A/N - This little ficlet occurred to me at 4am this morning and wouldn't leave me alone until it was put to paper. It is very short and was written in 15 minutes. As such, I haven't troubled my betas with it.
'Under the Stairs'
by Witherwings
The boy wrapped his arms around his legs and pulled his knees up to his chest; the cupboard under the stairs was always so cold and draughty, regardless of the season.
He didn't much like the cold, or the dust, or the spiders that called it home, but somehow this place had become his sanctum; a place where he could sequester himself away from the rest of the world; a place to which he returned again and again. With a little luck, he would be safe in here for a long while before anyone thought to look for him.
Often teased for his diminutive size – both at school and at home – it was times like these that the boy was actually grateful that he was comparatively small for his age. Had his growth kept pace with that of his enormous cousin he would have surely outgrown the space years ago.
Eyes long since adjusted to the meagre illumination on offer from the sliver of sunlight which pushed its way under the crack at the door's lower edge, the boy inspected the handful of pitiful objects with which he shared the tiny space.
A forlorn broom handle covered with cobwebs, a rolled up sleeping bag that he knew from first hand experience smelt like wet dog, muddy boots and shoes – all far too big for him – and several broken toys; figures without heads, games missing vital pieces and vehicles devoid of wheels or wings.
The boy's stomach chose that moment to growl loudly. How long had it been since he had eaten, he wondered silently. He wished he had the forethought to swipe something from the kitchen prior to retreating into the cupboard.
He pressed his ear firmly against the door jamb and strained his ears for any clue as to the whereabouts of his family but was rewarded with only a heavy silence, only the sounds of his shallow breaths reaching his ears. How long he sat like that, listening intently, the boy could not say, but in retrospect it proved long enough to become convinced that a quick dash to the kitchen would be safe.
Careful not the upset the precariously piled boots, the boy lifted the latch soundlessly and was about to push the door aside when a noise from the floor above made him freeze in mid-motion.
For a moment the boy did not even dare to breathe, his eyes following the creaking floorboards as the footsteps moved haphazardly from room to room before they eventually moved across the landing and onto the stairs.
Unconcerned by the dust dislodged by their hurried footsteps, the boy released the latch and retreated as far into the shadows as he was able. However, although he remained small for a boy of seven, he had still grown considerably in the last few years and he knew that he would not be able to remain hidden behind the shoe rack as he had once been able.
The boy counted each of the thirteen footsteps with a growing sense of dread, the wooden newel at the base of the staircase creaking slightly as the finial set atop it was used both to jump the final step but also as a pivot to reverse course and face the kitchen at the rear of the house.
Total darkness now fell, as what little light that had once made its way under the door was stolen by a dark shadow coming to a halt right outside.
This was it.
The door was pulled open with such force, the boy was surprised it didn't fly right off its hinges.
"Ha! Found you, Harry!"
The boy's - Harry - eyes retreated to slits in the too bright light. "Well done, Libby," he said regarding his sister – two years his junior – with a lopsided grin. "You're getting too good at this game."
Libby's warm brown eyes danced with delight and her face split into a beaming grin that brought a matching one to her brother's - albeit one that was missing two front teeth.
"Wanna play again?" he asked.
Libby gave an enthusiastic nod which sent her long, auburn hair, today fixed into a loose braid, bobbing vigorously behind her head. "Now it's your turn to count and I'll go - "
She was interrupted by the unexpected but nevertheless familiar crack of apparition in the kitchen, the sound of their mother's voice calling out to them following hot on its heels.
"Harry? Elizabeth? I've bought us all some Cauldron Cakes ... Fresh from Honeydukes."
"Brilliant!" exclaimed Libby, and she bolted for the kitchen leaving Harry to extract himself from the too small cupboard alone.
No longer concerned with stealth, Harry shoved his way past the stack of shoes, sending several tumbling to the floor, before aiming a heel at the door and sprinting after his sister. "I want the pumpkin flavoured one!" he shouted after her, leaving the broken toys, musty sleeping bags, spiders and the like – the only things that called the cupboard under the stairs home in this world – alone in the dark once more. At least until the next time he needed a really good hiding place.
Fin
Author Musings - I'm not quite sure where this little story came from, but I have been reading a lot of Abused!Harry stories of late and I guess this is just my little take on giving the poor boy a happier life with no Voldemort, no scar and a proper family around him. It also gave me a chance to practise my misdirection skills. Hope you liked it, you may leave a review on the way out if you like.