt you."
He feels the need to reassure, and it rams its horn against him in an affectionate manner, and Harry's in love.
Harry is entirely engulfed by the need to stop by the library and find out everything he can about this creature. He checks the watch that he pick-pocketed from Vernon and determines that if he leaves within five minutes, Miss Lola, the Monday-Thursday librarian who adores Harry, should be opening the library and might loan Harry a book. Dudley won't awake for another twenty minutes, since he takes the bus to school (not mentioning it's a ten minute walk, tops).
"Hey, little guy—" he starts, but is interrupted by an indignant screech from Shuppet. Harry imagines that it would cross its arms if it had then. It widens its three-toned eyes at Harry, willing him to understand something.
Harry stares at the purple pokemon for thirty seconds until it dawns on him.
"Hey, little—girl? Is that what you're saying? Are you a girl?" Harry asks shyly, slowly processing.
The Shuppet gives a satisfied nod and morphs her mouth into a smile.
"Alright," Harry fetches his sorry excuse for a backpack and motions to the door, "Wanna go with me to the library?"
"Shuppet!" She enthuses and promptly phases through the door.
Harry chuckles to himself, "I'll take that as a yes."
***
"Hi, Miss Lola," Harry tucks his hand behind his back and bows his moppy hair in greeting. He spots Shuppet performing loop-de-loops by the bookshelves in the back and has to stifle his laughter (Though, he doesn't believe Miss Lola would mind a Pokémon in her establishment. She previously disclosed to him that her daughter is a trainer, which if Vernon found out about, he would be banned from the library).
"Oh, Harry, dear! It's so nice to see you!" Miss Lola coos at him, her extravagant earrings jingling like bells, "Did you enjoy the book I recommend last time?" Her hazel eyes shine with a motherly love that he scarcely feels anymore.
"Very much so, Miss," Harry sets Vernon's library card on the counter, "I particularly enjoyed the chapter on Charizard's split Mega Evolutions."
"Ah, yes, the double Mega is an intriguing phenomenon, especially when you consider that the only other documented split is Mewtwo, which is only speculation thus far. I can recommend another book on Megas if you prefer?" She scans his card and points to a section on the other side of the library.
"Thank you for the offer," Harry grins sheepishly, ignoring the silly faces Shuppet is exuding in the background, "But I'm looking for any information on the Pokémon Shuppet, if you have it?"
"Shuppet?" She asks, typing something into her computer, reading the info out, "The puppet pokemon...evolves into Banette...looks like we've got four books on or including it. The Peculiar Anatomy of Ghost Types, The Lost Dolls: Shuppet and Mimikyu, How to Train Volume 47: Shuppet and Banette, and The Adventures of Sentient Rag are all unchecked-out as of now. Which one tickles your fancy?"
"I'll have to go with the third one, Miss."
"What have I said about calling me Miss, Harry?"
Harry sighs, "Sorry, Mis—Lola. Where would I find this book?"
"Should be over with the other How to Train series books," motions over to one of the farther shelves, rising to grab it, "Oh, and Harry?"
"Yes, Lola?"
She pulls out the book, zips her lips tight with her finger and points a thumb behind her, directly at Shuppet, "Your secret's safe with me."
Harry beams at her while Shuppet looks scandalized that she wasn't sneaky enough, "Thanks, Miss!" He jovially plucks from her hand and dashes through the door, beelining for school so that he can settle on one of the benches and read. Shuppet zooms behind him, exuding a haunting snicker.
Miss Lola crosses her arms, and sticks her head out the doorway.
"Harry, I told you to call me Lola!"
"Sorry, Miss!"
She rolls her eyes.
***
(Excerpts from) How To Train Volume 47: Shuppet and Banette: Chapter 1: The Basics
Shuppet: the puppet Pokémon
Egg Group: Amorphous
Evolution: Banette (through training)
Shuppet is a generally nocturnal pokemon, though occasionally arising in daylight for feeding...Shuppet snack on negative emotions and are attracted to feelings of strong jealously or vindictiveness...They tend to appear in swarms, searching for those who carry strong grudges...Use their horn to capture human emotion...
"This makes you sound a tad sinister, Shuppet."
Shuppet settles into his lap as cheery-eyed students pile into the school, only paying her newfound friend any sort of mind. She uses some unknown move that leaves her body almost translucent. Harry stares curiously.
"Are you the reason that I had such a good night's sleep last night? Were you 'eating' my bad emotions?" Harry inquires, stroking her head.
Shuppet just hovers up to him and licks his face.
"Ew, that's gross," Harry giggles, deciding he could care less about the burly boys pointing and whispering about him from the other side of the nearest classroom window.
Maybe Shuppet consuming his negative emotions isn't such a bad thing?
"Hey, Shuppet?"
"Shup?"
Harry inhales deeply.
"Wanna be my friend?"
Shuppet freezes.
"It's okay if you don—oof. Alright, that's good enough for me. You can get off my face now—hey, that's mine!"
Shuppet smirks mischievously.
"Give that back!"
But there's no malice in his words.