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“It’s unfair, mate,” Ron moans, giving Harry an utterly pitying look. “‘S not your fault you have shit for guardians.” Harry nods along, putting more effort into keeping himself from bouncing on his toes than listening to his friend.
“You won’t be too lonely, Harry?” Hermione frowns. “We can stay if you would rather us to?” Ron gives Hermione a horrified, open mouthed glare. Harry tunes back into the conversation and snickers.
“No, I’ll be fine.” He means this wholeheartedly. He already has plans for today, standing ones that he’s tried his best to carry out on Hogsmeade days since his first year at Hogwarts. He hoped McGonagall wouldn’t allow him out of the castle, so he wouldn’t have to cancel them, and indeed she did deny him.
He hasn’t told Ron and Hermione about his… thing, his plans. He knows they mean well, but this isn’t something he wants to share with them. Really, that they and all their yearmates in Gryffindor were able to get their permission forms signed is a blessing. He won’t have to dodge his friends, or anyone Hermione might try to force their company on him out of concern, and will be able to take full advantage of Hogwarts being devoid of most of its students to disappear for a few hours.
“If you’re sure,” Hermione says hesitantly, though she clearly doesn’t want to stay behind either. Harry gives her a little shove, telling her and Ron to get out of here and go enjoy themselves already, and she laughs, surprised.
Harry waits impatiently for them to leave his sight, spinning around nearly fast enough to fall over once they do, and dashes away.
He’s already got his invisibility cloak, and hides himself under it after ducking around a corner. His bag is already full of his supplies — not for school, he dumped those in his trunk and replaced them for the ones he has now while his dormmates were at breakfast, every one of them early for once with the excitement for the day — so he doesn’t have to make a stop at Gryffindor tower.
It took Harry a long time to find this hidden corner of the castle, and longer still to stake it out and make sure no one ever comes here. He quite literally stumbled into it one night when he was out after curfew, having leaned against the wall to minimize any chance of Snape running into him when Harry noticed him prowling the corridor. He landed with an “oomph!” hard enough to bruise his backside and be stuck sitting uncomfortably with an injury he was too embarrassed to take to Madam Pomphrey.
He knew it was perfect with one look around. It may be a small space, with a steeply slanted ceiling that makes it look even smaller, but it was completely barren when he found it, with no window he could be heard through from outside.
It’s easy enough to cast a Lumos once he’s in, and lay the tip of his wand under a muggle plastic water bottle so the light fills the room. Harry sets that up under the lowest part of the ceiling in the room, so it’s out of the way, and he can play with the shadows it casts later.
Harry can already feel his brain start to go fuzzy, conditioned by his routine. He quickly sits down and takes his things out of his bag. If he waits too long, he’ll slip too far into this, and get to the point where he doesn’t care enough to be careful, dumping his bag over or or tossing things out at random. He’s broken several crayons this way, and that always leads to distress.
He can only buy them, and many other things, in the muggle world, and things that break stay broken unless he’s able to Reparo them, which he still isn’t the best at, despite how often he breaks his glasses. Hermione may have spoiled him in that affair.
There’s only so many galleons he can convert into muggle money, and buying things aimed at toddlers and young children is a nightmare every time he has to do it. The ladies at the checkout tables are always too curious when someone his age, too old to be needing them himself and too young to be buying them for a baby shower, when he comes up with things like teethers.
Harry’s started running fast and far on the days he’s able to get away from the Dursleys with his money, so cashiers are less likely to live near him, and thus recognize him, while he’s doing chores or running from Dudley and his gang – he’s gotten lucky they haven’t caught him with anything incriminating yet.
Most of his supplies are small, things he can hide in his waistband and under his baggy clothing. He’s happy with what he has, even if he catches himself staring at selections of coloring books and giant stuffed animals. He’s taken to making crappy lineart on extra parchment when he has time, and no one is looking for him; when he feels younger he doesn’t care much if things are perfect, even if he’s embarrassed at his efforts when he feels normal. Stuffed animals are a little harder, but keychains do exist, though he really wants something he can properly cuddle with and not just hold in the palms of his hands.
🦆🦆🦆
He only has one stuffed animal big enough to hug, and he’s old enough that he’s missing both his eyes and a lot of his stuffing. Ducky’s seams ripped several times before Harry even got to Hogwarts, when his sewing skills were practically non-existent.
Harry loves Ducky, more than any other material thing. He doesn’t care that his fur is matted and dirty, more brown than yellow now since he refuses to risk ruining him with a magic cleaning spell, or that his legs are weirdly long, and his beak too short. Ducky is the first friend he ever made, sad as that is, and Harry can’t see himself ever replacing him.
His invisibility cloak is a close second, but he’s only had it for so long, as opposed to his entire life. Ducky is the only toy Aunt Petunia has ever given him, that wasn’t already broken by Dudley. Harry always packs him at the very bottom of his bag, to minimize the chance he falls out, or gets stolen or seen by someone too curious to leave his bag well alone.
