AN: So this is a chapter to take some of my story warning seriously. If you are easily triggered, maybe give this story a miss. See note at the end of the chapter for further explanation.
Harry thought about the first time his father had taught him to cook in the muggle way, explaining it was a useful skill to have for any wizard because the world was always uncertain. He had only been maybe eight at the time, and it was a frosty morning outside but cozy inside in their quarters at Hogwarts.
"There have been times I have been hiding and any magic would have been detected," he explained. "My ability to cook some food added greatly to my comfort." Besides, his dad assured him, it was a good precursor to learning potions.
And so, Harry found himself standing on a stool, stirring a pot with browning meat and onions at the bottom while his father chopped vegetables.
"Don't crowd the meat or it won't brown properly," Snape told him, looking in the pot.
"Why does meat need to be browned for a stew?" Harry asked, confused.
"It adds more flavor," Snape explained. "And it makes the meat better. But if you're ever somewhere where you can't do it, you can make a stew without browning the meat first. But then don't use the flour like this to thicken it."
"This is more complicated than I thought it would be," Harry scowled, concentrating.
"Cooking can be," Snape acknowledged. "But so is potions. Precision is key to potions, however, with cooking there is more leeway. However, with both, there is a point of no return where the product is ruined."
"When do I know the meat is ruined?"
"You want it to be well browned, but if it blackens then it will ruin the stew and we would be better off starting over."
Harry leaned over, intent on watching the meat carefully.
"Be careful, those onions contain moisture and it can snap a bit with the fat from the sausage," Snape told him.
"What does that mean?" Harry asked, looking closer at the meat.
"Back up now . . ." Snape told him firmly, but just as he was saying it there was a loud pop and some of the hot oil snapped in Harry's face. Harry jumped quickly while yelling loudly, and the meat in the pan burst into flames. Snape, casting a spell to contain the fire, quickly grabbed his son and conjured a cool, wet cloth to place against the burn.
"Are you alright?" he asked quickly.
"I'm okay," Harry asked, his eyes watering and his breathing fast and quick.
"Your eyes, are they okay?"
"I think my glasses helped," Harry laughed with some panic, still shaky. "It hurts on my forehead though."
Snape removed the cloth, inspecting the boy's face, and saw that indeed he did have a pink mark beside his scar, but was otherwise unharmed.
"You must have been scared," Snape told him. "I think you've burned our dinner with accidental magic."
"Sorry," Harry replied, sheepish.
"You can't control accidental magic," Snape told him. "It's your magic trying to protect yourself. Here, I'll banish this mess and we'll start again. I'll call the house elves for some more meat and onions, and we can get started right away."
"Thank you," the boy said, diving into his father's robes for a hug.
"Of course," Snape answered, patting his back. "Now here, keep this cooling cloth on your forehead while I get set up for the next try."
Harry did know how to cook, well, basics anyway – but he'd never cooked for a whole family before. When Petunia had said she would get him when it was time to cook supper, he had assumed she would be cooking and he would be making a salad or setting the table or something like that; much as he did with his father. But no, that was not her intentions at all. Her intentions were that Harry would be cooking the entire dinner with her looking on and supervising, offering sharp rebukes and criticisms as she saw fit. Harry tried to do the things that his father had taught him, like cutting the onions evenly, but he had never made an entire roast before and it was a little intimidating. But by the time he had put it in the oven he did actually feel a bit proud having it evenly seasoned and surrounded by peeled vegetables roasting in their hot oil.
While it was cooking Harry followed his Aunt's direction about cleaning the kitchen, setting the table, and getting things ready. Since he hadn't seen his cousin yet, he assumed that his aunt directing him to set the table for three meant that Dudley was somewhere else that evening. He bristled a bit at her officious manner, but he tried to obey what his father said and tried to keep his head down about it.
And then, the roast was ready and Petunia decided to slice it herself, as she said that Harry was likely to ruin it. It smelled good, and Harry realized he hadn't eaten since that morning with Snape. It was a nice, big roast too so there was plenty for them and enough for a lot of leftovers as well. Maybe this wouldn't be such a bad place once he learned how to get along with everyone there.
