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“TIME FOR DINNER HARRY!” came the usual scream from Aunt Petunia which, as a lot of people would assume meant dinner was ready to be eaten, it was instead a call for Harry to make dinner.
Harry hated the Dursleys more than almost anything else and, since joining Hogwarts School of Magic, had not attempted to pretend otherwise.
He moved over to Hedwig’s cage and opened it, Hedwig giving him a gentle nibble on his finger as he let her out the window and watched her glide away over the perfectly preened lawns of Privet Drive, wishing he could follow her. Resigned to the inevitable, however, Harry turned to trudge down the stairs, waiting for the full volume lecture he was bound to receive for being a few seconds late the moment he stepped through the doorway.
He was right. As usual. Uncle Vernon had, indeed, prepared a lecture for him. He received it at full volume (as he had predicted) while he was attempting to prepare a very stringy-looking broccoli salad to accommodate Dudley’s new diet.
“Disgraceful behavior - blah blah blah blah - simply unacceptable - blah blah blah blah blah - I won’t tolerate this insolent attitude - blah blah blah blah blah . . .” Slowly, Uncle Vernon’s rant faded into the background as Harry tried desperately not to burn the broccoli - “IT IS COMPLETELY UNACCEPTABLE!” - the flinch this sudden raise in volume caused put all of Harry’s effort to waste as the edges of the broccoli singed. Great. Just great.
As the Dursleys sat down expectantly, Harry started serving the salad, trying his best to conceal the burnt parts beneath the rest. Unfortunately though, the soggy slop that splatted onto Dudley’s plate landed burnt side up and it was too late to correct his mistake. Dudley looked down (though it was hard for him to see past his chin). Harry winced.
“You must be as stupid as your parents! You can’t even cook broccoli right!” Dudley exclaimed and a pang of anger flared alight in Harry’s stomach but he suppressed the urge to yell “neither can you” at his cousin to avoid further consequences. Reaching across to the plate, intending to move it to his place at the table, his wrist was snatched up by Uncle Vernon which thwarted his attempts at smoothing over the mistake.
Grabbing Dudley’s plate in his meaty hand and holding it up to his face in order to examine it more closely, Harry’s wrist still clutched tightly in the other.
“This is burnt.” Uncle Vernon stated the obvious.
“Well spotted.” Harry didn’t have the chance to stop the remark before it had left his mouth.
“What did you say BOY?” Uncle Vernon spat, spittle dusting over Harry despite his attempt to avoid it. The grip around his wrist tightened suddenly causing a puff of air sifted sharply into his mouth from pain and he could see Dudley smirking in the corner of his vision.
“Let me go.”
Harry could see the cogs turning behind his uncle’s eyes before his hand was roughly shoved back in his direction.
“Go make another plate.” Harry sputtered at the unfairness, despite there being no surprise that came with the statement. His resolve hardened.
“No.”
“What?”
“I said no.”
“Oh . . . Oh you are getting it if YOU DON’T-”
“If you want it done the way you like it. Make. It. Yourself.”
“You- You-”
Before he could finish his sentence, Harry had turned to the door and stormed out of the room, leaving Uncle Vernon spluttering for a name foul enough to call him.
His trembling hand closed around the door handle and jerked violently, slamming it just as hard behind him once he had stepped through.
Harry’s stomach growled as he had been unable to eat anything before leaving the house and he desperately wished he had at least eaten something that was hidden beneath the floorboard in his room. He considered even wishing for some of Hagrid’s rock cakes, but upon remembering that eating them would be not unlike eating actual rocks he came to the conclusion that he wasn’t that hungry.
He watched as the identical houses of Privet Drive slowly passed him as he walked in no direction in particular, not having thought through where he was going before setting off. He wished he could just go to Hogwarts early, or visit Ron, or Hermoine. Or Sirius.
At this thought, Harry’s mind lingered on the home he had been so close to getting with Sirius before it was snatched right out from under his nose by none other than his father’s old best friend, Wormtail, who also happened to be the reason that his parents were dead.
Another bubble of anger made its way up his throat.
He remembered looking into the Mirror of Erised in his first year of Hogwarts, his parents gazing back at him lovingly from the reflection. The everpresent tug of desire to have a family that loved and cared for him pulled at his insides once again.
Why did it have to be him? Why was it always him?
The bubble of what had now become rage rose from his throat and into his mouth. He yelled. The images that flashed through his mind of what he wished to do to Wormtail if he ever got his hands on him were not something he was proud of.
The longing worsened as he kept walking. He felt helpless in the presence of the Dursleys.
His steps stuttered, however, when, in the middle of the vast expanse of identical houses he saw what looked like, not just a mere house, but a home.
Bushes lined the garden, a small pond nestled into one corner among the various flowers and shrubbery that surrounded it. The fence wound around the garden as if vines were hugging it along with the house. The roof looked dark brown and the slates were curved and imperfect. But it wasn’t the house in particular that made his gaze linger on it, it was the warm, golden light filtering through the windows which had electric candles flickering along their windowsills.
What was more, there were silhouettes of people moving beyond the flowy mesh curtains that obscured the rooms behind from Harry’s view. A laugh managed to make it past the glass panes and it was the most joyous noise he had heard all summer.
A small mop of messy hair skirted the bottom of the window, hands raised on either side, obvious delight seen even just by looking at the shadow cast through the window.
Harry didn’t know how long he had stood there watching how happy the three people looked, seeming to be playing some sort of game together. He was only drawn away from his thoughts when he felt trails of wet trickle down his cheeks and pool at his chin, his vision becoming suddenly blurred.
This was what he could have had. This was the life he had been robbed from before he was even old enough to be able to appreciate what he had had.
Soon, and to his surprise, his mind was pulled elsewhere. Another place with warm, golden light spilling from its windows — Hogwarts.
He had a family there. Images of Hermoine, Ron and all his siblings flashed in his mind’s eye. Dumbledore’s face gazing fondly down at him. Sirius and the safety he provided to Harry — the comfort he brought. The comforting thought of returning to Hogwarts offered enough solace for him to return to his senses and the thought of all the people who cared for him was enough to send another several tears spilling from his eyes.
The darkening sky reminding Harry of how late it was when he left and looking down at the watch strapped to his wrist told him he’d been gone for quite a long time — not that the Dursleys would care, in fact, Harry suspected they likely had their hopes up for him not to return. Despite his wish to fulfil that particular hope of theirs, he knew that the longer he was gone, the worse the consequences would be once he walked back through the door.
With a start, he remembered what Sirius had told him in a letter last year — “If you ever need me, send word. Your owl will find me.” He knew at once, his aunt and uncle needed a bit of a reminder of just who they would be answering to if Harry was unhappy.
He replayed the look of horror on Uncle Vernon’s face when he first mentioned Sirius at London Kings Cross. He would very much like to see that expression grace his uncle’s large purple face once more.
With that happy thought in mind and casting a last look at the home, shifting light still emanating from it onto the street, Harry turned back towards 4 Privet Drive with far less dread clinging to him for his inevitable punishment.