Chapter Text
Harry woke to loud rambunctious steps from above him; steps so boisterous and irritating that they caused dust particles to fall on his little head, dirtying his messy hair and caking his eyelashes. Not long after the dissent that is his daily alarm, a deafening banging comes from the other side of his little cupboard door alongside a shriek so severe and high-pitched that Harry wonders how he had not developed Tinnitus in his short ten years of life. He’d heard of the term after Dudley, obnoxious as ever, got a headset for his ninth birthday and thought it a good idea to blast rock music in his ear in an attempt to seem cool and rugged. Well, it got him to the hospital, so Harry supposes that is cool and rugged. Not worth the pain, though. Harry had experienced pain enough times that he didn’t think he’d be the type to search for it for fun.
“GET UP! UP! NOW BOY!” Aunt Petunia screeches, “DON’T LAZE AROUND OR I’LL TELL YOUR UNCLE!”
Harry jumps and slams his broken, cracked glasses on his face, eager to avoid any more punishment from his Uncle Vernon.
“Coming, Aunt Petunia!” Harry yells back with a voice crack, still affected by sleep.
Wrenching the door open, Harry runs to the kitchen and begins the breakfast routine, being careful not to make a single mistake. During the weekend, he’d cut the fruit in a dissatisfactory way; Aunt Petunia had complained so much that a simple error of cutting an apple wonkily became a conspiracy theory his Aunt and Uncle concocted that Harry had strategically and wickedly attempted murder on his Aunt, the only one of them who enjoys the consumption of fruit in the house (other than Harry. Harry would eat anything he isn't picky.) It was such a jump in logic that Harry hadn't known how to respond.
Unfortunately, his inability to defend himself was evidence enough of his guilt. Though now that Harry thinks of it more, he realises that even if he had defended himself, they would still have thought his intentions wicked. It is very easy for them to make this assumption. Harry never knew why. Nonetheless, they were so upset by the whole apple cutting debacle that Aunt Petunia screamed herself silly and Uncle Vernon slapped Harry. One more crack in his already troubled glasses. He wonders when they will buy him a new one.
Walking into the kitchen, Harry finds his Uncle resting on the dining table with a newspaper. That answers the question of who it was this time that caused all the racket. He knows his family does it on purpose. The staircase isn’t rickety at all, except for the spot directly above his cupboard. Harry knows what that means; he isn't stupid.
“Come on boy! Don’t dawdle. The breakfast doesn't make itself, does it?” His Uncle cruelly observes.
“Yes Uncle Vernon,” Harry quietly responds.
Moving to the stove and counter, Harry begins making breakfast expertly.
The routine is ingrained within Harry’s DNA at this point. Day in, day out, Harry makes breakfast, does some chores, eats hastily, and runs to prepare for school so as not to delay Dudley and Uncle Vernon’s departure from school and work, respectively. As Harry begins to plate the eggs, his Aunt Petunia comes back downstairs and enters the kitchen with Dudley in tow. He always requires a little extra motivation from his mother to finally get out of bed. Harry wishes he could lie around in bed a bit after waking up. Unfortunately, he has only ever experienced that when his family leaves for a holiday, giving him ample time to rest and eat at the speed and quantity he desires.
“Place the food on the table you buffoon." Aunt Petunia snaps.
Harry dutifully follows instructions after plating the food. Once he places the food, he rushes to complete his daily rush: clean all the cooking utensils, straighten out the furniture, clear the tables, and venture to Dudley’s room to tidy his bed and declutter his scattered toys. Once Harry enters the kitchen, he finds a small plate of food and a glass of orange juice left for him. He inhales what remains, then rushes to change into his grey, oversized clothes and makes it outside right in time, leaving the house with Dudley and Uncle Vernon, right on time to hear Aunt Petunia's ramblings, that is.
“Oh, goodbye dudikins, you be a good boy today. I’ve heard that you’ve done so many naughty things from your teacher, you know! But oh, what to do. I told her, didn't I, Vernnon? Boys will be boys, I said. And that idiot of a woman had the right to tell me that that isn’t an appropriate thing to say to a boy! Well, thank god she isn’t raising you then, isn't it?” Petunia mutters petulantly to anyone who would listen. Well, anyone but Harry. She never really talks to Harry, just orders him around.
She reaches the car and opens the back seat door for Dudley, bending down to kiss his cheek as he sits. Dudley immediately wipes the area with the cloth on his shoulder and starts playing a Game Boy he brought along. Aunt Petunia just pats his cheek and closes the door.
Sometimes he wishes his Aunt would kiss his cheek, only so that he can feel that affection. But then he doesn't really like her much. He does wish his mom would kiss his cheek, though. He looks out the window, heart constricting in pain.
