Disclaimers and Warnings and whatnot

I don't own the characters, settings, etc. Those belong to JKR.

The fic is going to have LGBTQ+ characters and if you can't handle that, don't bother reading it.

Harry's sleep was ended, as usual, by the sun shining through the slats on the door to the cupboard he called his bedroom. He was both relieved and saddened by this, since while he was up early enough to start getting dressed before his aunt or uncle began stomping down the stairs, he hadn't slept enough to fully dissipate the pain from yesterday's beating from Uncle Vernon.

He had been caught doodling flowers in his notebooks again, and his uncle was growing increasingly determined to 'beat the freakishness out,' as it were. If Harry was being honest with himself, he didn't know why he had begun drawing the flowers in the first place. His best guess was a sense of misguided affection for his late mother, who he knew was named Lily. Misguided, because at this point, he was actually cross with her for getting into a car crash and leaving him with her unpleasant sister. Still, there was nothing to be done for it now, and he began the process of checking each bruise to make sure it would be completely covered by his clothing. Uncle Vernon had made clear by now that drawing any sort of unwanted attention would both not actually change his living situation, and just get the beating revisited upon him tenfold. In a way, he was glad that he was still so short for his age and his cousin so large. It was much easier to hide anything underneath his cousin's massive cast-offs that way. Harry, satisfied that he'd managed to get all the bruises covered by his cousin's ratty old t-shirt, took the last few minutes of relative freedom to rearrange the few things he'd saved in his cupboard.

Like all good things, though, that freedom had to come to an end. Harry had barely started looking over the slightly beat up toy soldiers before he could hear Aunt Petunia coming down the stairs, shaking dust onto his already quite messy black hair. When he heard the sounds of someone starting to cook in the kitchen, he decided he had time to try and fix at least one thing. A short ruffling later and his hair was mostly free of detritus. It wouldn't lie flat enough to cover the lightning bolt shaped scar (which, surprisingly enough, hadn't come from his uncle) on his forehead, though, and he was out of time. Aunt Petunia had begun banging on the door. He quickly grabbed his taped up glasses and put them on over his emerald green eyes.

"Boy! Get up!" She hissed through the slats, poking fingers through to lift them and peer through. "I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let any of it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday!"

Harry groaned internally, he had almost forgotten the date after the pain from last night. Still though, with today being Dudley's birthday, it did probably mean that he would either get out of the house or be left to himself for a while. "Coming, Aunt Petunia." he said, swinging his legs back off the bed, waiting for her to open the door (which locked on the outside).

Petunia was rather tall and had all too much neck, in Harry's opinion, but she at least made the most of it by spying on the neighbors, sticking her head over the fence. She wasn't pretty, but she wasn't not-pretty either. Thin and blonde, but just not able to gather it into a coherent look of her own, instead dredging up whatever the latest gossip magazine said she should do. Although, Harry thought, maybe that was being unfair to the magazines. They couldn't exactly tailor themselves to the people reading them, and the one time he'd gotten his hands on one the advice seemed sound. Though he- Right, Aunt Petunia was yelling at him, no time to think about fashion magazines. "And don't you dare get anything filthy from that cupboard in the food or on the clean kitchen floor!" This time, Harry was unable to fully hold back the groan, and it earned him a sharp rap across the knuckles from the wooden spoon in Petunia's hand. "Don't you complain about it, you're the one that can't keep themselves clean."

Harry thought this was perhaps unfair, as he was barely even allowed to use the shower if he hadn't started smelling bad enough to reach the hallway, but wisely decided that the best response was a simple "Yes, Aunt Petunia." As he was led into the kitchen, his first thought was that the table was probably going to collapse under the sheer weight of the presents on it. It appeared as though Dudley was going to receive everything he had asked for, and then some. Idly, Harry wondered if he would end up being able to salvage anything from this crop of toys, once his cousin inevitably broke them. However, his attention was sharply drawn back to the bacon when a pop of grease stung him through a poorly placed hole on his shirt. He turned the bacon over as the bulk of Uncle Vernon entered the kitchen.

