Chapter Text
Did he regret it? Never. He would do it a hundred times again, even knowing that he would have to sit in Dudley's second bedroom for a week straight with barely any food for the day. Did that make him masochistic in any way? Maybe.
And maybe Malfoy's spit of calling him a tosser with a saviour complex had a bit of truth in it. But no hunger or hours spent sitting around and boring himself to death would ever cancel out that he did it. Sirius would be proud, Remus as well, he hoped.
But it did not change the fact that he was hungry and bored out of his mind. His hands were scratched all over from his overgrown fingernails, but he knew that a moment will come when he'll just bite them as close to his skin as possible. He looked towards all the letters he wrote to his friends when he was bored and reminded himself he couldn't send them.
He took his face into his hands and surely, if he wasn't dehydrated, he would shed a few tears. He didn't. Hedwig hooted in order to get him out of his mind, or to remind him to free her so she could at least hunt for herself.
On day two of his imprisonment, she brought him a dead mouse and he politely thanked her but made no move to eat it, so she didn't repeat that gesture twice. Now, as Harry was starting to get hungrier and more desperate, he kept thinking about that mouse because surely, it couldn't have been that bad.
He slowly got up from the place on the floor where he spent his last few days when he wasn't sleeping or writing at his desk, and took Hedwig's small cage, setting it on the parapet and opening the gate.
When he opened the window, his face was hit with the warm summer air. It was fresh, unlike the air in this small stuffed room he was rotting in for, what, nearly a week now, won't it be? When his owl stretched her wings and flew out, he looked at her empty claws only for a second before closing the window.
Distantly, he heard some footsteps outside the door. Coming up the stairs, he couldn't guess where Petunia was going, but once she was turning right and her steps didn't slow down near Dudley's room, he knew he would hear the key in a second. It couldn't be anyone else, really.
Harry knew the weight and sound of his relatives' footsteps because, who didn't? Living in the same house all his life, he knew it was his aunt with her light but muffled steps. He wished he didn't.
She hesitated near his door, but eventually he heard her turn the key. Honestly, he expected her to leave his daily hardened bread with a bottle of water and leave. But she didn't have those things with her.
Instead, she stood in the doorway and scanned the room for him. Her nose wrinkled, probably feeling the stuffed air. “Clean yourself and eat downstairs. You can't look like death, I need you to do the shopping today.” Without any other spare words, she left.
He stood beside the window and looked back at where he could still see a dot in the sky that was surely Hedwig. Looks like they would both leave the house today.
Hungry as he was, the first thing he did before anything was go downstairs and make himself a couple of boiled eggs. He took only one to eat himself though, because his aunt would yell at him if he ate more of their food, and his uncle would yell at him if he wasted precious gas and water on boiling a singular egg.
Luckily, it seemed like only Petunia was around the house. Vernon was probably off to work, and Dudley was either in his room, sleeping untill noon, or out with his mates somewhere, bullying kids.
His aunt seemed to only give him occasional side eyes instead of telling him to hurry, and who would Harry be to complain?
He didn't bother with cutting the egg and putting it on a piece of bread. Once it was peeled, he just bit it in half and didn't do anything else other than immediately start cleaning the kitchen.
Not only after himself, no. Just, everything that was casually laying around or else. He didn't even notice doing it at first, it was just sort of his reflex by now. He hated when it caught him in the Great Hall.
Having eaten breakfast, though still far from full, he went to shower. When he came out and dried his hair with his towel, he took out the laundry and put it their massive bowl for carrying laundry to hang it in the backyard later.
Petunia didn't say anything about giving him that task, but he was sort of on autopilot now, and he was sure she wouldn't complain.
Maybe Vernon would say something about how his presence was paying off at least in some way and how it was how he always should be. Useful.
Because that's all there was to him, right? If he wasn't useful, then what was the point of having him around? His uncle was sure to make it known to him ever since Harry remembered, and everyone agreed.
Hermione and Ron needed him, Dumbledore needed him, the whole damn wizarding world needed him to be useful. And he would be, at least he could try and pretend.
He could pretend to be a lot of things actually. Useful surely being one of them, maybe even the main one, side by side with being okay. These two were tied to each other anyway, because if he wasn't okay, then he wouldn't, couldn't be useful. And he needed to be useful so he needed to be okay and if he said it enough times maybe even he himself could belive it—
Not that anyone would ask anyway. The Dursleys were, well, the Dursleys; Dumbledore was hot and cold with him lately, but that could've just been the shock of last year's events; Him and Neville didn't usually correspond much during summer, other than wishing each other Happy Birthdays; things with Dean and Seamus weren't better; Ginny was kind of weird since joining the Quidditch team and began ignoring him for some reason?; Sirius and Remus were still probably busy with stuff at Grimmauld, renovating the place and all; and finally, he did not recive a singular letter from neither Hermione nor Ron, for whatever reason.
