Chapter Text
Inside house number four on Privet Drive lived the most perfectly normal family, the Dursleys.
Mr. Dursley worked a perfectly normal job at a perfectly normal office building. He specialized in big business, important meetings, and heavy briefcases. Every morning, he would leave promptly at eight am and return home at six pm. He would kiss his wife, Petunia, on the cheek before plopping himself down at the kitchen table for supper.
Mrs. Dursley was known by all their perfect neighbors. Her award-winning blueberry muffins always brought crowds to the church bake sale. She made sure she had a presence in every PTA meeting, book club, and game of bridge.
Dudley Dursley lived a perfectly normal school life. He had many friends at school, loved to play video games, and always brought home ‘A’s on his report card.
Even the inside of the Dursleys’ home was perfectly normal. Family photographs neatly decorated the walls, tables, and even the kitchen counters. Petunia Dursley would bring in flowers from her garden and place them neatly in ceramic vases to brighten up their home. The interior was always neat and tidy, not a hair or crumb to be found anywhere.
Yes, the Dursleys lived a very perfect life. Their only imperfections had been buried in a broom closet that was barely noticeable under their staircase. Every pink slip, second-place ribbon, and B- report card made its way into this room.
And, this dark corner of the home just happened to be where Harry Potter slept. The biggest imperfection of all.
—
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Harry jolted up, nearly banging his head on a wooden plank that was only a cozy few inches above his skull.
“Harry! Get up!” Mrs. Dursley screeched, her shrill voice stabbing straight through his eardrum and into his brain. Groggily, he slapped his hand around the tiny shelf above his bed until his palm landed on a thick pair of circle lenses. He carefully put on his glasses and looked at the small alarm clock by his bed. It was 7:00 AM. Normally on Saturdays, he was allowed to sleep in until 7:30. Why was Petunia so mad then?
“Get up, now!” She ordered, once again in a piercing voice that gave Harry a headache.
“I’m almost ready,” he replied, though he hadn’t even begun to get dressed.
Petunia huffed, her heels clicking against the wooden floors as she made her way back to the kitchen. Harry could hear the sounds of a pan banging against the stove. Loud popping and hissing noises soon followed after.
Harry knew this meant that he was in trouble. Every day, it was his responsibility to get breakfast started. Normally the Dursleys prefer to sleep in on the weekends, so he wasn’t expecting to need to have breakfast already made. Harry rolled himself out of bed and began the search for a matching pair of socks.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
“Aren’t you ready yet?” Petunia huffed. “I need you to watch the bacon. I’m nowhere near finished decorating for Dudley’s birthday.”
Harry groaned.
“Excuse me?” She snapped.
“Nothing! Sorry, almost ready,” Harry responded, yanking on a pair of trousers. Dudley’s birthday… how could he have forgotten? Once he finished buttoning up his shirt, he made his way down the hall and to the kitchen.
The kitchen table was barely recognizable under the piles and piles of presents for Dudley. He could see, peeking out behind some wrapping paper, that Dudley had gotten a new computer. And a second television. And a new video game console. Of course he did.
The largest present in the room was a tall red punching bag. A silver bow was taped to the very top since it was a bit too ridiculously shaped to wrap up. Harry mentally began to refer to this punching bag as “his replacement”. Dudley loved to hit him. He would chase Harry around the house or the backyard, trying to slam his fist into the boy’s face. Usually, Harry was nimble enough to outrun these attacks. But some days, he was not so lucky.
From living in a dark cupboard most of his life, Harry was extremely small and scrawny. And, since all of his clothes were hand-me-downs from Dudley, he always looked even tinier. Harry’s hollow face was curtained by wild and thick black hair. His green eyes were very vibrant against his tan skin but were dulled out by the thick-framed glasses he always wore. They were a horribly ugly pair, but available for Mrs. Dursley to buy at a great discount. They were now only held together by thick layers of scotch tape because of all the times Dudley punched him square in the nose. His nose was Dudley’s favorite area to punch. He would always make commentary that he was “helping” Harry. Once, he told Harry that maybe if he hit him hard enough, his parents would be forced to get him a nose job.
