Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter, I'd be a billionaire living a sweet life in Scotland. As it is, I'm not and I don't. Ah, to live the dream...

Dedication: To Tensleep, Alli, Gillian Middleton, and aspeninthesunlight who turned me back into fans of HP fanfiction and into a Severitus/Sevetus fan :)

Enjoy!

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What a day it had been!

Harry couldn't remember the last time he felt as good as he did today. It would've been hard for him to explain why he couldn't stop grinning. Maybe it was because he was back at school from winter break and got to spend hours at a time away from Privet Drive, or maybe because he had managed to earn Piers Polkiss a lunch time detention for nicking Mr. McCarthy's classroom lizard. Whatever it was, he could barely contain the smirk eager to escape.

Not only was he back at school, but they had been in such a hurry to leave the house that morning (all the while Aunt Petunia hollered and nearly made him cry) his aunt had accidentally packed him a pudding in his lunch sack, and when Dudley didn't have one, he didn't notice that Harry did! It was then that Harry knew it was going to be a good day.

As it was, he wasn't fond of school or the kids there, but it was far better than being stuck with Dudley at home. Watching Dudley play with his Christmas presents and munch on gooey, crunchy, chocolate goodies … it made Harry want to sick up. He couldn't remember ever getting a present for Christmas or his birthday, but he could remember the first time he understood that he never would or that he even had a birthday. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon didn't spend money on 'ungrateful, good-for-nothing, little boys' so it wasn't any surprise he never got any.

'Where's mine?' he had asked.

'Where are yours? Don't you remember that Santa only brings presents to good little boys?' she said.

He hadn't known what to say. He had tried so hard to be good that year, remembered to do all his jobs and tried not to upset his relatives. He didn't even cry when Aunt Marge came to visit and she had asked Uncle Vernon to make sure he stayed in his cupboard; out of her way for a whole weekend.

But it hadn't mattered. He'd been sent back to his cupboard so they could enjoy Christmas morning without him. He had cried and wished he had cleaned the table the night before without having been told twice. Maybe then Santa would have brought him something.

"Well done, Harry," his teacher stooped to kneel down beside his desk. "What a beautiful picture you've drawn!"

He beamed and brushed the fringe out of his eyes. "It's a unicorn, Miss Hawthorne. I saw one on the telly, but they aren't real. They're just pretended."

"Pretend." She smiled.

"Uh huh."

"You certainly have quite the imagination." She tore a small red star off a roll and stickers and placed it on his desk before leaving to tend to a girl sitting in the row in front. "Well done."

Harry felt the back of his neck warming up and began to scrawl on his paper again, bent low over his paper in order to hide his face. He felt silly that his teacher had given him a star for his drawing, but it made him feel special too. No one else got a star. Not yet, at least. He was the first.

He felt his smile falter when he glanced up at the wall clock.

School was going to be over soon and it'd only be minutes before he'd be whisked back to Privet Drive, but even today his relatives couldn't crush his mood. Even if his aunt did think he needed to do chores, and ones that weren't necessary at that, he'd do them without a fuss.

He thought it was unfair that Dudley never had to so much as lift a dustbin, but it gave Harry time to daydream and think about far away lands and going to live there instead some day. He wouldn't mind his chores so much, if he had Dudley to help him, but he never did. Dudley always got to watch the telly and eat sweets and it made Harry's tummy hurt to think about it. But he learned to work without complaining because his aunt and uncle didn't like it very much when he did that. Not at all.

"Five minutes before the bell rings! Please gather up your supplies and put them back in their bins," Miss Hawthorne chirped, clapping her hands to get the attention of her young students. She had always reminded Harry of an excitable bird when she did that. He tried to conceal his grin at the thought and smoothed out his new perfect picture with pride.

Proud that he was getting the hang of drawing and penmanship, Harry took extra satisfaction in a job well done. He remembered in his first year of infant school his teacher had asked Aunt Petunia why he had hardly any motor skills at all, and she had excused it away as a genetic disorder, one that Dudley had luckily escaped. Harry hadn't a clue what they were talking about, but he knew why Aunt Petunia shrieked all the way home that he was a no good freak who couldn't even possibly keep up with perfect Dudders.