"Dudley! Vernon! Time for Dinner!" Petunia called in a shrill voice.
"Wait, Dudley is here?" Harry asked, confused. "I'll set another place, then."
"No, three is enough," she told Harry.
"But I don't understand?"
"You won't be eating with us at the table, ever," she told him, her arms crossed and her face pinched. "The table is for our family, which you are not. And you won't be eating supper tonight because you were rude today. You have to earn your keep, and cheeky boys don't get supper. You can go to bed now."
"That's not fair!" Harry protested. "I cooked the dinner, it's unfair to not let me eat some!"
"My house, my rules," she snapped. "March!"
"Like hell I will!" Harry yelled back. "You can't just treat people like this!"
"I knew it!" Vernon's voice bellowed. "You are an ill-mannered freak!"
"You are trying to starve me!" Harry protested. "You can't do that!"
"This is my house and I can do what I want," Vernon seethed. "And right now what I want is to give you the strap."
"That isn't fair!" Harry protested, but his voice began to sound panicked.
"I'll beat the cheek out of you!" Vernon bellowed, and suddenly Harry saw a strap in his hand.
Harry suddenly realized that Vernon was much bigger than him, and was likely to use brute force to get him to comply. Get a wand, he heard his father's voice almost palpably in his brain as his panic began to rise within him.
"Accio wand," Harry said firmly, raising one hand up and expecting his wand to smack firmly into it a moment later. But instead, nothing. He looked at his hand in surprise, he had never had his command not work before.
Vernon took that opportunity, however, to advance, and to pin him against the sofa. Harry found himself stomach down over the arm of the sofa, pinned by Vernon's mass and unable to move.
"Can't use magic, can you boy?" Vernon sneered, spitting as he spoke. "Do you see that box there on the mantle?"
Harry turned to see a grey, non-descript box on the mantle, about the size of a chocolate frog box. "Yes, I see it," he replied.
"That is a dampener," Vernon told him. "That makes it so you cannot perform any magic in the house. It was given to us to keep us safe."
"What?" Harry asked incredulously.
"You thought you'd be too clever, didn't you?" he spat. "Waving your magic stick and everything. Well, we know a thing or two about handling your kind now. And don't even think about touching that thing either, if you touch it, it will knock you right out."
"Please, Uncle Vernon . . ." Harry began, hoping the man could see reason.
"You thought you came in here being able to rule over us, didn't you?" Vernon screeched. "That will not happen! You will obey us!"
Harry, truly panicking now that his magic was also not an option, began to struggle. His Uncle was stronger than he looked, and Harry knew he was a bit scrawny for his age. Snape had assured him that James was a decent sized person and he should gain his full height eventually, but for now he remained unequal to the task of pushing off Vernon Dudley. And then it came – the first searing crack of leather on flesh. Harry felt the stroke across his backside, and it felt as if the world stood still for a moment. He felt as if everyone in the room took a deep breath, and waited for the next thing to happen.
Harry yelled out in pain, and began fighting harder. But Vernon's beefy hands were like vice grips, and his struggles had about as much effect on them as if they had been. Several more blows followed the first, stinging and strong. They fell everywhere from between Harry's neck and his knees, leaving blistering stripes of pain in their wake. Harry fought, then he howled, and then finally he gave up and simply sobbed as the strokes kept raining down on his body. It was no use, he couldn't get away and the beating would go on forever.
Finally the beating stopped, and Harry slipped down to the floor, a puddle of misery. He had never been in so much pain, he simply sobbed and tried not to touch the sore parts of his body to the floor. But even in pain he did what his father had trained him to do – he assessed the situation. Should he fight? What were his Uncle's weaknesses? But then he knew just as surely as if his father had told him – Stay down. Survive.
Harry looked up and saw a larger boy in a plaid flannel shirt and torn jeans about his age staring at him, a strange expression on his face, and he said, "Da', what's this then?"
