The Gift of Friendship
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything else that may seem familiar. In fact, I own very little.
Author: DracaDelirus
Warnings: mention of neglect.
Dedication: For everyone who read and reviewed my story 'The Hundred Acre Wood', and are now waiting for the next chapters. They're coming – I promise.
friendshipihsdneirf
Soon-to-be-seven-years-old Harry sat cross-legged in the cupboard under the stairs, listening to the sounds of his cousin's birthday party. It sounded like so much fun! He could hear Dudley and his friends laughing as they ran all over the house playing their party games. The joyous sounds of their carefree play just reminded him that he didn't have anyone to play with himself.
"Hey! Where's your cousin?" Harry could hear one of Dudley's friends pause to ask. Harry was frankly surprised they'd noticed him missing.
"Yeah, I thought we'd be stuck with him all day," another added.
"I was looking forward to Harry Hunting," a third laughed.
"Oh, he didn't want to come. He gets really jealous of all my presents," Dudley told them.
'That isn't true', Harry thought. He did want to go to the party, but Dudley didn't want him there. Since it was Dudley's birthday not his, his uncle had locked him in the cupboard after he'd finished decorating the house and yard in his cousin's honour, with bright balloons and shiny streamers.
Decorating for Dudley was as close to going to a birthday party that he'd ever been. He'd never been invited to anyone else's party, and the Dursley's had never held a party for him. Why bother? They had said. It wasn't as if he had any friends to invite.
Harry put his chin on his knees, and sighed. It was true. He didn't have a single solitary friend. Not that he hadn't tried, but Dudley had the annoying tendency to punch anyone who was ever nice to him, and he'd never had the opportunity to meet anyone without Dudley being around. Not that it would matter anyway, he thought, no one would ever want to be friends with a boy who lived in a cupboard.
All alone, with the mocking sounds of the happy party weighing down on him, Harry forced himself to listen to the party sounds until he memorized them down to the smallest detail. He wished for friends almost as much as he wished for a family that loved him, but he knew that neither was likely to happen. Instead, he would just file away the memory of how a happy party with friends sounded, so when his own birthday came he would be able to pull it out and replay the sounds in his mind, and pretend it was the sounds of his own friends and family celebrating with him.
Harry was very good at filing away captured memories to use later. He had few toys of his own, so he used the memories to make up stories in his head. Then, since he didn't have anyone else to tell his stories to, he would entertain the plastic soldier with one arm, and the teddy with no eyes, regaling them with tales of daring heroes and courageous heroines, and all their grand and glorious adventures.
Making up stories in his head was the only real fun Harry ever had. And that was only because his aunt and uncle didn't know about it. Harry was sure that if they thought his brain capable of that much thought, they would have found a way to put that to work too, doing something mind-numbing such as adding up long columns of numbers, or long division.
As it was, his aunt and uncle kept his body busy doing chores, because 'it was good for him' and 'built character'. He didn't understand why the same chores weren't also good for Dudley, and build his character. However, Dudley they let spend his time on video games, and watching too much telly. The same things that were deemed as 'bad' for Harry.
The next morning at breakfast Harry dared to ask the unthinkable.
"May I have a party on my birthday too? With a cake?"
"You? Have a party? Who would you invite? The Queen of England?" his Uncle Vernon roared heartily at the absurdity and went back to reading his paper.
"I don't want to go to his dumb party! Do I haf'ta?" Dudley wailed.
"Of course not, Popkin."
"So, can I?" Harry persisted. "It's all I want. I won't ask for anything else."
His Uncle sighed at the interruption, and put down his paper.
"Nothing else?"
Harry shook his head, and crossed his heart, completely serious.
"It's a deal then. You come up with guests, and we'll come up with a cake," he promised.
"But I don't want to bake another cake!" his aunt complained.
"No worries, Petunia. He doesn't have any friends. This is one birthday that won't cost us a penny," his uncle smirked.
