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Harry Potter does not cry.
It is his one rule. He does not and will not cry. No matter what Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, or even Dudley do to him, he does his best to keep his tears in until he is alone in his cupboard.
Dudley and his goons make it into a game: they do their worst to him to see who can finally make Harry break. At school, Dudley supervises as his minions corner Harry in the halls, kicking and punching the daylights out of him. They trip him as he walks by, hide his books and supplies, and call him names.
One time, they punched his face so hard that the lenses in his glasses shattered and the wireframes bent out of shape. Harry did cry that time, out of the pain from the punch and the emotional pain from the loss of his glasses. It had taken so long to convince Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon that he needed glasses, only after the school nurse sent the fourth reminder that year did they cave and buy them. But they made sure to remind him that it was not for concern over his well-being, but out of concern for how people would perceive them. Their neighbors, the upstanding and elite citizens of Little Whinging, Surrey, could never know that Petunia and Vernon were neglecting their orphan ward. Thus, Harry was allowed to get one of the cheapest and ugliest pairs of glasses in the eye doctor’s shop. Getting those glasses was one of the biggest wins of Harry’s short, painful life, and it was heartbreaking to see them broken.
Dudley, his cruel minions, and the adult Dursleys derive great pleasure from seeing Harry’s tears. Uncle Vernon’s beatings would begin with his face drawn in a tight scowl that transformed into a smile that grew as Harry’s cries grew louder. Aunt Petunia would not beat him as frequently as Uncle Vernon did, as she preferred to use her words to carry out her cruelty. She would remind Harry that his parents’ car crash was his fault, if he had just stayed quiet and not distracted his father while he was driving, they would still be alive. She would belittle his appearance, commenting on his ugly features, all while her smile grew and grew as the words became meaner and meaner. She would lament the personal hardship she faced by taking Harry in, and her words would get louder as she continued her vicious attacks. Her words stung, in a similar fashion to Uncle Vernon’s fists, and tears streamed down his cheeks as her tirade continued.
As he grew older, Harry realized the correlation between his guardians’ satisfaction and Harry’s tears, and vowed to do his best to prevent his tears. No matter how much Uncle Vernon hurt him, Harry refused to cry out. No matter what harsh words Aunt Petunia lobbed his way, Harry refused to let the tears escape his eyes. He became faster and more nimble, to minimize the opportunities Dudley and his squad had to enact violence on him. When Dudley or his gang inevitably caught up to him, Harry kept to his vow as best he could and refused to let a sound escape his lips or a tear escape his eye as they descended upon him with their fists and nasty words.
At times, the abuse inflicted was just too much, and he could not hold back his cries. But as he grew older and stronger, he cried less and less in front of his torturers. Harry reserved his tears for the safety and security of the darkness of his little cupboard. Nestled in the comforting darkness of the only space that solely belongs to Harry, the tears flow freely down his sunken cheeks. As a young child, the tightness and shadows of the small closet scared him, but as he aged, he grew to appreciate the solitude of his cupboard. It was the only place that his tormentors would not invade, because they viewed being in there as a punishment in itself.
Today’s callous acts of brutality came from all three Dursleys. Before school, Uncle Vernon kicked Harry in the side as he bent over to scrub the baseboards to ensure they were clean for tonight’s dinner party. It was all Aunt Petunia talked about, and Harry’s chore load tripled in preparation for hosting Uncle Vernon’s coworkers and bosses. Harry methodically cleaned the entire house when he was not at school, starting at sunup and continuing well into the night. Evidently, the dining room baseboards were not to Uncle Vernon’s standards, and he made his disapproval physically known. Dudley cackled over his gluttonous breakfast as Vernon’s foot collided with Harry’s ribs.
At school, Dudley and his followers further antagonized Harry. They chased him around the hallways, finally cornering him in a bathroom. There, they stole his glasses, forced him into a stall, and took turns shoving his head in a toilet. When they’d had their fill of cruelty, the boys left Harry lying on the floor, gasping desperately for air. Their gleeful laughter echoed as they left the injured boy alone in the bathroom to return to class. Harry sat up, caught his breath, and stayed on the floor of that stall for hours, shivering in his drenched school shirt until the bell rang, signalling the end of the day. By then, he was mostly dry, but Aunt Petunia still made him remove his shirt and throw it in the trunk before getting into her car. Her face upturned, and she sneered in disgust as she looked at him. Harry sat alone in the back, humiliated, with his teeth digging into his bottom lip to hold back the tears.
