Harry Potter and the Fight for Freedom
Author's Note: Sorry for the delay in updating, I am currently traveling around europe.
Chapter Three:
'Here is your list of jobs to do today. I want them finished by 5pm, when I get back. Or Vernon will be having words with you' Said Petunia, with her voice emotionless.
He watched her pick up her batted handbag and check around the room one last time before she left the house. She did this every day for the last week, since Harry had come back and he had still not figured out where she went every day, all day. Maybe she had gotten a job or something, he wondered.
Every time she did a final glance around the room, Harry imagined her making a mental list of the contents of the room, just in case Harry stole anything. Not that there was anything of value worth stealing.
He didn't know what world Petunia lived in but it wasn't the world of reality.
If she only opened her eyes she would have seen that her precious house had badly fallen into disrepair. She seemed to live in a daze like a zombie these days. He guessed that it may have something to do with the anti-depression medicine he had found in their bedroom when he was cleaning it the other day. He had heard that this type of muggle medicine did stop people from being depressed. But it also makes people feel nothing altogether.
Reaching across the table, he picked up the chore list. He groaned to himself, he was going to have a busy day, if he was going to complete it all.
Underneath the list was a large pile of open letters. With interest mounting, he picked a few up and scanned their contents. The letters were in fact bills; the words MONEY OWED, FINAL REMINDER, and DEBT COLLECTORS stood out in bold. He signed as he looked over the figures owed. He whistled; the amounts were staggering. The Dursley's owed money on their mortgage, and had defaulted on a few loans they had taken out. No wonder the house was in the state it was.
But where had the money gone? He pondered to himself. He put the bills back into their envelopes and hid them once more behind his chore list.
He went to cupboard and pulled out a tin of value beans and an old slice of bread. Yum, cold beans on bread.
It was times like this, that he badly missed the meals that the House elves at Hogwarts made, of shepherd's pie and of treacle tart. It made his mouth water. There was little food going around the house, even less than last year, if that was possible. He wondered how long it would be till he looked as hungry as he felt.
The cold beans slid down this throat almost making him gip with displeasure. But food was food and as long as it was still edible, he would eat it.
Harry spent the rest of the day cleaning the kitchen, and then trimming the hedges in the garden. Throughout the day the sun baked down on his skin. Over the last few days of tidying the garden up, he had moved through the various shades of skin colour and now his skin was beginning to tan and the red was fading.
In the afternoon, for the first time, he took a trip to the local laundrette; using the bit of money Petunia had given him, to wash the household clothes.
He spent the hours waiting for the clothes to wash by trying to figure out what had happened to the Dursley's; why petunia had become like a zombie, where Vernon went all day and much of the night and where Dudley had disappeared to. As the day wore on, his explanations had gotten even wilder to include aliens, spies and terrorism. He had a way overactive imagination.
However, the most logical reason Harry had come up with, was that Vernon had lost his job, and subsequently Petunia had to get a job, so there would still be some money coming into the house.
As for Dudley's disappearance, he had guessed Vernon and him, had argued and he'd moved out. But as for what they had argued about, it was anyone's guess. And for where Dudley had gone, he didn't know.
'I hope he is ok' Harry mumbled to himself, started by the fact he actually cared.
He and Dudley had never gotten on, this much was true, but he would never wish for the boy to be homeless.
He paused for a moment and looked up around the laundrette. It was empty apart from an old lady on the cash desk who was reading a cheap magazine. Harry knew what it was like to not have a real home and for people to not want him around, but Dudley have never experienced his. He wouldn't wish that experience on anyone, not even on Dudley. He just hoped that Dudley was safe.
He moved to put the family's clothes into the machine, and began to check the pockets of Vernon's trousers for any loose change, when he found a few paper slips. While he waited for the washing to spin around, he looked a better look at the bits of paper and realised they were betting slips. His eyes grew wide when he saw the amounts of money he was betting. Vernon seemed to have been betting a lot of money on horses, football; well anything that you could bet on really.
It helped to explain, where Vernon went every day and his mood swings; which were very volatile. They probably corresponded to whether he won or lost his bets, he muttered to himself darkly. No wonder the house was in the state it was in and the cupboards were as bear as they were, if Vernon was losing this much money. What a man Vernon was, flittering away the families money instead of putting food into the empty cupboards, he though angrily.
The anger built up inside him over Vernon's irresponsibility making him kick a nearby chair. The women looked up and scowled at him. He sat down on the chair and tried to calm himself down. He couldn't believe what Vernon was doing, betting hundreds of pounds away when his wife was struggling to feed herself and pay the bills.
The anger simmered and just seemed to join the bottomless pit in his stomach, with the rest of his rage.
