Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, but I plan to get JKR very, very drunk and have her accidentally sign over the rights in my favor. Who's with me?
Harry had only seen his uncle cry once. Just once.
Well, ok, more than once. Vernon had blinked back tears of pride and happiness on several occasions, usually on Dudley's various graduation ceremonies or whatnot. On these days, Aunt Petunia would be bawling, and Dudley would be grinning like a maniac, and Harry would be doing his best (which wasn't very good) not to laugh.
But those days didn't count. There had only been one time that Harry had seen his uncle Vernon really cry, not from happiness, not from pride. That one time, when he'd sent Harry and Dudley both out of the kitchen, and cried at the table with his wife's small hands on his shoulders.
Years later, Harry still thought about it sometimes.
It began the day that Dudley, as a reward for having successfully graduated from the third grade, received a puppy as a gift on 8 June, just after the end of school.
Harry had also graduated the third grade (in fact, from the same class within the same school, and with better grades) but that was beyond the point.
The puppy was a beautiful golden labrador / German shepherd mix, and Dudley had been absolutely delighted with her. He'd promptly named her Cleopatra, but Harry thought it was an awful name and had secretly renamed her Butterscotch, Butter for short. Both of the boys loved her.
"C'mon Dudley, let me play with her!"
"NO! She's my puppy!"
"Dudleeeeey...!"
"DON'T TOUCH HER HARRY!"
"Hi, Butter! Come here, that's a good girl, you like your earsies scratched?"
"Stop petting her, Harry - MUM! Harry's petting Cleopatra!"
"Harry! It's Dudley's dog! Leave it alone!"
"Yeah, Harry! Leave her alone, Mum said!"
"Fine...!" Harry said with as much contempt as he could relish. He stomped outside and sat on the front steps of the house, listening to the sounds of Dudley and Butterscotch laughing and romping inside the living room.
"It's not fair!"
The exclamation burst from Harry before he could contain it, though it was heard only by him. At eight years old, the lonely boy could think of no better companion than a dog. Specifically a beautiful golden labrador / German shepherd mix named Butterscotch. And yet she was beyond his reach, held up tauntingly by the Dursleys but completely unattainable.
It wasn't fair.
Harry sighed, and rested his head dejectedly on his skinny knees. He knew he only had to wait for Dudley to grow tired of Butterscotch, and he could have her. He got all of Dudley's toys if he was patient and quiet about it. But this time it was not good enough to wait for Dudley to throw her away! Harry wanted that puppy now, wanted to be the one to teach her how to catch a ball, shake hands (or rather, paws), and snuggle with her in the nights. She'd be grown soon, and all that would be gone.
It wasn't fair.
Harry got nothing he wanted. He never felt loved, he never felt like he was worth anything at all. He felt like the most unlucky child on the face of the earth. Dudley got a room, but Harry got a cupboard. Dudley got parents, but Harry got an aunt and an uncle. Dudley got a puppy, but Harry...
It wasn't fair.
On a warm June evening some weeks later, when the summer temperature had not yet reached an uncomfortable level, Dudley took Butterscotch out for a walk in the twilight. Petunia had reluctantly let him go alone, which Vernon said would help teach the boy bravery and responsibility. Harry had tried to tag along, but got stuck doing dishes instead.
Harry's aunt and uncle took a break in front of the telly, watching the news (as Vernon had to do every single day.) Harry hated news. It was always so depressing and boring. Today, the news was a series of car break-ins in a nearby town, a missing girl about his age that was suspected of running away, and a heat advisory for some places south of Little Whinging.
"Car break-ins!" Vernon scoffed. "Serves the fools right for keeping their cars out in the street all day! Runaways! Serves the parents right for not keeping a better eye on their children!"
"Heat advisory!" muttered Harry sarcastically. "Serves them right for not moving to Antarctica in summer!"
"I heard that, boy," Vernon growled darkly. "I wouldn't say another word if I were you. You're already on thin ice for how often you bother Dudley about his dog."
Harry turned back to his dishes, a deep frown blooming on his face. His temper suddenly got the better of him, and said, "Wouldn't have to bother him if he'd named her something sensible. Cleopatra's a stupid name."
Immediately, Harry regretted saying anything at all.
Vernon stood up, and strode into the kitchen. "You ungrateful little worm! We take you in here, we give you food and shelter and clothes on your back, and this is your attitude? You behave like a snotty, spoiled child! Your aunt and I have done our best to raise you properly. Have we failed? Well, have we? Speak up, boy!"
"No," Harry said, head bent toward the sink, utterly defeated. "Sorry."
"Sorry for what?"
"Sorry for... Talking back."
"That's better," Vernon murmured, settling back into his chair in front of the telly. Harry continued scrubbing plates, counting all the ways he was the unluckiest boy on the planet. The news ended, and Petunia changed the channel to one of her soap operas. Vernon picked up a magazine.
Suddenly, the door flew open. In bolted a hysterical Dudley (well, as fast as Dudley could bolt) blubbering about the park and the drugstore and the railroad tracks. Aunt Petunia rushed to his side.
"What happened, Dudders?" she asked worriedly.
"C-c-c-Cleopatra's g-gone!" Dudley sobbed. "I was w-w-walking her in the park when she c-c-caught me off guard and ran, and I c-c-couldn't catch her! I looked all over the p-p-park and at the drugstore and at the r-r-railroad tracks, but I couldn't find her! It's getting d-d-dark out, too!"