"Can't you comb your hair, you filthy freak?" said Uncle Vernon as he took a seat at the table. Harry wondered which would collapse first at this point, the table under the weight of his cousin's presents, or the chair his walrus of an uncle was sitting on. If Aunt Petunia had ended up with twice the usual amount of neck, Harry supposed that she might have stolen it all from Uncle Vernon. His uncle had a rather large mustache and was quite beefy, in that if he was a cow, he might feed a small village or at least supply the local burger place. "No respect for proper manners, would have thought last night was a good enough lesson." continued Vernon, beginning to build back up to a good head of steam that would probably end in another beating this night, if Harry wasn't careful. Thankfully, the incoming diatribe was cut off by the re-entrance of Aunt Petunia, with Dudley in tow.

Harry had moved onto frying eggs by this point, and was beginning to plate them up when Aunt Petunia spoke. "Oh, my precious birthday boy, I can't believe you're growing so fast!" As Harry placed the plates in front of his family, he considered that perhaps his cousin wouldn't be growing so fast and so sideways if Dudley would just exercise some restraint when it came to eating, and exercise at all when it came to outdoor activities. Harry's internal dialogue was interrupted by Dudley screwing up his face in concentration as he tried to count out all the presents he had received.

"Thirty-seven." he said, looking at his mother and father. "That's one less than last year." Harry began eating as much excess food as he thought he could get away with, as he was just as likely to go without food tonight as he was last night. Dudley was not going to be happy with any amount of presents less than what he had previously gotten, and if Dudley wasn't happy it was quite likely that Harry wouldn't be happy either.

"You sure you counted all of them? Even the one under this big one from Mummy and Daddy?" said Aunt Petunia, valiantly trying to defuse a volatile situation, based on the deep red color of Dudley's face.

"I can count! I got that one already!" Dudley said, starting to shout enough that bits of bacon and eggs were flying from his mouth.

"And we thought that you might want to pick up some things from the gift shop at the zoo today, so that would be at least two more!" Aunt Petunia was clearly desperate to make this day perfect for her dear Duddykins. "That would make thirty-nine!"

"Oh," said Dudley, "That's all right then."

"Little tyke wants to get his money's worth, just like his old man! Atta boy, Dudley!" Vernon said, reaching over to ruffle Dudley's hair. The touching family moment was interrupted by the telephone ringing, causing Aunt Petunia to stand up suddenly and jostle the table. Thankfully, nothing was dislodged as Dudley began ripping open his presents.

"We've got a problem, Vernon." she said, reappearing with a scowl on her face. "Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. We can't send the boy to her today." Dudley's mouth fell open into something more befitting one of his horror movies as Harry felt a strange pang of hope. He never got to go with his cousin on trips, and certainly never to somewhere as exciting as the zoo. Mrs. Figg was certainly a step up from being locked in the cupboard, but she positively reeked of cats and cabbage. She was the very picture of a 'senile old cat lady,' and Harry didn't know how the dumpy woman hadn't broken her leg sooner with all her pet cats underfoot. "Now what?" Aunt Petunia shot Harry a look that clearly indicated that she thought he had somehow planned this, or perhaps was responsible for Mrs. Figg breaking her leg in the first place.

Vernon took a moment to think before responding. "We could try and phone my sister, she'll put some proper manners into him."

"Don't be silly, Vernon, she loathes the boy. She'd hardly want to waste her time on a freak like him." Briefly the thought passed through Harry's mind that they'd actually managed to forget he was standing right there and could hear every word they said, but he quickly quashed it by reminding himself that they frequently said worse directly to his face, so this was hardly surprising.

"What about your friend, whats-her-name, Yvette?"

"Yvonne, and she's on holiday in the Maldives," snapped back Aunt Petunia.

Harry thought he might as well take the opportunity to, if nothing else, at least get a better second option going. "Why not just leave me here?" It wasn't as good as going to the zoo (or anywhere in public, really, the Dursleys seemed oddly reluctant to hit him or even berate him in public), but it would at least give him time to sneak some food into the cupboard and maybe even watch some TV.

"And come back to the house burned to the ground?" said Aunt Petunia, looking as if she'd bitten into a lemon.

"I promise not to blow up the house." was Harry's reply, since, after all, blowing up the house without them in it wouldn't do him a bit of good.