As time trickled by, he found that he rather enjoyed his time in the laundrette, waiting for the washer and then the dyer to finish. The sounds were soothing to him. It gave him a rare opportunity to imagine he was somewhere else. Maybe with a family or maybe somewhere he felt safe. He had become rather attached to the white plastic chair on which he sat.
But all daydreams end.
As he hurried to fold up the clothes, fresh from the dyer, and put them into his bag, a deep sense of self loathing filled his empty stomach. In his mind, it was his fault that he didn't have a family. And now he didn't deserve such things.
He had killed the only person who could have given him this dream. Once again the memory unravelled and began to play, of Sirius falling through the veil. He wondered if Sirius was in pain when he died or if knew what was happening?
He hoped with all his heart, that his death was pain free and that he was somewhere safe like the heaven people used to talk about at school. He wished Sirius was in heaven, with his parents, and that he was happy, like he could have been on earth had he the chance.
But Harry didn't want Sirius to be watching him from wherever he was. He didn't want him to see how weak he was and be disappointed in him. Sirius had been a father figure, an uncle and a friend to him. He had been strong, courageous and a good man who never allowed other to sacrifice themselves for him. In short, he was everything Harry wasn't. He worried that Sirius would be ashamed at his decisions, actions and behaviour during his sixth year and during the summer. He knew enough that he was ashamed of it. He wanted and needed to change
Folding away the last of the clothes in the dingy laundrette, he thought about how much he wanted and needed to change. He wished he could be the man which Sirius could have been proud of. Instead, he was just a boy who was lost, weak and alone.
Back at the Dursley's, Harry was putting away the clothes when he heard the front door bang open. Looking over the banister into the downstairs hallways, he first thought it was petunia that was home early. But as he heard a crash, as if someone had walked into the wall, he realised it was Vernon and he was obviously drunk.
'Boy... get down these stairs... get me a drink' he slurred. Harry didn't move.
'I said GET DOWN HERE! DON'T MAKE ME COME AND GET YOU!' He yelled. Harry hurried down the stairs and slid passed Vernon into the living room.
He knew it was a bad idea to get him another drink, but bone tired after completing all this chores, he couldn't be bothered to argue with the man. He hoped that after another drink or two the man would pass out. At least then, Harry could get a few moments peace.
Harry reached down to get the whiskey bottle, one of the few luxuries around the house, and hurried to pour him a drink. But before he'd even unscrewed the bottle, Vernon smashed the glass out of his hand. It fell onto the floor and broke into tiny glass shards, which glittered in the sun. He bent down to pick up some of the larger pieces, when Vernon took a swing at him, or the place his head would have been if he was still standing up.
Vernon overbalanced and ended up on the floor. Harry looked down at the man with disgust. He was filthy, like he hadn't washed in a while, with his clothes stained and there was spit sliding down his chin. What a mess, he thought.
He moved to walk out of the room, but Vernon grabbed his leg. He tried to shake the man off, but even when drunk, Vernon had a strong grip. With one large yank, Harry painfully fell onto the glass ridden floor.
Vernon crawled over to where Harry lay and hissed;
'You think your better than me, murderer? You think you can look down your nose at me? Have you looked at yourself recently?' his foul breath hit harry straight in the face.
Harry licked his lips and grimaced at the pain. He had fallen on the glass, cutting up his hands and leg. Blood was flowing from the cuts.
He looked down at himself, and realised that he didn't look much better then Vernon. His clothes were dirty, baggy and were ridden with holes. In fact, he wouldn't have looked out of place if he was living on the street.
'Do you think your friends would want you back, looking like you do and after when you have done?' Vernon knew just want buttons to press to hurt Harry.
'Your friends barely cared before, leaving you here every summer to rot. You were a burden. They don't even bother to write to you often. And now' he laughed 'the outside matches your inside.'
Harry stared at Vernon. Logically, he knew that the Order and his friends acted in his best interest and did care for him. They did write, although not very often. But he did wonder if they really knew what he went through every summer. Surly it was obvious with his hand-me down clothes and bars on the windows.
The problem was that if it was so obvious, why hadn't they taken him away from the Dursley's? Maybe all he was to them was a weapon for the upcoming war with Voldemort and not a person; an object to be used and discarded.
Vernon moved even loser to Harry, until he could feel the heat from his body. He didn't have time to react at Vernon moved, fist swinging and punched him in the face. Pain shot up Harry's nose creating golden stars in his vision. But the pain didn't last long, as Vernon continued to punch and kick him, as the darkness engulfed him.
Authors Note: Thank you for reading, If you have any comments please review. Thanks.