He doesn’t understand it, but he misses his mother. He never even met her. Neither has he met his dad. But he misses them and longs for them in such an intense manner that he will sometimes believe that they will come to him and do just what his Aunt Petunia did with Dudley, show him affection. It's in the moments of realisation that reality comes dawning down on him so harshly he believes he must have died, or will clearly die, sometime soon. He doesn’t do that anymore, though. The crash is so violent that it wrenches a piece of his soul from him, leaving him with an overwhelming sense of mourning. The type of mourning that surely slashes his heart in some way. Harry knows that his heart is scarred just as his forehead is. It must be, with how he feels sometimes. He can’t help but feel how unfair it all is, but then again, his Uncle always says that life isn’t fair. He supposes that his Uncle can be right sometimes.
The same Uncle begins muttering irritably about something. Harry peeks out and sees a person on a Vespa.
“Those damn hippies, riding around thinking they’re something on those embarrassing scooters.” His Uncle pointlessly complains. Harry noticed that his Uncle loves doing that; he pointlessly complains about anything. Once, his Uncle pointlessly complained about a woman wearing sandals in a park. He proceeded to call her some unsavory names, most of which consisted of the words ‘hippie’, ‘uncivilised’, and ‘fat’. Harry doesn’t even know why they called her that; the lady clearly wasn’t fat. Not that there is anything wrong with that. He knows that it’s not being fat that makes you a bad person. His Aunt Petunia is as thin as a stick, and she is unpleasant.
They finally reach the school. Harry suddenly realises that today is sports day. In all the monotony of his morning, he forgot his favourite day of school. He gets so excited that he jumps out of the car and dashes to his classroom.
“Why you little…!” Uncle Vernon begins, probably upset that Harry is rushing. Though what makes him upset about it, Harry doesn’t know. But his Uncle finds something to be upset about Harry for, so it's par for the course.
He slows down as he enters the school building to avoid getting in trouble with the teachers. Harry loves school. Harry loves school very, very much. Yes, most students hate him since Dudley sullies his name and picks on him whenever possible. But Dudley is in a different class, and his teachers treat him nicely. They are the only ones who ever treat him nicely. Harry gets worried sometimes, though, because they ask him about his home life. He knows they are aware that it is not an ideal life for a growing child; however, Harry never tells them, so they can’t do anything about it. He doesn’t want to get in trouble with Uncle Vernon. Teachers always tell him they won’t tell, but Harry knows it's a lie. Uncle Vernon told him he would kill him if he told anyone, and, honestly, Harry believes it. Uncle Vernon is a terrifying man.
“HI MISS WALKER!” Harry yells in excitement as he rushes into his classroom. Miss Walker jumps in surprise from her desk, turning to Harry with wide, surprised eyes.
“Harry! You frightened me!” She responds, her right hand on her chest.
“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean it!” Harry rushes to explain. “Honestly!”
“It’s ok, it’s ok, Harry. I know.” She says softly, her hands in front of her in a gesture of calmness. “You’ve certainly got in with the right energy. I’m guessing this is for sports day, and not the continuation of the book we are reading in class?” Miss Walker teases.
Harry absolutely loves Miss Walker. She is always so lovely to him. AND, when he makes a mistake like he just did, she doesn’t get angry! He can’t believe how amazing she is to him. Sometimes, he dreams that she is his mother. Or that maybe she would adopt him. But that’s absurd. He knows she wouldn’t, but he can’t help thinking about it.
“Yes! I can’t wait to do it all! Harry explains with a lopsided grin. “But I am also excited to continue reading! I have been enjoying Alice in Wonderland immensely,” Harry explains, concentrating on the enunciation of ‘immensely’. It’s a new word he is trying to say more. He heard it in class, thought it was a very clever-sounding word, and added it to the bank of clever-sounding words he wanted to use more. ‘Approximately’ was another word he liked; it even had an x.
“Well, what an eloquent boy you are! If you want, you can borrow the book from the library and read ahead.” Miss Walker asks.
Harry doesn't know what 'eloquent' means, but he assumes it's good since it was Miss Walker who said it. He’d ask her, but sometimes he feels he asks her too many questions. He knows that Miss Walker doesn't mind questions, but that doesn’t make him any less scared of asking. His family absolutely despises it when Harry asks them questions. They always accuse him of using the information to plot some nefarious plan. They always think he’s plotting a nefarious plan, come to think of it. He’ll search for it in the dictionary later.
“Oh, no sorry, Miss Walker. My Uncle doesn’t like that. He says I'll ruin the book and then make him pay the fines.” Harry explains nonchalantly.
Miss Walker looks at him in a worried manner, trying to discern how to navigate the following mine field that is Harry’s home life.
“Harry, you know how… before, we talked about how you can come talk to me about anything…” Miss Walker began, only to be abruptly interrupted by her other students entering the class.
Miss Walker gives Harry a look conveying that they will continue the conversation and walks to the front of the class, greeting each student.