It was because he was a freak. He had a hideous scar that made his uncle moan and complain and funny hair that made his aunt scowl like an old bat. Just like his good-for-nothing dad and mum who his aunt and uncle never spoke of. They were freaks and so was he.

And because he was a freak, he was never allowed to play with Dudley's toys, or fruity smelling markers or waxy crayons. Aunt Petunia always thought there was something better for him to do (not to mention the swat he'd earned when he borrowed one of Dudley's papers to draw his own picture, even though Dudley was having more fun drawing on the inside of Uncle Vernon's black numbers book. He thought it would look nice on the refrigerator too.)

After hiding the drawing underneath his Year One spelling book, he chose his two favorite crayons, cobalt blue and forest green, and hid them in his pocket. He felt guilt creeping up the back of his neck and wished he didn't have to take home crayons to be able to use them. But aunt and uncle never let him have them and he wanted to finish his picture when he wasn't working…

He hurried along with the rest of the class, and put away the rest of the crayons and shavings. Miss Hawthorne didn't like messes and she didn't like disobedience, but she liked her students and rewarded them well for good behavior. Whether that meant a longer break or five less maths problems, they liked it all. Harry preferred less homework, though. No one played with him and he didn't like hiding from Dudley and his friends. He didn't know for sure, but he sometimes sensed that Miss Hawthorne knew this too.

She always smiled at him and gave him hugs when the mean kids weren't looking, and sometimes even slipped him a box of chocolate Smarties or an Aero bar. When Dudley broke his glasses for a second time, Miss Hawthorne glued them together and let him sit in her office while he nursed a black eye with a baggie of ice. When she wrote home to tell the Dursley's how misbehaved Dudley had been, though, Harry had to stay in his cupboard all weekend again. He never understood why either.

"Hey!" He returned to his desk to see Piers Polkiss poking fun at his drawing of a white unicorn. "That's mine!"

Piers dropped it on the floor and laughed. "A unicorn? That's girlie stuff!"

"Is not." His voice dropped a note and he tried his best to not look ashamed. He liked his unicorn.

"Is too! It's a girlie animal and only babies and kids with feeks like horses anyway."

Harry stooped down and picked up his picture. There was a new black mark across the unicorn's head that he knew wasn't there before he hid it. "It's – It's not a horse, and I don't have feeks." He countered him and picked up his rucksack to put it away, willing himself not to tear up. That wasn't the first time someone told him he had the feeks, and he was nearer to believing it all the more, but he wouldn't let Piers Polkiss know that.

"Miss Hawthorne said it was very nice. And I got a star! Bet you didn't!"

As soon as it came out he wished he hadn't said it. If he had been in a Saturday morning cartoon he would have zipped his mouth shut and run a kilometer in a matter of seconds. Unfortunately he was still in school and a group of kids was slowly forming.

Dudley waddled up to see what the commotion was about and grabbed the picture out of Harry's clammy hands. "Very nice? She was just being nice! She feels sorry for the nancy boy!" Everyone dissolved into laughter and Harry felt his face pinking up. No one even heard the bell chiming through their little fits of hysterics.

Harry opened his desk and found his borrowed art book from the school library and put it in his rucksack. He wouldn't let them see him upset if he could help it. Dudley was a mean bully anyway, and everyone knew it, but that didn't stop them from laughing… He just had to pretend that it didn't bother him like it did.

"Boys!" Miss Hawthorne strode over. "Class is over, time to leave."

"Yes, Miss Hawthorne," Piers nodded with perfect manners and picked up his rucksack. "We'll see you tomorrow, Harry!"

He and Dudley ran out the classroom door with everyone else while Harry continued looking for books he could take home to read and enjoy during those long hours in his cupboard. He still couldn't read as well as Dudley or even as well as other dunderheads like Piers, but he liked to try and it made him feel special when Miss Hawthorne complimented him on his improvement. It made him feel good. The idea made him grin, and this time he didn't try to hide it.

"Have you finished, Mr. Potter?" Miss Hawthorne was back to sitting at her desk. "Is there something else you needed?"

"No, Miss Hawthorne. I – just wanted to take home these books," he sheepishly replied and zipped up his rucksack.

"Is that all? You may take home a classroom book too if you wish."