Which only deepened Harry's pit of self-destruction and overthinking, because it meant that he was obviously and utterly alone.
Well, not in that precise moment, because he was in a shop full of people from all around the neighbourhood, some of them even recognizing him and greeting back when he waved, but the point stands.
In the alley with frozen food and whatnot, while struggling to read what exact fish Petunia scribbled down on the note she gave him, he even saw Gregory what's-his-name, the man who lived a few houses down the road.
While the man nodded at him politely but obviously in a sour mood, Harry only smiled. He thanked Merlin for Dursleys being scared of their sacred appearance enough to not tell the brute anything. He wished that the satisfaction that came back with seeing the awful man was not much visible on his tired face, but the found he didn't really care.
However happy the memories that came back were, they only took him down the road for a little bit. While still feeling proud of himself, he went to pay for all the things he wouldn't be eating himself.
After he got the recit, he even grabbed a cheap protein bar with some unfamiliar nuts(and paid for it, in case there was any doubt). He would think of a white lie later, as he was getting significantly better at it, lying.
He looked at the watch on his wrist and seeing how little time the shopping took him, decided for a detour. Instead of going south, he went the opposite way and walked to the old playground.
He didn't sit on the swings because he didn't want to risk any sand getting into the bags and Petunia questioning him for it. He's had enough yelling for things he didn't do, no need to add anything else to that list.
From there, as he was going back to the Dursleys, he spotted something hiding in the tunnel he knew so well. At first he thought it was some kind of a rag, but it was shivering.
It must've be a cat, or a deathly thin dog. Upon slowly coming closer as to not scare the animal, he saw pointy ears and a characteristic muzzle and inhaled sharply at the sight of the malnourished little thing. It was a fox.
It didn't seem to notice him at all untill he was crouching beside it and trying to touch it to see if it was alive. At the slight of Harry, the animal was immediately on it's shaky legs and trying to run away, though without much sucess as Harry was kind of in it's way.
Probably thinking that Harry was about to beat it or something, it just curled up and closed it's eyes, still shivering, but Harry thought that it wasn't entirely the cold's fault this time.
For a few seconds, maybe half a minute, he stayed there and just thought. What could he do? If he tried to touch it, it would definitely scratch, and Merlin knew if it hadn't had rabies or something.
He obviously couldn't leave it there! It already looked so.. dead. And if it didn't get better before winter, it definitely wouldn't make it past it.
‘Think Harry, think’ He looked around his mind. Obviously, some kind of animal food would be desirable, but the Dursleys had no cats nor dogs, so there was nothing like that in his bags.
Hermione would really be better here, she would know the exact diet for wild foxes and know what would be best to get it back on it's feet. Maybe there was a dead rat somewhere in the tunnel?
But then it wouldn't be dead and laying around for no reason, and the last thing he wanted was to poison the poor animal. And if only he could open the bread he just bought to feed it to the fox, he would, he really would. But he couldn't risk the Dursleys—
Suddenly, a lightbulb shone above his head in a cartoony manner, at least he felt like it did. He just wished he wouldn't poison the poor thing with it.
He didn't really notice the little thing opening it's eyes as Harry took out his protein bar and tried to cautiously tear open the packaging and not scare the thing with his moves again.
The fox stared at him with dark eyes, partially covered with it's tail— oh Merlin, it had it's tail cut off near the end. Seeing it all muddy and whatnot, seeing it at all, was something that made Harry puke a little in his mouth and remember that Voldemort was not the only bad person in this world, if he even counted as a person at all.
Harry slowly reached out his hand and held the protein bar. The fox stared at it and at Harry in turns, but Harry remained in place. It moved it's tail out of it's face and leaned over to sniff it.
After maybe ten seconds, Harry must've done something to spook it again because it flinched back into it's corner. Fuck. But it was progress.
He decided that the animal was only scared of him, so he slowly put the protein bar on the ground, taking the plastic wrapper with him to deposit in the nearest trashcan. With one last look over his shoulder, he left the fox.
He savoured all the moments of walking before he had to walk into that damn house, because the moment he did, he was swarmed with Petunia's accusations of stealing from them and wandering around God knows where.
He could only look at the floor while he explained that there was a really long line and the stressed cashier gave him one pound instead of two and he didn't notice untill she pointed it out, which explained both why he took so long and why he was a pound short.
That woman would be the death of him.
At the same time, the trip meant that he was 'free' again. In the sense that he wasn't getting locked in Dudley's second bedroom again and wouldn't have to call for Petunia every time he needed to go to the bathroom.
He still thought that it was worth it, and reminded himself to go and check on Bruno when he'll be thrown out of the house for a few hours again. Then went into the backyard to hang the laundry and all the usual things that he saw do themselves in the Burrow.
The tasks he was given were never bad or beyond his abilities. Maybe a few years ago, he would think that it's just how it's supposed to be, just because.