"Harry Potter," Vernon answered him, slightly out of breath. "His punishment."
"What did he do?" the boy sneered. "Rob a bank?"
"He needs to know who is boss here," Vernon answered darkly. "I needed to make that clear."
"Some boss," Dudley rolled his eyes. "He's so tiny compared to you, like a little kid. Why beat him like that?"
"Because he's bad," Vernon explained, sneering at Harry. "And we can't have a bad influence in our home."
"Whatever," Dudley replied, rolling his eyes and putting his earphones back over his ears. "I'm hungry."
"Dinner is in here, dear Dudems," Petunia fawned over him. "Come sit down right here for your yummy supper."
"Roast again?" he groaned. "I thought we were having pizza tonight?"
"I know that pizza is very yummy, but the doctor says that we need to cut down on pizzas . . ." Petunia steered him into the kitchen.
Vernon watched his son go into the other room with his wife, and then turned back to Harry. "Listen well, you little worm, and here are the rules. You will obey, you will work hard, and you will not give us any cheek. And if you step foot off this property the ministry will return you to us, and then I personally promise you that you will not return to that wizarding school of yours. Do you understand?"
Harry desperately wanted this altercation to be over, so he uttered the phrase that placated adults the world over – "Yes, sir."
"Then get your ass up to that bedroom and I don't want to see you until it's time to cook breakfast."
Harry willed himself to stand, despite the pain of his screaming back and backside, and limped up to his bedroom. He laid down on his bed gingerly, on his stomach, and lay there until the tears stilled. He now knew something he only sensed a bit before – these people were crazy, and they could honestly kill him. And as he was laying over that sofa arm getting his entire hide welted for him, he also realized something else – how vulnerable he really was. He was bested by a muggle with a strap, what was going to happen with Voldemort? The exhaustion from the pain of the beating overtook him, and soon he found himself asleep.
Harry awoke with the door opening. Afraid it was Vernon back for more, Harry sat up, and then flinched as his weight hit the bed. He quickly stood up, sitting was too painful. He realized he must've slept for several hours, as it was dark outside.
"Here, I brought you a sandwich," he heard Dudley tell him. "I had to wait until the parental units went to bed, but I figured you were hungry since you didn't have any dinner."
"Thanks!" Harry exclaimed, excited to calm the rumbling in his stomach, and accepting the sandwich wrapped in a paper towel and a glass of water.
"There wasn't much roast left, but enough I could snitch a bit for a sandwich," Dudley explained. "I often have a sandwich at night, so they'll probably think it was me anyway, what with your door being locked and everything."
"I'm starving," Harry told him, taking a bite of the sandwich. "Thank you so much!"
"I'm Dudley," his cousin introduced. "I guess we're cousins?"
"Our mums were sisters," Harry agreed through bites of sandwich.
"They didn't tell me much about you coming," Dudley told him. "Just that you were, and you were some sort of evil? You're supposed to corrupt me or something."
"I'm not evil," Harry objected, and then wondered how to explain. Wasn't it supposed to be a secret from muggles? "I'm just . . . different."
"Oh, the magic thing," Dudley rolled his eyes. "Don't worry, I already know, you don't have to worry about telling me."
"My mum and dad were wizards," Harry explained. "I am too."
"Okay, do something," Dudley told him.
"I can't," Harry explained. "I'm not supposed to do magic outside of my school, and even if I wanted to your parents have a dampener to make it so that I can't. But do you want to see my owl?"
"You have an owl?" Dudley blinked.
Harry quickly showed him the cage and uncovered it, revealing Hedwig in her snowy white glory. Hedwig had already awakened, and she was ready to be out hunting.
"Coo'," Dudley admired her. "What do you feed her?"
"I have some owl treats," Harry told him. "But mostly she hunts on her own. I was about to let her out so she could hunt. Want to see?"
With a nod from his cousin, Harry opened the glass window and offered Hedwig the night air before her. With an appreciative hoot, she soared out the window, the moonlight nearly glowing on her white feathers.
