Harry Potter laid on his bed in number four, Private Drive, humming to himself.
The sun had barely peeked over the neighborhood and his Aunt and Uncle and Cousin wouldn't be awake for at least another half hour at the least. This was Harry's time to practice.
"No, that's not bloody right." Harry said, dragging a hand over his face and pinching his nose in between his broken glasses. He hummed the phrase again under his breath and then held up his notes, scrawling some more. His notes were written in the margins of recycled magazines and newspapers and old scraps of paper, nothing that even resembled music notation paper. Harry sighed.
It was while his family - The Dursleys - were asleep that Harry could lay in his cupboard under the stairs and hum or sing quietly to himself. The Dursleys detested any sort of music that wasn't their own, which meant no sounds other than talking were allowed in the house. Harry had spent a week in his cupboard for whistling in the hallway once.
Harry couldn't explain it, but weird things kept happening involving his voice. He didn't try to be the loudest kid in mandatory choir, or try to shout whenever he was asked a question in class, and he definitely didn't know how he got locked in the choir room one time when his cousin Dudley's gang was looking for him in their favorite game of "Harry hunting".
That aside, Harry loved music with a burning passion. Under his bed were stacks of records, tapes, and a very battered and worn collection of paper music. He stayed up every night to study his collection and try to learn even more about music theory while the Dursleys were asleep.
Harry's Uncle Vernon was the most scathing theatre critic one could come across. His column was quite angry, drawn out, and usually caused the close of many a musical on their local circuit. Uncle Vernon loathed musicals.
His Aunt Petunia was a rare combination of tone deaf and sharp-eared. She could hear Harry trying to sing in the shower from any room in the house but insisted they all listen to the same, warped, warbling opera record every Sunday until they all pleaded headaches and went to bed early.
Harry checked his watch again, reading 7:15. He made another note for himself and then began humming the tune once more, jumping nearly out of his skin when a loud succession of raps against his cupboard door sounded like a gun.
"How many times have I told you, NO SINGING IN THIS HOUSE." Aunt Petunia's voice rang out. Harry rolled his eyes and covered his face with his pillow.
"Get up. And don't burn the bacon. I want everything to be perfect on this special day."
Harry groaned before he could stop himself. It was Dudley's birthday, how could he forget? No wonder his Aunt was up this early.
"I told you, NO SINGING." Aunt Petunia snapped, kicking the cupboard door again for good measure. Harry rolled his eyes and began to get up, adjusting his crooked glasses and looking around for socks underneath all the papers littering his floor.
Dudley's birthday. Harry's favorite holiday. Only because usually his Aunt and Uncle would take Dudley and his friends to amusement parks and concerts and Harry would be left at Mrs. Figg's for the day.
Mrs. Figg was thankfully deaf as a bat and let him fiddle with the record player and radio as much as he liked. As long as he played with all her cats and scooped the litter, he was allowed to sing as well.
But maybe, now that Harry was almost 11, he would be allowed to stay at home by himself and play with Dursley's much nicer sound system. Despite a hatred for music, the family had all the latest technological advancements. Uncle Vernon attributed it to the need to listen to the news and his failing hearing, but everyone else in the house knew it was because he had a fierce need to hold his own with his colleagues at the office.
"Boy! Get in here!" Uncle Vernon yelled from the dining room. Harry shook himself. He'd been thinking about his song again and hadn't heard his Uncle come down the stairs, despite his heavy tread. Harry pulled his shoes on and made to exit his closet.
"I want no funny business. Silence, you hear me? Silence." Uncle Vernon said from behind the paper. Harry didn't reply, just started frying the bacon that Aunt Petunia gestured him towards. That was his Uncle's usual refrain in the mornings. It seldom worked; Harry seemed to have little to no control over his vocal chords.
"And here's my Dinky-Dudums." Aunt Petunia simpered as Dudley squeezed himself into the room. Dudley was the same age as Harry and twice as wide. His blonde hair made him look like a pig in a wig and his vocal chords sound like they were being squashed whenever he talked. Harry was familiar with Dudley's voice as he often mocked Harry about choir, it was his gang's favorite thing to do in the hallways.
"Where are my presents?" Dudley demanded. Harry turned his back to the spectacle of Dudley tearing into them and focused on the bacon, humming low under his breath so his Aunt wouldn't hear while distracted by her son. The melody of the song was almost there, he just had to make sure the bridge would connect.
