Harry knew every nook and cranny of Privet Drive, the bars sung to him, a beckoning melody. Never mind that he was not legally of age. Whiskey, the water of life, was a rare commodity. He and the bar owner, Mark, had an understanding of sorts. As long as the money kept coming, he will turn a blind eye to Harry's only twelve years old self, grinning cheekily while sipping the golden, burning liquid. Money for food was but a myth, that's a consequence of being raised by the Dursleys, even an expert bag snatcher like Harry had to be careful to avoid the coppers.
'I probably shouldn't have called them sons of a biscuit eater…' he thought reminiscing about his last run-in with the law enforcers 'And maybe I shouldn't have been so bold as to steal from a cop. Yet, is it my fault the sucker dropped his wallet? He might as well had a 'please rob me' sign on his back.'
At least he only stole money for survival and only from well-off people...
Somewhere during his justifying tirade, guilt and shame started to seep in, so he tried to wash them away with some good old whiskey. The bitter, magical liquid did not poof all his troubles away, if anything it gave him a headache.
"Haha! Fooled again, young Harry," the boy imagined his whiskey glass would say, were it capable of speech.
"Shut up, you irritating piece of tableware!" Harry whispered, conscientious of the fact that he was arguing with a silent, chipped glass. His mind continued playing games with him.
"This irritating piece of tableware is capable of outsmarting you yet again, dear boy!"
"You slimy, treacherous git! Quit acting like you're the Holy Grail or something!" he whispered, a bit louder, drawing the attention of a young couple nearby who pointed at the strangely clad boy who was talking to himself.
"Do you kiss your mother with that mouth, wee fella? Oh, but I forgot…you don't have one."
The boy got up, threw the glass with whiskey still in it towards a faraway wall, then ran out of the bar at maximum speed.
The bar owner didn't bat an eyelash, well used to Harry's little eccentrics. Still, he will owe him a new glass next time he came to drink his sorrows away.
The new waitress Suzie, looked at the spot Harry had been blankly before saying " Uhm…shouldn't we had stopped him?". Mark grinned then shook his head.
"But, sir, he threw a glass!" she protested.
"Last time he threw a table," Mark answered nonchalantly.