My first piece of work for Harry, and the first at all in a long time. Hope you enjoy
Harry washed the dishes silently after dinner. This chore had become so natural to him, he hardly ever needed think about it as he did it. Scrub, rinse, set aside. The height of the sink was uncomfortable for him, and he hated always having to search for the little stool he always used for reaching the appliances, and that Dudley always used to reach the cabinets.
His task seemed endless, however. As soon as Harry seemed to be about finished, Aunt Petunia would promptly prop another dish or two on top of the counter beside him, and he would have to supress another disappointed sigh. If he didn't, Aunt Petunia would be angry at him, and then he'd have to make up a fake reason for his disappointment, and then he'd regret ever sighing at all, because she wouldn't believe him no matter what he said. She'd sniff and say "Awfully rude you are, boy" and then pile more dishes in his already full pile -if he was lucky- and where's the use in that? So Harry did his best for his frustration to remain unnoticed, and tried to scrub away the scorched food in Aunt Petunia's extremely expensive Aker Trademarked Stainless Steel Deluxe Frying Pan.
In the past, Harry used to always wonder why Dudley never had to do any chores, and he even dared ask his aunt and uncle one first and last time. They hadn't answered him, but Aunt Petunia had gone very serious, and Uncle Vernon very red, and then they had insisted that Harry was trying to skive off his chores, and he ought not to be wandering around, beady-eyed and on the lookout for excuses not to do what he must. Harry had left it at that, and somehow, he was learning to accept the fact that if he was doing so much around the house and Dudley wasn't, it was more probable that it was so because the Dursleys wanted it that way rather than for another, more logical reason.
It didn't matter. Right now, Harry was thinking about the mars bar he had knicked from the large bag his aunt and uncle had bought Dudley last week; Harry had hidden it inside a trainer that hadn't fit for years, and he'd enjoy it as soon as he was done with the silverware. His hands felt foreign and sort of swollen, like they get when you stay in the bath for too long. The cutlery escaped and scraped his hands more often than not, dropping back in the soapy water. It seemed like another lifetime had passed -during which Dudley had raided the kitchen at least twice more, and Aunt Petunia had scolded Harry at least three times and instructed him on how to rinse a glass properly- but at last, he was done.
"Aunt Petunia, I'm finished here." Harry said, drying his hands in his trousers, hopping off the stool, and putting it away.
She looked at him as if he was a very annoying bug "Use the hand towel to dry yourself, boy, and go and get the mop," Aunt Petunia frowned "look at all the mess you did!" Harry stared at the small puddle of soapy water in the floor confusedly. This was a big mess? "Nevermind, then," she said, when he didn't act immediately, and pushed him not too gently into the corridor "I'll clean this all up! You're much more trouble than you're worth." And she shut Harry out of the kitchen. Did he still need to get the mop? Or had he been set free already? He stared at the door for a full minute, then decided on the latter. He had a stolen mars bar waiting for him inside his cupboard, he was done with chores, and Dudley was entirely too focused on the telly and the sweets around him to bother Harry at all.
Life was good.