Dudley dissolved into tears, and Petunia helped him onto the sofa. Vernon got up to call the police station and tell them to keep a look out for the dog, but Harry (still elbow deep in suds) turned to him furiously.
"You lost her? You lost Butterscotch?" he shouted. "How could you! She's only a little puppy, how did she get away from you? And now it's dark and she's all alone somewhere! You idiot!"
"It isn't m-m-my fault!" Dudley howled. "I looked everywhere!"
"But you didn't find her, so it doesn't matter how hard you looked!"
Aunt Petunia stood up, suddenly towering over her nephew. "Harry, not another word. It isn't your dog. Finish the dishes."
"No! The dishes are finished, and I love the dog too!" Harry stamped his foot on the floor, tears leaking from his own eyes.
"I will not have this tantrum from you now!" Petunia shrieked. She grabbed Harry by his arm and yanked him to his cupboard. She opened the door, pushed him in, and closed it, sweeping the lock into position.
Harry hammered the door. "Let me out! Let me out! I have to go find her!"
They ignored him. Dissolving into tears, Harry gave up. He crossed his fingers that Butterscotch was ok, and slumped onto his mattress.
Once again, Harry felt like the most unlucky child in the world.
Weeks passed. Harry and Dudley worked together solemnly, silently, printing out tons and tons of flyers with Butterscotch's picture on it, stapling them to telephone poles and trees, waiting by the phone every night. Dudley even conceded to Harry's petition to put both Cleopatra and Butterscotch on the flyers, pride shunted aside by logic. Whichever name the dog answered to now, she would be found.
On Monday nights, they went together to the police station to ask if they'd seen her. The police would say every time, exasperated but full of pity, that they would call the Dursleys when they did.
The Dursleys had offered to buy Dudley a new dog, but both Dudley and Harry had adamantly refused. Neither could bear the thought of Butterscotch coming home unexpectedly, only to find that she had been replaced. So they waited sadly, patiently, for their dog to come home.
They did not fight or bicker, even. Their loss had quieted their tempers, and they surrendered to one another in order to find the puppy. Vernon and Petunia would have found it peaceful if it had not been so sad.
Dudley turned nine. Dudley played with his presents, grew bored of them, and then Harry played with them. But neither forgot about Butterscotch, and together went, without fail, down to the police station every Monday night to be exasperatedly and pitifully turned down.
Loss of a mutual pet had brought the cousins together into an uneasy, but amicable peace. They began to treat one another more gently, and stopped making fights for the sake of fighting. Not to say they became best friends, because Dudley still pushed Harry down the last few steps from time to time. He just didn't do it as often as before, which was enough for Harry.
The adults accepted it in bemused silence.
At noon on a blazing July day, the Dursley family and Harry were enjoying a lunchtime tuna casserole when they heard a knock at the front door.
"Go get it, Harry." said Dudley.
Harry obliged, grateful to escape from the tuna casserole.
When he opened the door, he did not see the person there, though she was about his height and size, but rather saw the thing by her side, on a raggedy old leash.
"Butterscotch!" Harry cried, falling to his knees and letting the dirty puppy pounce on him and lick his face. At the sound of the name, Dudley actually left his food at the table and ran to them, falling to his knees too. The three romped and hugged in total harmony before a sniffle interrupted them. Harry looked up.
Their puppy's savior was a girl, shorter and skinner than Harry himself (which was saying something.) Her clothes were sweaty and torn, filthy head to toe, and she was fidgeting. Her hair was mousy brown and tangled, and her big brown eyes were filled with tears.
She couldn't hold them any longer, and began to sob as she said, "I saw your posters, and I couldn't keep Ruby any longer. I'm sorry I kept her as long as I did. I just... I was lonely and I... I wanted..."
As Petunia and Vernon appeared in the doorway behind the boys, filling the frame, she shrank back in terror. Her eyes darted down the street, as though she was looking for a direction to run. She had a jumpy, animalistic kind of air, and it made Harry a little nervous. Petunia, who disliked dirty children, scowled at the girl.
Vernon, on the other hand, did not.
Perhaps he was touched by the child's honesty: she had loved the dog, but returned it anyway because she knew how much the dog was missed. Vernon respected honesty.
Perhaps he was impacted by her courage: she was fidgety and frightened, but had knocked upon the door of a total stranger to return their pet. That's quite a brave thing to do, especially for a child. Vernon respected courage.
Perhaps he was simply grateful to her for bringing home the dog.
Vernon leaned down to her level, and offered his hand to shake.
"Thank you for returning our pet." he said warmly, with a smile that touched his eyes as well as his mouth. His wife, son, and nephew were all a bit astounded.
"It's nothing," the child hiccuped, shaking his hand. "Can I... Can I come and see Ruby sometime? I love her very much."
Harry said nothing, but Dudley muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "My dog." Petunia simpered, shaking her head, because she never let dirty children into her house willy nilly. But Vernon surprised everyone, again.
"Of course you can, dear. Anytime!"
She grinned through her tears, and suddenly darted off the Dursley's front porch, waving wildly at them as she skipped down the street. Dudley, Harry, and Petunia all stared dumbstruck at Vernon, but he gave them a "look" that meant he was the "man" of the house, and he had "decided".
(And when the man of the house decides something, everybody else had better just go with it, gosh darn it.)