Double Daydreaming
I don't own anything Harry Potter at all.
Authors note: If anyone (However unlikely) are looking for updates, just look at my profile description.
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Petunia Dursley was a normal woman, with a normal home, and a normal life.
At least that's what she'd like to think.
Petunia awoke to the day after Halloween, feeling refreshed and awake after that romp with her husband late into the night. She peeked in on the nursery, little baby Dudders was sleeping sound, round face relaxed, and drooling on the pillow. She sighed happily, what a beautiful thing to wake up to.
With a pause, she remembered the morning milk. Another refreshing thing to wake up remembering. Walking down the stairs, Petunia felt a shiver run over her. She shook it off quickly, because nothing could ruin this day.
Opening the front door, Petunia paused again, glancing over the ground.
There lay a crisp, finely woven basket that basked in the soft glow of the very early morning.
The contents were not so lovely.
A little babe snored softly, baby blue blanket the only thing shielding it from the cold. Lying next to it was the milk bottles, and she wondered how on Earth the milkman could miss the child. Shocked, Petunia spotted the note inside the basket, glowing with its information. She quickly snatched it, tearing it open and scanning the words.
Words jumbled together in her shocked-addled mind, and the word she noticed more than any other was magic. She barely got through it before promptly shrieking and fainting on the spot dramatically, her normal world fading in the background.
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Harry had never known true love, especially from his family.
If something wasn't perfect, Harry would be punished. He almost thinks that he's punished because he's not perfect. It's usually his imperfectness that gets him his punishment. Today was no exception.
Today was Tuesday, the best day of the week, Harry had thought. They would always go out to eat on Tuesday nights, and he was not sure why, he never got to go. He used those two hours of freedom in blissful solitude. Not having to wait on anyone, help make dinner or scrub dishes afterwards.
"Boy, Petunia needs you in the kitchen!" growled his Uncle Vernon, who slammed the door to his room open. He was an ugly, round man. Harry wouldn't know, but be bet comparing Uncle Vernon to every other man, they were supermodels. His uncle's face was usually red or purple when he looked at him, as though he was allergic to the very sight of Harry.
"Yes, Uncle Vernon." Harry said quietly, mannerisms beat into him. He quickly bolted from his cupboard to the kitchen, where his Aunt Petunia waited for him with rags and a bucket of soapy water.
"Boy, I want this kitchen spotless, be sure to pay much attention to the floor, we're going to have guests tomorrow morning." Aunt Petunia sneered, throwing the rags on the floor. So much for solitude. It would take an hour to finish the kitchen to the way she liked it. His aunt reminded him a great deal of a horse, with her extra-long, sagging face only a man like Vernon could love. Her eyes were sharp and unkind, not an unusual sight for Harry.
"Yes, Aunt Petunia." Harry nodded, bending down and grabbing the rags.
Petunia sneered again, lines on her face growing even more defined. "Have it done by the 5 mark, or you will get nothing tonight." She stated soundly, walking out of the room and going upstairs, if they creaks of the stairs were any hint. Harry knew those creaks all too well.
Harry mopped up water with one of the rags, keeping the other rags aside in case he needed it for another task.
Harry was so focused on the work that he didn't notice the other presence appear in the room until he was hovering over the bucket to gather more water.
Harry's face was shoved deep into the bucket of water, the hands at the back of his head were uncoordinated and fat, probably his cousin.
Harry inhaled as he was submerged into the warm water, desperately trying to get the soaped water out of his choking lungs. He pushed outwards, his lungs burning from soap and lack of oxygen.
The weight on Harry's head was lifted, and he shot up, heaving violently. With one final, furious cough, the water expelled, bringing him sweet, lovely air.
Harry opened his eyes, only for them to burn immediately. He shut them quickly, taking the hem of his overly large shirt and dried his eyes, looking up at his assailant.
Dudley was doubled over, drying heaving with laughter until tears came to his small eyes. He stopped for a short time to breathe, just to start laughing again. Harry stomped down the anger and humiliation he felt, because he knew retaliation would only make things worse for him, and went back to work.
Dudley didn't like to be ignored. Anytime he was ignored, the person would have drastic consequences, he especially saw to that. He stomped over the bucket, and kicked it on its side, spilling waves of dirty water all over the nearly clean section of the kitchen.
Punishments be damned, Harry wanted Dudley to hurt. Putting up with his treacherous cousin's schemes for years, his anger went overboard.
If Harry was angry any time before, he was melting on the inside with his pent-up negative emotions. The water sliding all over the floor just symbolized his spiraling downfall as he stood up straight, and went right for Dudley who was grinning a malicious grin.
Harry never had good balance, especially because his shoes were too many sizes too big. In his anger, he forgot about the water that had just spilled, and slipped, slamming headfirst into the table.
White, blinding pain was the only thing Harry could feel.
