Chapter Text
May 2nd 1998
🌒
Waxing Crescent
40% illuminated
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The war is over, it’s finally done.
Voldemort is dead. The Death Eaters have lost.
But at what cost? So many have died, both with them and against them.
So many people will mourn, crying both tears of joy and of loss.
His job is done. His one motivator for not just ending it all is gone.
The Chosen One isn’t needed anymore. There isn’t a need for a great savior, never really has been. All he really did was give people hope, but not because he actually did anything, all he did was not die. What really gave people the hope to fight was the prophecy.
And before that all that gave them hope was the fact he wasn’t dead. He should’ve died that night. He really should’ve. If he had the chance to go back to that night he’d happily die there and then.
But now that the war is over, now that Voldemort is dead. What is he to do? His only purpose until now was to keep going through the motions – class, almost die, not die, somehow pass the school year, repeat.
He was in the Forbidden Forest, having ended up in the same clearing he should’ve once again died in. The ground showed the foot prints, the place where he’d fallen over was slightly scuffed. The air had a sour smell to it but if it was actually there or his mind making up things he doesn’t know.
He stood still, his vision was starting to blur, had he dropped his glasses? He didn’t get to ponder that thought before he heard and felt a thud as his body collapsed onto the ground.
Then the world went dark.
—
June 22nd 1991
🌔
Waxing Gibbous
81% illuminated
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He jolted awake, his breathing uneven.
What was that dream? Had it truly just been a dream?
He tried to scramble his brain for answers as he tried to even back out his breath. No use panting like some mutt he has to think.
The obvious answer is that it was a dream but there's a voice in the back of head that yowls to be heard, to tell him it was not a dream, that it had truly happened. But that would make no sense.
How could he have aged so many years just to end up back here? How could he have escaped this roof just to end back up in his cupboard?
Not to mention the fact that there is no such thing as magic, never has never will. He had been told that lesson enough times to know that it’s true.
He needs to go back to sleep, they were celebrating Dudley's birthday tomorrow. He would need all the energy he could get – not that his body could hold onto much.
The dream was just that, a dream. No use thinking too deep on it when it was so clearly just his mind making things up. h̶e̶ ̶i̶g̶n̶o̶r̶e̶s̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶v̶o̶i̶c̶e̶ ̶i̶n̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶ ̶b̶a̶c̶k̶ ̶o̶f̶ ̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶d̶ ̶d̶e̶m̶a̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶b̶e̶ ̶h̶e̶a̶r̶d̶, ̶d̶e̶m̶a̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ ̶t̶o̶ ̶m̶a̶k̶e̶ ̶h̶i̶m̶ ̶a̶c̶k̶n̶o̶w̶l̶e̶d̶g̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶i̶t̶ ̶w̶a̶s̶n̶’̶t̶ ̶a̶ ̶d̶r̶e̶a̶m̶.
Yeah, he just needs to go back to sleep, that's all. It’ll be fine.
—
June 23rd 1991
🌔
Waxing Gibbous
88% illuminated
—
He barely got any sleep the rest of the night. He didn’t even remember the dream all that much – and even when he had first woken up the dream was blurry.
He flinched as he heard knuckles rapping against the door to his cupboard but quickly got up to attempt to head to the kitchen.
He coughed as dust rained down on his head as his cousin stomped on the steps above his head. Right as he had managed to get his hands to open the door he was immediately slammed back into the cupboard by Dudley.
His body ached and his vision blurred with exhaustion. He managed to open the door again and shuffled his way to the kitchen.
He faintly heard the Dursley’s talking, most likely scolding him for something or another as he made it to the stove.
His hands shook as he made dinner and the shaking was especially visible when he rushed to give Uncle his cup of coffee. He barely made it to the table where the large man sat without spilling the cup, but once it was handed off he went back to the stove to make sure nothing had burned.
After he had made sure everything was cooked and made he shakily plated the food and brought it to the table, he had nearly dropped a plate but thankfully had somehow managed to save it before it slipped from his grasp.
He sat at his place at the table after he had given everybody their plate. The space on the table is noticeably empty. But that was to be expected, he’d already had his meal of the week yesterday – said ‘meal’ being the scraps from the night before which weren’t very much, practically just a bone with barely the fewest licks of meat on it.