Aunt Petunia looked over, the distaste on her face more in line with stepping in a pile of dog droppings than looking at her nephew. "We could take him to the zoo, leave him in the car..." she said, drawing out the words as though they were physically painful for her to say.

Uncle Vernon's head shot over to her. "That's a brand new car, I'll not leave him in it alone! Besides, someone might see and think it strange." It was at this point Dudley began to cry. Or rather, pretended to, at any rate, since it had been years since he had actually done so. He knew, however, that just making the motions would cause his mother to give him anything he wanted.

"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry! Mummy won't let him spoil your special day!" she said, somehow managing to fling her arms around him.

"I don't want him to come!" Dudley yelled between huge pretend sobs. "He always spoils everything!" Dudley took the momentary distraction of Aunt Petunia to grin menacingly at Harry through her arms. Harry almost thought it touching, that Dudley would care so much about him to deny him any sort of joy at all. The moment was ruined when the doorbell rang.

"Oh, Good Lord, they're here!" said Aunt Petunia, frantically shifting to try and help make Dudley more presentable. A moment later, Dudley's best friend Piers Polkiss had walked in with his mother, and the decision was made to just bring Harry along to the zoo.

/-|-o-o|-\

A few hours later, Harry was still somewhat in shock that he had actually made it to the zoo. More than that, he had even gotten some ice cream when his cousin had complained that his wasn't big enough, and the original was given to him while his cousin got a new one. They were all in the snake exhibit now, and Harry was eagerly looking around while his cousin stomped around, trying to find one that was doing something interesting. Harry took the opportunity to glance over at an exhibit for a boa constrictor from Brazil. The snake appeared to be sleeping, since it was curled up tightly with no sign of which end was its head and which its tail.

"What I wouldn't give to be able to just sleep all day like that." said Harry, wondering if the snake was happy in the tank. At his words, the snake seemed to suddenly wake up, slithering until a head slowly turned to point at Harry. "Sss, not that I'd want to be in a cage?"

"She speaks? Hello, Lady Speaker." replied the snake, tongue darting in and out as it started moving closer to the glass separating it from Harry. "It has been so long since there has been a Speaker, long before my time."

Harry felt something strange curling in his gut as he heard the snake talk. It wasn't so much that he was talking to a snake (which, if the snippets he'd overheard from the tour guide were accurate, shouldn't have any ears), since he'd quite like to be able to talk to snakes. They were frequent guests during his gardening at his relative's house. Rather, why had the snake called him 'Lady Speaker?' He guessed it wasn't so bad, and he really wouldn't complain too much. It wasn't, after all, anything worse than what he'd been called at school by his cousin. Just odd. If being called a girl was the price for talking to snakes, he supposed it was worth it. He just wished it didn't make him feel so strange.

"I think I might be as surprised as you are, to be honest. Is the zoo any better than Brazil?" asked Harry, hoping that he'd be able to have a semi-normal conversation for once. A quick point of the snake's tail towards the plaque Harry had been reading earlier showed a line that he'd missed on first glance. 'Bred in Captivity.' "I see. Are you at least happy here?" Harry paused for a moment. "And do you have a name?"

"I get free food in exchange for limited space, and a lack of predators. Still, I do wish I could hunt. My name is He-Who-Grows-Fat-On-Slothfullness, she-speaker. What is yours?"

However, before Harry could respond, Piers gave a yell, seeing the movement of the snake who Harry had decided to simply refer to as 'Sloth.' "Dudley! Mr. Dursley! Look at the snake, come and look at what it's doing!"

Dudley lumbered over as fast as he could, punching Harry in the side as he came past. "Out of the way, freak." Harry, who hadn't been expecting his cousin to be able to move so fast, stumbled and fell onto the concrete floor. As he looked up at Dudley and felt his anger at him grow, because they were in public and Harry knew that he'd be blamed for 'making a spectacle' later, he felt a slight tingle on his arms, and suddenly the glass on Sloth's display was gone. Dudley and Piers both let out moans of horror, jumping back as the snake uncoiled himself and slithered out across the floor. People started screaming throughout the reptile house, their guide from before too shocked to do much more than stammer and try to calm down the visitors streaming past her.