But after the long months everyone in his current life spent on trying to get into his head that he's still a child, he at least understood the fact that children were supposed to be taken care of, not the opposite.
He still couldn't get used to Mrs. Weasley or Hermione looking after him, or his roommates actually caring about what he has to say. It's like, he finds himself lying and telling them that nothing interesting happened, or that he's okay, while he's actually breaking down. In the back of his mind, he knows they care and want him to be honest, but he just..
If they asked him twice or thrice, he would geniuinely tell them. He would tell them everything, and he really wanted to. But after a quick “You okay, mate?” and a nod, the topic of the conversation always shifted and they never demanded an answer.
Which, okay, Hermione told him she doesn't want to overwhelm him or anything, but it feels like they don't care. Like they ask just to be polite, not actually interested in his answer. Like they would move on even if he told them everything, or forget, or dismiss him.
And maybe, just maybe, if he was useful enough, they would care, and they would ask twice whether or not he's okay. Even if he knows it's supposed to be a bad mindset, he decided to blame the Dursleys for raising him like that.
Having gotten used to that, that's why he never complains. And that's why he finds himself searching for seeds, that in his opinion don't exist, in the shed of their neighbour.
He was looking through the shelves for ten minutes already, and sweat started to creep in. It was now well into the summer holidays, but he had a feeling that it was only a minor reason beside the stress of not being able to find something.
If it was their shed, he would immediately know where's everything, and if not, he would just toggle up to Petunia and she would go to find it herself, even though it would be through gritted teeth and a load of complains. But it was in the neighbour's backyard and he was pretty sure she was out of the house at the moment.
Suddenly, the wooden door opened and Harry jumped at the motion, scared. He was greeted with a boy, looking younger than Harry but definitely a teenager already, in what Harry assumed were his pjamas or casual home clothes.
At first the boy's face was determined, but upon seeing Harry, his expression faltered and gave up it's place for unease. Before the child could think that Harry was some kind of thief that for some reason took interest in a random shed, Harry was smart enough to talk. “Hi.”
The boy scanned him warily, but answered with a similar “Hi.” His voice cracked a bit, and Harry smiled.
“I live next door and your, uhh, Ms. Congulit told my aunt to help herself with some seeds and she fetched me for them..” he quickly explained, hoping that the boy would not.. run off and call the police or something.
Big dark eyes stared at him in response, only listening to his alibi and seemingly wondering if he was worth beliving. Then he spoke like he knew everything. “I know. Saw you four days ago mowing our lawn.”
It was Harry's turn to stare. He thought he saw someone poking their head from the upper window then, but reasoned that it must've been the woman checking up on him. “Yeah, uhh, that's actually why Ms. Congulit agreed to give my aunt the seeds..” okay, now, some children were pleasant to be around, but this kid's staring was slowly creeping Harry out. “Do you maybe know where they are?”
The boy took a few seconds of awkward silence to respond again, but then looked to the shelves and passed Harry to opened the box on the side, taking out a few white bags. He passed them to Harry and Harry looked at them, kind of confused. The boy continued to stare at him.
He slowly and carefully spread the denim and looked inside, seeing even smaller ziploc bags inside. There were a few in each, and through the clear plastic he saw they were full of a variety of seeds. “Thank you.” he said to the kid.
“Thank you,” the younger boy said, and after a second added, “for the lawn. I, uhh, I would've had to do it myself and the lawnmower is heavy so I would get suuper tired or strained myself again, exacly like the doctors said I shouldn't do, and then I wouldn't be able to— sorry” after what he bowed.
Harry stood there, not knowing what to do. What could he even say to that? For a strange second, the boy reminded him of himself a few years younger and with much more to say.
Before Hogwarts. Before he had someone to geniuenly care for him. Before he had anyone tell him that he didn't have to do anything he didn't want to do and more importantly shouldn't be forced nor expected to. He breifly wondered if the boy was the same as younger Harry, but a yell from outside brought him back to the still bowing kid before him.
“Harry! What's taking you so long?!” Vernon's screeches, that were probblably coming from the kitchen window. It passed Harry's brain that he wouldn't be so nice if he wasn't literally yelling for the whole neighbourhood to hear. He only called him Harry if anyone else might hear.
The kid straightened and after looking at Harry one last time, ran back to the house. Harry watched the door close and heard a click of key locking it as he came out of the shed with the denim in his hands.
He chose one of the bags, not wanting to plant more than necessary. Both him and Petunia would be satisfied, and she didn't even need to know about his compromise.
The man almost immediately scolded him for snooping around for so long and called him lucky that their neighbour wasn't around. “First Mr. Marvin, now Ms. Congulit. Clearly you want to be caught.” He rolled his eyes at his glares. “Careful, boy, or we'll take advice from Gregory on how to take care of animals.” Harry flinched.
After his uncle dismissed him, he got more orders from Petunia and spent the rest of the day outside, im the garden, planting the seeds in the pots she gave him.