"Wicked," Dudley breathed. "So are you evil then?"
"Not evil," Harry laughed.
"But then why was my dad beating you?" Dudley asked quietly. "I mean, he never does that to me."
"I don't know," Harry admitted. "I didn't do anything."
"Look, they don't even tell me no, ya know?" Dudley told him. "I mean, unless they have to. They've told me no about Seattle . . ."
"Seattle?"
"Yeah, do you know who Nirvana is? Pearl Jam? Soundgarden?"
"I think they're bands, right?"
"The best bands ever!" Dudley told him. "And they all come from Seattle, so I want to go there."
"I would love to go there too right now." To be honest, anywhere out of this cluttered, painful bedroom sounded great.
"Do you know there's this park in Seattle that has an art sculpture place that has this special garden with all these things that make different sounds when the wind goes through it, like pipe organs?" Dudley told him eagerly. "It's called the Sound Garden, and it's where the band got its name."
"I would love to see that," Harry told him, finishing his sandwich and taking a drink of the water. "I wish I could apparate."
"What's that?" Dudley asked.
"Well, full grown wizards can go anywhere in the world they want to at any time," Harry explained. "I mean, you have to have some talent and you have to pass a test to do it, but most manage it. If I were a fully grown adult wizard I could take you to Seattle right now."
"Coo'," Dudley breathed, thinking of the possibilities. "If my parents don't take me when I'm older, would you take me?"
"Sure," Harry answered easily. "We could go straight to the Sound Garden."
"Too bad we're just kids then," Dudley sighed.
"So, Dudley, I know that we just met and all," Harry told him. "But I sort of have to ask – are your parents always like that? I mean . . ."
"Nah, it's just you," Dudley shrugged. "I've heard them talk about your parents through the years when they didn't think I could hear. They think that magic is unnatural or something. They were relieved we didn't have to have much to do with you, to be honest, until recently. I don't know what happened, but suddenly they got really excited about getting you."
"Did anything happen before I got here?"
"They got some visits from people, you know, your kind of people," Dudley told him. "They were hushed and talking and doing different things. And my mum told me to have nothing to do with you, because you were wrong and would corrupt me." Dudley rolled his eyes.
"So you're mostly talking to me because your mum told you not to?" Harry asked with a grin.
"Well, I knew you had to be interesting then," Dudley smiled back. "I mean, was I wrong?"
"I guess not," Harry agreed.
"I've got to go," Dudley told him. "You'd probably catch if it I'm caught in here. Do you need to use the loo or anything before I go?"
Harry quickly used the toilet, and then focused on writing to his father. How was he going to explain everything to him?
AN: I'm sorry for there being physical violence in this chapter, it was as hard for me to write as it probably was for you to read. But to make them truly how I want them in this story I believe it was necessary. I warned you that this story had some personal angst I was working out. I also would love for there to be an easy fix to this too – Snape swoops in and fixes everything, he has master spy devices, he hexes everyone and everyone is suddenly mindlessly good. But I don't think that's real and what canon is like – things are hard even with magic. And yes, this is going to be hard for both Harry and Snape. We'll get back to Snape in the next chapter, I promise.
I think this chapter was probably a lot in other ways as well and I'm hoping it subverted some expectations for people. When I was thinking about this story, I was thinking about how Harry would have changed for not having been raised with the Dursleys, and then it occurred to me how Dudley might have been different as well. How would he have been different not being encourage to torture Harry growing up? And then, having him introduced when Dudley is thirteen as well, and his differentiation from his parents might look like actually being nice to Harry. I think he's still shallow and selfish and far from perfect, but I don't see him as a one dimensional villain either. He gets there eventually in the books, so I think at his core he's not too evil of a person. Also, I know it's a little self-indulgent to make him into grunge, but it just tickled my fancy so much I couldn't help myself. Picturing Petunia up in arms because Dudley wants to wear flannel and torn jeans just sounds SO thirteen to me.