Author's Notes: I usually get pretty annoyed with AU!sorting fics because Harry nearly always goes to Slytherin, usually with very little reasoning. I get it's an AU and the Sorting Hat said "blah blah" and all, but I don't buy it. Not really. So, I've decided to write my own. Um, yay I guess.
Anyway, enjoy.
Paper Birds
Chapter One: Still in Kansas
When Harry returned to his relatives' house from his shopping trip with Hagrid, he wasn't sure what to expect. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had made it very clear what they thought about him and his magic. What Hagrid had done to Dudley probably wouldn't help their mood any either. He loitered on the front step, shifting from foot to foot and double-checking that he had everything a fourth time. The snowy owl Hagrid had bought him clicked her beak, giving Harry a bland, unimpressed stare. Harry smiled weakly. He was being ridiculous, wasn't he? After the scare they'd gotten, the Dursleys wouldn't try anything. Not when they had no way of knowing when or if Hagrid would show up again. Harry was being stupid.
Nodding sharply, he opened the front door widely. The television in the living room was silence. That was a bit strange since it was around the time the evening news was on, and Uncle Vernon hated missing the news. Why, Harry wasn't sure, since he spent most of the program calling the reporters idiots and complaining about politics instead of paying attention. Harry put the odd occurrence out of his mind and turned to drag in his trunk.
The kitchen door creaked open just as Harry gave a final hard tug. The trunk cleared the doorstep with surprising ease; the boy stumbled backwards, tripping over the ragged ends of his jeans. His elbow tagged the stairwell banister on the way down. Harry landed on his rear, embarrassed and slightly pained.
He was quite unprepared from his uncle's arrival. Thick, meaty fingers twisted themselves into his hair and wrenched upward. He yelped in surprise, and scrambled to follow the insistent tugging.
"Boy," his uncle growled, shaking the fist buried in Harry's hair. "Of all the things – after all we've done for you… I will not stand for it!" Uncle Vernon gave another violent shake. "I won't have you mocking this family's good name with your freakishness." He pulled roughly, almost dragging Harry up the stairs and to the second bedroom. Harry's eyes widen at the sight of four locks. The door was yanked open and Harry was thrown inside. With a final sneer, Uncle Vernon slammed the door shut.
Harry could hear him storming down the stairs, snarling angrily. He winched as the snowy owl began barking and his uncle nearly howled "Shut up, you ruddy bird!" The floor trembled slightly as the man came back upstairs. Harry rushed to his feet when his door open and was barely able to catch the owl's cage after Uncle Vernon threw it in. The door was slammed again, this time Harry heard the clicking of four locks.
He swallowed loudly. This was going to be a problem.
The three weeks that follow were both worse and better than he expected. Harry was given double the usual amount of chores coupled with the same meager portions of food. However, he was allowed to bring the still nameless snowy owl small bowls of water and stale grain cereal. He also learned from his aunt's dark mutterings that they hadn't tossed out or destroyed his school supplies, if only because they were afraid of the neighbors finding out. All the same it felt torturous to know he could be learning about his new world, about magic, if only he had his books.
The books were right there in his old cupboard, and the lock was ancient and worn enough that it wouldn't be hard to force it open. Harry knelt in front of door, hardwood cleaner and soft cloth in hand, staring. Aunt Petunia was upstairs nursing a migraine and Dudley was over at Piers Polkiss's house; Uncle Vernon wouldn't be back from work for hours yet. If he was going to do it, now was the time.
Swallowing nervously, Harry set aside his cleaning supplies and moved to the metal cover of the main air vent, unscrewing it until he could open it enough to reach in and put out the screwdriver he'd hidden there years ago. It was a safe spot since Uncle Vernon had started making Harry change the filter after he'd turned nine. Once the cover was back in place, he scuttled back to the cupboard and began diligently manhandling the lock. It took several long terrifying minutes for him to get the lock undone. Harry took a deep steadying breath then opened the door.
It was a tight fit. Hunched over as he was, Harry barely had enough room to open his trunk and dig around for a textbook. He settled on the first one he grabbed – The Standard Book of Spells, Grade 1 – and quickly vacated the cupboard, only just remembering to redo the lock. The screwdriver was returned to its hiding place.