The phone rang. While Aunt Petunia went to go answer it, Harry swept in with the bacon and deposited it in front of his Uncle and cousin before wolfing it down himself. He figured he could get a couple minutes upstairs to sing a quick melody line to himself while under the pretense of going to the bathroom if Aunt Petunia was on the phone long enough.
She wasn't. His Aunt was back in a flash looking quite pale.
"Vernon. She can't take the boy." She snapped, looking like she'd sucked on a lemon. They were referring to Mrs. Figg, Harry presumed. He was often talked about like he wasn't there.
"You could... leave me here?" Harry suggested.
"And find the record collection scratched to pieces? I think not." Petunia snapped. Dudley began to wail, his standard trick to get anything he wanted from his mother and father.
"Send him with Marge." Vernon suggested, barely phased by the noise across the table from him.
"Nonsense, she hates the boy since she caught him trying to wind her tapes."
"Send him with your friend... What's her name- Yvonne."
"On holiday in Majorca."
At this, Uncle Vernon finally put his paper down.
"Are you suggesting we take him with us?"
Dudley let out a howl that made everyone wince.
"We'll leave him in the car, Vernon. He can't get into trouble there."
"And let him blast the bloody stereo? I don't think so."
Petunia pursed her lips. The doorbell rang. Dudley froze mid-wail.
Harry would be going along.
An hour later, Harry couldn't believe his luck. Sure, he was sandwiched between Dudley and his cousin's best friend Piers Polkiss, but they were on their way to the West End to see a show! A real show! Uncle Vernon had to review a version of Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory for work, Dudley liked sweets, and Aunt Petunia promised they could visit the Mall afterwards for ice cream. Harry could put up with a thousand jabs in the ribs just to see a real West End production.
Harry didn't often get to leave the house, and almost never to somewhere interesting. The last time he had gone to a music store with Aunt Petunia, a funny little man in a full tuxedo had bowed very deeply for them and then vanished rather suddenly, causing his Aunt to turn around and walk out without even buying the recorder flute Dudley needed for class.
Harry didn't know why, but other things often happened that were similar in nature. He had been asked on the street to sing for a group of people who all clapped vigorously when he gave them a quick rendition of "God Save the Queen", asked to audition for plays by random people on the street, and once got handed a sheaf of music by a tall man in a long cloak. It was all very strange. Aunt Petunia would never answer when he asked questions about it.
Harry attributed it to his parents; they had died when he was very young. Something about a car crash and several hundred kazoos on a truck. But Harry liked to fancy that they had been great musicians; perhaps his mother had been an actress and his father had been a bass player.
Uncle Vernon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel and looked around while they were stopped at a red. His beady eyes fell on a group of street performers on the corner, one of his favorite things to rant about besides Broadway musicals and Harry.
"Bunch of jobless hooligans." His uncle grumbled. "Should grow up and get real jobs, the lot of them." They could barely hear the group's music over the sounds of traffic.
"I had a dream I was a street performer once. I got discovered for a West End show that way." Harry said before he could stop himself. Uncle Vernon nearly crashed into the car in front of them.
"STREET PERFORMERS DO NOT GET DISCOVERED." His Uncle shouted, turning around to stare at Harry with his big, puce-colored face. Harry shrugged.
"It was just a dream."
Uncle Vernon steamed for the rest of the car ride to the theater. He deposited them all on the curb and went to the car park. As soon as he returned, the tickets were distributed. Harry's heart sang.
"Program, sir?" An usher asked once they were in the theater. Uncle Vernon took four, gave the man the appropriate number of pounds and moved off towards their seats. Harry dug in his pocket for a pound he'd been saving for just this occasion, but the Usher waved him off and handed him a program.
"'ere you go, lad. Enjoy." He winked at Harry and moved off. Harry's mood couldn't get higher. He caught up to his Aunt and Uncle feeling better than he had before.
As was predicted, Uncle Vernon hated the show. He raged at intermission how much hated the chorus, the costumes, the leads. Harry kept silent, feeling better than ever. He loved the story and was able to be entirely engrossed in it. The second act couldn't pass slowly enough for him, he wanted to stay in the theater forever.
At the end of the show, the same Usher that had gotten them programs came to their seats again.
"Pardon me, but would you lot care for a backstage tour, courtesy of the 'ouse?" He said, looking directly at Harry.
"Yes!" Harry said at the same time Uncle Vernon gave a curt "No.".