After a few tense seconds of agony, Harry felt another sensation. It was warm, and ran down his face in a torrent. He flinched, bringing his hands to wound and started crying, unable to stop his own tears. His ears were unresponsive to sound when he hit his head, the pain blocking everything else out, but now he could hear the blinding screams of his cousin running rampant.
He ignored Dudley's screams, creaking his eyes open only to greet the growing pool of blood on the floor. Harry nearly fainted at the sight of it. It was quite a lot of blood for a 4 year old to produce.
Harry could hear someone bolting down the stairs a few seconds into Dudley's screams, and his crying. It wasn't as heavy as Uncle Vernon, but he still prayed it was his aunt.
Petunia came into view, and she took a glance at the pool of dirty water, blood, and piss. Harry realized Dudley must have wet himself during the fiasco. Petunia looked ready to vomit, she quickly hushed Dudley and pushed him into the living room, looking around and picking up the rag he had been saving to use for later. She pressed it to his forehead firmly, aggravating the wound. He cried even more, the pain more emotional than physical.
Harry passed out soon after that, and Uncle Vernon was not at all happy.
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"Well Pet, then what should we do with the brat? He's having an effect on Dudley, and the..." Harry heard his Uncle Vernon choke a little through his cupboard, then clear his throat and start again. "Incident a few days ago… We need to get rid of him."
Aunt Petunia's shrill voice cut in. "Vernon, we can't just get rid of him like that!" She spoke in a more hushed tone, clearly wary of people trying to listen in. "Those people might come after us, for all I know!"
They moved the conversation from the living room to the upstairs, speaking in more hushed voices as the stairs creaked above him. Harry was terrified that one day the stairs would give out from Uncle Vernon and crush him pancake-flat.
Harry flipped over on his other side, the cramped cupboard giving him very little space to be comfortable. He stretched as much as he could with his limited space, and fell right back down. It might be uncomfortable, but he felt safe in here, and that was all he needed for comfort.
'The incident...' Harry thought to himself, remembering interesting details of what had occurred two days before, and what had caused him to be put on cupboard arrest for a few days.
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Two days before
It was Dudley's birthday today. From what Harry can remember from the past, he knew for certain he hated Dudley's birthdays. Sure, it might have to do with his Aunt and Uncle showering his cousin with artificial love, but at least it was love.
That wasn't everything, Aunt Marge came to visit every birthday of Dudley's. She was a terror, especially with her mean bulldog, Ripper. Harry usually strayed away from Ripper, trying to stay away from the entire family in general on this cursed day. This birthday, Aunt Marge brought some interesting gifts.
It was a dancing game. Supposedly every time the lights turn off, the dancers freeze. Aunt Petunia wouldn't allow them to turn the light on and off, so they appointed Aunt Marge to tell them when to freeze. Nobody in the family other than Harry had enough stamina to actually dance with Dudley, so he was forced to dance.
Harry hated the idea at first, being in front of everyone, and dancing of all things. He thought about it, and immediately felt excited, he never got to do anything with the family. This might be the chance he was waiting for to prove to them that he was worth loving, and not just a nuisance. Only if he could beat Dudley at this game.
Aunt Petunia stayed in the kitchen and prepared the birthday dishes, wanting everything to be perfect for her Duddykins. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge sat on the couch which they had moved back, giving Harry and Dudley some space for dancing.
Harry was more determined than ever. He danced, like nobody was watching.
Harry followed every signal to stop with precision, the radio next to his Aunt Marge, who stopped it when she wanted it to. He knew Dudley was getting more irritated by the second, and Aunt Marge seemed to realize this too.
Uncle Vernon left the living room to go be in the kitchen, and that gave Aunt Marge the opportunity to help her favorite win the show.
Harry first felt the snap of Aunt Marge's walking cane as soon as the music started back up again. The pain was quick and unforgiving, blinding his mind for a second from the sheer viciousness of the strike. He slowed down, trying not to look back at his round aunt who was snickering quietly.
"Go on Dudley, you can beat this wimp!" Aunt Marge cheered for Dudley, who was going all out at this point.
Harry felt his excitement and courage go at the third strike of her cane, feeling welts start to appear at the abuse. By this point, he was panting with tiredness and pain, not stopping when the music clicked off.
Dudley cheered his victory, and Aunt Marge congratulated him, highfiving him and roaring over and over, "Dudley is the winner!"
Harry had never felt so out of place in that moment. He was ashamed and humiliated, but angry at Aunt Marge's actions towards him.
'That should have been my victory...' Harry thought bitterly, walking slowly away from the group.
His cousin's loud voice interrupted Harry's inner monologue. "I want to play again!" Dudley laughed loudly, then eyeing Harry with expectation to listen to his every word.
