"Do you understand me, boy?" Harry's overly large uncle hissed, his chins
wobbling, as if for extra emphasis.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry replied, signing inwardly. He had hoped he would
have the day to himself, Sunday being the day of rest and all. But there
was no such luck. He Uncle was making him clean out the attic, a graveyard
for even more of his cousin, Dudley's, cast off toys. Old Christmas
presents, Easter presents, even Hanukah presents, (though the Dursley's
weren't Jewish), lay forgotten in the Dursley's attic.
With heavy legs, Harry trod upstairs to begin what was inevitably going to
be an all-day-job.
Harry pushed open the small wooden door in front of him and turned on the
light. It immediately burnt out.
"Bugger." Now he had to clean in the dark.
Not knowing where to begin, Harry looked around him. Though it was fairly
dark in the stuffy room, Harry could make out the outlines of several
bikes, all with some form of visible damage - bent wheels, broken handle
bars or broken frames -, televisions and what looked like an old doll
house. Though it couldn't possibly be one, as Dudley would just die if
Piers Polkiss, his gang buddy of six years now, found out he played with
dolls.
Nearly five hours later, Harry felt some satisfaction with the fact that he
removed almost all the junk from the attic, had swept the floor and had
cleaned the windows. Though he was starting to feel like The Little
Princess. He had just recently come from living at Hogwarts for six
marvelous months, where he didn't have to clean anything else but his room,
where he didn't have to cook or take nasty insults without retaliating, to
living with the Durselys and being used as a slave, performing every menial
task they ordered him to.
The Little Princess, or Cinderella?
Harry wondered why there weren't any blokes in stories like that, because
it wasn't just girls who found themselves in such predicaments. And he also
didn't like comparing himself to little girls in flowery dresses when he a
seventeen year old boy who wore he cousins old pants that hung off him as
though he was trying to wear a tent.
"Have you finished up there?" His Aunt Petunias whiney voice echoed all
around him.
"Almost." He called back.
"Don't you raise your voice at me young man!" Harry sighed and rolled his
eyes. He couldn't have a normal life, could he? No, not him. Being Harry
Potter, the Boy Who Lived, meant he had to live with people who hated him.
It took Harry another hour to move the rest of Dudley's things to the front
of number four Privet Drive's lawn, ready for garbage collection the
following morning. The day wasn't a complete waste of time, though. As he
was lifting a medium sized wooden box, something - or rather, a lot of
somethings - rattled inside. Harry placed the box back on to the floor and
opened it. Inside was, to no surprise, an assortment of broken gadgets. But
amongst them all was a watch. It was a small watch, with a face about the
size of an English one pound coin, and the frame was silver, with an
enormous amount of scratches on it, but it looked all right to Harry. He
slipped it around his wrist and felt his spirits lift. It could be the
Dursleys' birthday present to him.
A lot better than fifty pence and an old pair socks.
"I'm finished now Aunt Petunia. May I have my lunch now? I haven't eaten
since yesterday." And he was bloody hungry too.
"How ungrateful of you. Your Uncle and I put up with. abnormalities. for 16
years! We ask you to clean out the attic and you demand left, eight and
center! I've a right mind to throw you out on the streets!"
Harry sighed, again.
"Seventeen."
"What did you say to me, boy?" Petunia hissed, her beady eyes squinting.
"Seventeen. You've housed me for seventeen years. Not sixteen. It was my
birthday last week. It's alright, I didn't expect you to remember." Harry
shoved two slices of stale bread in to the toaster and grabbed an apple out
of the fruit bowl. It was small, and not exactly crisp, but it would do.
"Don't get smart with me. You've no right to treat me the way you do."
Harry snorted in to his apple, but covered it up with a very half-hearted
cough. At that moment, his toast appeared from the toaster, black and
smoking. He grabbed it and walked swiftly from the kitchen. After deciding
that he wanted to have 'breakfast', (it was three in the afternoon),
outside, Harry opened the front door and stepped in to the sunlight. It
felt odd and stung his eyes. Now he really did feel like the Little
Princess, having been cooped up inside all day, in a musty attic, and then
being let outside, and feeling weird about it. It shouldn't feel weird to
step outside. And it certainly shouldn't feel like he'd just jumped in to
an icy pond.