Heart pounding, Harry rushed up the stairs. He hugged the book tightly to his chest, nails digging into the cover. He just needed to get to his bedroom now. There was a loose floorboard beside the bed Harry was sure his relatives didn't know about where he could hide the textbook. At the top of the stairs, Harry paused and glanced at his aunt and uncle's room. The door was cracked open but his aunt was nowhere in sight. He began hurrying to his room.
"What, exactly, do you think you're doing?"
Harry cringed. His aunt pulled her door open wider. Her face was pale with fury and he knew right away that lying would only make things worse.
"Um, I – I was," he started to say, but trailed off when her mouth curled into a sneer.
"Give me the book," she said. Wordlessly, Harry handed it to her. Aunt Petunia held it away from her as those it was diseased. "Into your room with you, boy. Don't expect any dinner."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." He followed her order and tried not to flinch when he heard the locks being done up. Harry looked hopelessly around the room; he was already dreading what would happen when Uncle Vernon came home.
It had been nine days since his punishment had started.
Each morning his aunt woke him up with a vicious tirade. After several minutes he would be allowed to go to the bathroom before being returned to his room with his daily meal: two slices of plain bread and a bottle of water. He ate one slice as soon as he got it and tore the other into small bits for the snowy owl. To distract himself, Harry tried to come up with a name for the bird. He was leaning towards Hera or Frost but couldn't decide and the owl seemed indifferent to the matter.
He had not dared to send the owl for Hagrid, terrified of what Uncle Vernon would do to her. He also didn't think there would be much the giant man could do. As much as he hated to admit it, the Dursleys were in the right. Harry had knowingly broken the rules. That's all there was to it.
The morning of the 31st was cold and dreary. Harry rolled onto his side, facing the window, and tried to muster up the will to get out of bed. He couldn't quite manage it. Rolling onto his back, he sighed heavily. His limbs felt like lead and his stomach had long since fallen quiet; he didn't think that was a good thing. The owl barked softly at him. Harry mumbled something that was less words and more vague noises in reply.
When his aunt banged on the door an hour later, Harry barely jumped. He let his head lull to the side as she slammed open the door and blinked slowly at her sneer. With an air of supreme distaste, Aunt Petunia entered the room and shoved a small granola bar at him.
"Eat it," she demanded. Harry did as he was told. The bar was dry, tasteless, and made his throat hurt when he swallowed. When he finished, she sneered and ordered him to get up. "You will shower and then come down to the kitchen. No dawdling." He pushed himself to his feet and nodded slowly. "Hurry up; you have twenty minutes."
"Yes, Aunt Petunia."
Harry followed her out of the room, swaying as his vision went pale then dark then pale again. He felt light-headed and shaky. By the time he reached the bathroom, he had broken into a sweat that left him feeling simultaneously too hot and too cold. His breath came in slow but harsh pants. He wanted to lie back down and not get up for a long while. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option.
He showered with moderately warm water and leaned heavily against the wall. There were several times when he almost lost his footing and slipped. When he was finished Harry felt somewhat better, but his hands still shook as he dried off and dressed. He kept a tight grip on the handrail on his way down stairs, making sure to take his time on the steps. The last thing he needed was to slip and crack his head open the day before he went off to Hogwarts. He smiled at the thought of leaving.
Harry stepped into the kitchen and forced himself not to react to the severe expression on Aunt Petunia's face. Her mouth was pressed into a flat thin line, and the muscles of her jaw were tight as though she was grinding her teeth.
"Sit and eat," snapped Aunt Petunia, pointing to the small bowl of grain cereal and a cup of tea. He sank gratefully into a chair.
Under his aunt's watchful eyes, Harry picked up the spoon and began eating. The cereal was the same stale mix he had been allowed to feed the snowy owl before his punishment. But the milk was hot and had soaked into the cereal enough to mask some of the cardboard-like taste. The tea wasn't much better; it was weak and bitter, and left a strange metallic aftertaste. He didn't complain though, not when it had been so long since he'd had a hot meal.