It was supposed to be his punishment for making the previous plants around the house bite and hiss, but he knew that if not that, he would have plenty of chores anyway.
The next day, Harry was supposed to clean the entire house as the task got abandoned the day before. As he was putting breakfast on the table, Vernon started talking with his mouth full, not looking up from the scrambled eggs with beacon that Harry might've oversalted a little.
“We're going to church today.” Harry stopped in his tracks for a second, before continuing to wipe the tea stain on the table. Why the man was telling him this, he wasn't sure. It was the same every sunday. He nodded, trying to not show his internal happiness at being left alone, even if only for a few hours. “You can either get locked in your room, or out the house. Choose.”
Ah, so that was the catch. Harry scolded himself in his mind for thinking that it was going to be easy and chill, for getting his hopes up. Of course his uncle wasn't going to let him relax just like that. He just wanted to he left alone but not restricted for a while, was that so hard?
“But I was supposed to clean the house.” he reasoned.
There were few enough times that he could count on his fingers when he could clean the house in peace, with the Dursleys out. He would take his headphones he got from Mr. Weasley and just listen to music for a few hours, swaying to the beat as he vacummed and singing to himself as he was doing the laundry or steaming socks.
No one would complain about not being to walk around the wet floors, no one would correct his techniques of folding clothes or saying he was using too much of cleaner spray on the furniture.
“Yeah well, after your stunts, you're either in or out. I don't trust ya' to be here alone. If you wanna trash your room, fucking go for it, but not my house. If you pull something while out, 'ya won't be running to hide here. And be sure we won't be coming to your rescue at the station, 'right?”
It didn't really make sense to Harry, but whatever. The only thing that ever made sense in this house was Harry, and he was a magical weirdo.
If he stayed in his room for another long hours, he was sure he would go crazy. Weeks ago he decided to only spend time there when necessary, so he wouldn't be so sick of it if he was grounded again.
And besides, it wasn't so hot outside that day, so maybe a little walk wouldn't hurt. He would probably end up just sitting on the playground for three hours again, but he could manage people thinking he was weird, just like every time he went there since he turned thirteen.
“I'm going out then.” He decided aloud, and went to the kitchen to take his plate with his humble meal of unseasoned scrambled eggs.
There was no place for him at the table, even though there were six chairs, so he ate standing up, only leaning on the kitchen counter.
He was going out at the same time as they were, so that Vernon could lock up the house in front of his eyes or something. Petunia only eyed the backpack on his shoulder before saying, “Be back before seven.” with the absolutely most disgusted look on her face. He was really amused by her fear of peoples opinions.
Oh no, he'll walk around with a hardened bread in his arms around the neighbourhood and people will recognize him, that's the end of the world. He almost wanted to remind her that it was them who made him eat their scraps since he was a child, but didn't voice his thoughts in case they decided to lock him up inside last minute.
She just had to give him a backpack. She simply didn't know how it helped him in reality. Even protected him from Vernon wanting to check what he had there, because of course he didn't have anything else to have there.
“Or don't.” Dudley snickered and absolutely no one laughed at his joke, thought it was apparently worth a smile from Vernon.
They were off, and even though Harry was going in the same direction, he just walked in the fumes of their car.
The half a loaf on his back was not that bad actually, these people just had some high standards that probably formed when they started giving him the bread that was older. And by older, he meant three days old. Harry wasn't complaining, and was sure the one he wanted to share with wouldn't either.
He kept thinking about lots of things. Mostly his upcoming tasks, but before bed, when there was nothing to distract him, also of his friends.
He still haven't got any owl by his window, and even Hedwig was starting to become lonely without any of her kind visiting. She was sad to go hunting alone, he knew that.
She got used to hunting with the Weasleys' and Sirius' animals, and sadly she was not the only one hurt by this.. situation. Harry breifly wondered if the owls somehow weren't able to reach him, but them saw a school one giving a letter to Petunia. She didn't tell him what that was about.
With no friends of his at the moment, he decided to make some new ones. Maybe not necessarily human, but still. Because during his nightly ceiling watching moments, he also kept thinking about the little fox in the tunel.
He half hoped it would still be there, because of his selfishness, but the better part of him hoped it would be gone, because it would mean there was a chance it was in a better place. Whatever it meant, death or animal's shelter.
No one had to know about the tug on his heart when he saw the animal just as it was a few days before. He came up to it slowly, knelt a foot away from it, and made sure to make some noise along the way to notify the animal. He shook the bag off of his shoulders and took out the bread, a small bowl and a bottle of water.
The fox, seemingly having recognized him, didn't try to run this time. Though still shaking, it just watched him with curiosity as he tore the bread and threw it into the water.
He thought that giving the crusts to it just like that could probably hurt its throat, so he did exacly what he remembered the woman in the shelter do for Bruno when he first got him there, water instead of milk but he was sure it would be fine.
