Harry Potter was on Cloud Nine. He hadn't been so giddy with excitement since Gryffindor's winning of the House Cup his first year. Nothing could ruin the thirteen—nearly fourteen—year-old boy's good mood. Not Uncle Vernon snapping at him for humming in the car. Not Aunt Petunia rolling her eyes and looking physically pained at having to pull out another plate for dinner. Not even Dudley trying to trip him down the stairs as he lugged his school trunk up to his room. Harry didn't even bother to unpack. He could live out of his trunk for a few weeks.
One month, and then Harry wouldn't have to see the Dursley's for a whole year. He would only have to endure one month of their insults and drudgery. After that, Sirius was coming to get him.
Sirius Black, his godfather. Harry smiled so big that his face ached. For twelve years, Harry had dreamed that a long-lost relative would appear and take him away from the prison that was 4 Privet Drive. Even though he'd gone nine years without a cake or candles, Harry still made a birthday wish every July 31st, spending them all on this one far-fetched hope. Even after coming to Hogwarts, Harry had continued to wish. He loved his school, but knew he couldn't stay there during the summer.
After so many years of this pipe dreaming, his dream had finally come to life in the form of a large, black dog Animagus. Following months of wrongfully blaming the man for his parents' deaths, any hatred that Harry had felt for Sirius Black disappeared when Ron's rat transformed back into Peter Pettigrew; the empty space in his heart that the hate had occupied filled up with love the very instant that Sirius had asked his incredulous godson to come and live with him. A home and a family had been the deepest desires of the young wizard's heart since ever he could remember. They'd known each other for an hour, and Sirius Black had already offered him more than the Dursleys—his blood relatives—had in over a decade. Harry had been so ecstatic that he'd wanted to move in with Sirius immediately.
There were snags to this plan. Even after Harry and Hermione had used the time turner to capture Peter Pettigrew and prove Sirius's innocence, Dumbledore still wouldn't allow Harry's godfather to take him right away.
"Where are you planning on taking him, Sirius? You know that Grimmauld Place is no home for a boy."
Grumbling, Sirius had conceded the headmaster's point. "I'll find a house."
"It isn't that easy, Sirius."
Dumbledore had then explained the blood wards around 4 Privet Drive. Until he turned seventeen, Harry needed to call the house of Lily's flesh and blood his home, or else be at the mercy of Voldemort's leftover supporters.
But Sirius was stubborn. Harry's face had flushed with bashful pride as his godfather argued with the headmaster for nearly two hours. He's fighting for the right to take me with him. The Boy-Who-Lived had never experienced such powerful devotion before, and he loved Sirius all the more for it. Finally, Dumbledore had given in.
"He needs to spend half of his summer at the Dursley's in order for the blood wards to remain effective. One month; that should give you enough time to find a suitable residence, Sirius."
Even then, Sirius had tried to argue the four weeks down to two. Dumbledore remained adamant that one month a year was the bare minimum. Finally, Harry's godfather had been pacified by the promise of taking his godson home for Christmas. "It's only right he spend his holidays with me!" the escapee insisted. "I'm his guardian, by Merlin!"
Harry had grinned broadly at that, and later asked Sirius to sign his permission slip for the Hogsmeade trips. It was silly that such a little thing had given both wizards so much pleasure, but it was the first act of parental love that Harry had received in twelve years. And after more than a decade in Azkaban, Sirius had been delighted to do something for Harry.
"One month," Sirius had sworn. "On my honor as a Marauder, not a day more."
Harry could hardly wait. For the first time in his life, he would have a real family to spend the summer with.
"Boy!" he heard Uncle Vernon call loudly. "Get down here!"
Just a month. Harry fortified himself with that thought and marched down the stairs and into the kitchen. The teenager was surprised to see the table laid out with healthy foods. He'd never seen so many greens on the Dursley's table. There wasn't an artery-clogging dish in sight. Although he was curious, Harry knew better than to ask about the strange meal. In the end, he didn't even have to.
"Mum I hate this diet!" Dudley cried in disgust, flipping his chair over to punctuate his statement. "I feel like I'm going to die!"
"I know, Diddykins. I know," Aunt Petunia crooned soothingly, picking up Dudley's chair and setting it upright before gently putting her hands on Dudley's shoulders to ease him into his seat. "I'll give you extra big portions to make up for it, sweetheart."
"How long are planning to feed us this rabbit food, Petunia?" Uncle Vernon growled, scowling at the heaping, colorful piles on his plate. "It's barely enough to keep a man alive!"