The one thing Harry strangely liked about his appearance was the thin scar on his forehead in the shape of a lightning bolt. He has had it for as long as he could remember. When he had asked Mrs. Dursley how he had gotten the scar, she always had the same response.
“In the car crash,” she huffed. “When your parents passed away. Stop asking questions.”
Stop asking questions quickly became Harry’s mantra. It was the only true way to ensure peace in the house.
Vernon Dursley, Mr. Dursley, walked into the kitchen. As he passed by Harry, he whacked the back of his head with this morning’s newspaper. “Do you ever comb that hair?!” He barked.
No matter how many times Mr. Dursley had brought him to the barber to get his head shaved, his hair always grew back fast and thick.
Dudley cheerfully entered the kitchen, followed closely behind by Mrs. Dursley. He began to count his presents out loud. Slowly, while enunciating every number. Harry began to wonder why Dudley did not have the brain capacity to count in his head.
Carefully, Harry arranged a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast for Dudley. He quietly placed it on the table, which barely had enough room for any dishes at this point. He crammed the second plate in front of Mr. Dursley, who ignored him in favor of reading the paper.
“Thirty-four, thirty-five, thirty-six…” Dudley paused. He craned his neck around the room, his eyes scanning his environment. His face fell.
“Thirty-six? Is that really all?” Dudley asked, his voice wavering. “That’s two less than last year.“ His eyes watered and his lips quivered. This was an expression Harry had seen countless times. It was his first line of defense to get his way: pity.
“Darling, you didn’t count Auntie Marge’s presents!” Mrs. Dursley responded, a slight panic in her tone. “They’re right over-“
“This is only thirty-seven,” he growled, his face contorting into an ugly red shape.
Mrs. Dursley, sensing the danger, was quick to add on, “And father and I will buy you an extra two presents today when we are out!”
Dudley, pleased with himself, sat back down and began scarfing down his breakfast. Mr. Dursley chuckled, flipping his newspaper to the next page. “Just like me when I was a boy,” he quipped.
At that moment, the telephone rang. Mrs. Dursley quickly perked up and ran to answer the line. Harry watched as Dudley ripped apart wrapping paper, sending scraps flying everywhere. He wasn’t even upset that Dudley had gotten tons of new toys and electronics, but that he would have to sweep up all of this paper later on.
Mrs. Dursley re-entered the room, sulking with every step. “Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figgs broke her leg. She said she wouldn’t be able to take him.” She dismissively waved her hand in Harry’s direction.
Harry tried hard to hold back his sigh of relief. Every year, on Dudley’s birthday, the Dursleys would go out to amazing restaurants and amusement parks. And, every single year, Harry was forced to spend the day with Mrs. Figgs. She was a mad old lady who smelled of cabbage and talked on and on about her twenty-nine cats.
“Now what are we going to do?” Petunia groaned. She glared at Harry, her stare feeling almost accusatory as if Harry had just walked over to Mrs. Figgs' house and broken her leg himself.
“Phone Marge?” Vernon suggested.
“Oh please,” she scoffed. “You know she doesn’t like him.”
The Dursleys often spoke about Harry like this, and in front of him too. It’s almost like they viewed him as a creature incapable of understanding their superiority over him.
“You could just leave me here,” Harry offered. He would rather be alone. He might even get the chance to watch television or try playing a video game.
“And let you destroy the house?” Mrs. Dursley snarled. “No, thank you.”
Harry didn’t understand her argument. He was constantly tasked with the responsibility of cleaning and tidying, so why would he make a mess? It would just make his own life ten times harder.
“I guess we could bring him with us,” Petunia mused. “…. And we’ll just have him sit in the car.”
“He’s not sitting alone in my new car!” Vernon exclaimed, slapping his newspaper onto the dining room table.
Dudley began wailing. It was sudden and as ear-piercing as his mother’s. Mrs. Dursley rushed over to his side, wrapping her spindly arms around him for comfort. “Don’t worry honey, we won’t let him ruin your big day.”