25 more minutes of the music statues, and many more welts to add to Harry's. Dudley never seemed to notice what was really going on, only focused on his victory, and how he was better than his slow cousin.
Petunia announced that dinner was ready, and that meant it was cupboard time for Harry.
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10 minutes later.
They laughed around the kitchen table, the smelling wafting into Harry's cupboard. They made treacle tarts. It was the ultimate torture. He had once snuck a treacle tart from Petunia's nose, and developed a frightening obsession for the sweet, mouthwatering dessert.
Harry restrained from sobbing aloud.
Aunt Marge spoke above everyone else, clearly the most manly, dominant person around the table. "Dudley, why don't you tell your mother of you victory today." She said, a grin in her voice.
"It was great! The little freak tried to beat me, but I made sure that didn't happen." Dudley proclaimed proudly with his mouth muffled, probably spraying the table with the bits of food. Harry felt anger overcome him. This was becoming more and more common for him, and he wasn't sure why.
Harry clenched his eyes, burning on the inside, wishing that they could feel some sort of pain.
A few tense second later, nothing happened.
"Mum! Give me some of the treacle tart!" Dudley demanded loudly, Harry heard the bang of a chubby fist hit the table.
"Of course, Duddykins." Petunia said, the clink of plastic hitting metal probably meant she was dishing it out for him.
Dudley had always ate loudly, and he ate fast, never giving himself enough time to even breathe. He choked for a moment, just to go and stuff his face with more food. Harry felt sick to his stomach, and even angrier. He deserved that treacle tart.
There was a pause, which was odd for Dudley, and a small gasp. "Mum," he coughed loudly, heaving.
Dudley didn't get to finish his sentence, because soon after the door burst open, (The handle on it was busted right now so it didn't properly shut.) and something barreled through, the door bouncing back against the wall and slamming it back shut.
There was a low bark, and Harry heard everyone at the table scrambling. "He's humping me! Get it off, get if off!" Dudley was screaming in what sounded like pain and terror at this point.
Harry couldn't help but imagine what was going on over there, and he thought it was great vengeance on his part. He started chucking, then tears came to his eyes at the thought of a spoiled Dudley getting humped by Aunt Marge's dog.
Some more scuffling, and everyone started out the front door, leaving everything behind on the table, and at the house. Harry was covering his mouth, trying to stop his laughter.
"What's going on in there, you freak? What have you done, did you cause this?!" Uncle Vernon roared in anger, kicking the door to his cupboard with all of his might. "I can hear you in there!" He must have heard Harry trying to choke back waves of laughter. Aunt Petunia told Uncle Vernon to stop and help Dudley to the car. The front door opened and slammed, tires screeching off into the distance.
Harry's laughter died as soon as he heard his uncle's voice. What was he thinking? Of course they would blame him for something he hadn't even done. He went to sleep after that, the welts on his legs still aching, and his head, too.
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A few hours later, the door to the front door opening, and his Aunt Petunia's voice woke Harry up.
"3rd degrees burns, swelling in the mouth, oh Vernon…" She cut off, voice sodden with tears. "How could this happen on his special day?"
"I don't know, Pet, but it might have something to do with the freak." Uncle Vernon said loudly, tone icy and suspicious.
"Well, get him out! Make him clean up the mess." Aunt Petunia demanded, going into the kitchen.
Uncle Vernon slammed open the door to the cupboard, immediately bringing in fresh air. Harry couldn't help but inhale deeply at it, but then scrambling out of the cupboard at his uncle's look.
His uncle didn't need to say anything, and he made his way to the kitchen quickly, Aunt Petunia picking up various things here and there. "Start the dishes, and I want every single one of them spotless and dried by the time I get back." Aunt Petunia ordered, making her way into the living room.
Harry scrubbed, the hot water burning his hands. He didn't get the yellow rubber gloves that his aunt used when she did the dishes.
It was later when Harry was almost finished, and a voice behind made him startle, the dish that he had in his hand slipped from his grasp.
Harry clenched his eyes shut, not wanting to see the damage that would happen. A few seconds later, and no crash, he opened his eyes, then gaping at this floating dish.
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What had happened afterwards Harry could barely remember, but he was certain he was dreaming when he saw that dish float. Aunt Petunia had screamed at him get outside, even though it was late in the night. He stayed out there for an hour before she forced him back inside, shoving him in the cupboard and locking it.
There was more noise upstairs, and Harry stopped, listening carefully.
"I don't think it was an accident! Dudley is permanently scarred! The treacle tart wasn't even hot when you dished it out, and it had been setting to cool for some time before that!" Uncle Vernon spoke loudly, arguing with Aunt Petunia about him.
There was a pause upstairs, before he heard Aunt Petunia speak again. She spoke quietly, firmly, "For us, for Dudley… Go and pack our things, Vernon, we can't stay here anymore."
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Have a phun time everyone. -Trefooa