But Harry was happy nonetheless. A promise was a promise, and it was more that he'd had before.
Dudley stuck his tongue out at Harry.
Harry stuck his tongue out in return.
"Harry! Don't stick your tongue out at the table. It's not polite," his aunt scolded him.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia," he said dutifully as his cousin kicked him under the table. He was sure that wasn't polite either, but his aunt didn't say anything to Dudley about it. So Dudley kicked him again.
The next week his relatives left on a 'family' vacation. Using the word 'family' in their plan announcement meant that, of course, he wasn't to be included, since he was just their nephew, not a real family member. However, they'd arranged to leave him with Mrs Figg, who lived two streets over and to the right on Wisteria Walk.
Harry wasn't so sure about staying with Mrs Figg. Whenever he'd had to stay there before he'd had an incredibly dull time, plus her house smelled of cats and cabbage. However, since the Dursley's were going to be gone almost a month, he was just grateful they cared enough about his welfare to leave him somewhere that someone might feed him occasionally, so he didn't die of starvation while they were gone.
'That was sort of like love… wasn't it?' he asked himself. Well, at least it was as close to love as they had ever shown him.
When he got to Mrs Figg's, he wasn't surprised it was as dull as he thought it would be. The minute he sat on the couch, she piled photo albums of her cats on his lap.
Oh, joy.
A few hours later, he finally got to the end of them and asked if there was something else he could do. Mrs Figg seemed only too glad to be rid of him and told him he should go to the park and play until dinner. Play? With who?
With a dark cloud hovering over his disposition, he headed for the neighbourhood play park.
He'd never had any luck making friends, but his uncle had unwittingly planted a seed in his brain. Harry remembered right before the start of the summer holiday, their class had listened to a speech by Queen Elizabeth II. In it, she had said that,
'The world is not the most pleasant place. Eventually, your parents leave you and nobody is going to go out of their way to protect you unconditionally. You need to learn to stand up for yourself and what you believe and sometimes, pardon my language, kick some ass.'
After that the kids in his class all referred to her as the 'Badass Queen'. Harry thought at the time, that the ass-kicking Queen was talking directly to him, when she said it, as if she knew him and all about him living in a cupboard and liked him anyway. Just like a real friend would. Now, thanks to his uncle's reminder, those words came back to encourage him.
Even with the encouragement, Harry approached the play park with trepidation. The Queen and Mrs Figg didn't know what they were asking him to do. Who would want to play with him? He didn't have any toys to share like Dudley had - no bats, no balls, no computer games. The only thing he had very much of, was absolutely nothing, and that wasn't much fun to play with.
Stopping at the entrance to the park, he could see several kids he knew from the primary school he attended. There was a group playing on the jungle gym, and another playing stickball.
He remembered when they all drew pictures one day in class, and pinned them to the bulletin board. The girl with the brown braids, now dangling upside down from the jungle gym, had said his was the best one. Dudley tripped her in the cafeteria later that day, skinning her knee and making her cry. When the school nurse asked how it happened, Dudley pointed at Harry. Then Harry had to go to the principal's office. The principal wasn't pleased.
He also remembered when he almost was chosen once to play on a stickball team during recess. They only needed one more player. When the tall boy, who'd just captured the goal, had chosen him over his cousin. Dudley punched the boy in the nose. The boy had to go home. When the principal asked who did it, Dudley pointed at Harry. Then Harry was sent home as well with a note for Aunt Petunia. Aunt Petunia wasn't pleased.
Harry bit his lip. Things were not looking promising. He didn't see anyone in the park who didn't already know to stay far away from him, let alone anyone to ask to his birthday party. That was bad enough, only then he saw someone else in the park. A couple of Dudley's gang. Worse - they saw him.
"Hey Gordon! Isn't that Scary-Harry?"
"Yeah Dennis, it is!"
The two boys looked at each other and jeered.
"Let's go 'Harry Hunting'! Get him!"