"Thank you, she-speaker, for granting me the freedom to hunt once more. If you are ever able to visit Brazil, that is where I am headed." Harry turned his head to watch Sloth go, hearing the staff in the background wonder about where the glass had gone.

/-|-o-o|-\

Later that day, Harry was back at his relative's house and Piers had been pushed out the door by Uncle Vernon, unhelpfully commenting that he had seen Harry hissing at the snake beforehand. Cautiously, Harry turned to look up at his Uncle's face, which had turned several shades of alarming colors by this point. Aunt Petunia had already taken Dudley upstairs, where he had been overheard loudly complaining that Harry had spoiled his birthday trip.

"We've warned you time and time again, freak." said Vernon, his voice low and strained. "I had hoped I'd have beaten it out of you by now, but I can see that I've not been trying hard enough." Harry took a step back reflexively, trying to get distance between him and his uncle without making it too obvious.

"Please, Uncle Vernon, I don't know how it happened. I didn't want anything to go wrong!" said Harry, almost surprised that he meant it. He'd prefer to have had nothing happen and just been able to finish talking to Sloth. Setting a boa loose on his cousin was funny for a few seconds, sure, but it wasn't worth whatever was about to come, not now after the beating from last night.

"Don't you lie to me, Boy! If you didn't want it to happen, then how did it?" said Vernon, beginning to scream, flecks of spittle coming out of his mouth. "If you didn't want to ruin my son's birthday, why were all of your babysitters out of reach!?" Vernon appeared to take Harry's lack of response and slightly shocked look as confirmation of his belief instead of the bewilderment it actually was. "THOUGHT I WOULDN'T FIGURE OUT, DID YOU!?" Just as Vernon drew back his fist to hit Harry, there was a knocking on the door. Vernon sent a rage filled look at Harry and spoke in a whisper that still held all the malice from before, "Get in your cupboard, freak, and don't come out if you know what's good for you!"

As Harry darted into his cupboard, unsure of when he'd next see daylight, he heard Mrs. Figg through the doorway. "I was just coming over to ask for some cream, but is everything alright? I thought I heard shouting..."

/-|-o-o|-\

As Mrs. Figg sat down in front of her fireplace that night, a few kneazles walking across her lap, she tried to figure out what she was going to tell Albus. She hadn't actually seen anything untoward happening to little Harry, but that just meant that the Dursleys were getting better at hiding it, she thought. And she could have sworn she saw the poor dear going into the cupboard underneath the stairs like it was a punishment! Albus said he was trying to find someone new to watch him, but he had been saying that for over a year now. The last hint of an attack aimed at the Dursleys was over four years ago now, and even then it hadn't been anything serious. Shaking her head, she grabbed a handful of floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace.

"Headmaster's Office, Hogwarts!" The flames turned green as the connection was made, and she carefully stepped through.

The office of the headmaster had a wall positively covered in portraits, all moving about and some chatting with each other. There were tables and desks full of trinkets that burbled and whirred, bookshelves covering the walls full of old and rare tomes, and an empty perch made of gold off to one side. Just as Mrs. Figg entered the room from the fireplace, the door opened and the headmaster himself stepped through. He was in his usual attire, a robe with the colors chosen seemingly at random to be as eye-watering as possible. Today that was a deep purple, with small neon pink bowling balls rolling around the fabric. Some even seemed to be trying to treat his lengthy white beard as pins. "Ah, Arabella. It's good to see you, and if I may say, good to see that you've recovered from this morning!"

The greeting that he gave her was friendly enough, she supposed, but not enough to detract from her reason for being there that evening. "The leg is fine, the skele-gro you sent over from Severus this morning did wonders." She paused a moment to glance towards the one desk in the room covered by parchment instead of doodads. "But I suspect that the report I'm about to give is one we'd both rather be sitting down for?"

"Quite right, my dear. By all means, take a seat." He took his wand from his pocket, a brief flash of jealously flaring up in Mrs. Figg's mind before she quashed it. A quick wave and an overly cushy armchair spiraled into being in front of the desk, which she sat in as Albus sat behind the desk. "Now, what did you need me for, Arabella?"