Harry felt a twinge of sympathy for the distressed, pinched expression that filled his aunt's face. The middle-aged woman's features became heavy and she bit her bottom lip. "I know it's hard for you, Vernon dear. It's doubly hard for our son. He's still a growing boy who needs nutrition." Petunia tilted the food vessels slightly when spooning for Dudley, ensuring that as much of the food ended up on her son's plate as possible.
When she dished for Harry, however, Petunia set the dishes upright again, scooped up single spoonfuls, and plopped them down on the plate disdainfully. She shoved the dish into Harry's hands, and the thirteen-year-old looked down at the meager helpings in disappointment. This was even less than he was given normally.
Vernon may or may not have noticed his expression, but his next comment rubbed salt into Harry's wounds anyway. "Don't get too comfortable, boy," the overweight man snapped with a mouth half full. "You're back to cooking tomorrow."
Harry nodded and took his plate over to the kitchen counter, eating in silence while his aunt fussed over Dudley and his uncle continued to complain about the food and about the "incompetents" at work. The young wizard ate slowly; if the entire household was expected to conform to Dudley's diet, he would have to make what little sustenance he received last as long as possible.
Trying to focus on something else, Harry allowed his mind to drift back to Sirius. Who would do the cooking at their new home? He decided that he didn't mind cooking, as long as it was for his godfather. Harry could do the household chores in lieu of the rent he owed his guardian. But what did Sirius like to eat? As a dog Animagus, Harry concluded that his godfather was likely not a vegetarian. The dark-haired teenager began to plan out a balanced menu, trying to guess what dishes would be both cost-effective and delicious. His glance flickered across the counter to the dining room where his "family" was seated, and the ghost of a smile touched Harry's lips. Sirius would definitely let his godson eat at the table alongside him. They were a real family, after all.
The weeks passed in routine, predictable agony. Harry was kept a prisoner at 4 Privet Drive, allowed to leave the house only to weed the garden or stay with Mrs. Figg when the Dursleys went on a family outing. Harry was used to this state of affairs by now. Wake up early, do chores, go to bed late…it had been the same old story since the half-blood wizard was old enough to walk. During the few respites from his chores, or when his task was so mindless that he could allow his imagination to wander, Harry did nothing but think of his new home.
That was what he was doing one night after two weeks at the Dursley's. The family was downstairs watching a movie and Harry had been banished to his room, not that he minded. The green-eyed teen was flipping through a Better Homes and Gardens magazine that he had rescued from the trash—only half-paying attention to the intricately decorated rooms and yards—and eating from his secret food supply.
As distasteful as it was to agree with Uncle Vernon, the man had a point about Dudley's diet: it was barely enough food to survive on, especially with the small portions that Harry was given. However, as the one doing the cooking, he was in a prime position to sneak a little extra food to hide under the loose floorboard in his room. This collection of culinary odds and ends was supplemented by a supply of sweets from Honeydukes and whatever he had been able to save from the End-of-Term Feast. It wasn't much, but it gave Harry enough energy to perform his chores and survive until the next mealtime.
Thinking about the second half of his summer was the best distraction from the constant ache in his stomach. The young wizard's mind was filled with curiosity. How big was the house going to be? Would it really be in the country? Someplace where the sky was open and clear enough to see the stars at night? Would the house be eerily pristine like 4 Privet Drive, or would it have the cluttered, lived-in feel of the Burrow? Somehow, Sirius didn't strike Harry as a neat freak, so his mental picture erred on the side of the latter. Harry was excited to have his own room; a room that wasn't given to him out of paranoia or pity, but one that was rightfully his. Would Sirius allow him to decorate his room? To hang Gryffindor banners and photographs on the walls, something the Dursleys had expressly forbade? Would he be allowed to have friends over?
The realization that he knew so little about Sirius Black—about the man's temperament or tastes—made Harry uneasy. He had spent a lifetime tailoring his words and actions to what he thought people wanted to hear. But he didn't know how to act around his godfather, and that made him nervous. What if he slipped up and made Sirius mad enough to send him back to the Dursley's? The idea was unbearable. Harry made up his mind to use his best behavior, to be a flawless houseguest. He would give Sirius Black absolutely no reason to want him gone.
He was so lost in these thoughts that when his door was flung open and slammed against the wall, Harry jumped up from his place on the floor, a half-eaten licorice wand still in his mouth.
"I KNEW it!" Venon pointed a finger accusingly at his nephew, even more unpleasant than usual due to the family's dietary changes. "You've been cheating all this while, stuffing yourself with sweets while the rest of us have to suffer!"
