He headed into the store, shivering, his nose stuffy from the temperature change as he made his way to the cough and allergies section. His aunt had clearly addressed on the note he brought with him that he was to buy cough medicine in the liquid form. Although he'd never had it, Harry always thought the idea of cough syrup was yucky as he could imagine a bitter slime going down his throat.
"Should I get the honey or elderberry flavor?" he asked himself as he examined two separate kinds of the same brand. "Dudley loves sweet things but I don't think he'll mind if I say this is the only one I could find."
Harry grabbed the elderberry Robitussin cough syrup for children and set out for the checkout line. If there was one thing that was true about the rumors that the Dursleys said about the boy, it was that he was mischievous. Just like his wavy and unruly locks on his head, Harry tried at every chance he got to circumvent his tumultuous home life with childish pranks, ones that he couldn't be caught for.
He checked out the item and dashed his way back to the house, not quite wanting to be outside for much longer than he had to be. Clouds were gathering, parading the sky with a dark shadow, as bulbous as watermelons. Being cold was one thing, but being soaked to the bone without a spare change of clothes was a nightmare he didn't want to come true. The sweet had dissolved by then. Steam flowed out from his mouth as he huffed and puffed, running down the streets of Little Whinging. His fingers were red nubbins with white tingly tips as his hands were at the raw mercy of the chilling wind as the bag holding the medicine swung back and forth.
Harry arrived at Number 4 of Privet Drive, out of breath, the icy air being violently sent in and out of his lungs as he tried to breathe properly. He clung onto the brick wall for dear life as stopped himself and tried to count to five with each breath. As soon as he felt he could speak, he rapped his knuckles on the door, calmly asking, "I've got the medicine. Can I come in?"
His uncle opened the door, staring down at him grumpily, as he yanked the bag from Harry's hand. "Show me the change. I don't want any funny business, boy!" he barked.
The brunette child flinched at his uncle's loud voice and grabbed into his pockets, emptying out into his hands the receipt and the change, counting the amount out loud under the scrutinizing inspection. He wouldn't dare take a pound as the beating wasn't worth it. "One pound, two, twenty pence, ten, ten, five, and one," he counted, keeping his pride of being good at maths to a minimum, slipping the last pence into his uncle's free hand.
Vernon's eyes narrowed as he double checked the receipt and stuffed the change into his pockets. "Everything's in order. Get on then!" he hissed, the door slamming behind Harry as he locked it.
Petunia, next to her husband, opened the bag and desperately took out the cough syrup as the scrawny boy took his sopping shoes and socks off to avoid slipping and making an extra mess in the house. He put the wet articles next to the radiator to dry more properly, mentally noting to put them in the wash secretly after the family was asleep. He ended up in the kitchen as his aunt and uncle followed him, ready to make lunch for them.
As soon as he closed the pantry, having taken out the bread for sandwiches, his aunt slammed the cough syrup on the counter, denting the box and jostling the liquid inside.
"What is the meaning of this? Robitussin?" she demanded, her voice squeaking with anger. "This stuff doesn't work!"
"I didn't know," Harry said, shaking and dropping the bread on the countertop, half putting up his hands in defense.
"Of course you wouldn't, simpleton! Otherwise you would have gotten the right one." She put a hand to her forehead, easing out the crinkles, speaking at him with scorn as she quieted down. "Must I have to do everything myself?"
Falling backwards into her husband's arms and looking up at his crabbed face, she acted like she was fainting, "Vernon, do you see what I have to put up with? Could you please go out and get me proper medicine? Make sure it's the children's version of Benylin."
"Sure thing," he said as she righted herself, giving her his warmest smile he could muster. With a nervous chuckle and touch of his moustache, he added, "But how about after eating?"
"Indeed." She perked up, chastising her nephew, "Honestly, I think going without lunch will teach you to be more mindful." She glared at him, her eyes telling him to get started.
His stomach protested as he made the sandwiches, the buzzing in his ears and dizziness that fogged up his mind getting stronger. Harry bit his lips to avoid talking back, the taste of iron colliding with his tongue, giving him something to suckle upon as if it was nutritious. He hadn't had lunch in two days due to minor things like scoring a full ten points higher than Dudley on a vocabulary test and tracking some mud in from gardening. He knew that the lack of meals only impeded his progress to get things done well as he had less energy and ability to focus with each restriction. He doubted his aunt and uncle knew that as they'd never gone without a meal and even if they did, it wasn't enough to persuade them to take pity on him.
When served, they ate wholeheartedly, his aunt bringing another plate with double sandwiches to his cousin upstairs afterwards. Harry checked the chore list before grabbing the broom, of which he was mere inches taller, out of his cupboard. He took off two jumpers, putting them back for good measure in case he got wet and because he'd finally warmed up enough to stop shivering. He decided to get on with sweeping all of the first floor, preparing the place for his next task of mopping up. The boy swept up the minimal dust into the dustpan and dumped it into the small rubbish bin, the house already kept in an immaculate state stemming from Petunia's stifling pride in conformity to normalness and Harry's quiet effort to survive another day.
Harry quite liked mopping for more reasons than one. The bubbles created through the instantaneous mixture of soap and water felt dangerous yet brought joy as they appeared on the floor with each swish of the mop, one word fitting perfectly to describe them, magic. The rainbow waves rippling in the tiny spheres made him want to sit and watch them all day, immediately delighted when some random bubbles leap in the air, popping like beautiful rain. He didn't like his appearance, pale and sickly, reflected in the wet tracks when the floors were done, but he did like the way the floors glistened as a reward for his diligence.