But it was fine. He had gotten used to the constant gnawing pain in his gut, just as he’d gotten used to constant near collapsing exhaustion causing his limbs to shake and his brain to work slower than it should for a kid his age. It is just the norm, isn’t it? At least for a worthless brat like himself.
In what seems like both no time at all and forever it was time to go. Dudley’s friend would be arriving and they would be set for the Zoo. He had expected to be locked away in his cupboard while they were gone but apparently they needed to keep an eye on him.
Uncle had pulled him to the side and threatened him with something and he just nodded his head.
And like that they were off to the zoo.
He hasn’t ever been to a zoo before, in all honesty he didn’t really know what a zoo was and he had no reason to ask as since before now he hadn’t thought he’d be going to find out. Plus asking questions was a sure way to get on anyone's bad side and he didn’t crave another beating quite so soon. Not like he could ask even if he wanted to risk it.
He knew his voice was there, it could work. It has in the past. But it seemed his vocal cords just refused to work the majority of the time. Be it at school or well really anywhere where he wasn’t completely alone. But what use was having a voice if he couldn’t use it around anyone?
The zoo mostly passed in a blur but he does remember stopping to admire the animals as they passed. His favorites probably being the wolves – despite his dislike for Aunt Marge’s mutts – and the big cats, but he liked all of the animals, even felt a sense of kinship in a strange way.
To be locked up and trapped, unable to be free.
Then came the reptile house. He quite liked them, they looked cool, the overhead lights catching on their scales, some smooth, some bumpy. Within that one building held a wide span of different types of reptiles, he hasn’t seen these many animals in his entire life. The most he’s ever seen in the past were Aunt Marge’s mutts, the passing bird, and the rare occasion Mrs. Figg watched him and saw the photos of all her cats.
Some of the reptiles slithered and others walked. Some were green others were brown and a whole range of colors, though most of them being earthy tones with the occasional blue or red.
But the one that is the star of the events about to conspire, The Boa Constrictor. A large brown snake who is currently resting on a branch in their glass enclosure.
He had been admiring the snake after Dudely had run off to another part of the building with his friend due to the snake being ‘too boring.’
He felt bad for the snake, such an animal forced to be trapped away never seeing the outside. Just a thing to be stared at and expected to be a certain way all of the time.
His eyes had glanced over the sign on the enclosure. The poor creature hadn’t even gotten to know a world outside of this. But maybe that truly just is the norm of the world.
The norm was to follow the rule book wasn’t it? To be something perfect and fit the stage, if you don't it leads to punishment. That was how the world worked.
The snake broke his train of thought, he heard them hiss but.. Was it actually a hiss?
~“What isssss it that ailsssss you young one?”~
No that isn’t right, he shakes his head. He was just hallucinating, it wouldn’t be the first time. He was making things up, the snake wasn’t actually speaking it was just a hiss. Snakes can’t speak, just like how motorcycles can’t fly.
Before he could continue his thoughts Dudley and his friend came out of nowhere and shoved him to the side. Now that the snake was moving it was interesting to the large boys.
Harry sat there and without even knowing what was happening the glass the two were pressing up against vanished, a loud splash following. He got some water on him due to the stray water spewing from the enclosure. But just as soon as the glass disappeared it came back, but not before the Boa Constrictor had left their enclosure.
~”Thank you sssspeaker”~
If he didn’t know any better he'd say that one, the snake spoke again and two say it sounded amused-? But both of those were clearly wrong because again snakes don’t speak and therefore can’t sound like any emotion.
But glass doesn’t magically disappear and come back either? What is happening? Oh he is going to be in so much trouble- he isn’t going to be allowed to eat for what? At least 6 weeks right? And maybe a maximum of maybe 3 cups of water per day just so he doesn’t die – and even then he’d be very very close to dying of dehydration especially if he’s still doing all his chores which he would have to? But they don’t exactly care if he died or not so probably less.
He was panicking on the floor, his uncomfortably large clothes damp against his frail frame, his vision so blurred he swore his glasses had fallen off, he barely even noticed Uncle and Aunt had run over to try and get Dudley and his friend out of the enclosure.
Time passes by like how waterfalls cascade over the edge of a clif.
If he were asked he wouldn’t be able to say what happened, one moment the two were trapped behind glass then they weren’t. One moment he was gasping for air on the floor the next he was pulled by the neck.
Well, at least he was right. He wouldn’t be getting food for a good while is all he thinks as he is thrown into his cupboard when they arrive back at the house.