Harry quickly sucked the remaining licorice into his mouth, swallowing it in one gulp. He didn't know why Uncle Vernon had suspected him or for how long, but the overweight businessman's face was becoming puffy and red, a sign that the green-eyed boy was in deep trouble. Still, Harry couldn't stop a bitter retort from slipping past his lips. "You can't expect me to do the chores and go hungry!"
"You'll have to find a way to make do, you ungrateful little brat!" Vernon snapped, the scarlet coloring on his face spreading to his ears. "You're lucky we give you the food off of our table at all!"
"It isn't my fault that Dudley is overweight!" Harry countered, tired of being guilt-tripped, of being told how much it cost to keep him, of the Dursleys taking out their frustrations on him. The malnourished throbbing in his head wasn't helping him keep his temper in check. "Maybe you should make him do some of the chores. He'd lose the pounds faster."
Vernon's face turned from red to purple, and Harry realized too late what a horrible mistake he had made. "Why you…!" Vernon reached down to unbuckle his belt. "I'll teach you to talk to me that way!"
A tremor of fear ran through the young wizard's body. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia almost never raised a hand to him. They hadn't done so since he was a child; he'd become smart enough to avoid the smacks they tried to give him, and the Dursley adults for their part didn't want anyone gossiping about Harry more than they already did. Petunia contented herself with ignoring her nephew's existence, and harsh words had been enough for Vernon, until now. The angry walrus of a man was advancing on his nephew, unchecked fury on full display in his features. Harry brought up his arms to defend himself and, in a moment of crazy self-preservation, he allowed a sentence to slip from his lips before he could consider its consequences: "I'll tell Sirius!"
His frantic gambit caught Vernon's attention. The man's color paled and the arm he had raised to strike his nephew relaxed a bit. "What did you say, boy?" he demanded quietly, his severe tone colored by fear.
Harry lowered the shield of his arms slightly so that he could look Vernon in the eyes. "Sirius Black. You remember him from the news last summer? The escaped criminal? Well, it turns out that he's my godfather." The teenager tried to read Vernon's expression, but the man was too stunned at the moment to react. "He's got a violent temper, and if he finds out that you struck me, I won't be able to stop him from retaliating." Harry didn't know if any of that was true, and it was a bit ungrateful to call his only family a criminal and claim such wicked things about him when he hardly even knew the man. But Sirius had come off as hot-headed during the confrontation with Snape, and he had been ready to kill Peter Pettigrew to avenge Harry and his parents.
Vernon's eyes widened and he snapped his belt in the air. "Are you threatening me, boy?"
Harry forced himself to keep eye contract with his burly uncle, willing his voice not to falter when he replied, "No. I'm warning you."
That did the trick. Vernon backed away from Harry cautiously, as though any minute his young wizard nephew would morph into the psychotic serial killer and rain down hot vengeance upon 4 Privet Drive. The businessman fumbled putting his belt back on and muttered, not looking at Harry directly, "Don't let me catch you eating up here again." Vernon waddled out of the room backwards, afraid to turn his back to Harry, and slammed the door shut after himself. Harry stood in stunned silence for several minutes, just staring at the door, before a smile crept over his features.
It was nice to have a slightly-insane wizard for a godfather.
Two more weeks passed. Harry sensed that Uncle Vernon had said something to Aunt Petunia about their confrontation, as his chore load had been lightened and both adults allowed him to take bigger portions at mealtime. Harry's helpings still weren't as large as Dudley's, but at least his stomach wasn't constantly growling in protest anymore.
Ever since blackmailing his uncle with the truth about Sirius Black, all of the Dursleys had kept their distance from Harry. Dudley wouldn't even think about getting close enough to beat up on his cousin and neither Vernon nor Petunia said anything impolite to him. Their conversations with the young wizard consisted mostly of one or two-word phrases. Honestly, being ignored by the Dursley family this way was an improvement.
The remainder of the month was uneventful: the same routine of chores and sleep, though Harry noticed he was being given more free time in between tasks. And then finally, the day arrived.
Harry was up at dawn, not tired despite the very little sleep he'd gotten. Hedwig, sensing his excitement, began to stir eagerly in her cage, and Harry had to motion at her to hush. Quietly, so as not to wake the Dursleys, he crept from his bed, dressed quickly, and began to pack. The only objects he'd removed from his trunk were clothes, personal hygiene items, a few spell books, and a picture of his parents, so the packing didn't take long. Harry moved the trunk right next to his door so that he would be able to quickly grab it when Sirius came. The teenager knew his godfather probably wouldn't arrive until later in the day, but he didn't want to spend a second longer in this house than he had to.