When they arrived at Number 4 Privet Drive, Aunt Petunia ushered the two boys into the house, looking around to ensure none of the neighbors were in the vicinity to see Harry in such a state of disarray. Harry walked quickly, with his head down, and braced himself for the inevitable barrage he was about to receive.
As soon as the door was shut and everyone was inside, Aunt Petunia berated Harry with disapproving statements and insults. How dare he damage her pristine car; how dare he shame the family by looking disheveled and improper; and how of course, the child of the filthy James Potter would believe it is okay to act this way. Each sentence stung and the insult lobbed at his father caused his eyes to fill with tears. Still, Harry refused to let any of them fall and stared at the floor, waiting for it to be over. Aunt Petunia finished her rant with a slap to Harry’s face, and directed him to clean the floors in the entryway.
Harry is glad for the chores. The familiar, robotic motions allow him to clear his mind and focus on completing a task instead of the pain in his torso and head. His concentration is on continuous movements needed to remove the dirt and scuff marks from the floor. As the sun lowers in the sky, he cleans and cleans without a thought, moving around the house in preparation for guests. He works in the kitchen, clearing the dishes in the sink and wiping the counters, to tidy up as Aunt Petunia finishes cooking dinner.
Harry sets the table, ensuring all the plates and silverware are polished and perfectly placed. He fusses with the napkins, awaiting his inevitable dismissal from Aunt Petunia, as he is never allowed at these events. It comes soon, with a simple, direct command to go to his closet. Uncle Vernon follows him to his cupboard, key in hand, ready to lock him inside for the foreseeable future. Harry is prepared for the solitude and privacy the small, dark space provides. Uncle Vernon’s hand on Harry’s back shoves him in, the door slams, and Harry hears the click of the lock.
Harry crouches down, stretching his hands out into the corner where he knows that a small flashlight is hidden. He finds it and clicks it on, orienting himself within the space. He shines it in his bed, a measly mattress on the floor, to ensure no critters hide in Dudley’s old reptile-patterned sheets. He’s used to unwanted guests, as ants and spiders visit frequently, but he is not in the mood to deal with surprises.
Thankfully, his bed is empty. He places the flashlight on the shelf behind his bed, hidden amongst the dust bunnies. Harry undresses and changes into his pajamas, folding the clothes he wears, which he places in the strip of space between the door and the bed. It takes a while, as it hurts to lift his arms, but eventually, he gets it done. He switches off the flashlight and lays down on the mattress. Harry’s limbs stretch out as much as possible and he begins to let himself fully feel his body and emotions. He grabs his singular, thin pillow from behind his head, hugs it into his chest, and breathes deeply, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
As he clings to his pillow in the quiet of his cupboard, Harry bites down on it and begins to cry his tiny heart out. The darkness provides cover and ensures that no one bears witness to his sobs, to the tears that stream down his face, to the snot escaping his nose, and to the shaking of his body as he rolls to his side to curl into a fetal position. In this moment, Harry’s sorrow is his own, protected by the isolation of his cupboard. The faint sounds of people and socialization do not matter; instead, he is focused on feeling his pain, emotional and physical. His breaths come quickly, in between the sobs. Harry does his best to regulate his breathing, to minimize the noise he is making and manages to stifle his sobs, reducing them to just a stream of tears.
Physically, Harry feels a pit in his stomach, a sharp pain in his ribs as he inhales and exhales, and a throbbing in his head. Emotionally, he feels drained and sad. Aunt Petunia’s jabs at his father hurt more than usual, and the absence of his parents feels bigger today. The only good part of the day of humiliation was that he did not cry in front of anyone, his pain is his own and no extra pleasure was derived from it today. Harry allows himself to yearn for what he knows he cannot have: loving guardians. He cries for himself, his mom, and his dad, feeling guilt over causing the car accident that separated them all. Tears stream out of his face for a long time, until Harry is finally drained of energy. His eyes can no longer stay open, and he begins to succumb to sleep. His final thoughts are of his mother, imagining her red hair that he barely remembers and wondering what it would feel like to be comforted by her. Harry slips into a deep sleep, feeling protected by the darkness of the cupboard and the memory of his mother.