Chapter Text
Harry was never a talkative child. He learned early on that speaking out of turn would only result in pain. The handprints and scars that painted his skin showed the brutal lessons. He learned how to be invisible until he could almost be forgotten.
Aunt Petunia always would tell all his teachers he was a trouble maker, but after the first week to being constantly watched, he would begin to slide under the radar. Of course, Dudley didn’t help. He would bully Harry, but anytime they were caught he would pin it on harry. No matter what Dudley did it would always be Harry’s fault.
Of course, he learned that lesson quite early on. The teachers always said to just come to them if there was bullying. Once he believed that just maybe for once in his life it would work, but he soon learned to never have that much hope.
Dudley had pushed Harry off the swing in view of the teacher. When Mrs. Jones walked up to harry sniveling on the ground, he told her what happened. Through tears streaming down his face, he told her about how one second, he was swinging peacefully and the next Dudley’s meaty hand pushed against his back. Between one second and the next he was soaring across the playground.
Dudley had pushed him off from the swing. Teachers are supposed to help with bullying, right? Petunia was called about the whole incident. She managed to sweet talk the teacher into believing it was all because of her demonic nephew. Of course, her little Dudkins couldn’t do anything in her eyes.
When Harry got back home that day, he knew from one look that he was in deep trouble. Petunia’s usual pristine mask was nowhere to be seen; her face was red with anger. After that lesson he couldn’t sit down for a week. That was the last time he trusted that a teacher would actually help him.
The letter came with the rest of the mail that day. He was making breakfast as he did every morning. His height made cooking on the stove rather difficult, but it wasn’t like he had a choice in the matter. He had a stepstool to stand on, at least. Without the stepstool you could just barely see his raven hair over the burners.
Zoning out while cooking was a daily occurrence. It was the easiest way to keep from upsetting his aunt and uncle, as long as he didn’t burn the food. That was a mistake he never wanted to make again. He was jolted out of his own little world by Uncle Vernon’s booming voice. “Boy, go get the mail” Harry stirred the sausage one more time before obediently hoping off the stove and scurrying into the hall.
Like every other miserable morning the mail was sitting beneath the mail slot at the end of the hall. There was something different about it for once though, there was a large envelope that appeared to be made from a weird material, even stranger it was addressed to Harry. Looking closer he was amazed to see it was addressed to his cupboard under the stairs. No matter what, it was bad news.
Uncle Vernon would not be happy about Harry receiving mail. Even worse it was addressed to his room, or more accurately his cupboard under the stairs. Harry knew his uncle couldn’t be allowed to see it unless he wanted to cosplay a punching bag.
Glancing around Harry stuck the envelope in his waist band under his shirt. He could look at it later and figure out what to do with it then. “Hurry up boy,” he heard his uncle bellowed from the living room, because god forbid he took more than 30 seconds to accomplish a task. Harry quickly scooped up the rest of the mail in his tiny arms and made his way back to the dining room to deposit the mail in front of uncle Vernon.
Scurrying back to the kitchen Harry was relieved to discover the sausage wasn’t burnt. After finishing the food, cleaning up after his aunt, uncle and cousin along with cleaning the kitchen, aunt Petunia said “Go to your room, our favorite show is on and we will not have you ruining it.” Room was a very generous term, considering he barely fit in the space.
The envelope calling it a cupboard was probably more accurate. As soon as he had closed the door, he pulled out the letter and stuck it under his pathetic excuse for a mattress. Harry just sat there curled up in the dark instead of reading it though.
He had a few books the school library was getting rid of that he managed to sneak into his room, but he knew better than reading as soon as he got in. He would wait for a few minutes to read because he knew aunt Petunia would throw a fit if she caught him doing something that wasted time. It was a good thing too because he heard her footsteps pounding down the hallway.
The door was yanked open and Harry blinked at the sudden light. Petunia glared into the small room and griped “I guess if you are so lazy and have enough time to just sit around doing nothing you can go weed the flower bed.” If this wasn’t such a daily occurrence, he might have said something, but he had learned long ago that trying to tell his aunt anything was pointless and would just result in more pain. “Yes, aunt Petunia,” was all he said as he went to weed the flowerbed.
Weeding wasn’t as bad of a chore as it could be. As much as Harry wanted to figure out why he got mail, it would be worse to disobey Petunia. It can always be worse was his motto. As bad as life got, there was always some reason it could get worse.
Tomorrow was Saturday and Vernon would be home all day. That would be so much fun, he thought sarcastically. He wouldn’t dare let that thought show on his face though. It was exhausting to constantly do your best to be perfect only to be told you are pathetic, but it was really the best option.
Harry could feel the frigid water stabbing his scalp as if it was made of icicles. Petunia made him shower every day, which was a relief after pulling weeds in the garden all day, but he was forbidden from using any hot water. Freaks don't get hot water. Only normal people get hot water. He was lucky to be able to shower at all. At least they stopped hosing him off in the yard, that was definitely not fun. Only a little longer and he could go back to his room.
He could feel the letter beneath him through the pathetic mattress, but he knew he had to wait until he heard both Vernon’s clomping steps and Petunia’s light steps. Eventually he heard them both go upstairs, the dust raining down on him with every step. He had never been so relieved to get showered with dust.
He slowly pulled the weird envelope out of its hiding space, careful to not make a noise. With nimble fingers he flipped it over and found what looked to be a wax seal. Carefully he peeled off the seal and pulled out some more of the weird paper. At the top of the paper there was a seal and underneath the seal it read: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. What the hell is this, he wondered.
Reading farther down on the paper he learned that he was accepted to this school. He never applied to any schools and he highly doubted it was his aunt or his uncle either. They never would have anything to do with magic or anything freaky. The end of the letter read, we await your owl. What the hell does we await your owl mean? Maybe it is just a weird prank, he wondered. He didn't have any friends though. It wouldn’t make sense for it to be a prank.
Hiding the letter back under his mattress he gave it more thought. He had until his birthday to, send them an owl? That gave him a little time to figure out what the hell kind of a prank this was. Staring into the darkness of the cupboard he let himself dream that maybe, just maybe it was real.