Chapter Text
For as long as he could remember, gasping breaths and a throbbing heart were part of Harry's normal routine. Wake up, make breakfast, tend to the garden, pause to catch his breath while his chest hurt, go inside, make lunch, and continue on with the day. This was his normal.
Petunia had taken him a singular time to the doctor when he was in grade one at the bequest of his teacher (she really only took him to avoid annoying calls with CPS). The doctor hadn't really been able to truly diagnose what was wrong with him but ended up prescribing him an inhaler in the hopes that it would help with his shortness of breath. Unfortunately, it really did nothing to solve the problem, but it got his teacher off Petunia's back so it was good enough for her- god forbid she actually tried to help fix him.
Sometimes he would wake at night in a cold sweat with his fingers and toes numb and frozen at the tips. He assumed this was normal, after all, most people had blankets and such to keep them warm at night. He only had his cot and the small baby blanket that was so frayed it didn't do much to keep him warm. Thankfully, Dudley's castoffs were relatively big, and if you layered them in just the right way, it could help ward off the cold. So, Harry assumed that everyone else was able to stay warm with the proper bed linens, and it was really just a thing that happened to him because of his lack of blankets and such.
He ignored how sometimes following one of his heart episodes, his hands would go cold and his fingers numb then too.
Regardless, he lived just fine that way. He lived through the lack of breath. He lived through the painful chest and headaches he sometimes got. He lived through the numb cold fingers. He survived lived.
Maybe the episodes were a result of wearing himself out all the time. He did the cooking, cleaning, and gardening for the house when not in school. His Aunt, Uncle, and Cousin all relaxed and let him take care of the work, but that was a small price to pay for the roof over his head and the clothes on his back.
If there was one thing he could probably complain about, was the small meals he sometimes was able to earn. But in actuality, he kind of understood. Often, despite being hungry, his body did not like when he received food and would reject it, especially if he had an episode just recently.
But Harry could not be a beggar. He would eat the food his aunt gave him and hope that he would actually be able to digest it this time. Knowing his body needed the nutrients did not stop his body from deciding it didn't want them.
So, Harry lived. The only way he knew how. He was a freak boy and he lived. He was not the same boy he grew up as. No longer did he think that he could buy his Aunt and Uncle's love through chores. He certainly knew that he and Dudley would never get along. And if it were up to Dudley, no one their age would ever even look in his direction.
Besides that, Harry was used to his episodes, but it really didn't make it hurt any less or become any less terrifying when it happened. Sometimes he wondered if the next time he had a episode would be his last, unable to get his breathing back under control. But he hoped. He hoped and prayed that one day maybe he would grow out of it.
Unfortunately, that day was not today. Waking up with nausea and a headache should have been his first sign that he should expect an episode today, but with how often his head hurt, he really thought nothing of it until he was bent over in the raging heat of the summer day in the garden clutching his chest as he tried desperately to gasp in another breath.
Already he could feel his fingers going numb, and it was hard for his hand to keep hold of his shirt this way. Black spots coated his vision as his hunt for air continued with no relief to be found. Finally, as he was just about to the precipice of passing out, he managed to wheeze in a breath, and he felt his heart give one last desperate beat as it regained its normal rhythm.
It was only once he was breathing as close to normal as he could be that he realized that his knees were throbbing from where they had hit the dirt of the garden. He must've fallen while he was busy trying to breath.
Of course, luck was not on his side today, and he heard the shrill voice of his Aunt calling, "You lazy boy! Get off your ungrateful arse and finish my Begonias. Vernon will be home from work soon and you need to get started on dinner."
Harry tried to get a foot under himself to get back on his feet, only for his shaking leg to give out on him, and land him painfully on his behind. He tried a second time, bracing his palms on his knees as he finally pushed himself into an unsteady standing position.
Once he had gotten his wits about him, he returned to watering his aunt's plants as she had demanded earlier. It was rather difficult to fill the water can and carry it back over to where the plants were with his numb fingers and quivering knees. But he had done it in the past and if he had learned anything, it was perseverance for his sake alone. If he sat down to recover at any point, it would be a beating or no dinner, and with how little he had managed to keep down as of late, he certainly couldn't afford to miss any meals no matter how meager they may be.
He also prayed that his Uncle wouldn't decide that tonight was one of the nights he would just choose to punish him for what he called 'funny business'. Those were some of the worse nights. Hopefully, by staying out of the way, he would be able to avoid Uncle Vernon's heavy fist.
That evening was luckily a calm one and he was able to avoid his Uncle's wrath. He even earned himself a few slices of bread. Hopefully they would stay down.
Night led into the next day, and like clockwork, he made the family a full breakfast whilst he stood on the edges hoping his aunt would allow him to have some of the leftovers- if there were any. Uncle Vernon and Dudley were not overgrown whales for no reason.
It was only when he heard the daily mail being dropped through the slot in the door that he left the kitchen. He had already cleaned everything up and was just waiting on the family to finish up so he could clear the table. The mail was early today. Normally it came after the Dursley family had finished their breakfast, but today the mailman must have been ahead of schedule.
Harry collected the envelopes, noting that there was one that appeared to be bills, another from Vernon's sister Marge, and a rather odd letter. Considering he had collected the mail since he was 3 years old, he knew that this was not a normal letter, and couldn't help his curiosity getting the better of him.
It was quite the surprise when he realized the letter was addressed to one, "Mr. H. Potter, The Cupboard under the Stairs, 4 Private Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey."
"What is taking you so long, boy? I know your daft, but collecting the mail isn't rocket science." He guffawed at his own joke.
"Coming, Uncle Vernon." Harry quickly replied, tucking the letter into the waistband of his oversized trousers, rucking his shirt up and pulling it down over it to hide it. He could look at it later, when his aunt and uncle weren't around to realize someone had written him a letter.