“I-I… don’t… want… him… to… come!” Dudley screamed through huge, pretend sobs.
Just then, the doorbell rang. Dudley sucked back in his tears, his face mellowing out almost instantly. It was terrifying how naturally that ability came to him. Vernon and Petunia exchanged a look. They were here.
Vernon sighed heavily, standing up from the dining room table. He placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. Not reassuringly, but as a way of asserting control. “As we practiced?” Vernon gestured toward the door. Harry swallowed.
“As we practiced.”
The boy at the door was Piers Polkiss, Dudley’s best friend. Harry quietly let himself be introduced by Vernon. “Piers, this is Harry. He’s a foreign exchange student from India. We’re hosting him while he is attending school.”
As he shook the boy’s hand, Harry felt a sharp pain in his chest. He wanted to say the truth. He wanted to tell Piers that he was not a foreign exchange student. That he was just a regular boy living with his aunt and uncle. That Dudley was his cousin, no matter how many times the boy claimed that he would “never be related to such an ugly thing”.
But, a small part of him liked Uncle Vernon’s version better. He imagined a life where he was a foreign exchange student. And, even though the Dursleys made his time here Hell, he would be able to return home one day.
—
Harry stared quietly at the passing trees, silently thanking Lady Luck. Mystical forces were the only logical explanation for his fortune. Since the Dursleys always needed to keep up their appearances in front of guests, they needed to include him in today’s outing.
Right before Harry got into the car, Uncle Vernon made sure to pull him aside. “I’m warning you,” he breathed in Harry’s face, the horrid smell offending his nostrils. “If you step out of line, one time, I’ll lock you in the cupboard until next Christmas.”
“I wouldn’t do anything,” Harry replied, exasperated. Vernon’s threat wasn’t very effective. Harry knew that Vernon would rather have him clean the house than just live immobilized in the cupboard. They wouldn’t survive without him.
However, though Harry didn’t consciously try to ruin things for the Dursleys, he couldn’t help the strange and unexplainable things that liked to happen around him.
One time, Aunt Petunia sat him down in the kitchen and hacked off all his hair until he was practically bald. She said she was tired of him looking so ridiculous, and that the barbers never did the job quite right. She left an uneven amount of bangs on his head, to hide his “hideous scar”. Dudley actually peed himself laughing that night. However, once Harry had gone to bed, he had woke up the next morning with a head full of hair as if the previous day never happened. Aunt Petunia was furious, but Harry was nothing but confused.
Another time, Aunt Petunia had refused to buy Harry a new sweater, insisting that the ugly and ripped hand-me-down from Dudley would keep him warm all winter. When Harry argued back, she tried to force this sweater over his head. Every single time she tried to force the sweater onto him, it shrank smaller and smaller. Eventually, the sweater became so small, it wouldn’t even fit a teddy bear. Thankfully, Aunt Petunia decided that it must have shrunk in the wash.
Harry refused to let anything go wrong today. If he stayed quiet and good, maybe the Dursleys would bring him along to their other outings. Even if they left him to entertain himself, it was better than being left with Mrs. Figgs.
As Uncle Vernon drove, he began to complain. Complaining was Uncle Vernon’s favorite activity. He liked to complain about his co-workers, politics, and most importantly, Harry. However, today he decided to complain about motorcycles. He slammed on the horn with his fist.
“Another motorcycle cutting me off!” Vernon roared. “They think that they don’t have to follow any of the rules!”
"I had a dream about a motorcycle.” The words tumbled out of Harry’s mouth before he even realized he was speaking. “It was flying.”
Suddenly, Harry was thrust forward, his seatbelt snapping him and everyone else back into place. He winced, looking up at Uncle Vernon’s face that was now twisted with fury. “MOTORCYCLES DO NOT FLY.”
Dudley and Piers snickered, whispering amongst themselves.
“I know they don’t,” Harry replied, trying not to sound defensive. “It was just a dream.”
He wished he hadn’t said anything. Already, he was ruining his chances of a second outing. One thing he knew about the Dursleys: they hated the absurd. Even if it was fictional. They claimed it would give him “ideas”.
