Author's Note: I just thought of this while sitting in 'Hotel Accounting' (I don't know if I've translated it correctly, but hopefully you'll get the idea…), so if I fail the class, it'll be due to my love for you all and for FF. net – or to how boring a class and teacher I have… Hmmm… Anyway, please review or flame, and enjoy!
Disclaimer: I wish I did own it. That way, I could meet all the actors and read Book 7 before anyone else…
Now he'd done it!
It wasn't cold but, inside his cupboard, Harry was shivering. He was used to being ridiculed, to the taunting, to his own weakness, and he didn't mind it one bit. After all, he was only 8 years old, so he could live through it without giving it much importance. This was basically because he knew that he didn't generally deserve getting the short end of the stick.
Now, he did. Now he'd done it.
His aunt, tired of his hair looking like a bird's nest – and unconvinced by his pleadings of 'it grows that way' – had taken matters into her own hands. An hour and a pair of kitchen scissors later, she had left Harry almost bald.
Harry had, officially, done it…
His trembling hand reached his bangs – which hadn't been severed so he could cover his scar – and he flattened it nervously. He would not live through tomorrow; he knew it. His eyes burned and prickled, but he ignored the feeling: his mind wasn't too keen on being aware of anything but his hair… Or lack thereof.
Fear and anger (and probably helplessness, but he wasn't sure) mingled together in him, as he repeated a soothing mantra to himself:
"It will have grown back by tomorrow… It will have grown back by tomorrow… It will have grown back by tomorrow…"
But even at his innocent young age, Harry knew that his hair wouldn't grow back in hours…
He frantically tried to think of excuses for not going to school, but he couldn't think of any that his aunt and uncle wouldn't see through. Time was rushing by and nothing could be done; Harry was going to have to attend school and face everyone. He would have to face the fact that, for the first time ever, he deserved whatever it was that would happen. He deserved to be bullied.
Now he'd done it…
Wrestling between uneasy sleep and anxious consciousness, Harry lived through the shortest night of his life and the dreaded morning came. Soon, footsteps could be heard coming down the stairs and someone sharply rapped his door.
"Up! Get up! Now!"
"I'm up, I'm up…" – He replied, slightly dazed and completely unrested.
His door was opened and he stepped out.
"Go and start breakfaaaah! What happened to your hair?!"
Startled, Harry's hand flew to his hair at the same time his aunt started yanking it.
"Petunia, dear, what's wrong?!"
Uncle Vernon had come to the hall hearing the racket to find his pale wife pulling Harry's hair, and the boy looking bewildered.
"I – I cut it myself yesterday! I did it! I cut it all!"
"What have you done, boy?!" – He snarled, his face puce colored.
"N – Nothing! Nothing, I swear!"
No one believed him, though, and he was punished for a week. Harry couldn't care less: he was elated. He had chanted himself hoarse during the night, almost begging his hair to grow back. He had feared the unavoidable reality of his wish being impossible to fulfill, but it had come true. Maybe, he wondered, he had a fairy godmother somewhere or something…
It was so that young Harry was able to get through his punishment just though sheer joy: he told his hair to grow back and now he'd done it!