Aunt Petunia poured him another cup after he had finished the first one but made no offer to let him have another bowl of food.
"Dudley and Vernon are in London today for Dudley's surgery," she paused to glare darkly at Harry, "they will be there for three days. Tomorrow morning, I'll drive you to the train station. Today, you will finish up your chores and finish packing; understood?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"Good, now hurry up."
Harry nodded. By then the shaking in his limbs had subsided and his stomach didn't feel quite as numb as before. He chewed the last spoonful of cereal then drank the cooling milk, his tea already gone. With quick efficient movements he rinsed his dishes before heading back up stairs to get his dirty clothes. Fortunately, his things were worn enough that he could get away with doing them all in one load.
There wasn't a load in the dryer, and the only things left to fold were towels which he made short work of. Fifty minutes were still on the timer for the washer. Harry shrugged and went to find Aunt Petunia, who scowled and shooed him off to the living room.
His trunk was shoved into a corner out of sight of the bay windows. Harry smiled, feeling his heart lighten at the sight of it. For a few minutes he let his hands linger on the latches, hesitating. During his punishment, Harry had almost convinced himself that it was all an elaborate dream, that the snowy owl was an imaginary friend and that he'd finally lost it, just like Dudley had always said he would. But it was real.
Shrugging off the strange mix of happiness and loneliness, Harry released the latches and pushed up the lid. Books of magic, potions ingredients, quills and parchment, and robes were jumbled together in a half-hazard manner. Sheepishly, he rubbed his neck. If he wanted to fit the rest of his clothes in, he needed to get organized. Harry emptied everything out, grouping like objects and loosely folding his uniform.
His books would go in first he decided, but he would leave out two to read that night and tomorrow morning. After a long moment, he shoved The Standard Book of Spells and One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi into his schoolbag. His wand went into the special inner pocket that was covered with unbreakable charms to keep it safe. As an afterthought, Harry put his bag of wizard gold into it as well, just in case. The rest of his books were stacked along the bottom wall of the trunk to keep them from smashing things during transit.
Harry picked up the robes and quietly tip-toed to the laundry room. He wasn't sure he would have time to iron them at Hogwarts, or if Hogwarts even had irons. Maybe there was a spell. The washing machine's load was still going, so he set up the ironing board. Moving quickly, he pressed out the wrinkles and let the robe hang to cool as he moved on to the next one. After that he carefully folded them before heading back to his trunk.
He put the potions kit beside the books then stacked the inkwells and quills on top, followed by rolls of parchment. He made a quick trip upstairs to grab his clean clothes. They went in the remaining space with his robe on top of them. Harry sat back on his heels to survey his work. All that was left now was the clothes in the washer.
"Boy," yelled Aunt Petunia, "get in here!" With a sigh, Harry moved into the kitchen.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia?"
"Tidy up the flowerbeds."
"Of course, Aunt Petunia," he said.
There wasn't much work to be done outside. A few tiny weeds had sprouted up and a rose or two had withered. He was done in less than ten minutes. Even so, Harry knew his aunt wouldn't be satisfied that the job was done properly so he lingered a bit more. After one last circuit around the lawn, the boy headed back inside where his aunt gave him another chore. The cycle continued with a small break to move the laundry into the dryer, and a later break to fold and pack them.
To Harry's surprise, he was allowed to eat a thin, slightly dry sandwich of turkey and cheese for lunch and to take up a handful of cereal as well as some water for the snowy owl. He drank more of the weak tea from breakfast, and he quietly told his aunt that he was done packing.
"Put it in the boot of the car; then you're allowed to return to your room," said Aunt Petunia. Harry frowned but did as he was told. The trunk was heavy and cumbersome, and he was worried that he had done something to his back. Harry spent the rest of the day reading his two books, pausing now and then to scribble notes into an old spiral-bound notebook left over from primary school. Late in the evening, he was given a small bowl of soup and another serving of bitter tea.
He dreamed of colorful sparks, lush wild gardens, and the pleasant hum of magic.