It took Harry a second to realize exactly why it felt like he'd jumped into
a pond. He looked up and saw his cousin, Dudley, smirking at him from the
bathroom window. He was holding a bucket. Harry's toast was wet, his apple
was on the ground and his clothes were wet too. Harry pretended to be
hexing his cousin with outrageous hand movements, making him squeal like a
pig that had been trod on, and also succeeded in making him go away.
"Mummy! Harry's putting you-know-whats on me again!" Harry, not wanting to
stick around for the punishment his Aunt was sure to give him, he trotted
off down Privet Drive, away from number four.
"Boy, what do you mean by threatening my son?" Vernon glared at Harry throw
short, thin eyelashes. "You try that sort of thing under my roof again and
I'll - "
"I was talking to Sirius last night." It was an outright lie, but Harry
really didn't want to have to listen to his Uncle's bigot point of views.
Again. Vernon's reaction was predictable, but satisfying all the same.
"S-Sirius?"
"Yes. My Godfather, you remember?" Harry's expression was nothing but
innocent.
"Get to your room. Now. And don't let that bloody bird out!" Harry trudged
up the stairs. He was actually quite thankful to be have been sent to his
room, as opposed to being ordered to clean the kitchen, as was the case
last Wednesday. He just wanted to be alone with a good book. But that was
not to be, as when arrived at his door, he heard the familiar scratching on
his window that could only be an owl. And it was. A Hogwart's owl, to split
hairs. After letting the owl in, it promptly stuck it's leg out with as
much dignity as one can when sticking their leg out. Harry removed the
envelope from the owl's leg. It immediately flew out the window that Harry
had left open and Harry watched it until it was only a speck in the
distance. He turned his attention the envelope in his hand. Inside was
arrHajhnsjgjhsjgsthe standard school supplies list, with a few changes like
Stand book of Spells: Grade seven. But there was also a letter.
Harry, I'll be sending some people around to collect you in the next few
days. You will spend the rest of the holidays at the Burrow, please be
ready to leave as soon as they arrive.
Albus Dumbledore
Harry couldn't help but wonder who 'they' were. And for the next two days,
he continued to wonder.
But on Monday the 10th, Harry ceased to wonder.
"I'll get it." Harry called, heading toward the door at the sound of the
doorbell.
"Too right you'll get it." His Uncle grumbled into his breakfast, the daily
newspaper obscuring his face from view.
Harry swung the door open and came face to chest with none other than
Sirius Black.
"Sirius!" Harry's face broke into a brilliant smile, and he had to exercise
a great deal of self-control not to throw himself at his Godfather and wrap
him in a giant hug. (He decided he was too manly for hugs now, being 17 and
all.)
"Hello, Harry. How're the Muggles treating you?" Sirius' hair was, if it
was possible, even shaggier than Harry remembered it, and his eyes had
taken on a little more life than they had when they had last seen each
other.
"Alright. You're looking good, where have you been staying?"
"At headquarters. But we can explain all that later, we should get going
now."
"We?" Sirius stepped aside to show Harry who else was with him. It was Mr.
Weasley and Remus Lupin. Harry was beside himself with joy. "This is
fantastic! Hang on, I'll go and get my things." He raced upstairs and
grabbed his trunk, which he had packed as soon as he had gotten his letter
from Professor Dumbledore, he broom and Hedwig's cage. Hedwig had gone
hunting last night and had not returned, though Harry wasn't worried. She
sometimes went out for three days at a time, but she always came back.
"So. I'm Harry's Godfather, Sirius." Sirius stuck his hand out to the
immensely over weight man in front of him but, seeing as he quite obviously
wasn't going to take it, dropped it back to his side.
"You, you, you get out of my house."
"Pardon me? I don't think you can just throw us out, Mr. Dursley. We're
here to collect Harry, and collect Harry we shall. We're on direct orders
here." Remus looked taken back by Vernon's harsh tones, but never the less,
he would not let it get to him.
"Oh, really. Direct orders from who, exactly?"
"None of your business." Sirius was still hurt about having his handshake
rejected. He walked over to the fridge and stuck his head inside,
inspecting its contents.
"Do you mind? This is my house and I will not have you raiding it under my
very nose! Out! Out, I say!" Vernon jumped up from his chair, spilling his
coffee as he did so. Sirius rolled his eyes, grabbed one of the many
chocolate bars in front of him and kicked the door shut.
