A/N: A second scene of Harry at his relatives. Hope you enjoy!
disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter books, world, characters, etc. Not me.
Scene 2:
Harry smiled a bit at the snake. "I have this thing on my neck that keeps me from speaking the language of humans, so I guess I can't say my name. But you can call me Hiss, I guess."
"Hissss," the snake repeated, then queried, "Why do you have this thing? I thought humans only put these circles on their animals. You are not an animal."
Harry sighed. "My family doesn't like me very much. But I think they'll let me back inside, eventually. My uncle is just mad right now."
But the Dursley's did not, eventually, let Harry come back inside, nor did they take his collar off. Aunt Petunia would come every evening (with some exceptions) to give him some water and a little food, obviously table scraps. She also came once a week to hose him off, wrinkling her nose as she did so at his (apparently) offensive smell. And Uncle Vernon came once a week just before trash day to empty his waste bucket, which Harry usually left at the corner of the garage near the shed. Dudley came to taunt him on occasion the first couple of weeks, but he soon either grew bored or was warned off by his parents, and so Harry stopped seeing him.
When the end of the summer drew near, Vernon and Petunia debated what to do about Harry. Should they consider him warned, let him back inside, and let him go to school? But no, it was too risky that he would tell someone about his summer. And at this point, they knew, there would be no excusing or explaining away their behavior. Never mind that the child was impossible, and always doing freaky things - no one would understand, or believe, their desperation. And so they told all of the neighbors that their nephew was now attending St. Brutus' Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys, year-round, and told Harry's former school that they would be sending him to an alternate school to deal with the behavior issues he was exhibiting at home.
xxXxx
"There's supposed to be a cold front coming in this week, Vernon," Petunia mentioned, sipping at her coffee.
Vernon grunted, his eyes not leaving the paper before him. "Heard something 'bout that on the news."
It was a Saturday morning in the late fall, and the two were in the kitchen. Petunia was leaning against one of her spotless counters while Vernon sat at the breakfast table.
"What do you think we should do about him?" Petunia said carefully.
At this, Vernon looked up. "Him? Why would we need to do anything?"
Petunia resisted rolling her eyes. "Well, it would be rather inconvenient if he froze to death."
Vernon looked thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose you're right."
"His clothes are still in the cupboard, I think his winter coat from last year is there. And there might be a pair of sweatpants," Petunia put in. "He's still got that blanket in there too, I think it's wool."
"Hm," Vernon looked back down at his paper. "That could work."
"I'll bring them tonight. I need to hose him off anyway. He gets so filthy." She wrinkled her nose and sniffed disdainfully.
xxXxx
That night, Petunia picked her way cautiously through the rakes and lawn mower that had taken up residence between the shed and the fence. She carried a bottle of water in one hand and a paper napkin with a couple pieces of chicken and a heel of bread in the other, a bundle tucked under her arm. When she rounded the back corner of the garage, she saw the boy pacing in a small circle down near his doghouse. He looked up when he heard her but did not approach, only pausing in his pacing. His body language screamed of anger and resentment, though he held his arms around his torso and looked to be shivering slightly, and Petunia was wary of getting too close.
Keeping her distance, she dropped the water bottle onto the ground near the waste bucket, wrinkling her nose at the smell, and then set the napkin down just carefully enough not to spill it. She scooped up the empty water bottle she had left the day before, and then turned around and marched back around the shed to the spigot on the side of the house. She quickly turned the squeaky handle, picked up the head of the hose, and briskly dragged it back around the shed, still carrying the cloth bundle under one arm.
When she returned to the boy's corner of the yard, she found him squatting near where she had placed the food, stuffing the last of the pieces of chicken into his mouth with greasy fingers. He looked up at her, then snatched up the water bottle and quickly retreated to the far corner of the garage, his eyes flashing as he turned to face her again.
She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. The freak had tried this the last few times she had brought the hose around, since the water could not reach that back corner. Last week, she had stolen back the water bottle as incentive to get him to come closer, but this time he had been too quick.
"If you don't get over here by the time I count to three, there will be no food for a week." She hardly even paused to let this sink in before she began counting. "One…"
He glared at her, but looked hesitant.
"Two…"
His eyes looked almost fearful now, but he still did not move.
"Th-"
Suddenly he ran forward, stopping when his chain began to run out of slack, just a couple of paces away from her. His shoulders were hunched, but his eyes stared defiantly into hers.
"Don't look at me like that, freak." She stuck her thumb into the stream of water, causing it to spray out with force and hit the boy in the face. He flinched away, turning his head, but did not move except as directed by Petunia, who had him slowly turn in a circle.
Once she was satisfied that most of the dirt was gone, and the boy was soaking wet and shivering, she removed her thumb from the spray. Then she tossed the bundle behind him, thoughtfully aiming for where the ground was not quite so wet, and without a backwards glance headed back towards the house.
xxXxx
Two nights later, Petunia returned to the corner of the yard, having decided to let the boy go hungry for one day for his attitude. She carried the re-filled bottle that she had retrieved two nights previously and a napkin with some potatoes and broccoli. The temperature had dropped quite a bit in the last couple of days, and she drew her jacket tightly around herself as she walked.
When she rounded the corner this time, she saw the boy sitting huddled near his doghouse in a fading patch of sunlight. He had the coat on and pulled over his legs, the blanket draped over him as well, and was rocking slightly. When he saw her, he stood, and as the blanket fell away a bit, she noted that he had not put on the warmer sweatpants. She dropped the water and food to the ground, grabbing up the empty water bottle, and then crossed her arms as she looked at him.
"Do you want to freeze to death?" she asked in an icy tone, pointing to his exposed legs.
He met her eyes with a defiant stare for only a second before looking down. He kicked at the chain hanging off of his ankle, and she understood. Without another word, she marched back to the house.
xxXxx
Twenty minutes later, Uncle Vernon rounded the corner of the garage, carrying a small key in his hands. He marched straight towards Harry, not stopping near the edge of his reach as he and Aunt Petunia normally did. Harry stood as his uncle approached, a mixture of hope and fear clear on his face. He hunched in on himself when Vernon grabbed his shirt collar in one meaty fist, but this did not help the hearty cuff he received to the head.
Reeling slightly, he heard his Uncle Vernon say, "Just a taste of what you'll get if you try anything funny."
Too dazed to do much, he just watched as his uncle knelt down and unlocked the cuff around his ankle quickly. Then he stood back up and grabbed Harry's shirt collar again.
"Take off your shorts," he ordered, and Harry complied quickly, his head feeling a bit like it was stuffed with cotton. He mechanically put on the sweatpants he had been given a couple of days before over his boxers when his uncle told him too, and then just stood while his cuff was re-fastened. Once his uncle had left once again, carrying that little key with him, Harry crawled into his doghouse and lay down, closing his eyes wearily.
A/N: Reviews, please! It really does help motivate me to write more. I try to write anyway, but it really does help, so please review!