A little push of the bowl brought the animal's attention to it and it weakly stood up to sniff it. With a curious look at Harry, the fox tried his dish. Considering it didn't stop after a few licks, Harry deemed his job good enough.
When the animal was busy eating what was probably it's first meal in days, Harry slowly got closer and closer. It got spooked when he was a few inches next to it, so he decided sitting against the tunnel wall was good enough to observe.
The animal had it's tail to him, and Harry flinched, seeing it still dirty and covered in dried blood.
He didn't notice as the fox ate the wet bread and retreated to staring at him, though this time, without much fear. There was a spark in it's eyes, and Harry wished he knew what was happening in it's mind.
Was he safe now, or still to be remained cautious around? Without any further train of thought, he reached a hand to pet it. It hissed. He took it back, not wanting to get bitten by a feral animal and get rabies.
With nothing to do for another two hours, he took out a notebook and pen from his backpack and started writing another letter. Not to his friends, no.
After the tenth, he decided there was no point if he's never going to send them anyway. Hedwig flew one time, second day of summer. A day before the whole Bruno fiasco. She returned to him with the letter still attached, and after that, she didn't want to fly to deliver something again.
There was only one other person he could write to, even if for the sole purpose of killing time, and he didn't need Hedwig to deliver those letters. So he started. All his frustration that was building up since the first day at the Dursleys, it just kept pouring out.
It was exacly like his previous letters to himself, because he still felt the same if even more raw. Who wouldn't be sad and angry if everyone that cared about them just left? Especially given his history and their acknowledgement of it.
They always told him to count on them, that they'll always be there for him, that he can always find them, always write to them, always relay on them if something happened, if the Dursleys were too much. But it seemed like, their always was limited. Like it usually was for Harry.
After all his time with them, the jokes with Ron, friendly irritating Hermione and all of their jurneys, time spent with the Weasleys near the end of every summer, Remus' and Sirius' visits on Halloween so they could all be together and their plans of having Harry move in. Wasted. Worst of all, he had not even the tiniest idea why.
So maybe instead of his correspondence with them, he could visit an animal that needs him too. And it will like him eventually, because it'll have to.
But Harry tried to ignored that part. And for everyone else, it wouldn't make a difference. Harry hoped so. He looked at the relaxed animal and found some peace with it. It would definitely make a difference for them, and that would be enough.
But he wished he didn't have to be there. He wished he could like sitting in his room because he would have his friends keeping him entertained. He wished people would care about him even when he's not there.
He knew they would start when the school year started, but that's because they had to. Who does he have at that particular moment to keep him company? A fucking animal? A family that hates him?
Dear Harry Potter,
It turns out, this won't be an amazing day after all. This wasn't an amazing week or an amazing month. Because why would it be?
Oh, I know, because now, there’s this fox. And all my hope is pinned on this random fox. Which I don’t even know and that doesn’t know me. But maybe if I did. Maybe if I could just visit it enough, enough for it to like me, then maybe—maybe nothing would be different at all.
I wish that everything was different. I wish that I wasn't the boy who lived. I wish that anything I said mattered, to anyone. I mean, let’s face it: would anybody even notice if I disappeared tomorrow?
Sincerely, your best and most dearest friend,
Me
He had so much more to say, but his head started to hurt from leaning on the stone wall. Still having about an hour outside, he packed the bowl and empty water bottle with the animal's eyes on him for the entire time.
He bid farawell to it and it only watched as he walked away. And if it looked a little sad for it's company to go away, that was probably just Harry's imagination.
On the playground, there were a few kids because it was summer and obviously they were going to be there, and two women sitting on the bench. Harry sat on his favourite swing and watched as the kids played.
Seeing happy kids with their happy parents, he never knew what exacly he expected. Seeing families so keen on on growing up loved, he only thought about whether that was what the fate had in mind for him, had his parents lived.
Would they take him to the park and watch him make friends with kids that he would probably never see again? Or maybe they would arrange playdates for him with the kids of their friends, had they all lived happily ever after.
If he had muggle friends, could he tell them about his boarding school that is actually an entrance to another, extremely hidden, world?
If he grew up loved, would he turn out the way the Weasleys did? All so apart yet so close. Trusting, like a real family should. By blood and by choice. Or would he end up like Dudley, who was loved so much he turned out spoiled and rotten from the inside.
Maybe he would be like Sirius, who was, despite everything, loved so deeply that his mother wanted him to end up like her because in her mind it was better than the family madness taking over him(Though, in Harry's opinion, Sirius was the only one that had not gone mad).
Harry didn't think he would want either of those, if he's being honest. He loves the Weasleys, really, but he could never be truthly a part of their family. Would it be different if he was raised like this from an infant?
Those children, the ones he was watching, seemed to be between the Weasleys and the Dursleys. They were yelling that they weren't gonna go home without their friends, but once their mothers yelled at them, they only said sorry and followed suit to their respective cars without any more complains, only waving to each other goodbye.