"I'm ready." Harry puffed as his trunk thumped down the last of the stairs
behind him.
wobbling, as if for extra emphasis.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry replied, signing inwardly. He had hoped he would
have the day to himself, Sunday being the day of rest and all. But there
was no such luck. He Uncle was making him clean out the attic, a graveyard
for even more of his cousin, Dudley's, cast off toys. Old Christmas
presents, Easter presents, even Hanukah presents, (though the Dursley's
weren't Jewish), lay forgotten in the Dursley's attic.
With heavy legs, Harry trod upstairs to begin what was inevitably going to
be an all-day-job.
Harry pushed open the small wooden door in front of him and turned on the
light. It immediately burnt out.
"Bugger." Now he had to clean in the dark.
Not knowing where to begin, Harry looked around him. Though it was fairly
dark in the stuffy room, Harry could make out the outlines of several
bikes, all with some form of visible damage - bent wheels, broken handle
bars or broken frames -, televisions and what looked like an old doll
house. Though it couldn't possibly be one, as Dudley would just die if
Piers Polkiss, his gang buddy of six years now, found out he played with
dolls.
Nearly five hours later, Harry felt some satisfaction with the fact that he
removed almost all the junk from the attic, had swept the floor and had
cleaned the windows. Though he was starting to feel like The Little
Princess. He had just recently come from living at Hogwarts for six
marvelous months, where he didn't have to clean anything else but his room,
where he didn't have to cook or take nasty insults without retaliating, to
living with the Durselys and being used as a slave, performing every menial
task they ordered him to.
The Little Princess, or Cinderella?
Harry wondered why there weren't any blokes in stories like that, because
it wasn't just girls who found themselves in such predicaments. And he also
didn't like comparing himself to little girls in flowery dresses when he a
seventeen year old boy who wore he cousins old pants that hung off him as
though he was trying to wear a tent.
"Have you finished up there?" His Aunt Petunias whiney voice echoed all
around him.
"Almost." He called back.
"Don't you raise your voice at me young man!" Harry sighed and rolled his
eyes. He couldn't have a normal life, could he? No, not him. Being Harry
Potter, the Boy Who Lived, meant he had to live with people who hated him.
It took Harry another hour to move the rest of Dudley's things to the front
of number four Privet Drive's lawn, ready for garbage collection the
following morning. The day wasn't a complete waste of time, though. As he
was lifting a medium sized wooden box, something - or rather, a lot of
somethings - rattled inside. Harry placed the box back on to the floor and
opened it. Inside was, to no surprise, an assortment of broken gadgets. But
amongst them all was a watch. It was a small watch, with a face about the
size of an English one pound coin, and the frame was silver, with an
enormous amount of scratches on it, but it looked all right to Harry. He
slipped it around his wrist and felt his spirits lift. It could be the
Dursleys' birthday present to him.
A lot better than fifty pence and an old pair socks.
"I'm finished now Aunt Petunia. May I have my lunch now? I haven't eaten
since yesterday." And he was bloody hungry too.
"How ungrateful of you. Your Uncle and I put up with. abnormalities. for 16
years! We ask you to clean out the attic and you demand left, eight and
center! I've a right mind to throw you out on the streets!"
Harry sighed, again.
"Seventeen."
"What did you say to me, boy?" Petunia hissed, her beady eyes squinting.
"Seventeen. You've housed me for seventeen years. Not sixteen. It was my
birthday last week. It's alright, I didn't expect you to remember." Harry
shoved two slices of stale bread in to the toaster and grabbed an apple out
of the fruit bowl. It was small, and not exactly crisp, but it would do.
"Don't get smart with me. You've no right to treat me the way you do."
Harry snorted in to his apple, but covered it up with a very half-hearted
cough. At that moment, his toast appeared from the toaster, black and
smoking. He grabbed it and walked swiftly from the kitchen. After deciding
that he wanted to have 'breakfast', (it was three in the afternoon),
outside, Harry opened the front door and stepped in to the sunlight. It
felt odd and stung his eyes. Now he really did feel like the Little
Princess, having been cooped up inside all day, in a musty attic, and then
being let outside, and feeling weird about it. It shouldn't feel weird to
step outside. And it certainly shouldn't feel like he'd just jumped in to
an icy pond.