"It's getting worse for him there, Albus, and I don't think our biggest concern is attacks from the outside any more." The headmaster's face grew more grim as she spoke. "Just this evening I'm fairly certain that I caught the husband about to beat the boy within an inch of his life!"

Albus sighed as he rubbed the bridge of his nose, the glasses that he wore sliding up with the motion. "I'm still searching, but I do not believe it's worth it for him to lose the protection of his mother's blood. That is a powerful protection that, once lost, will never be regained."

"I know I never had the chance to study such things, Albus, but the fact of the matter is that the love you've claimed those protections are based on just doesn't exist in that home. I suspect that they've got him in a cupboard as punishment!" Albus held up his hand, and she belatedly realized that she'd started moving out of her chair.

"And that is why I'm still searching. The fact that the last few years have been quiet, and the fact that I've still not heard any concrete rumours of Voldemort-" he trailed off, seeming too deep in thought for words for a moment. "I shall hope that I am wrong, and if that is the case, after Harry's first year here, still the case, I will attempt to place him with a suitable family he has made friends with."

"So another month of ignorance, for him, and then only a month after that until he's gone?" Arabella tried not to let too much of her hope creep into her voice. While she was primarily concerned for Harry, she too would like to be rid of Surrey, and the way the neighbors looked down on her for every bit of her they deemed strange.

Albus let out a small sigh. "While I am hopeful, Arabella, it would be for the best if you remained there for a while longer. And you absolutely musn't tell the boy of our world or your place in it. He scarce needs such a shock, and there is always the deal with the Dursleys to consider."

Arabella sank into the chair a bit further. "I still don't understand it, Albus. I can understand wanting to minimize contact with us, but forbidding it altogether?"

"It was their condition for accepting Harry into their home. I can only hope that getting him his Hogwarts letter does not spark something more violent." He leaned back, and the weight on his shoulders seemed to lift a bit as he thought of something. "I may have to send Hagrid for the task, simply to ensure that they don't, ah, 'Shoot the Messenger,' as it were." A small chuckle escaped him. "Or perhaps, so that even if they do, there won't be any hard feelings."

"Are you sure it wouldn't be better to have Minerva handle things? She's more than capable of dressing muggle, and we're still not sure if Mrs. Dursley's told her husband." Arabella wrung her hands, the nervousness she felt coming through quite clearly.

"That may be, but she is somewhat busy of late. Overtures have been made recently from the ministry about events at Hogwarts, and I'm still not entirely certain what Fudge is planning." He shrugged. "Still, if you think Minerva might do better..."

She sighed. "I'm almost certain of it. From what I've seen in that house, they wouldn't have told him anything."

Albus looked at her, the normally present twinkle in his eye missing. "Is it truly that terrible for him there?"

Arabella tried to gather her thoughts. Sure, she was almost certain that things were that terrible, but she wasn't completely certain. Best to just lay out the facts for Albus, surely. "I've not seen a single picture of Harry or his parents in the house, and all the outside work for the past few years has been done by him. Even in the middle of summer, he's been in the yard doing work all day. His cousin frequently mocks him and I've heard rumours of a game called 'Harry Hunting.' Scared the daylights out of me at first, thought it was Death Eaters until I realized that it was a bunch of six and seven year olds talking. He's always looked underweight, which is a marvel compared to his cousin, and from the looks of things he's wearing his cousin's old hand-me-downs instead of a proper wardrobe." With each statement, the weary look on the headmaster's face grew deeper. "I haven't seen any hard evidence of beatings, but he's had limps or stiffness more than someone that age should, and you know that magicals are harder to injure and heal faster than most muggles."

"Then I shall throw more of my not inconsiderable weight into finding a suitable home for him after this coming year. I can only hope that Voldemort truly is dead after all these years."

/-|-o-o|-\

AN: "Sss" is a replacement in parseltongue for pauses such as 'um,' 'uh,' and the like.

Arabella wouldn't have a reaction to Voldemort's name as a squib, who was by and large removed from the conflict.

Parts that seem almost like they came from the book are, in fact, probably from the book, just slightly rephrased to better fit the tone of the story.

If you're going to say "but the abuse wasn't that bad in canon" well, A) you are probably correct, but there's other factors here and also B) If this was canon I'd hardly be writing it as a fanfic, now would I?