As he finished up in the hallway, his uncle shoved him, causing his hands to flail as the mop dropped to the ground and he barely caught himself on the small shoe rack, the inside of his arms taking the most of the damage as the metal rods stopped his fall. "Don't just stand there in the middle of the corridor!" his uncle yelled, making it to the front door past him, ready to go out and buy Dudley's medicine.
Harry was enraged as he glared at his uncle's back, upset at the burly man for not just going around him when the walkway had plenty of room for two. Not only that but he had tracked mud through the clean hallway. The boy wished that his uncle would fall instead. Just as he thought that and his uncle had opened the front door, Harry saw the welcome mat's corner wiggle as if waving hello before the whole thing shifted forward, causing his uncle to tumble backwards in the process.
"Wha-" Vernon blubbered as his wool sweater got soaked, collecting in the leftover wetness on the floor that had yet to dry. As a bonus, when his uncle got up, the dirty water from the mopping pail spilled as his uncle's arm hit the side of it, dousing the man in cold liquid. "Blasted winter!" he shouted, his teeth chattering as the air drafting in from the open door lapped him in its unrelenting chill.
Harry had to cover his mouth, biting on his palm to prevent himself from letting out a laugh. It was just too good, seeing his uncle in a sopping mess, having finally been boulderdashed with karmic justice. His uncle's face turned a brighter shade of purple from embarrassment and frustration as he glared at Harry, entirely sure it was the boy's freakish doing but unable to prove it.
His Aunt Petunia made her way down the stairs then, holding a duvet in her arms, all too keen to criticize her husband for the ruckus. "Oh Vernon," she said cupping his face as he was back to standing, "look at you. How could you even slip at this age? Making such noise after I just put our Dudleykins to bed!"
"But he, the Freak," pointing his thick fingers at Harry with insurmountable anger, sounding very much like a school child, "pushed me!"
Instead of being coddled or having the boy be scolded, he was met with derision by his wife. "Now, you're just sounding ridiculous. A small kid like him, able to push down a strong man like you? If that ever happens, well," she said smartingly, "I must be the Queen then."
"Go upstairs and change, quietly," she added, combing through his wet sandy hair with tender care. "We can't have you go out looking unlike your handsome self."
Harry mustered the strength to get up, closing the door as his uncle headed drearily upstairs.
His aunt locked eyes on him. "Drop this into the washer before you start the rest of the laundry," she said as she dropped the duvet into his arms. Explaining, her nose crinkling in disgust as she did so, "Dudley's made a mess of his food."
He grunted as the unexpected heavy cover blocked his view. "Yes, Aunt Petunia, but…" he replied.
"But what?" she asked, annoyed she had to stay a minute longer.
He knew that the park was going to have a holiday show that afternoon, advertised greatly at school, where the admission was free and there were going to be live Christmas songs sung. Harry was sure that if he asked straightly, his aunt was bound to blow a fuse and would say no. He'd waited the whole week to see if he could go and tried his hardest to not anger his guardians, not that the day had been a great example of such. His chances were even slimmer as he thought of what he'd been told his whole life if he ever did ask why Dudley and the other children got to play outdoors, for 'freaks don't get to go outside or to parks'. He swallowed, his throat closed up, building up the courage to speak his mentally prepared reasoning.
"There will be plenty of time in between loads and Uncle Vernon still has his wet clothes to add. I'll get them done before dinner." He stared down at his feet and took a deep breath, asking meekly, "Can I please go see the ducks in the square, just for a little? You won't even notice I'm gone."
He wasn't entirely lying, there were ducks at the park and he'd always longed to see them too, to feed them if he had any bread to give.
His aunt paused for a moment, not quite sure how to respond. She never could see the attraction others had for animals and her sister in law's dog was plenty enough interaction for a whole year, but if it meant she'd have a moment where she could pretend the brat didn't exist, it was good enough.
"Have you finished everything else on the list?" she asked sternly.
"Yes," he said firmly, hoping the truth would shine through and that she wouldn't throw any curve balls.
"I guess that's fine." She shook her head. "As long as I don't hear about any trouble with you. Otherwise…" Her voice had an edge and she didn't need to finish her sentence for his mind to wander to what terrible thing it could be.
"Thank you, Aunt Petunia," he said, his eyes widening and his heart skipping a beat as he wasn't sure the woman would ever do anything nice for him. He ran to the laundry room before she could change her mind as she was heard complaining about the mess her husband made, having grabbed a rag to wipe up the mud tracks.
Harry dumped the duvet cover into the washer after a quick hand rinse, along with some other pieces of laundry, glad that Dudley's puddle of sick hadn't soaked into the duvet yet. As the machine started, he knew there was a good half hour before he had to return to put the wet things in the dryer. When he got back to the hallway, his aunt was gone and the floor was spotless again. The boy put back on his other jumpers and slipped on his slightly damp trainers, glad that the radiator had warmed and dried up his footwear a bit.
He smiled when he walked out the front, his dark locks brushed by the wind, clinging to his freedom like a prisoner going out of solitary confinement for the first time in months. The car was no longer in the driveway and the sky wasn't pouring hail anymore, the other cars' windshields showed the damage.