It took Harry a second to realize exactly why it felt like he'd jumped into
a pond. He looked up and saw his cousin, Dudley, smirking at him from the
bathroom window. He was holding a bucket. Harry's toast was wet, his apple
was on the ground and his clothes were wet too. Harry pretended to be
hexing his cousin with outrageous hand movements, making him squeal like a
pig that had been trod on, and also succeeded in making him go away.
"Mummy! Harry's putting you-know-whats on me again!" Harry, not wanting to
stick around for the punishment his Aunt was sure to give him, he trotted
off down Privet Drive, away from number four.
"Boy, what do you mean by threatening my son?" Vernon glared at Harry throw
short, thin eyelashes. "You try that sort of thing under my roof again and
I'll - "
"I was talking to Sirius last night." It was an outright lie, but Harry
really didn't want to have to listen to his Uncle's bigot point of views.
Again. Vernon's reaction was predictable, but satisfying all the same.
"S-Sirius?"
"Yes. My Godfather, you remember?" Harry's expression was nothing but
innocent.
"Get to your room. Now. And don't let that bloody bird out!" Harry trudged
up the stairs. He was actually quite thankful to be have been sent to his
room, as opposed to being ordered to clean the kitchen, as was the case
last Wednesday. He just wanted to be alone with a good book. But that was
not to be, as when arrived at his door, he heard the familiar scratching on
his window that could only be an owl. And it was. A Hogwart's owl, to split
hairs. After letting the owl in, it promptly stuck it's leg out with as
much dignity as one can when sticking their leg out. Harry removed the
envelope from the owl's leg. It immediately flew out the window that Harry
had left open and Harry watched it until it was only a speck in the
distance. He turned his attention the envelope in his hand. Inside was
arrHajhnsjgjhsjgsthe standard school supplies list, with a few changes like
Stand book of Spells: Grade seven. But there was also a letter.
Harry, I'll be sending some people around to collect you in the next few
days. You will spend the rest of the holidays at the Burrow, please be
ready to leave as soon as they arrive.
Albus Dumbledore
Harry couldn't help but wonder who 'they' were. And for the next two days,
he continued to wonder.
But on Monday the 10th, Harry ceased to wonder.
"I'll get it." Harry called, heading toward the door at the sound of the
doorbell.
"Too right you'll get it." His Uncle grumbled into his breakfast, the daily
newspaper obscuring his face from view.
Harry swung the door open and came face to chest with none other than
Sirius Black.
"Sirius!" Harry's face broke into a brilliant smile, and he had to exercise
a great deal of self-control not to throw himself at his Godfather and wrap
him in a giant hug. (He decided he was too manly for hugs now, being 17 and
all.)
"Hello, Harry. How're the Muggles treating you?" Sirius' hair was, if it
was possible, even shaggier than Harry remembered it, and his eyes had
taken on a little more life than they had when they had last seen each
other.
"Alright. You're looking good, where have you been staying?"
"At headquarters. But we can explain all that later, we should get going
now."
"We?" Sirius stepped aside to show Harry who else was with him. It was Mr.
Weasley and Remus Lupin. Harry was beside himself with joy. "This is
fantastic! Hang on, I'll go and get my things." He raced upstairs and
grabbed his trunk, which he had packed as soon as he had gotten his letter
from Professor Dumbledore, he broom and Hedwig's cage. Hedwig had gone
hunting last night and had not returned, though Harry wasn't worried. She
sometimes went out for three days at a time, but she always came back.
"So. I'm Harry's Godfather, Sirius." Sirius stuck his hand out to the
immensely over weight man in front of him but, seeing as he quite obviously
wasn't going to take it, dropped it back to his side.
"You, you, you get out of my house."
"Pardon me? I don't think you can just throw us out, Mr. Dursley. We're
here to collect Harry, and collect Harry we shall. We're on direct orders
here." Remus looked taken back by Vernon's harsh tones, but never the less,
he would not let it get to him.
"Oh, really. Direct orders from who, exactly?"
"None of your business." Sirius was still hurt about having his handshake
rejected. He walked over to the fridge and stuck his head inside,
inspecting its contents.
"Do you mind? This is my house and I will not have you raiding it under my
very nose! Out! Out, I say!" Vernon jumped up from his chair, spilling his
coffee as he did so. Sirius rolled his eyes, grabbed one of the many
chocolate bars in front of him and kicked the door shut.
"I'm ready." Harry puffed as his trunk thumped down the last of the stairs
behind him.