He never noticed a new person appearing inside the gates of the playground. Still, he heard the swing(the one he didn't like, because it made sounds unpleasant to any human's ears) to his right move and was spooked to see a girl sitting there, watching the cars getting further and further away, just as he was mere seconds before.
Staring for a few long seconds, he tried to think. The fences were too high for someone to jump over them, and there were only two exits, both visible from the place Harry was currently occupying. Either she heard his thoughts or had noticed him staring because she suddenly started talking like they were old pals catching up.
“I kinda hoped the women would leave and the kids would run after them.” the strange girl said, then turned to him and smiled in a specific way that let him wonder whether she was crazy or just weird. She stuck out a finger in the air to say, “Humiliating but satisfying and oh, so educational for them kids.”
He didn't laugh, she didn't either, though her eyes showed clear aumusement. Harry couldn't decide what he should do. Unfortunately, he was trained to think that everyone he meets and doesn't trust is a spy for Voldemort, resulting in that thought passing his brain.
Sure, she didn't attack him or anything — whether it to do with the fact that she looked his age or just wanted information instead — but could still be dangerous.
Maybe she was stalking him for herself? Unfortunately, this wouldn't be the first time that happened to him, though Amelia Podwart didn't dare follow him outside of school.
He tried to reason her being magical from appearance, but it didn't do him much. Her hair, though in a bun on the top of her head, looking like she slept in it and didn't bother fixing the lose strands, was a dark red, but she could be dying it like the old ladies do, so not necessarily any charm, and some humans had an almost black irises naturally, right?
She was really pale, but not much paler than Malfoy. He wouldn't say she was a vampire, even though she had one tooth near the front that had that shape.. Her nails were black, but it was definitely just nail polish, as it seemed to be starting coming off in certain places.
This girl was in muggle clothes, a black top decorated with some golden threads and some dark blue short jeans, so there was an option that she was just a weird muggle teenager who somehow teleported into the playground.
And honestly, the fact that he hadn't seen her come in was the main argument for her being a witch.
Though she also had some jewlery, like a gold necklace with a rubin hanging off of it and a single bracelet with a variety of gold and red charms on it. Her purple messenger bag was next to her foot on the ground, where she probably put it when she sat on the swing.
Overall, she looked pretty normal. Like any other kid who had their own life and personality. People like that were always the most suspicious ones.
“I guess.” He only said.
Sure, he needed someone to talk to, but he couldn't risk talking to random people, even much less when the random people appeared out of nowhere and were the ones to start talking to him.
“Aw, come on! A girl talking to you, and you wanna pass that?” She started swinging the swing with her legs, though only slightly.
“I've got enough of that already.” He replied without any particular intrest.
“Ohh, a popular guy. You don't look like one, sorry for my mistake.” the girl rolled her eyes.
“Not trying to be.”
She swung higher. “You all say that.”
“And maybe some of us are telling the truth.” he bit back.
He really hated when people assumed things about him. That he grew up praised, that he thinks he's a saint, that he likes being ‘popular’ if you can even call it that.
That's mostly why he hates Malfoy, because he's got some twisted idea of him where Harry's someone who he's not.
Besides, popularity isn't a word he would use to describe himself. He wasn't popular because he was a loud party lion like John Nauk, not because he was insanely full of himself like Draco, not because he was super friendly to everyone like Ginny, and certainly not because he was smart enough for other people to want his help like Hermione or Malik.
The source of people knowing his name, even beyond the school grounds, was a tragedy. He was sort of glad about being himself if it meant that it was his fate and not someone elses'.
Strangers looked his way and the first thing that came to mind was that his parents are dead. They asked for his autographs even so. Harry hated it.
Popular people liked their status and chose it. He didn't choose shit and wished he wasn't known at all.
“Maybe.” The girl said quietly. Her voice sounded far away, like she was thinking deeply and only her body remained next to Harry.
Then silence, but only from their words. The birds kept chirping, unaware of their silent agreement. The wind was still blowing, even more now than a minute ago.
Harry turned his head straight and only listened to the sounds all around them. The one irritating sound was of the left swing's rusty chains.
Harry's thoughts went back to the small forest near the Burrow, where it was just as calm as in that moment. If he focused on it enough, he could even pretend that the nightingales were starlings and he was sitting on a trunk of a tree that had fallen long before he first walked upon it. If he closed his eyes, he could almost see it.
Almost, because there wasn't an ear scratching squeak in that forest.
Memories of Ginny showing the place to him almost a year ago entered. Them sitting together on the old fallen tree. A small porcucob spotted between the flora. Running from an angry nymph just to see a black dog waiting outside the treeline and barking at them teasingly.
Maybe there could be the lingering touches as well, if Harry started it. But there weren't, because he didn't.
SCREECH
Sirius telling all the present Weasleys about what he called their date, Ron flipping out on both Harry and Ginny for entirely different reasons, Molly telling them that whatever they do, Harry's always welcome there.