It was an extremely hot day at the zoo. Immediately, the Dursleys bought Piers and Dudley large chocolate sundaes to cool them down. When the kind lady in the ice cream van asked for what Harry wanted, Petunia quickly chimed in and ordered him a lemon ice pop (the cheapest item on the menu). Harry savored every bite.
Harry was having the best day ever. He kept his distance from Dudley and Piers, who were already bored watching the animals. They were playing a new game: who could scream the loudest and annoy the most guests? Harry pretended that he had come to visit all on his own.
When they went to the zoo restaurant during lunchtime, Dudley threw a fit when his ice cream sundae was missing a scoop. Uncle Vernon decided that Harry could have the mistake ice cream.
After lunch, they made their way over to the reptile exhibit. It was tucked away inside a dark and cave-like room. Behind the glass were a plethora of snakes, lizards, and other cold-blooded creatures. Dudley and Piers ran straight toward a large boa constrictor. The plaque above described the snake as a fierce predator. However, this “fierce predator” seemed very very sleepy.
Dudley, already growing bored, began to knock on the glass. “Move!” He ordered, trying to see some sort of action from the tired creature. The snake ignored Dudley’s pleas, continuing to sleep.
“I’m bored,” Dudley groaned, shuffling away from the window.
Harry stepped closer to the glass, his fingertips gently pressing against the cool acrylic. He felt bad for the poor snake. They lived very similar lives. Being stuck in habitats way too small for either of them. But at least Harry’s cupboard had some privacy. He could only imagine what Dudley would do to him if his door was made of glass.
The snake suddenly perked its head up, staring intensely into Harry’s eyes. Slowly, the snake slithered up to the glass, not breaking eye contact with Harry. Turning his head from side to side, Harry realized that he was completely alone. Nobody was seeing what he was seeing.
The snake jerked its head over toward Dudley and Vernon, hissing.
Harry chuckled. “I feel that way all the time. I’m sorry they bothered you."
The snake settled back down, seemingly comforted by Harry’s words.
“Have you always lived in the zoo?” Harry asked. The snake jabbed its tail upward toward its plaque: Brazilian Boa Constrictor.
“You’re from Brazil?”
The snake hissed and motioned toward the plaque again. This specimen was bred in the zoo.
“Oh. I see,” Harry replied, feeling a twinge of sadness for the creature.
“DUDLEY! LOOK AT THE SNAKE!” Piers suddenly shouted, popping out from behind Harry.
“Move!” Dudley howled, shoving Harry to the ground and out of the way.
The second Harry hit the concrete, all hell broke loose. The glass that Dudley and Piers were leaning against suddenly disappeared, causing both boys to tumble forward into the snake tank.
The large snake began to pool its body out of the exhibit and onto the floor. The other guests screamed in terror, running as fast as they could out of the reptile house. As he passed by Harry, he gave the boy a nod in acknowledgment. “Thank you,” the snake said simply, then slithered away.
The zoo director gave Mr. and Mrs. Dursley a full refund, tickets for another day, and a mountain of merch from the gift shop. Though they had no idea what happened to the glass, they took full responsibility. Dudley and Piers cried profusely, claiming that the snake almost mauled them to death. Harry couldn’t help but roll his eyes. The snake hadn’t even touched them.
“Harry, didn’t you talk to that thing?” Piers suddenly announced when they reached the car. A chill went down Harry’s spine. He watched in horror as both Mr. and Mrs. Dursley craned their necks backward to face Harry, their expressions hardened.
Once they had dropped Piers off at his house, Harry was immediately subjected to Vernon’s wrath. “You will go to your room, Harry. And I don’t want to see you until Monday morning.” His icy tone made Harry’s heart plummet into his stomach.
In his room, Harry lay in bed, staring up at the ceiling. He closed his eyes, imagining himself as a Brazilian Boa Constrictor. He imagined scaring off everyone who had ever hurt him and slithering away from Privet Drive forever.
“Happy Birthday, Dudley!” The Dursleys sang to their son. And, with Harry now gone, Dudley had a perfectly normal birthday celebration.