Chapter Text
Nearly ten years had passed since the Dursleys had found their nephew on their doorstep, and number four Privet Drive had changed very little. The garden remained immaculate, the brass numbers gleamed, and inside, everything was perfectly ordinary—just as the Dursleys liked it.
The only real change was Dudley, who had gone from a fat, shrieking baby to a fat, shrieking boy. The photographs on the mantel reflected this: Dudley riding a bike, Dudley with his arms around a trophy, Dudley glaring at the camera because someone else had gotten a slice of cake.
There were no pictures of Harry, of course. But Harry was still there—soft, quiet, a bit scuffed-up. Most people forgot he lived there until they saw him, blinking up at them with wide green eyes like a baby deer that had wandered indoors.
At this moment, Harry was asleep in his cupboard under the stairs, a sock over his eyes like a blindfold. He had learned from experience that mornings came faster if you didn’t have to see them.
“Up! Get up, now!” shrieked Aunt Petunia, her heels sharp against the floorboards.
Harry woke with a start and promptly hit his head on the underside of the stairs.
“Sorry!” he called, automatically, rubbing his forehead.
Petunia knocked again. “Don’t make me come in there.”
“I’m up!” he said, though he was halfway tangled in his blanket and trying to remember a very nice dream about talking birds who gave him pie.
In the kitchen, Vernon was already in his best suit. Harry stumbled in a few minutes later, smoothing down his hair with damp hands.
“Fix that mop,” Vernon barked without looking up from his coffee. “You look like you stuck your finger in a socket.”
Harry blinked. “I did once. I thought it was cake.”
Petunia sniffed. “Of course you did.”
She tossed him a comb. He missed it, and it hit him in the eye.
Vernon glanced at him, expression unreadable. “That bruise better be gone before dinner.”
Harry tilted his head. “It’s still there now.”
“Use your freakishness,” Vernon said flatly. “You healed that scratch last week when I needed a picture for the annual report.”
Harry blinked slowly. “Oh! Right. The glow thing.”
“And don’t tell anyone,” Petunia added sharply. “People don’t like oddities.”
“I won’t,” Harry promised. “I forgot how to spell it anyway.”
Dudley came stomping into the kitchen a moment later, red-faced and half-buttoned, and made a beeline for Harry like a magnet. He wrapped his chubby arms around him and leaned all his weight forward until Harry staggered back against the counter.
“Harry’s sitting with me today,” he said firmly.
“Sweetums,” Petunia cooed, kissing the top of his head. “Of course he is.”
Dudley kept hold of Harry’s arm the entire breakfast, growling whenever Piers Polkiss was mentioned.
At the zoo, Harry had the time of his life. He liked animals. They didn’t talk too fast or expect him to be clever. He stared at a tortoise for a full fifteen minutes, then patted it gently through the glass and said, “Don’t worry. I forget things too.”
When they reached the snake exhibit, Dudley shoved Harry out of the way so hard he bumped his head on the glass. He turned to apologize to the snake. “Sorry, Mr. Slither.”
The snake lifted its head and blinked at him.
Harry gasped. “You blinked!”
The snake looked left and right. Harry leaned in and whispered, “Do you forget where you are sometimes? I do. But I like you.”
The snake nodded. Then the glass vanished.
People screamed. Dudley shrieked. Harry clapped. “You’re free! Oh, wow. You did it!”
As the snake slithered past, it brushed against Harry’s shoe. “Thanks,” it hissed, before disappearing into the shadows.
Harry waved. “Bye, friend!”
Back home, Vernon was purple with rage.
“You—*you little—*what did I tell you? No funny business!”
“I didn’t mean to be funny,” Harry said, confused. “I just said hi. And maybe he got excited.”
“No meals. No telly. No cupboard time except sleeping!”
“Oh. Okay,” Harry said softly, and let himself be shooed back to his spider-filled cupboard.
That night, Dudley banged on the door and shoved a half-eaten chocolate bar inside.
“Don’t let them lock you up too long,” he muttered. “You’re mine.”
Harry fell asleep with chocolate on his chin and one sock still on his hand like a puppet. He dreamed of the snake again, flying this time, wearing sunglasses.