Harry really likes Miss Walker, really. But sometimes, she does too much. Fearing her attention and hoping that by hiding, she would forget him, he rushes to the back of the class, takes his seat in the corner, and endeavors to keep forever silent. He doesn’t understand why Miss Walker won’t let the subject go. It’s not like she will actually help him. Anything she would do would only make everything infinitely worse. His Uncle would be upset, leading to more slaps, grabs, or pushes. His Aunt would be infuriated, which would mean more chores, less eating, and occasional pan hits. And his cousin? His cousin would beat him to a pulp while the rest of his family cheered. So, no. Harry does not want to tell Miss Walker anything. She would only ever make matters worse.
Harry stays lost in thought for hours, rarely contributing to class or paying attention. He’d initially liked this day, well, his day after leaving the car, and Miss Walker had to come ruin it all for him. He doesn’t think she does it on purpose, but she really must stop.
Suddenly, everyone around him starts to rise excitedly. Confused, Harry peers around under his ruffled bangs. Suddenly remembering the importance of this day once more, he begins to pack his belongings.
“Harry, will you wait for a second?” Miss Walker utters softly as he nears the exit.
Harry looks back. He couldn’t believe it. How is she still holding on to this topic? Why has she not forgotten or just given up? His Aunt Petunia always says she has given up on him - why can’t Miss Walker?
Harry stays behind, looking down at his shoes, not willing to make eye contact with her. His efforts don’t work, though, because it just makes Miss Walker kneel in order to look at him straight on. Harry just looks to the side, trying his hardest to avoid her gaze. Miss Walker sighs.
“Harry. I really do think you should talk about this. If not with me, then someone else.” Miss Walker softly explains.
“Talk about what?” Harry says, attempting his hardest to appear confused.
“Harry. Why is there a small bruise on your cheek?” Miss Walker slowly asks.
Harry’s heart drops. He hadn’t known that he had a bruise. He hadn’t looked at himself carefully since his Uncle’s slap and assumed he was fine. He’d never don an apparent bruise in public; he doesn’t know what to do.
“What?” Harry responds shakily. “I… I fell!” Harry screams. “I fell! Now leave me alone!” He yells once more.
At that moment, his entire body feels like it's melting. His heart falls to his stomach, and the blood drains from his face.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Miss Walker! I didn’t mean to scream! Honest!” Harry spurts as he hyperventilates. Oh god, his whole world is ending. Suddenly, all he can see are blurry lights. The corners in his eyes darken, and his breathing deepens.
“Harry!” Miss Walker calls as she gently shakes him. “Harry, focus on me! Focus on my voice!”
Harry, having completely left reality, makes a snap decision and makes a run for it. To leave and never come back, never see Miss Walker, and never see anyone ever. He just wants to go. He just wants to hide. He just wants the comfort of knowing that no one will talk to him, or bother him, or hit him, or ANYTHING, just him and nothing and rest and a blank head and a small space and some warmth and… and… NO ONE.
He finds himself on the bathroom floor, hidden in a cubicle. Spiraling in the pit of fear and despair, convinced Miss Walker would somehow make things worse. She can't tell anyone. It's bad enough she knows. What if she talks to Uncle Vernon or Aunt Petunia? OR BOTH? Would she do that? He would die if that happened, he's sure. He doesn't want to die. He's only 10! And he never even went to the movies before! He's never met other family, never made a proper friend, never even left his town.
Not long later, he hears the bathroom door open and the click of what he has now recognised as Miss Walker’s shoes.
She rests in front of him, pulls him towards her, and cradles him. He lets himself go, completely resting on her. He may be upset at her right now, but for some reason, he needs this. He needs to feel safe. So he lets him hold her. They sit there for god knows how long, resting their hearts and their heads.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Miss Walker softly utters, “I’m so, so sorry.”
Harry feels horrible for a second. He doesn’t want Miss Walker to feel bad, but he also knows that this wouldn’t have happened if she hadn't tried to make him talk; if she hadn't gotten involved in his business. He just wants her to let it go. Everything was so perfect before.
“It’s ok, Miss Walker. Just please, I don't want to talk,” Harry sniffs.
Harry hopes that she chooses not to pursue this goal anymore. He knows she means well, but it won’t help. Nothing can help. That’s what Uncle Vernon always says, and Harry knows that that's one of the true things he says, too.
“Ok, we will take it slow.” Miss Walker mutters.
Slowly releasing him, she looks down at him and smiles softly. Sometimes Harry thinks that this is what a mother’s love is.
“Let’s go catch the bus, hmm? Wouldn’t want you to miss the best event of the year now would we? How else would you show off your athletic abilities?” She says with a little chuckle.
Harry looks up at her and smiles back.
“Yeah. Let’s go”
Miss Walker stands and helps Harry up. "It will be ok, Harry. It will all be ok."
Although Harry misunderstands what she means by her statement, he feels relieved nonetheless. Maybe everything will be ok.