Harry took to his heels and ran as fast as he could back to Mrs Figg's, losing them when he ducked down the alley between Magnolia Crescent and Wisteria Walk.
This was going to be some holiday.
Every day for the first week, it was the same thing - incredibly dull, no one to play with, running away from Dudley's gang, nothing to do. Over and over again.
On the eighth day, instead of turning left towards Mrs Figg's after ducking down the alley, he turned to the right. Just to throw off Dudley's gang in case they had caught on to his short cut.
Slowing to a walk, he stuffed his hands in his pockets and started whistling. He thought whistling sounded friendly, and he was on the lookout to find someone, anyone, with whom to be friends so he could invite them to his party.
The houses of Wisteria Walk all looked very much the same as the Dursley's house on Privet Drive, and the ones on Privet Drive looked very much the same as the ones found on Magnolia Crescent. They were all ordinary square houses with a small garden in the front, and a larger one in the back. The only difference was the house numbers. Just like their houses, the people who lived in them were all very much the same as well – snobbish and extremely nosy.
Like the Dursleys, they all had their opinions of the boy from Number 4 Privet Drive with the dark messy hair. The consensus was that he was a scruffy troublemaker, and being a scruffy troublemaker should be against law. They were all positive he'd land in St Brutus's Secure Centre for Incurably Criminal Boys. It was just a matter of time they'd nod to each other with certainty.
As Harry wandered around the neighbourhood looking for someone to be friends with, the people would pull their children inside and peek out the windows as he walked by. He walked up and down each road in the neighbourhood at least twice, until Mrs Figg finally waved him inside for dinner.
He needed a different plan. Trying to find a friend the normal way wasn't working. Dejected, the next day he just hung out at Mrs Figg's. When the postman came to deliver a package, he got a great idea.
Borrowing a piece of paper and an envelope from Mrs Figg, he sat down at the table and penned an invitation. Snowy, Tufty, Mr Paws, and Mr Tibbles, Mrs Figg's cats, sat on the table, swishing their tails watching him intently. Just in case whatever he was doing was going to involve anything shiny or squeaky. It didn't, but as a cat, you can never be too careful.
Chewing on the end of the pencil, Harry thought and thought. Then he thought 'Why not?'
Dear High and Exalted Badass Queen,
My Uncle said I could have a birthday party if someone would come, and he suggested inviting you. My Aunt is even going to bake a cake! And don't worry, my cousin Dudley isn't coming so you don't have to be worried he'll punch you. And if he does, it's okay if you kick his ass. I know you like to do things like that.
If you would please, come on Monday July 31st at two in the afternoon. You don't even need to bring a gift if you don't want to, Dudley would just break it anyway.
Sincerely,
Harry James Potter
Number 4, Little Whinging, Surrey
Oh, and P.S. If you want to bring someone else with you, that would be okay by me. I haven't found anyone else to invite so there should be plenty of cake.
Folding the paper he stuck it in the envelope, licked it shut, and addressed it simply to 'The Badass Queen'. He was sure the postman would know where to find her. After sticking on the stamp that he'd begged from Mrs Figg, he walked to the far end of Magnolia Road near the entrance to the play park, and dropped it in the postbox. He didn't want to wait even one more day for the postman to pick it up at Mrs Figg's house. The Queen would need time to make arrangements to come.
Quite pleased with himself, he didn't see the envelope come back out of the box, as if fished out by an unseen hand after he turned his back and walked away. Nor did he see it disappear into thin air a moment later.
The rest of the month, with Mrs Figg and her cats, flew by for Harry as he anticipated his up-and-coming birthday. As soon as the Dursley's returned from their holiday, Harry got busy making sure the house and yard would be presentable for the Queen. He even broke open his piggybank and used the meagre contents at the market to buy flour for a cake.
His aunt and uncle didn't stop him. If their daft nephew wanted to wear himself out cleaning without being asked, far be it for them to stop him.