Of course, this means that if Harry forgets to pack Ducky, he won’t know until it’s too late.
“Ducky?” Harry whispers, voice high and beginning to shake. “Ducky!?” Harry is slipping further and further, the process sped up by his panic. It is not a pleasant feeling, and he’s going to spend most of the day crying about it, he can already tell.
He can’t go back and get him. Not while he’s crying so hard he can’t breathe through his nose.
So Harry stays on his knees, with his hands fallen limply onto his lap. He’s stuck staring at his now-empty bag, having thrown everything out within a second of realizing he couldn’t see Ducky at the bottom, and wailing loudly. If the castle doors and walls weren’t completely soundproof, anyone walking by could hear him.
It hurts, the loss of Ducky, physically hurts. He feels dreadful, and nauseous. Vomit crawls its way up Harry’s throat, and he gags harshly, hating so much that the first time he can come here for a full day, without anyone around who might ask him where he's been, has begun so horribly.
He’s so caught up on his missing best friend, that he doesn’t hear the two pairs of footsteps that enter the room in front of him, nor can he see them, or much of anything right now.
He doesn’t hear the tentative, “Harry?” that both the intruders call either, too wrapped up in his sorrow and fear; if he’s alone, so is Ducky, except he’s still trapped in Harry’s trunk. Harry’s an awful friend.
“What is all this?” Is asked quietly about the things scattered across the tiny room.
“I don’t know, Forge,” comes the response.
Harry retches, and coughs, and breathing becomes even harder. Two identical yelps are made, and suddenly there are hands on him, rubbing and thumping his back, loosening his throat. It burns terribly, and Harry feels even more miserable for the moment in between his vomiting and a Scourgify. Still, Harry can’t connect the hands on his body to actual people until one pair cups his face and tilts his head up.
“Harry?” Either Fred or George says worriedly. He’s crouched in front of Harry, and pats his cheek to get his attention quicker.
“Are you back with us?” The other asks, kneeling by his side and still rubbing his back, a little less frightened now that Harry’s focused on them, but no less concerned. Harry sniffs wetly, and the twins wince.
“Here you are, Harry.” The one touching his face pulls a handkerchief out of somewhere, and offers it to him. Harry can’t really grab it, hands too unsteady, so the twin holds it up to his nose and tells him to blow. This repeats thrice more, until the cloth comes away clean.
“Are you okay?” Harry mewls, very much not okay, and brings his fists up against his chest. He wants a hug, but doesn’t know if it’s okay to ask.
The twins look at each other, and the one by Harry’s side slides behind his back, lifting Harry into his lap before he can cry about it. The one in front of him, which Harry can now tell is Fred, shuffles closer so he can wrap his arms around him. Harry starts to weep again, but it’s a soft thing now, all of his much bigger, older emotions dried out.
Fred and George cuddle him throughout it, moving only to rub circles on his back or shoulders, or to run their fingers through his hair. They start murmuring to each other at one point, too low for Harry to hear, but they squeeze him a little harder once they’re done, and Harry relaxes fully.
He goes limp, and just lets them hold him, until eventually Fred stands up and changes the lighting, ending Harry’s spell and instead creating soft orange spheres of light that he floats up to the low ceiling. Harry leans his head back on George’s shoulder and watches them. They look a bit like stars, and Harry cheers happily.
“You like the lights, Harrikins?” Harry claps and giggles.
“Staws!” He shouts childishly. George clutches at him tightly.
“Oh, yeah? What else do you like?”
“‘tickews an’ b’anket an’ lion an’ teefee an’” Harry babbles on. Fred and George listen to him fondly. “An’ Ducky–DUCKY!”
George jolts, making Harry bounce upwards. Harry’s bottom lip trembles and he starts fiddling with his fingers nervously. He just got done crying, he doesn’t want to start again. “You have Ducky?” He asks, hopeful and sad. Fred shakes his head.
“Can you tell us where Ducky is?”
“And what Ducky looks like?” Harry sobs once, dryly.
“He’s yewwow an’ bwown an’ his le’s awe too wong.” Harry bites his lips, and looks away from them both. “I lef’ him awone. He’s scawed! I’m mean.” Fred jumps forward to held his face again.
“You are our nicest, cutest littlest brother ever.” He tells Harry seriously. “You could never be mean.”
“It was an accident, right?” George figures out. Harry nods sadly.
“Is he in your trunk?” Harry hums an affirmative. “I’ll go get him.” Fred pulls out an empty piece of parchment. “I solemnly swear I am up to no good.” Harry can’t see what happens, even straining his neck, but he’s too grateful to pout about it.
“Say, Harrikins,” George says once Fred is gone. “You mentioned liking stickers?” Harry gasps excitedly, and squirms out of George’s lap. All his things are still everywhere on the floor, but his single strip of butterfly stickers is easy enough to find. He doesn’t realize George was the one that made their wings flutter off the page, drawing his eye to them.