SCREECH
Harry scoffed to himself. What a lie.
SCREECH
The twins then yanking him to the side to ask if that meant he's officially joining their family and if he's willing to help them out financially with their jokeskop.
He cleared his and Ginny's name temporarily but still offered a small part of the Potter fortune in exchange for nothing. They told him he would always be free of charge if he decided to get something off of their hands.
SCREECH
Would he even step inside their shop? Would they want him there, or would they immediately tell him to leave the shop that he funded from his grandparents' money.
Now that he was thinking about it, he should've just bought his share to at least get a profit and incease Fleamont's money instead of just giving it away.
SCREECH
Would he even be welcome in the Burrow anymore? Was Sirius' offer for him to live in Grimmauld still on the plate? He never intended to take him on it, but it would hurt knowing he did something so terrible for his own godfather to not want to do anything with him.
SCREECH
“If you wanna swing, we can switch. I can't even hear my thoughts.” He said, having had enough of the horrendous sound. He wasn't swinging anyway, so he could just keep still on the other swing.
SCREECH
The girl looked his way, he saw out of a corner in his eye, and snorted. “Good.” as if to prove a point, she pushed herself harder.
SCREECH
It was his turn to look at her with a silent question in his eyes. She smiled. “I hate hearing my thoughts, and you look like you do too.”
SCREECH
Before he could do anything, she swung past him and caught the chains of his seating with her hands, pulling him with her.
SCREECH
He kept quiet, and she let go.
SCREECH
He kept swinging from her impact.
SCREECH
“Oh, come on! I'm not gonna judge you!”
SCREECH
“Live a little, be a child!”
SCREECH
Harry saw her laughing like a kid, even though she looked his age or even older. He saw her smile shining bright in the sun and the wind intertwining itself through her hair but it didn't seem to bother her. She looked like nothing could bother her in that moment.
SCREECH
He waited for his legs to be close to the rubber pavement and pushed himself.
SCREECH
Again.
SCREECH
She saw him going at it and started laughing harder.
SCREECH
He couldn't help but laugh with her.
SCREECH
Maybe she was trying to kill him.
SCREECH
But at that moment, he couldn't hear himself care.
SCREECH
They were almost high enough for the swings to go all around in a circle.
SCREECH
He felt the sun on his face, just like when Hermione wanted to try talking to the giant squid just before summer—
SCREECH
The wind messing up his already tangled hair, just like when Ron opened the window in the flying car—
SCREECH
The laughter leaving his chest uncontrollably, just like when Sirius took him to—
SCREECH
The swinging sensation of the world shifting around him reminded him of apparation.
SCREECH
But all those thoughts didn't even form properly before being interuppted by another—
SCREECH
And Harry, for once, let himself not think about these things.
SCREECH
He just thought about holding the chains, pushing himself more when losing momentum, and leaning in rythm with his swing as to not fall off.
It was so loud, but so quiet all at once. For once in his entire summer, it was peace.
Untill of course, one of them got tired and the other soon followed. They were still laughing though.
Harry wanted to say something, ask something, but the bliss still clouded his mind. Was it weird to compare the feeling to a post orgasm feeling? It's just, they just sat there for a while, satisfied and brains full of serotonin.
It didn't necessarily mean that he wanted to have sex with the girl, though if she wanted, he wouldn't be opposed, they are teenagers after all and all the hormones do their best to make sure they remember it, all the time—
And he was attacked by his weird and insecure thoughts all over again, the moment being over.
So he said, “You know, I saved a dog from an abusive owner earlier this month.”
Thinking about Bruno always made his chest lighter, the whole operation being one of his impulsive decisions but working out in the end. And maybe if Mr. Gregory didn't talk with Vernon the next day and hadn't told him someone stole his dog, Vernon wouldn't even think about the fact that Harry got back very late.
Not like he would care if it wasn't for the embarassment Harry supposedly brought him. That thought was bad, he had to cut it short.
So he asked, “How did you get in here?”
“Hm?” she hummed, still unbothered and with a great smile on her face, leaning on the chain away from Harry. He noticed she was still swinging her swing, just a little bit. Not enough to make those fuckass noises, at least.
“The exits are there and there,” he pointed a finger to the left and then right. “And I didn't see you coming in. So, how did you?”
She giggled. “You were just zoned out, mate. Looked like you were planning to kill yourself.” she shrugged, then grinned and added, “Or the kids.”
Silence followed suit, because he wasn't sure what he was supposed to say to that. The thrill left him, and what stayed was a feeling of unease.
Harry now realized that she could be someone he shouldn't be talking to, and could've hurt him while he was in their little bubble.
She clearly expected him to laugh or give her some sort of reaction to her joke, because when he didn't even budge, her smile was only slightly visible and a little sad, or was it just shy now? “That's why I wanted to cheer you up a little.”