Monday morning, July thirty-first, dawned with a promise of being hot, dry, and sunny. But that wasn't the promise Harry was concerned about. He'd told the Queen there would be cake and his aunt was making no move to bake one.
"Why go to all the trouble?" she asked. "It's not like anyone is coming to your party."
Frustrated, Harry went about decorating anyway. He'd salvaged the streamers and balloons out of the rubbish after Dudley's party. The streamers were a little bent, but still colourful. The balloons he carefully untied so he could blow more air into them. It wasn't helium, as it had been for Dudley's so they didn't float, but again, still colourful.
Preparations done, he put on his cleanest clothes and sat in the living room waiting.
The clock chimed One.
An hour to go!
He didn't know what he was going to say if he had to tell the Queen the cake was a lie. That was her whole reason for coming. He'd been hoping for chocolate. However, truthfully, he'd take any flavour at this point.
The clock chimed half past.
Uncle Vernon walked through the living room laughing.
Harry blushed and fidgeted, but didn't give up his post. She'd come. He just knew it.
When the clock chimed twice, all of the Dursley's popped their heads in and laughed at him.
The clock ticked on relentlessly.
'Tick – tick – tick'
One past two…
'Tick – tick – tick'
Two past two…
'Tick – tick – tick'
Three past two…
'Tick – tick – tick'
By ten past two, even Harry had to admit the Queen wasn't coming.
Head hanging, he headed back to his cupboard to mope.
Sitting cross-legged on his cot in the cupboard under the stairs, he wondered again, what was so wrong with him that no one wanted to be friends with him? He was so sure he could count on the Queen.
'Ding-dong!'
Harry practically jumped out of his skin. It was the doorbell! Scrambling out of the cupboard, he dashed for the front door and pulled it open excitedly.
"Well? Who were you expecting boy? The Queen of England? Bwa-ha-ha-ha-ha," Aunt Marge laughed – knowing the joke. She pushed him aside and came in, toting a bulldog under her arm.
Great… Aunt Marge and Ripper. As if his birthday couldn't get any more depressing.
'Ding-dong!'
This time, Harry didn't run for the door. It wouldn't be for him either. He continued down the hall and back to his cupboard.
"Harry?! Answer the bell!"
Harry ignored his aunt, and pulled the cupboard door shut after him.
'Ding-dong! Ding-dong! Ding-dong!'
"Where did that boy go?" Petunia muttered exasperated, answering the bell herself. When she did, she couldn't believe her eyes.
"Who…? Who are you?" she questioned the regal woman standing on her stoop in flowing robes of emerald green, and wearing a tall pointed hat on her head as proudly as a crown.
"I'm Minerva McGonagall, Deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, more affectionately known by its students as the 'Badass Queen of Sass'."
"But what are you doing here?"
"I was invited. I hear there will be cake."
"But… but… but… who are all the rest of you?"
"My plus ones," she smiled serenely as she sailed past her into the house. Following her came everyone she could round up, all bearing gifts for the birthday boy, and chatting merrily between themselves as they crowed into the house, making themselves right at home.
In his cupboard, Harry was entertaining himself by pulling his memories of Dudley's happy birthday party, out of his memory file, and replaying it. He'd never been able to make the sounds so real before! Wait a minute… were they real?
Harry stuck his head back out of the cupboard and was amazed to see a crowd of all shapes and sizes, jammed into the living room. But the most astonishing of all, was the regal woman standing in the front, peering directly at him.
"Wow! I didn't think you were coming!"
"Just fashionably late," Minerva assured him. "We picked up a headwind over Yorkshire. You didn't think I'd turn down such a lovely handwritten invitation from a friend did you?"
"But… I don't have any friends."
"You have more than you know. Now where's the cake, or do I need to kick some ass to get it?" she winked at him.
The Dursley's gasped.
Harry grinned.
This was going to be the best birthday ever!
~fin~