Harry picks up the page of stickers and shows them off to George proudly. He “oohs” and “ahhs” appropriately, and Harry rewards him for it by peeling off a sticker to put on the back of his hand. It’s the first time he’s taken one off the sheet, usually both content to just stare at them and scared he won’t get them back if he sticks them on the wrong spot, and he’s happy about his choice.
George whoops, and pulls Harry close enough to kiss his forehead. “I love it, Harrikins! Thank you.” Harry preens. “What else do you have?”
Harry flutters around the room, picking things up and showing them off to George, who leans back on one hand, and occasionally looks down at the sticker on the other appreciatively. At one point, he finds where he discarded his invisibility cloak, and George takes it away from him.
When Harry gets to his teething ring, which he replaced his pacifier with when he wouldn’t stop chewing through them, he pauses.
“Teefee?” He shows it to George hesitantly. George stares at it for a second, and then wraps a hand around Harry’s wrist to pull it up to his mouth. Harry bites down on it, and quickly begins drooling. George chuckles.
Harry climbs back into George’s lap, facing him with his legs around his waist this time, and plops his cheek on his shoulder with Harry's nose in his neck. George twitches when Harry’s bangs brush against his neck, ticklish.
“Da da da,” Harry mumbles through his teething ring. George tenses and swallows nervously, but wraps his arms back around him.
“I found Ducky!” Fred announces himself. Harry picks his head up sleepily, and when he realizes he isn’t facing the door he puts it back down.
“Ducky?” His teething ring slips out of his mouth, and he whines. George snatches it off his shoulder before it can fall to the floor, and gives it back to him.
“Give it here, Gred.” George lets go of Harry with one hand, extending it toward Fred. The stuffed animal is passed along, and George taps the still visible side of Harry’s face with his beak. Harry turns his head and squeals happily. Because he doesn’t know any better, he cries out Ducky’s name again, and George rescues his teething ring for the second time, though he doesn’t give it back yet.
“What do we say, Harry?” Harry opens his mouth, thinking.
“Dunno,” Fred stifles a laugh behind him.
“We say thank you when someone does something nice for us, yeah?” Harry nods.
“T’ank you!” He yells at the wall, still facing away from Fred, who’s laughing harder now. Harry pays him no mind, snatching Ducky close to his chest and taking a moment to rock him in his arms. George slips his teething back back to him, and Harry goes back to gnawing at it.
“Gred,” George whispers urgently. Harry feels the breeze generated by his waving hand, gesturing for his twin to come closer. Fred sits at an angle where George’s knee points at the middle of his torso, by the shoulder Harry isn’t drooling on. “He’s little, really little.” Fred nods along seriously.
“It’s obvious he planned for it.” Fred replies, darting his eyes out at the mess of kids’ things around them. He frowns. “I don’t like that he was completely–”
“Alone when we found him–”
“I don’t think he’s safe on his own like this.”
“I don’t think he wants to be alone.”
“I understand why he’d keep it secret, but–”
“He relied on us heavily to calm him down–”
“And even clean him up.”
George sighs deeply. “I think he called me ‘Da,’ Gred.” Fred looks at him with wide eyes. “He could have just been babbling.” He admits.
“Easy solution.” Fred taps Harry’s shoulder. “Is Dada comfy, Harrikins?”
Harry rubs a line down George’s neck with his nose, so he can peek at Fred. George takes his teething ring so he can reply.
“Dada comfy.” George sucks in his next breath, and looks up to the ceiling so Harry can’t see him cry.
“That’s good to hear, Harrikins.” George can’t disguise his wobbly voice, but Harry doesn't notice.
“Daddy, too?” Harry asks, and Fred looks at him, perplexed. When he realizes, he swallows hard.
“Who’s Daddy, Harrikins?” Harry unwraps an arm from around Ducky and points at Fred, looking at him like he’s stupid.
“Daddy.” He moves his finger to point at George. “Dada.” Fred is wiping away his own tears now.
“Yeah, bub? We’re your dads?” Harry huffs, annoyed at their continued questioning, bites down on George’s shoulder. He winces, and prods Harry’s lips with the teether until he lets go and takes it. He points at Fred when he does, and both twins are confused until they remember his question.
“You want to know if Daddy’s as comfy as Dada?” Fred grins when Harry opens his arms at him, first dragging Harry over to sit on his lap, then retrieving Ducky from where he fell during the transfer. “Well?” Harry snuggles up against Fred, and the twins laugh.
“There's our answer!” George says gleefully.
It isn’t long until Harry falls asleep, and since Fred is trapped, George gets up and starts cleaning.
“We’ll have to talk to him–” Fred starts.
“Once he’s back to his usual mischievous self–”
“About all of this.”
“Harrikins is our responsibility now.”
“Don’t think we should give him the Marauders Map anymore,”
“He could get lost when he’s little.”
“Speaking of–”
“I have his cloak.”
“Put a tracking charm on it, will you? Just in case.”
“Already done.”
They’ll keep this a secret for their littlest brother, but in turn, he’ll have to let them take care of him. There’s nowhere for him to hide from them in Hogwarts, anyway.