Harry was dumb. Was he really falling for this shitty play? He should've went back to the Dursleys the second he saw the stranger next to him. Didn't matter if he was sitting on the pavement for forty minutes.
Of course Voldemort found him even there, in Little Whining. Why didn't he just kill him? Was this some sort of a sick plan to get Harry on his side? Had he seen how lonely and miserable Harry was and decided to send him a girl?
How fucking smart of The Great Voldemort, really. Why should he kill the only equal to him, when he could just bribe him into joining his forces? No, that doesn't sound like the bastard who didn't hesitate to kill him on the old Riddle's tomb.
Was he simply toying with him? Yes, that's more like him. Giving him a glimpse of hope, one person in this hellhole of summer where everybody else already left him, just for them to wait for the prefect moment to stab him in the back.
He what, expected them to bond over screeching swings and kiss and when the girl will invite him over to her house, the monster will be waiting there to cast Avada the same way he did to his parents?
Oh Merlin, he was spiralling again. Though, all his worries did make sense, and that was what made him freak out, not the thoughts themselves, he was used to those. But usually they didn't make sense.
Harry stood up, maybe too quickly to be considered chill, but he didn't quite care at the moment. “Thanks.” he said, and without any further words between them, Harry walked away to the exit on the right.
The path lead him though the fox tunnel and he saw the animal sleeping. He didn't bother stop again, not needing to check his watch— the watch he bought with Ron just outside Diagon Alley —to know his time outside was nearing it's end.
He would make dinner, maybe get a task for the evening, but he really doubted it, and go to sleep. And tomorrow? Tomorrow he would clean the house just as he was supposed to do that day.
As the end of july approached faster and faster, Harry found himself unintentionally taking his share of food to the same place as before. The fox ran up to him as soon as it saw him and they walked the bit to the tunnel together.
The animal ate and Harry wrote another letter to himself. It was the first one since he had any expectation of his friends messaging him in which he expressed desperation and hope instead of melancholy and his hatred of life.
He found a new rutine in that. Every morning, after breakfast, he would take what he could without raising any suspicions from his relatives and went for a ‘walk’.
The animal would wait for him in the last bush of his neighbourhood and they would walk slowly to the tunnel, where he would set the same chipped plastic bowl (the one he was pretty sure Petunia looked for, a day after he didn't return it into the cubboard. He didn't bother doing it after that) on the ground and gave the fox food and water, sometimes mixed and sometimes not.
After Dudley pushed Harry down the stairs and Harry couldn't walk that well, he reasoned to stay with the fox on the bench next to the bush in which it awaited him. Harry wanted to help the animal jump on the bench, but it just hissed and jumped by itself, even if struggling a little.
Harry's heart warmed at that. He recognized the pride of his fox being more healthy lately, due to him.
He felt like a father watching his toddler take their first steps, like a mother looking at her teenage child going out with their friends and having fun, like a pet owner seeing their pet do a trick correctly, like a kid whose drawings were set around the corridors for everyone to see and like an adult whose work was finally recognized after years of underpayment.
The animal could run to him now, it could jump on a bench, there finally weren't any visible ribs on it's sides and it didn't make sounds hurting it's throat, it's tail wasn't dirty anymore, due to Harry taking the animal for a swin in a small brook nearby, though still probably needing professional help.
The animal had a chance to live through winter now, and it was all thanks to Harry. He was being useful.
A weird sensation on his arm ripped him out of his thoughts and he looked down on the fox. The bench was small, but had enough room for the animal to squeeze as far away as it could. It usually did, but apparently, it has changed it's mind.
The tingling was caused by the fur of the animal touching his hand. Like, it's muzzle was actually properly rubbing against his skin in a manner Harry recognized from Sirius' dog form demanding attention or Bruno thanking him again every time Harry visited the animal in the shelter, up untill he got adopted.
Harry's fingers twitched and the fox only pressed it's head harder into his palm.
Harry slowly started moving his hand and ended up caressing the animal for longer than he cared to admit.
Petunia yelled at him for taking so long, but he made up something about meeting neighbours from another street and stopping to talk with them. Close enough that his aunt knew their names, far enough Harry was sure she wouldn't end up talking to them to ask about him.
Every day since then, Harry was petting the animal when it ate and then some more. It strangely calmed his mind just like the horrible sounds of the left swing did few weeks prior.
But the fact that his hand was occupied meant one more thing: he couldn't write the letters. So his brilliant solution was simply talking to the animal.
“What's your name, little guy?” he asked one day in the tunnel. It sort of understood when he was talking to it, now, so it made a squeek worth a very bold puppy in response. “Stop squeaking at me, you squeak. You're hurting my ears.”
It only repeated itself and pushed its paws onto his chest. Another sound and its face very close and very serious. “Oh, that's your name?” Another screech leaving the animal and Harry put his hand on its head to pet it before going away. “Sure, Squeak.”