"I want to see the river of chocolate!" Dudley said. Uncle Vernon rolled his eyes.
"Now, son. That was a clever bit of stagecr-" Dudley stomped his foot. Aunt Petunia impatiently patted his arm. Uncle Vernon had no choice but to give in. Harry practically bounced out of his seat.
"Now this is where we keep all of the lifting equipment, which must be carefully catalogued and checked every scene so that no accident occurs."
"I want to be lifted." Dudley said, pointing at the harness.
"If it's all right with your parents, but I warn you... the lighter boy should probably go." The stage manager said, warily sizing Dudley up.
"Dad, make him do it." Dudley whined.
"If you're sure it's safe... And not high off the ground." Uncle Vernon said. The stage manager reluctantly complied.
While Dudley was getting strapped in, Harry wandered around the backstage area. Everything called to him; the props, the costume pieces, the ropes, the tape on the floor. But best of all was the studio in the back where the orchestra played.
"Hey, kid." A voice said. Harry looked around. A man over by the rail beckoned to him. Harry stepped closer, realizing as he came the man looked awfully familiar. Of course, without makeup and wig he looked much different, but it was definitely the man from the show - the actor who played Willy Wonka himself!
"Sir!" Harry breathed. "Great show, really."
"Can you help me? I'm afraid it's my job to oversee the last piece of my costume going in the cabinet and I'm afraid I'm snagged."
"Of course!" Harry bent to help. The cape in question was snagged on a machinery panel by the fly set; metal fragments on the panel grabbing at the cape's fine material. Harry's nimble fingers made quick work of it, but as the actor tugged it free, the lever switched, causing a mechanical creaking.
"What the devil...?" The actor said. Suddenly there were loud yells behind them.
Dudley, who had barely fit into the harness, was hurtling to the ground at a fast pace.
"Was that the safety lever for my lift?" The actor asked, completely dumbfounded. "Blimey, I never knew." Harry jumped to the panel and hauled on the lever. If his cousin broke his neck, he'd never be allowed in the theater again.
The lever turned with some wrenching, putting Dudley on the stage floor with an ungainly plop instead of a crash. Dudley howled.
"Time to make an exit, I think." The actor said nervously. "Goodbye, chap." He patted Harry's shoulder.
"BOY!" Uncle Vernon gulped and ran quickly over to his Aunt and Uncle.
"Bloody hell." The stage manager said, trying to haul Dudley up and failing miserably even aided by Aunt Petunia. "That man is a wreck, clumsiest git I ever worked with. Excuse me while I go give him a piece of mind. My aide can show you lot out."
"What was that man thinking? Releasing the safety on my Dinky Dudley!" Aunt Petunia wailed.
"That was the lead actor, he's just clumsy like the manager said." Harry offered.
"Some star, playing with levers. Actors don't know their jobs anymore." Uncle Vernon said as they exited.
"You were playing with the ropes too, weren't you Harry?" Dudley said in between loud howls.
Uncle Vernon froze, causing Harry to walk right into him.
"YOU WERE WHAT?!"
"I was only helpin-"
"In the car. Now. No meals. Cupboard." Uncle Vernon said, beginning to turn scarlet. Aunt Petunia pursed her lips, Dudley smirked and then returned to wailing. Harry's heart sunk.
"You were talking to that actor too, weren't you? Touching that costume thing too." Piers added.
"Do you have any idea at all what this could do to my career!?" Uncle Vernon hissed.
"What a disgrace, really!" Aunt Petunia chimed. "And to think we took you out of the goodness of our hearts."
Harry didn't bother defending himself. It didn't matter. Piers and Dudley sniggered at him as his Aunt and Uncle rained insults on him.
When they arrived at their house, Harry headed straight to his cupboard, pulling his program out as he did.
"Mr. Dursley! Harry stole a program!" Piers yelled. Harry ran for his cupboard, but was too slow. Uncle Vernon moved with astonishing alacrity and ripped the paper out of his hand before he could protest that no, he was given the program, but it was too late. The program was torn to shreds between Uncle Vernon's meaty hands in a matter of moments.
"In your cupboard, boy. Now." He said, crumpling up the pieces of Harry's program and heading for the bin in the kitchen. Harry felt the anger burn in his throat, but kept himself from shouting at his Uncle. If all went well, he could save the shreds of his program from the bin tonight after everyone went to sleep.