"Yes, Ma'am. I mean, that's all, Ma'am." His aunt wouldn't like him bringing home all those books. It would give her an excuse to give him more chores.

She went quiet for nearly a full minute, or so it seemed to Harry, before she spoke again.

"If those boys are bothering you again, I want you to tell me. Understood?"

Harry snapped his head up to look at her. "Yes, Ma'am… no, Ma'am… they're not being mean. They were just looking at my picture is all."

"Is that so?" She pulled open a desk drawer and pulled out two little brightly wrapped candies. She held one out to him and proceeded to unwrap her own.

"Yes, Miss Hawthorne."

She smiled slightly. "All the same, if they're bothering you, I want you to tell me, Harry. You are always to tell an adult when you are being bullied. Your aunt and uncle, myself, or any other teacher, or even the headmaster would be good examples of who to talk to."

"Yes, Miss Hawthorne." Harry pocketed his own candy. He would save it for a special time. "I – I have to go now. Aunt Petunia will be looking for me."

"Very well. We'll see each other tomorrow."

Harry nodded and opened the door. "Good bye, Miss Hawthorne."

"Good bye, Harry."

He closed the door and nearly ran headlong into Aunt Petunia and a crowded corridor.

"There you are, Harry dear!" She flashed him a fake smile that made Harry feel all icky inside. He knew she didn't mean it when she smiled at him and he hated it when she pretended she did. "We're in a hurry, dear, so please come along now."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He grabbed a hold of either strap of his rucksack on his chest and tried to keep up. "Why are we hurrying?"

"Never you mind, Harry." She took Dudley by the hand and smoothed down his thick hair. "How was your day, Popkin?"

"Awful," he whimpered. "You didn't give me any chocolate pudding today, Mummy, and I was so hungry I thought I was going to die."

"Oh, Dudders. I'm sorry, sweetums. I remember packing you some. Perhaps it fell out in the car. I can't imagine what else may have happened." She looked so sad and it made Harry ill to watch. "I'll give you one when we get home and you can have two tomorrow."

"And some onion crisps?"

"Of course, of course!"

"Okay," he agreed and then went on. Harry had a bad feeling he knew why too. He hadn't been blamed for the pudding… "And then in Art we drew pictures of animals and I drew you a pretty picture of a unicorn but, but Harry ruined it, because he said it wasn't a real animal, and now I can't give it to you!"

"You what?" Aunt Petunia rounded on Harry, using her calm in-school voice. "Why would you do such a mean thing, Harry?"

Harry shook his head. "I – I didn't, Aunt Petunia. It's my picture! I drew it all by myself and –"

"Enough. We'll talk when we get home." She snapped and then at least had the good grace to look ashamed when Headmaster Dickens passed by them in the corridor. "Good afternoon, Headmaster."

"Good afternoon." He nodded and passed on.

They walked the rest of the way to the car park in silence. Harry knew he was in trouble now, and he hadn't even deserved it. This would be one of those times that his aunt and uncle had no proof that he had done anything wrong, but were likely to punish him anyway. It didn't take much more than a funny look or the word of Dudley to set them off. He'd had more than enough swats over Dudley's fibbing, and he wasn't about to forget it either. Dudley thought it was all very funny.

It wasn't until they were nearly at Privet Drive that anyone said anything more.

"I have a snack waiting for you, Dudders. Graham crackers and milk. And you can have that chocolate pudding and a fudge bar while you watch the telly."

"Okay." Harry could see his bored, self-wallowing expression in the side view mirror, but was far too used to this to let himself get worked up over it. Dudley was a spoiled cow, and Harry wouldn't let himself care. At least he tried not to.

"And you, boy – the china needs to be polished and the kitchen floor is looking dull. You'll do that and if there's time left you can sweep the patio."

"Yes, Aunt Petunia."

"Your Uncle Vernon will have had a tiring day and we don't need you to be getting in the way, do you understand?"

"Yes."

His day wasn't feeling so good anymore either. In fact, he was beginning to feel like someone had taken a knife and carved a little hole in his chest and filled it up with sharp spikes. He tried so hard to not let things get to him, but sometimes he couldn't help it. Even if it did make it hurt less.

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A/n: Thanks for reading! Comments are appreciated :)

Keira