His task complete, Harry flopped back down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, not in the mood for sleep. Finally, I'm going to be free, he thought with a smile. True, he still had to spend three more half-summers with the Dursleys, but other than that, he would never have to step foot in this house again if he didn't want to. Harry considered skipping his chores on this last day, but came to the conclusion that Vernon would certainly get him back next year if he even tried. Besides, one more day wouldn't kill him.
Harry spent the next few hours fidgeting, glancing nervously at the clock every ten minutes or so, whispering to Hedwig about the future, and listening eagerly for a knock on the door or the ringing of the doorbell. Neither had come by the time he had to get up and start on breakfast, though he hadn't really expected it.
As the wizard cooked and served the non-magical and nutritious meal, it was clear that the Durselys couldn't sense anything out-of-the-ordinary about this summer day. It was business as usual for them: work, housekeeping, videogames, etc. They could hardly guess that today was one of the most important and happy days of their "freak" relative's life. Harry didn't let on, either. He wouldn't put it past the Dursleys to try to make today miserable if they knew it would be their last chance for a year.
So Harry acted like nothing was out of the ordinary. He toiled away on the housework diligently, even some of the tasks which had been considered "optional" since his chat with Uncle Vernon. It hadn't been a perfect life, or even a happy one, but the Dursleys had kept him in their house and protected him via the blood wards for almost thirteen years. He figured that he should repay them by making the house look nice before he left. The maintenance of 4 Privet Drive would fall completely to Aunt Petunia upon his leaving, which didn't seem quite fair to Harry, but Petunia had never complained about Vernon and Dudley's lack of effort around the house, so it wasn't his place to gripe. Nonetheless, his aunt had always been the "kindest" to him, so lending a hand once more seemed like the least he could do for his mother's beleaguered elder sister.
The day stretched on, and Harry became jumpy at the littlest things. Every time he heard a sound outside the door, he made some excuse to end up by the front windows. After countless false alarms from dogs, cars, motorbikes, and one door-to-door salesman, Petunia had pursed her lips in annoyance and sent Harry to work upstairs. When lunchtime rolled around, he couldn't focus on making food—too intent on watching the front door—until his aunt had closed the door connecting the kitchen with the front hall. By evening when all the chores were finished, dinner was on the table, and Uncle Vernon arrived home from work, Harry had worked himself into a nervous frenzy. Did Sirius know where he lived? What if he had gotten lost? What if he had been attacked by Dementors on his way?
And then, just as the Dursleys were sitting down to eat…the doorbell rang.
Harry nearly tripped over himself running for the door. He ignored the confused shouts of his relatives, only caring about one thing: opening the door. He ran a hand through his messy hair for good measure, put on a huge smile, and flung the door open.
He almost got the wind knocked out of him when a heavy suitcase was flung into his arms. Harry scrambled to get a better hold on the large piece of luggage, peering over the top of it to get a look at the figure standing in the doorway. His heart immediately sank to the bottom of his stomach.
"Marge?" Harry heard Aunt Petunia inquire from behind him. "How lovely to see you! I didn't know you were coming to Surrey." She sounded just as confused as Harry felt.
Uncle Vernon's balloon of a sister pushed past Harry into the house, tugging Ripper behind her. "I was driving back from a breeder's convention when my car broke down a few towns over…"
Harry was in a haze for the rest of their conversation. Marge came into the house, called a tow company, and sat down for dinner, eating his portion of the meal he'd prepared. The blowhard tried to get a rise out of him once or twice, but Harry was too tired and too bitterly disappointed to reply to her taunts. When he had finished cleaning up after dinner, the young wizard went up to his room and flopped face-first down on the bed, willing himself not to cry.
It was only 7:18, but Harry had given up. All of his hopes had been dashed to pieces by the person at the door, who was not his godfather but the insufferable woman who enjoyed making his life miserable. Harry's breaths came in heavy, shuddering sighs that sounded almost like sobbing. He knew exactly what had happened. Sirius had come to his senses and realized that he didn't want a burdensome teenager in his life. Harry could hardly blame him. No adult had ever wanted him, except his parents. That's why he had been stuck with the Dursleys for almost thirteen years. And he'd be trapped there for three more, until the blood wards on 4 Privet Drive broke on his seventeenth birthday. It was so unfair.
Harry Potter thought he had lost his last chance at a real home and a family that loved him. Silent tears rolled down his face and the Boy-Who-Lived cried himself to sleep.
A/N: Don't worry. This isn't the end. Next time, you'll get the charming, mischievous, devilishly handsome Sirius Black that we've all been waiting for. I hope you enjoyed my first ever Harry Potter fanfiction!